•4 
 
 \ 
 
 \^V 
 
'KS>1' 
 
.2: 
 
 THE 
 
 COMPLETE WORKS 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE: 
 
 DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE; 
 
 ^ GLOSSARY, AND AN ACCOUNT OF EACH PLAY, 
 
 A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 BT 
 
 THE RET. WILLIAM HARNESS, M. A„ 
 
 OF CHRIST'S COLLEGK, CAMBRIDGE, ASD MINISTER OF ST. PANCRAS PAROCHIAL CHAPEt, REGENT SQUARE. 
 
 WITH A PORTRAIT FROM THE CHANDOS PICTURE, ^g 
 
 ENGRAVED BY COCHRAN, 
 
 Sinn iFortj) fisautiftil Sllustvations, 
 
 FROM DESIGNS BT SMIRKE, WESTALL, COREOULD, STEPHANOFF, AND WEIGHT. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 GEORGE F. COOLEDGE, & BROTHER, 
 
 323 PEARL STREET. 
 
 LONDON: SCOTT, WEBSTER, & GEARY. 
 

 
CONTENTS. 
 
 MEMOIR BY THE REV. WILLIAM HARXESS. M.A. iii '°'^° 
 
 DH- JOHNSON'S PREFACE 3 
 
 ^ GLOSSARY 19 
 
 THE TEMPEST . - - 07 29-' 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA 45 61' 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR C3 65- 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL S6 94 
 
 MEASLRE FOR MEASURE 106 isa-- 
 
 MTCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING 1S9 137/ 
 
 MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM 150 161^ 
 
 LOVE'S LABOURS LOST 167 ng^ 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE I39 193/ 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT 209 suv/" 
 
 ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL 931 241-- 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW 254 254- 
 
 WINTERS TALE 075 076- 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS 300 304 ' 
 
 MACBETH 314 319. 
 
 KING JOHN 333 345 v' 
 
 KING RICHARD U. 354 371^ 
 
 FIRST PART OF KLNG HENRY IV. 376 356 . - 
 
 Second PART OF KING HENRY rv. 399 401^ 
 
 ^KING HENRY V ^55 ^09^ 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. 45O 469-' 
 
 SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. 47a 457 ^ 
 
 THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VL 497 509 -^ 
 
 KING RICHARD HL 503 .^^ 
 
 KING HENRY VUL 551 55. ^ 
 
 TROILUS AND CRE5SIDA 57- jg^^ 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS _ 604 620'' 
 
 CORIOLANUS ' 6.14 544^ 
 
 -^ JILIUS C5:SAR 5^3 g5j^ 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATR.\ 6T3 eS9>^ 
 
 CYMBELENE ,,,1 -j- ^ 
 
 TITUS ANDHONICUS ^0 736 v 
 
 PERICLES. PRINCE OF TYRE 75O 756. 
 
 KING LEAR 77O 793 , 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET 793 goS - 
 
 HAMLET. PRINCE OF DENMARK 82S 847 >- 
 
 , ^OTHELLO g53 g-9 ^ 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS gjl g^j ^- 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE gSO S93 ^ 
 
 eON-XETS 903 
 
 PASSIONATE PILGRIM 921 
 
 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT 921 ^ 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The name of Shakspeare, which is mentioned by 
 Verstogan, among those 'syrnames imposed upon 
 the first beai'eis of them for valour and feats of 
 arms,'" is one of great antiquity in the woodland 
 districts of Warwickshire. The family, thus 
 honourably distinguished, appears to have re- 
 ceived its origin either at Rowington or Lap- 
 worth. Long before the genius of our great 
 dramatic poet had rendered their name a subject 
 of national interest, the Shakspeares were esta- 
 blished among the more affluent inhabitants of 
 those villages, and thence several individuals of 
 the race, from time to time, removed, and became 
 settlers in the principal places of the county. 
 
 After the most indefatigable researches Malone 
 found himself unable to trace the particular 
 branch of the family from which Shakspeare 
 himself descended, beyond his immediate an- 
 cestor ; but it is mentioned by Rowe, as being 
 *of good figure and fashion, 'f in the town of 
 Stratford. This statement is supported by the 
 authority of a document, preserved in the Col- 
 lege of Heralds, conferring the grant of a coat 
 of arms on John Shakspeare, the father of the 
 poet, in which the title of gentleman is added to 
 his denomination ; and it is stated, that * his 
 great grandfather had been rewarded by king 
 Henry the Seventh, for his faithful and approved 
 ser\'ices, with lands and tenements given him in 
 those parts of Wanvickshire, where they have 
 continued by some descents in good reputation 
 and credit. 'I 
 
 If Shalispeare's father inherited any portion of 
 
 • Restitution of Decayed Intelligence, 4to. 1605. 
 p. 204. • 
 
 t Rowe's Life of Shaksptare. 
 
 I Grant of amis to John Shakspeare, made 1599. 
 Malone, who always appears to have had a double ob- 
 ject iu his researches, Hrsi, to discredit all received 
 opinious respecting our poet and his family, and se- 
 condly, to introduce some fanciful conjecture of hia 
 owu, suggests that these expressions relate not to 
 the ancestor of John Shakspeare, but to the ancestor 
 of his wife. His arguments are not devoid of plausi- 
 bility ; but what certainty can we ever hope to obtain 
 
 the estate which the royal munificence had thus 
 conferred on his ancestor, it was insufficient for 
 his wants ; and he was obliged to have recourse 
 to trade to increase the narrow measure of his 
 patrimony. The traditional accounts that have 
 been received respecting him are consistent in 
 describing him as engaged in business, though 
 they disagree in the nature of the employment 
 which they ascribe to him. In the MS. notes 
 which Aubrey had collected for a life of the 
 poet, it is affirmed, that ' his father was a but- 
 cher;' while on the other hand, it is stated by 
 Rowe that he was *a considerable dealer in 
 wool.' The truth of the latter report it is 
 scarcely possible to doubt. It was received from 
 Bettertou the player, whose veneration for the 
 poet induced him to make a pilgrimage to War- 
 wickshire, that he might collect all the infor- 
 mation respecting the object of his enthusiasm 
 which remained among his townsmen, at a time 
 when such prominent facts as the circumstances 
 and avocation of his parents could not yet 
 have sunk into oblivion. § It ia indeed, not im- 
 probable that both these accounts may be correct. 
 * Few occupations,' observes Malone, ' can be 
 named which are more naturally connected with 
 each other.' Dr. Farmer has shewn that the two 
 trades were occasionally united : j| or if they 
 were not thus exercised together by the poet's 
 father, his having adopted them separately at 
 different periods of his life, is not inconsistent 
 with the changeful character of his circum- 
 stances. The now notion of John Shakspeiurc's 
 
 in the consideration of remote events, if the express 
 authority cf contemporary official documents is to he 
 set aside by the questionable conjectures of the anti- 
 quarian 1 
 
 $ Betterton was bomin 1635. Shaksp'^.are's young- 
 est daughter lived till 1CC2, and his granddaughter 
 till 1070 ; and many of his relatives and connexions, 
 the Harts and the Hathaways, were surTiviu.: at the 
 time of Betterton's visit to Stratford. 
 
 11 See Reed's Shakspeare, vol. 18. p. 346, 347. Stee- 
 Tens' note. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 havinc^ been a gloi'Ci\ which has been advanced 
 in Malonc's last edition of our author's works, 
 I have no hesitation in dismissinj^. It is neither 
 supported by tradition, nor probability ; and the 
 brief minute which the laborious editor disco- 
 vered in the bailiff's court at Stratford, must 
 have referred to some other of the innumerable 
 John Shakspoares, whom we find mentioned in 
 the wills and registers of the time. 
 
 The father of Shakspcaro married, probably 
 about the year 1555 or 1556, Mary the daughter 
 of Roljcrt Arden, of Willingcote, in the county 
 of Warwick ; by which connexion he obtained a 
 small estate in land, some property in money,* 
 and such accession of respectability as is derived 
 from an equal and honourable alliance. The 
 family of Mary .\rden, like his own, was one of 
 great antiquity in the county, and her ancestors 
 also had been rewarded for their faithful and im- 
 portant services by the gratitude of Henry the 
 Seventh. The third child, and the eldest son of 
 this union, was the celebrated subject of the 
 present memoirs. 
 
 \Viliia:m Shakspeare was born on the 23d 
 of April, 1564, and baptized on the 26th of the 
 same month. 
 
 .\t the lime of the birth of his illustrious off- 
 spring, John Shakspeare evidently enjoyed no 
 slight degree of estimation among his townsmen. 
 He was already a member of the corporation, 
 and for two successive years, had been nominated 
 one of the chamberlains of Stratford, f From 
 this time he began to be chosen in due succes- 
 sion to the highest municipal offices of the 
 borough. In 1569, he was appointed to dis- 
 charge the important duties of high bailiff; and 
 was subsequently elected and sworn chief alder- 
 man for the year 1571. 
 
 During this period of his life, which con- 
 stitutes the poet's years of childhood, the fortune 
 of Master John Shakspeare — for so he is uni- 
 formly designated in the public writings of the 
 borough, from the time of his acting as high 
 bailiff — perfectly corresponded with the station 
 which we find him holding among his townsmen. 
 His charities rank him with the second class of 
 the inhabitants of Stratford. In a subscription 
 for the relief of the poor, 1564, out of twenty- 
 four persons, twelve gave more, six the same, 
 and six less, than the poet's father ; and in a 
 second subscription, of fourteen persons, eight 
 gave more, five the same, and one less. So early 
 as 1556, he held the lease of two houses in the 
 town, one in Green Hill, and the other in Hen- 
 
 • The whole was worth little more than 100/., at 
 that time considered a fair provision for a daughter. 
 
 + He was admitted to the corporation probably in 
 1557. He was elected chamberlain in 15(31. 
 
 I ' From tlie sentiment and the languatce, this con- 
 fession appeal's to be the effusion oi a Roman Catho- 
 lic miud, and was probably drawn up by some Roman 
 Catholic priest. If these premises be granted, it will 
 
 ley Street ; in 1570 he rented fourteen acres of 
 land, called Ington Meadow ; and we find him 
 four years afterwards, becoming the purchaser of 
 two additional houses in Henley Street, with a 
 garden and orchard attached to each. 
 
 In this season of prosperity, Mr. John Shak- 
 speare was not careless of the abilities of his 
 child. His own talents had been wholly unim- 
 proved by education, and he was one of the 
 twelve, out of the nineteen aldermen of Strat- 
 ford, whose accomplishments did not extend to 
 being able to sign their own names. This cir- 
 cumstance, by the bye, most satisfactorily esta- 
 blishes the fact, that he could not have written 
 the confession of faith which was found in re- 
 pairing the roof of his residence at Stratford.^ 
 But, whatever were his own defieiences, he was 
 careful that the talents of his son should not 
 suffer from a similar neglect of education. Wil- 
 liam was placed at the Free School of Stratford : 
 it is not iminteresting to know the names of the 
 instructors of Shakspeare. They have been 
 traced by the minute researches of Malone. Mr. 
 Thomas Hunt, and Mr. Thomas Jenkins, were 
 successively the masters of the school, from 1572 
 to 1580, which must have included the school- 
 boy days of our poet. 
 
 At this time, Shakspeare would have pos- 
 sessed ample means of obtaining access to all 
 those books of history, poetry, and romance, with 
 which he seems to have had so intimate an 
 acquaintance, and which were calculated to 
 attract his early taste, and excite the admiration 
 of his young and ardent fancy; and he might 
 also thus early have become imbued with a taste 
 for the drama, by attending the performances of 
 the different companies of players, the comedians 
 of the Queen, of the Earl of Worcester, of Lord 
 Leicester, and of other noblemen, who were con- 
 tinually making the Guildhall of Stratford, the 
 scene of their representations. But he was soon 
 called to other cares, and the discharge of more 
 serious duties. The prosperity of his father was 
 not of permanent duration. In 1578, Mr. John 
 Shakspeare mortgaged the estate which he had 
 received from his wife ; in the following j ear he 
 was exempted from the contribution of four- 
 pence a week for the poor, which was p.aid by 
 the other aldermen ; and that this exception in 
 his favour was made in consequence of the 
 pecuniary embarrassments under which he was 
 known to labour, is manifest from his having 
 been at the same period reduced to the necessity 
 of obtaining Mr. Lambert's security for the pay- 
 
 follow, as a fair deduction, that the family of Shak- 
 speare were Roman Catholics.' Cltaimers' Jjjf)/i'»y, 
 p. 198. The paper was found in 1770, and communi- 
 cated to Malone ; but are not the official situations 
 held by Shakspeare's father iu the boi-oti^h conclu- 
 sive against the ojiiniou which Mr. Chalmers has 
 pounded upon it 1 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 mcnt of a debt of five pounds, to Sadler, a baker. 
 This depression of bis circumstances is alluded 
 to by Rowe, and attributed to the expenses in- 
 cidental to a large and increasing family ; but in 
 tliis statement, the real cause of his difficulties is 
 mistaken. It has been ascertained, by the dili- 
 gence of Malone, that the family of Shakspeare's 
 father was by no means numerous ; for of his 
 eight children, five only attained to the years 
 of maturity.* The decay of his affairs was 
 the natural consequence of the decline of the 
 branch of trade in which he was engaged. As a 
 woolstapler, Mr. John Shakspeare had fiourishcd 
 as long as the business itself was prosperous ; 
 and x^ith its failure, his fortunes had fallen into 
 decay. He became involved in the gradual ruin 
 which fell on the principal trade of the place, 
 and which, in 1590, drew from the bailiff and 
 burgesses of Stratford, a supplication to the Lord 
 Treasurer Burghley, lamenting the distresses of 
 the town ; ' for want of such trade as heretofore 
 they had by clothinge, and making of yarne, 
 ymploying and majTitayninge a number of poore 
 people by the same, which now live in great 
 penury and miserie, by reason they are not set 
 at worke, as before they have been.'f 
 
 In this unfavourable state of the affairs of his 
 family, Shakspeare was withdrawn from school ; 
 'his assistance was wanted at home.'^ It was, I 
 should imagine, at this juncture, that his father, 
 no longer able to secure a respectable subsis- 
 tence for his wife and children, by his original 
 trade as a woolstapler, had recourse to the 
 inferior occupation of a butcher ; and, if the tale 
 be founded in fact, which .\ubrey says 'he was 
 told heretofore by some of his neighbours,' then 
 it must have been, that Shakspeare began to 
 exhibit his dramatic propensities, and ' when he 
 killed a calfe, would do it in a high style, and 
 make a speech. '§ 
 
 The assistance, however, which the poet ren- 
 dered his father in his business, was not of long 
 duration. He had just attiiincd the age of 
 eighteen, when he married. The object of this 
 early attachment was Anne, the daughter of 
 Richard Hathaway, a substantial yeoman, in the 
 neighbourhood of his native town. She was 
 eight years older than her husband ; and Oldys, 
 without stating his authority, in one of his MSS. 
 mentions her as beautiful. 1| It may be feared 
 that this marriage was not perfectly happy. 
 
 • His family consisted of four sons and four daugh- 
 ters. Joan, died in infancy : Margaret, when only 
 lour mouths old. William, was the poet: of Gil- 
 bert, nothing is known but the date of his baptism, 
 and tiiiit he lived till after the restoration of Charles 
 the Second : Joan, married William Hart, a hatter, 
 at Stratford ; slie died iu 1&16, leaviui? three sons : 
 Aui in 1(94, one of Shakspeare's two houses, in Hen- 
 ley Street, was the property of Thomas Hart, a but- 
 cher, the sixth in descent from Joan. Ann, died in 
 infancy. Richard, was buried in IG 12-13. Edmund, 
 was a player at the Globe ; he lived in St. Saviour's, 
 
 From the celebrated passage in Twelfth Night, 
 concluding with 
 
 'Then let thy love be yotinirer th.in thyself. 
 Or thy atTtction cannot hold the bent,' 
 
 we may suspect that Shakspeare, at the time of 
 writing this, which was probably his last, play, 
 had lived to repent his too early marriage, and 
 the indulgence of an affection so much ' mis- 
 grafted in respect of years. 'U Such is the con- 
 jecture of Malone ; but it is hardly fair to apply 
 personally to the poet the general maxims that 
 may be discovered in his works. His daughter 
 Susanna was bom in the following vear. The 
 parish register of Stratford informs us that 
 within eighteen months afterwards his wife bore 
 twins, a son and daughter, who were liaptized bv 
 the names of Hamnct and Judith ; and thus, 
 when little more than twenty, Shakspeare had 
 already a wife and throe chiltiren dependant on 
 his exertions for support. 
 
 Malone supposes that our author was at this 
 time employed in an attorney's office, and "ives 
 a long list of quotations from bis works, which 
 shew how familiarly he was acquainted with the 
 terms and the usages of the law, in support of 
 his conjecture. As there are no other grounds 
 for entertaining such a supposition ; as testimony 
 of the same nature, and equally strong, might be 
 adduced to prove that Shakspeare was a member 
 of almost every other trade or profession, for he 
 was ignorant of none ; and as the legal know- 
 ledge which he displays might easily have been 
 caught up in conversation, or indeed from expe- 
 rience in the quirks and technicalities of the 
 law, during the course of his own and his father's 
 difficulties; I have little hesitation in classing 
 this among the many ingenious but unsound 
 conjectures of the learned editor, and adopting 
 the tradition of Aubrey respecting the avocation 
 of this portion of his life. To satisfy the claims 
 that were multiplying around him, Shakspeare 
 endeavoured to draw upon his talents and ac- 
 quirements as the source of his sujiplies, and 
 undertook the instruction of children.** 
 
 The portion of classical knowledge that he 
 brought to the task, has given occasion for much 
 controversy, which it is now impossible to deter- 
 mine. The school at which he was educated, 
 produced several- individuals, among the contem- 
 poraries of our great poet, who were not deficient 
 
 and was huried in the church of that parish, on the 
 31st of December, lii07. — Skoitowe's Li/e of Shak- 
 speare, vol. i. p. 7, 8. 
 
 t A'upplieatUin to Lord Treasurer Burghleir, Nov. 
 9, 1590, preserved in the chamber at Stratford, 
 
 X Rowe's Life of Shakspeare. 
 
 5 Ackrey's iMS. .-Vshmol. Oxon. 
 
 II Bii^v:Ki.iJ& Sh'ikspeare. Note to the 93d Sonnet. 
 
 f BosWELL'sA'/iafrspeffre, vol. ii. p. IVi, 
 
 *• 'He understood Latin pretty well, for he had 
 been in his younger years a schoolmaster in the 
 country.' — Aubrey. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM 5HAKSPEARE. 
 
 B kanm^;* aad, di oa gh he «as jaeiaMoidr 
 v^Uiava 11 u w i^eir i^^^imwm— Jwjt^ it wiU 
 be^ficakto befieve, that nd Ks qnjekaeas of 
 <HHinhnJ30B, be coald bare im^gW for aaj 
 > fine is ikes' cease of stadr, 
 r a prnpiH tic aaae Age af dnr i 
 ' He iiwlwsion J Latai fenr wA,' szrs 
 Ariver; aDd tte Ktrtmni eam^amis exactlr 
 ssk ii>e dtsezifiaim of im &iead Bes JoiBora, 
 ■mho spe^ of Im as aae p rnncmrf 'of En"f 
 LaiB and leas Greek.' Ik. Faiaer, iideed. faas 
 proced, liitt msstatiiias of aS >^ dasacs to 
 «^eh Si^speone ks leisred, vere ahead; >b 
 areriarif tniu»i. he »nate; aad t^ a most of 
 is afisati^ to Gredi aadLaas ast^ocs, endem 
 taees are dbeonenUe of ios bcrng eossaiied 
 t^ II iiiij il'w nsMad of ihe driginaL But^os 
 fact « iiulifiih I «erf Side: it troght bare pro- 
 ceeded &QB mdoieaee, or Smi toe basse c^cora 
 posaoB, vrgias iaa to tbe reai&est soorees cf 
 iaJBimiiaa, rather i3ua Siam zbj rnijn>*c»> c:' 
 s^&g Ilium ^ of tlKse viocb vere more pore, 
 bs 1^ acrpii'aMf. Tbai be Aonld afl>ear mn- 
 larmti m at jaogmeaa. ol ia^cm,-Kio, paha^ 
 BeasBed imbr tbe scale c^ be ova eaotmais 
 qinBiifMjjs no ""»!'"'■"">'»' oo Ms c^asacal attais- 
 ■ens. A mas bot bare made great adisaees 
 B the kaosledge of tbe dead "hagaages, and ret 
 be esseeaed as bxri:^ -ihile Lata aad ks 
 GneiL,' br oae sbo bad reaciied tbcse beigbts of 
 aAoia^ap, wisdx the feipind aad caBpasiaD of 
 Shak^ttaie bad ac^aered. it s a nroof tbat bs 
 aafmn^aOi is ibe rlrmir U^. 
 adoaUe, or JoBsoa iRnld 3c2^ 
 tiieB of -^iSi icMi Tahie to be £.. £_ iiuiTii'^r^:: 
 sBOBg bis qnaJTicirtiMiS. As to Ftendi, it ia eer- 
 toB thai be £dacR deal «nb tzaedaSJoiB osIt; 
 tor de las fiae of ooe of bs mmt odebrated 
 £j>eetb&, tbe Se«a Ae^ ' ' ■' - '■^. As ym Wcc 
 it, is Tipnytpd &(a9 a pc'- r Heanode, 
 
 Tioeb was £ts p^**^^ _ . ^. . . tnoot, and 
 
 Be<«r ira'K'iwed. Gamier, tbe aosbor ca it, s 
 descrri::^;: i? Ltoearasse of tbe gbcet of Adad- 
 lal C. ^ <>^^ a&er bis tmrder, at 
 
 the c- - :. BanbelcBDeir, aad imrodaees 
 
 the ic^ionag paaage : — 
 J— f yieds, mMM mBEmg, jksj imt, jtt«« mniUes. Acns 
 
 tiearlri ^ tmUtx ytartx. • 
 
 The- T-eare, 
 
 Sou !■ .43 u ra.rff, >mu ««rjt tUaf, 
 
 sezRxJT exceeds : A-gjtnaate traiEia. 
 
 tioa ; and tbe inir . repeiiooB of ibe 
 
 Fnach pRpoESS: ibat tbe etmtd- 
 
 deaee Ts insesS. L ^ds as aa ackncnr. 
 
 ledgBem of tbe Bsitatioa. iir. Capel Loffi bas. 
 
 pesbaps, Terr £eHt <~4Hmilfd tfae ml extcBt of 
 Sbakspeare 9 fianrr afciareaeats : ' He bad 
 vbat «odd aow be eosgdered a ttrr reasoaable 
 proponiao of Lacn ; be «^= - - ' -=1 
 
 of GreA: be bsi akaffwl; - =^3 
 
 as to lead it whi ease ; zx i r- ■{ 
 
 ^ Itj^am He 'sas babRsallv :a 
 
 tbe cbramcJes of i^ connarr. }: v 
 
 imbcbed the ScHptares.' — Aad »s- j 
 
 of bis FcMS eai Adtm aad tbe TH' . < ^. ice 
 vbicb were die firs pidiiidied esoits of Saal:- 
 speaie's gesios, it. Lo£ costizaes : * I tbisk it 
 ao: easT, viib dae znestiao to these poems, to 
 dcobt of bis bsvi:^ aajmred, iibeo a Vt. bo 
 Mjiuaij geSsT ia tbe dassc lafigvage of R jTse ; 
 aod, vbea Jcbsoo said be bad - lem Grto. '-^i 
 ' it beea trae ibat be ^d itOBe, it wodd b^ 
 ' as fe« :": r ■'-- rcrse as for die seBCmeat, 
 
 * W^aw Aesvihas &e <?miey», S uartwa atm, 
 and Hnra i g d at &« one xkacl. -were fanBariy 
 cc oi er ^ — ^:.. T r;^^ 2^ evea i w i ( lyimUii is 
 
 Siatr, } im. 
 
 -UiscaticQS for Ae ta^ Sbak- 
 
 -TWP^ to the tdnoT of tniron. 
 
 -? aad ibe b^nts of bis life, res- 
 
 ;<ecidiariT nafit far tbe sitsaiicm. Tbe 
 
 sodeiT ; aad tbe tbo' : ' TOtcb pie- 
 
 Tested bis besQg siAl: - ^as aboot tbe 
 
 coadoct aiai tbe fbaTart^rs itl ii^s «tS9oa2te^ ' He 
 bad br a nd^ortnne, coaraos eaoas^ to Toimg 
 feUcrxs, fejlea iato ill coaspaiiT,' san Rove ; J 
 aad tbe excesses isto ubicb tbey s f d a n d bim, 
 were br ao meaas coi&isteat nitb that senons- 
 oes ol deportBcst aad bebarioar -vbicb is ez- 
 :~i to acct^taoy the oecapatioD ^bat be bad 
 led. The foQanag aaecdote of tfa^e dars 
 '.-• :^ riot, is sn3 carreEt ai Stratford, aad tbe 
 aejgiboorii^ village of Kdford. I give it ia 
 die words of tbe asdior from wbtno it is feVoti 
 %ieakiiig d Bidford, be sajs, 'there were aa- 
 oesdj two societies of tillage- j e ua umj ia this 
 place, who fieqiiestlT met nader die appeSadon 
 of Kdjbrd topers. It was a e aisto ia of these 
 heroes to cbaHeife aaj of tbar s^egbboos, 
 fffd fcff tbe l'^- '' r ■ -i ale, to a drmAea 
 combat : amoK people of Strat f ord 
 
 were caBed ona ;. _ .: laeagtb, as'i in the 
 
 iut/\hf !T cf tbeir cbazcp^ccis, as tbe traitiooal 
 
 iisis. la cosEncanoD of tiiis tradinos, we fiad 
 aa ej^jaju wrinea br ^ AstOD Codbara, aad 
 poUsbed ia his poems ia IGSe, p. 134 ; it ross 
 doe : — 
 
 TO KX. CLzxian' niaia, or a iatoi. 
 
 Siakrftart, yomr fftmail ile ia& maA renows'd, 
 Tbaz isx'd a tte^zx k. Cdj c&aace wu fooad 
 
 ■f CeMMwra LUU-raria, Toi. ii- p. ^8. 
 
 ♦ Afkrruau Jrum SkaJuftare. inaoi. ». 12, 
 
 ) Life ^ Skakrpctirt. 
 
THB LIFE OF WILLUit SHAKSPEARE- 
 
 S l ft c yCa^ flat ^epe oeefcd aoc m i ii > -wged 
 Ttt s^% la* » bd^ere he v^a a lacd: 
 Bat 5*a mfirK (aa< ia k seems kmc eaeer;, 
 Tvili HBifce & lord as crvac ss ssy t tt^Ai . 
 BM .Vima Ircvsadiale as Skaksfcuc Bacies 
 DsA poc Ki: Sly into nch kjrdiy crunces : 
 Aad kc ss a«e% ciKi« ,Mr a ^ q£ g ia .^ni*s s , 
 ih^ dn^ aaEsdres Berry m uber satisess. 
 
 ' Wben tite ScaSord Isk w^s o^er ta Kd- 
 fivd, Aej fbaad tbe tofteis w«ie gone to Etss- 
 him &ir ; bat irere told, if tbey wisked to trv 
 riwTT stre^A TCB tke appas, A^ weie retdy 
 nr tbe coolest. Tkis boae acc ed ed to, ocr 
 bBd md his cOBposioBS ve;e sca^fered st :ae 
 first osisec, viiea ther tboogiit h advisaNe to 
 so^id a retr«a:. wiiik the meaas ot retreat wise 
 practicable; asd ti»B bad seaice manJKd bsif a 
 mile, bet are Usej we» all Sxoed to in^ dosm 
 Bore tiua tfieir anas, ar^l ^q^-^i^p ia a T?rr 
 disordeHj and airmi-itarr fbn, onder bo better 
 axecii^ tsas a lar^e crib-tree; oddsaetbev 
 rested tiQ g»omi-g. 
 
 'TSiij tree is ret san-frig bj- ie side of &e 
 rojd. E. as h bas faeea observed br tfe Iste 
 Mr. T. VTartoa, tbe SKoaest hovel to TBii:s 
 Siakspeare bas an aL^sija frttpn^r^ csi^ist, 
 ■ad actpores aa iz^urtaaee, ssielT tite tree 
 sbicii has spread its ^aie o>rer bin, aui ^ei- 
 teied Urn froB ^e dexs a£ ibe B^fat, bas a 
 cxaiai to oar atteaLioQ. 
 
 ' fai the Btonuag. vi>eQ the cooipaBT xsakes- 
 ed OCT bani tbo st.. ~ ij.-?, they eatreaSed bnn to 
 retsitt : -iir dse cbaigs; bot 
 
 this he c . ^ roami upoa tbe sJ- 
 
 f-iln'rr^ riili^e^. ciCli.I:;ie^i, "" Xo ! I have had 
 eaoasi ; I hive draai =i:ii 
 
 itiUs 13 with i^iet m Ssd <xz imsscrtal 
 wrs resides so eiaixed. coEip^i^ tse 
 
 a?e£. 
 
 s sorae reliei" •.: i:::— iit 'J .':'ic^ hj -:t7? 
 
 M'.'. in.? - .jTTai^ 
 
 was die irs; - 
 
 W"e can s . 
 correct 5:;d „ _ 
 
 oBeare. ia ^^^.l ; s.. ^L.i^..i._ 
 
 arvQivBd hi:n is i J-^^- '^- 
 
 weigisJT as is w^ocli "c-« ^ 
 
 to aiVi'j 0£ great eitea^i 
 
 Eiaaaers asd sestiaiesi.- 
 
 tE2ie; aad when w^ . 
 
 qKsces to — '- " .' — - i: _ 
 
 COodeSUl WTT-l " ;T cr CSiIS^L7r 
 
 Oil bj wi:_^ „ ^ - , _ ^ 
 
 Ae rssercoarse oi : 
 and br whic"" *" - 
 
 periiaps, h^-r^ _._ 
 
 vnls^r sei2=c2lrries. to aa e: 
 associates, or "ii-ie anaised :c ^ 
 
 tiactioa "-;»«■ the appUases of a co^nrr tc>'^ 
 Ooe o£" 3e aroorie asKECiBesEs of the 
 ecc^aakss witii wikxa Sia&sc«are ka>i 
 aected kiaiself. -^^is th 
 conies.' TSu- 
 
 -jse 
 
 \c. 
 
 ,f-, . 
 
 of 
 
 ids 
 
 wild 
 coo- 
 and 
 
 r3 of 
 ttes- 
 
 Fipiar PeVcwth. DiaciK; Var<t:.a. 
 HuarQed HnilizQ*. Haacr? Gratr;^. 
 
 Be^ari; Bcoooi, aad Dnaken Busied. " 
 
 • Of d» tnab of tias ssot, I bare ^ 
 dl^Bbc ; it is certaia. that the dab-txee 
 all rooad tie cxKStr 
 
 speve's nab : acd :. 
 
 allasioa is aude, all cci. _., t . ._ei5 _ - 
 
 thea: ^ F«¥^ •" Peiworth axe 5 
 
 {or their s^ OB &e pipe aad tabor : HL....... 
 
 is now (died Haaated SHbonx^b ; aad Grar. 
 is aototioas far the patent of its suiiL"* 
 
 Tfte abon reiaioa, if it be true, presents as 
 
 an ; oath of War- 
 
 w : --- ^ziispeare; aad 
 
 * laziAXS's JVfaJijyw r>nn. p. S»— S3. 
 
 - " ■ -• — Voij tt Dr. iolia TViraiMcacr'- 
 t:- -»r, aad hb kinaDua. Boten F 
 
 kt^ • «rfd«a 5a»e the^eelres to ti;r 
 
 bo. . - llMe ia tie fepcJTiyssckocLi 
 
 ar. . ':; 5f)M£^ i/tYT, aikd CIN«W^ 
 
 A.. - ;a. 
 
 .c» ca« deet^ haTin^ te«& staiea 
 fr ■ j.< LocT. PaaiMy dw * d«er aad 
 
 cc^L^^ ^'t rv =vX stoit;a froBi hiai ; aikd ^ "waf ocH 
 cLe aafi^trate tka: ounciitted aad ponrabed cite 
 
 part:caiar. the jc _ 
 
 The pe-rscQ ia 
 
 Iz 
 
 tise 
 
 - - ■ ■ - . ^..'ast 
 case of ietec- 
 
 -..■esses of Scakspeare 
 
 -- H.^ 7r;_? '-,--• jes a 
 
 r of 
 
 :-.: ia 
 
 a4K^3>ier$. V'thiiisr. h4."we»ei, 
 
 V caa be acr« aajiena 
 
 Nxes Srr a Uf* M' Sk^sfMK were aaaie ia I«M 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 the formation of the game laws ; • and the tres- 
 passes of our poet, whether committed on the 
 demesne of liimsclf or others, were as offensive 
 to his predilections as to his principles. Shak- 
 speare and his compeers were discovered, and 
 fell under the rigid lash of Sir Thomas Lucy's 
 authoritv and resentment. The knight attacked 
 the poet with the penalties of the law ; and the 
 poet revenged himself by sticking the following 
 satirical copy of verses on the gate of the 
 knight's park. 
 
 COPY OF THE VERSES ON SIR THOMAS LDCY. 
 
 ' A parlicment member, a justice of peace, 
 At home a poore scarecrowe, iu London an aaae ; 
 If Lucy is Lowijio, as some voll;c bii^^oall it, 
 Syut;e Lowsic Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 He thinks hymself preate, yet an ad.se in hys state. 
 We allowe bye his eares but with asses to mate ; 
 If Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
 Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 He's a haughty proud insolent knij;hte of the shire, 
 At home nobodye loves, yet theres many him feare ; 
 If Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
 Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 To the sessions he went, and dyd sorely complain, 
 His parke had been rob'd, and his deer they were 
 
 slain ; 
 This Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
 Synge Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 He sayd 'twas a ryot, his men bad been beat. 
 His venson was stole, and clandestinely eat; 
 Soe Lucy is Lowsie, as s9me volke misscall it, 
 Synjje Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 Soe haug:hty was he when the fact was confess'd. 
 He said 'twas a crime that could not bee redress'd ; 
 Soe Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
 Synye Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 ThoU(?h Lucies a dovten he paints iu his coat, 
 Hii) name it shall Lowsie for Lucy bee wrote ; 
 For Lucy is Lowsie, as some volke misscall it, 
 Syng-e Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 If a iuvcnile fnilick lie cannot forgive. 
 We 'U synj^e Lowsie Lucy as lon^ as we live: 
 And Lucy the Lowsie a libel may call it. 
 We '11 syn^e Lowsie Lucy whatever befall it.t 
 
 It would appear thSt the above song, the first 
 effort we have received of our author's poetical 
 talents, was not his only attempt at this kind of 
 retaliation. It is said, in a book called a Mtim- 
 script Hiitori) of the Stage, which is supposed by 
 Malonc to have been written between 17'27 and 
 1730, 'that the learned Mr. Joshua Barnes, late 
 Greek professor of the University of Cambridge, 
 baiting about forty years ago at an inn in Strat- 
 ford, and hearing an old woman singing part of 
 the abovesaid song, such was his respect for Mr. 
 Shakspeare's genius, that he gave her a new 
 
 • D'EwEs's Jonrnat, p. 303. 
 
 i One verse of this pasquinade was retained by 
 memory, and transmitted by Mr. Jones, to Oldys 
 nndCapel. The entire song: was recently discovered 
 in a chest of drawers, that formerly belonged to 
 Mrs. Dorothy Tyler, of .Shottery, near Stratford, who 
 
 gown for the two following stanzas in it; and 
 could she have said it all, he would (as he often 
 said in comp<any, when any discourse has casu- 
 ally arose about him) have given her ten 
 guineas. 
 
 * Sir Thomas was too covetous. 
 
 To covet so much deer; 
 When horns enough upon his head 
 
 Most plainly did appear. 
 
 Had not his worship one deer left 7 
 
 What then '( He had a wife. 
 Took pains enough to find him horns. 
 
 Should last him during life.' 
 
 The volume in which this anecdote is found, 
 is not much to be relied upon ; for the author 
 has been, in several instances, detected as too 
 credulous in receiving the reports of others, or as 
 actually criminal, in giving the reins to his ima- 
 gination, and supplying the want of facts by the 
 resources of his invention. The verses, however, 
 which prove not to have been, as was originally 
 supposed, part of the first satirical effusion, but 
 the fragment of another Je» il'esprit of the same 
 kind, and on the same subject, sufficiently au- 
 thenticate themselves. The quibble on the word 
 deer, is one that was familiar with our author ;f 
 and, says WTiiter, ' the lines may be readily con- 
 ceived to have proceeded from our young bard, 
 before he was removed from the little circle of 
 his native place. '|| Besides, the author of the 
 book in which they were first published must 
 have possessed an intrepidity of falsehood unpa- 
 ralleled in the history of literary forgeries, if he 
 had dared, so soon after the death of Joshua 
 Barnes, to advance a story of this kind as a no- 
 torious fact, when, had it been a fiction, any of 
 the professor's friends would have had an oppor- 
 tunity of contradicting him. Malone considers 
 these verses, as well as the first, a forgery ; and 
 cites the epitaph erected by Sir Thomas Lucy, 
 in praise of his wife, as evidence of their spu- 
 riousness. Exaggerated censure is the very 
 essence of a satire : exaggerated praise is the 
 universal characteristic of the epitaph. Each is 
 equally wide of the truth ; it is probable, that 
 the real character of Lady Lucy neither warranted 
 the panegyric of her husband, nor the severitv of 
 Shakspeare. But it would, at the present day, 
 puzzle the ingenuity of an CEdipus, to determine 
 wh.ch was most likely to afford the fairest esti- 
 mate of her worth. 
 
 The contest between Shakspeare and Sir 
 Thomas Lucy was unequal ; and the result was 
 such as might have been anticipated, from the 
 disproportion that existed between the strength 
 and weapons of the opposing parties. The poet 
 
 died in 1773, at the age of eighty. Malone considers 
 the whole a forgery. The last stanza is indeed of a 
 very suspicious appearance. 
 
 I Henry VI. part 1, act IV. scene 2, and Henry 
 IV. part 1, act V. scene 4. 
 
 I[ Specimen of a Commentary on Shakspeare, p. 04. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 might irritate by his wit; but the magistrate 
 could wound by his authority. It is recorded 
 by Mr. Davies, that the knight 'had him oft 
 tchipt, and sometimes imprisoned, and at last 
 made him fly his native country.'* That the 
 severity was undue, there can be little room for 
 doubting. Every contemporary who has spoten 
 of our author, has been lavish in the praise of 
 his temper and disposition. ' The gentle Shak- 
 spcare' seems to have been his distinguishing ap- 
 pellation. No slight portion of oiu- enthusiasm 
 for his writings, may be traced to the fair picture 
 which they present of our author's character : 
 we love the tenderness of heart — the candour and 
 openness, and singleness of mind — the largeness 
 of sentiment — the liberality of opinion, which 
 the whole tenor of his works prove him to have 
 possessed : his faults seem to have been the tran- 
 sient aberrations of a thoughtless moment, which 
 reflection never failed to correct. The ebulli- 
 tions of high spirits might mislead him ; but the 
 principles and the affections never swerved from 
 what was right. Against such a person, the 
 extreme severity of the magistrate should not 
 have been exerted. His youth — his genius — his 
 accomplishments — his wife and children, should 
 have mitigated the rigour of the authority that 
 was armed against him. The powerful enemy 
 of Shakspeare was not to be appeased : the heart 
 of the Puritan or the game-preserver is very 
 rarely 'framed of penetrable stuff." Our author 
 fled from the inflexible persecutions of his oppo- 
 nent, to seek a shelter in the metropolis ; and he 
 found friends, and honour, and wealth, and fame ; 
 where he had only hoped for an asylum. Sir' 
 Thomas Lucy remained to enjoy the triumph of 
 his victory ; and he yet survives in the character 
 of Justice Shallow, as the laughing-stock of 
 posterity, and as another specimen of the exqui- 
 site skill, with which the victim of his magiste- 
 rial authority was capable of painting the pecu- 
 liarities of the weak and the vain, the arrogant 
 and the servile, f 
 
 About the year 1587, in the twenty-third of 
 his age, Shakspeare arrived in London. It is 
 not possible to discover the inducements which 
 led our poet, after his flight from Stratford, to 
 seek his home and his subsistence in the neigh- 
 bourhood of a theatre. Probably, in the course 
 of their travels, he might have formed an ac- 
 
 • Fuhuau's MSS. vol. XV., art. Shakspeare. 
 
 ^There can be no doubt, that Justice Shallow was 
 deaijcned as the representative of the kiiiglit. It" the 
 truditiouiil uuthority of this fact were not quite satis- 
 factory, the description of his coat of arms, in the 
 tirst scene of The M,-ity Ifiies 0/ tfindsor, which 
 Is; with very sliirht deviation, that of the Liicies, 
 would be sufiicieut to direct us 10 the orig-iual of the 
 portrait. 
 
 t }Ui.o.Ni!. Reed's Sliaks]ieare,yo\. i. p. 63. 
 
 i JoUNSO.s. Jieeii's Shaksj^ettre, vol. i. p. 120, One 
 reason alle^d for discraditin^ this account, is, its 
 
 quaintance with some of the performers, during 
 the occasional visits which they had made to 
 Stratford. Hcmingc and Burbage, distinguished 
 performers of the time, were both Warwickshire 
 men, and born in the vicinity of Stratford. 
 Greene, another celebrated comedian of the day, 
 was the townsman, and he is thought to have 
 been the relation, of Shakspeare. On arriving 
 in the metropolis, these were perhaps his only 
 acquaintance, and they secured his introduction 
 to the theatre. It seems however agreed, that 
 his first occupation theie was of the very lowest 
 order. One tradition relates, that his original 
 office was that of call-boii, or prompter's attend- 
 ant ; whose employment it is, to give the per- 
 formers notice to be ready to enter, as often as 
 the business of the play requires their appearance 
 on the stage : ^ while another account, Trhich has 
 descended in a very regular line from Sir William 
 DWvenant to Dr. Johnson, states, that Shak- 
 speare's first expedient was to wait at the door of 
 the playhouse, and hold the horses of those wi:o 
 rode to the theatre, and had no servants to take 
 charge of them during the hours of performance. 
 It is said, ' that he became so conspicuous in this 
 office, for his care and readiness, that in a short 
 time, every man as he alighted called for Will 
 Shahpeare; and scarcely any other waiter was 
 trusted with a horse, while Will Shakspeare 
 could be had. This was the first dawn of better 
 fortune. Shakspeare finding more horses put 
 into his hand than he could hold, hired boys to 
 wait tmder his inspection, who, when H iJ( Shak- 
 speare was summoned, were immediately to pre- 
 sent themselves, I am Shukspeare''s boy^ iir. In 
 time, Shakspeare found higher employment, but 
 as long as the practice of riding to the playhouse 
 continued, the waiters that held the horses 
 retained the appellation of Shahsiieare's (wys. § 
 That the above anecdote was really communi- 
 ciited by Pope, there is no room to doubt. This 
 fact Dr. Johnson states upon his own authority, 
 and coming from such a source, the story is cer- 
 tainly deserving of more^spect than the com- 
 mentators have been inclined to attach to it. It 
 was originally related by D'.-\venant, who, if the 
 frequenters of the theatre had ever been in the 
 habit of riding to the play, must have remembered 
 the time ; and if at that time, the lads who took 
 charge of the horses were, as he affirmed, called 
 
 having apjieared first in Cibbcr's Lives of the Poe*s, 
 a book of uo authority. But the general inaccuracy 
 of that work, ouu:ht not, in the present instance, to 
 be considered as impu^iiui: the credibility of its 
 narration. The book was, ia fact, written by Shiells, 
 the amanuensis of Dr. Johnson, and he, most probs- 
 bly, picked up from his employer this piece of orici- 
 nal information. Johnson, in his edition of Shak 
 speare, repeated it, without any allusion to Shiells s 
 work, as having come to him immediately from 
 Pope, and in apparent ignorance of its ever hoviug 
 been printed before. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Sfiukspeare's boys, that circumstance is the 
 KtroMi^^fSt possible corroboration of the story. 
 But it was known to Rowe, and rejected by liini ; 
 and Steevens advances this omission as a proof 
 that our author's first biographer considered the 
 anecdote incredible, and wholly undeserving his 
 attention. Rovve's suppression of the lact may 
 however have originated in some other cause 
 than his suspicion of its truth. Might he not 
 have been actuated by that absurd s\)\nt of re- 
 finement, which is only too common among the 
 writers of biography, as well as history, and 
 which induces them to conceal or misrepresent 
 every occurrence whicli is at all of a humiliating 
 nature, and does not accord with those false and 
 etfominate notions so generally entertained re- 
 spoctmg the dignity of that peculiar class of 
 cumposit.'oxi ? Hut, however inferior the situa- 
 tion wliica Shalispeare occupied on first entering 
 upon his dramatic career, his talents werp not 
 
 • 'I'lie most ancient as well as most complete col- 
 lection of this kind is The Chaster MyHerks, which 
 were written not by Kiilph Hidden, as was 3ui»pos<>il 
 by Wartuii, Malont-, and others, but by an earlier 
 eeclesiastic of the Al)bcy of Cliester, named pLandail, 
 and were lirst rejuesented between the years 12(>3 
 and larc. The followini? extract is from MSS. Hurl. 
 2013, &c. 'Exhibited at Chester in the year 1327, 
 at the expense of the dirt'i-rent tnuling companies of 
 that city. The Full of Lucijtr, by the Tanners. 
 The Creatioti, by the Draper;*. The JJiliige, by the 
 Dvers. AOruham, Mdchiscdvcky and Lot, by the 
 Barbers. jlfdvM, jinlak^ and Baluum, by the Cap- 
 pers. The Salutation and Nativity, \iy the VVrightes. 
 The Shepherds /ficding their Flocks by Night, by the 
 Puiiitei-s and Glaciers. 7'he three Kings, by tlie- 
 Vintners. The Oblation of the three Kings, by the 
 Mercers. 7'he killing of the Innocents, by the 
 Goldsmiths. The Purification, by the Hlackr^niiths. 
 The Temptation, by the Butchers. The Last Stepper, 
 by the liakers. The Blind Men and Lazarus, by 
 thr Glovers. Jesus and the Lepers, by the Corve- 
 sfiiys. Christ's Passion, by the liowyers, Fletchers, 
 and I(t)nmongers. Descent into Neil, by the Cooks 
 and Innkeepers. The ItesurTection,hy the Skinners. 
 The Ascension, by the Taylors. The Flection of St. 
 Mathius, sending of the Holy Ghost, ^c. by the 
 Fishmong-ei-s. Anti<^-tst, by the Clothiers. Dan 
 of Judgment, by the Wcbsters. Tlie reader will 
 perhaps smile at some of these combinations. This 
 is the substance and order of the former part of the 
 play. God enters cicatins;- the world: he breathes 
 life into Adam, leads him into Paradise, and opens 
 bis side while sleeping. Adam and Eve appear 
 naked, and not ashamed, AnA the old serpent enters, 
 lamenting- hi^ fail. He converses with Eve. She 
 eats of the forbidden fiuit, and jjives part to Adam. 
 TUey pi-opose, accordinu: to the stage-direction, to 
 make themselves subligacula a foliis quibus tega- 
 mils pudenda. Cover their nakedness with leaves, 
 and converse with God. God's curse. The serpent 
 exit hissing'. They are driven from Paradise by 
 four angels and the cherubim with a flaming sword. 
 Adam appears digtring the ground, and Eve spinning. 
 Tlieir children Cain and Abel enter: the former 
 kills his brother. Adam's laraeutation. Cain is 
 banished,' &c. — W wnoti's lii-stort/ of •English Poetry, 
 vol. i p. 243. 
 
 Indulgences were granted to those who attended 
 the representation of these ^nysteries 
 
 long buried in obscurity. He rapidly rose to the 
 highest station in the theatre ; and, by the power 
 of his genius, raised our national -dramatic 
 poetry, then in its merest infancy, to the highest 
 state of perfection which it is perhaps capable of 
 reaching. 
 
 It is impossible for any art to have attained a 
 more rapid growth, than was attained by the art 
 of dramatic writing in this country. The people 
 had, indeed, been long accustomed to a species 
 of exhibition, called miracles, or mysteries,* 
 founded on sacred subjects, and performed by the 
 ministers of religion themselves, on the holy 
 festivals, in or near the churches, and designed 
 to instruct the ignorant in the leading facts of 
 sacred History. From the occasional introduc- 
 tion of allegorical characters, such as Faith^ 
 Death, Hope, or Sin, into these religious dramas, 
 representations of another kind, cr.lled mohali- 
 TiEs,f had by degrees arisen, of which the plots 
 
 t We have a curious account in a book entitled 
 Mount Tabor, or private Fxcrcises of a Penitent 
 Sinner, bij R. W. [R. Willis,] Estf. published in the 
 year of his age 75, Auuo Domini, \G:i9; an extract 
 from wliich will give the reader a more accurate no- 
 tion of the old Moralities, than a long dissertation 
 on the subject. 
 
 * UPON A STAGE-PLAY WHICH 1 SAW WHEN I 
 WAS A CIllLU. 
 
 ' In the city of Gloucester the manner is (as 1 think 
 it is in uUiur like corporations), that when players oi 
 interludes come to towne, they first attend the 
 Mayor, to enforme him wliat nobleman's servants 
 they are, and so to get licence for their publike play- 
 ing; and if the Mayor like the actors, or would shew 
 respect to their lord and master, he appoints them to 
 play their lirst play before himself, and the Alder- 
 man and Common-Counsell of the city; and that is 
 called t/ic Mayor's play : where every one that will, 
 conies in without nmney, the Mayor giving the 
 players a reward as hee thinks tit to shew respect 
 unto them. .A.t such a play, uiy father tooke me 
 with him and made me stand between his legg^, as 
 he .sate upon one of the benches, w^here we saw and 
 beard very well. The play was called The Cradle 
 of Security, wherein was personated a king or some 
 great prince, with his courtiers of several kinds, 
 among which three ladies were in special grace with 
 him; and they keeping him in delights and plea- 
 sures, drew him from his graver counsellors, healing 
 uf sermons, and listening to good councell and ad 
 monitions, that in the end they got him to lye down 
 in a cradle upon the stage, where these three ladies 
 joyning in a sweet song, rocked him asleepe, and he 
 snorted agaiue ; and in the mean time closely con- 
 veyed under the cloaihs wherewithall he was cover- 
 ed, a vizard, like a swine's snout, upon bis face, with 
 three wire chains fastened thereunto, the other end 
 wliereof being Lolden severally by those three la- 
 dies ; who fall to singing againe, and then disco- 
 vered his face, that the spectator might see how 
 they had transformed him, going on with their 
 hinging. Whilst ail this was acting, there came 
 forth, of another doore at the farthest end of the 
 stage, two old mi-n ; the one in blew, with a serjeant 
 at armes, his niaLX- on his ^^houlder ; the other in red, 
 with a drawn sword in his hand, and leaning with 
 the other hand upon the other's shoulder; and so 
 they went aiouii- with a soft pace round about the 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 were more artificial, regular, and connected, and 
 which were entirely formed of such personifica- 
 tions ; but the first rough draught of a regular 
 tragedy and comedy that appeared, Lord Sack- 
 ville's GorboduCy and Still's Gummer Gurton's 
 Needle, were not produced till within the latter 
 half of the sixteenth centur)-, and but little more 
 than twenty years previous to Shakspeare's arri- 
 val in the metropolis. • 
 
 About that time, the attention of the public 
 began to be more generally directed to the stage ; 
 and it throve admirably beneath tbe cheerful 
 beams of popularity. The theatrical perform- 
 ances which had, in the early part of the reign 
 of Elizabeth, been exhibited on temporary stages, 
 erected in such halls or apartments as the actors 
 could procure, or, m^re generally, in the yards 
 of the great inns, while the spectators surveyed 
 them from the surrounding windows and galleries, 
 began to be established in more convenient and 
 permanent situations. About the year 1569, a 
 regular playhouse, under the appropriate name 
 of The Theatre^ was built. It is supposed to have 
 stood somewhere in Blackfriars ; and three years 
 after the commencement of this establishment, 
 yielding to her inclination for the amusements of 
 the theatre, and disregarding the remonstrances 
 of the Puritans, the queen granted license and 
 authority to the Ser^-ants of the Earl of Leicester, 
 'to use, exercise, and occupie, the arte and fa- 
 cultie of playinge commedies, tragedies, inter- 
 ludes, stage-playcs, as well for the recreation of 
 our lo\'inge subjects, as for our solace and plea- 
 sure, when we shall thinke good to see them, 
 throughoute our realme of England." From this 
 time, the number of theatres increased with the 
 ripening taste and the increasing demands of the 
 Deople. Various noblemen had their respective 
 companies of performers, who were associated as 
 their sen-ants, and acted under their protection ; 
 and during the period of Shakspeare's theatrical 
 career, not less than seven principal playhouses 
 were open in the metropolis. 
 
 Of these the Globe^ and the playhouse in 
 BtackJ'riarSy were the property of the company 
 to which Shakspeare was himself attached, and 
 
 skirt of the stage, till at last they came to the cradle, 
 when all the court was in the greatest jollity ; and 
 tht-n tlie foremost old n»an with his mace stroke a 
 fearful! blow upon the cradle; wherewith all the 
 courtiers, with tlie three ladies, and the vizard, all 
 vanished ; and the desolate prince starting up bare- 
 faced, and tiudiui;- himself thus sent for to judtjnient, 
 made a lamentable complaint of his miserable case, 
 and so was carried away by wicked spirits. This 
 prince did personate in the Morall, the wicked of 
 the world; the three ladies, Pride, Coveiouaness, 
 and Luxury ; the tuo old men, the end of the world, 
 and the last judipuent. This slight took such impres- 
 sion in me. that when I came towards man's estate, 
 it was as fresh in my memory, as if 1 had seen it 
 newly acted.' 
 
 The writer of tliis book appears to have been bom 
 Id the eame year with our great poet (1364). Sup- 
 
 by whom all his productions were exhibited. 
 The Globe appears to have been a wooden build- 
 ing of a considerable size, hexagonal without, 
 and circular within ; it was thatched in part, but 
 a large portion of the roof was open to the wea- 
 ther. This was the company's summer theatre ; 
 and the plays were acted by day-light : at the 
 Blackfrurrs, on the contrary, which was the win- 
 ter theatre, the top was entirely closed, and the 
 performances were exhibited by candle-light. In 
 every other respect, the economy and usages of 
 these housft appear to have been the same, and 
 to have resembled those of every other contem- 
 porary theatre. 
 
 AiVith respect to the interior- arrangement, 
 there were very few points of difference between 
 our modern theatres and those of the daj-s of 
 Shakspeare. The terms of admission, indeed, 
 were considerably cheaper; to the boxes, the 
 entrance was a shilling, to the pit and galleries 
 only sixpence. f Sixpence, also, was the price 
 paid for stools upon the stage ; and these seats, 
 as we learn from Decker's Gull's Hombooky were 
 peculiarly affected by the wits and critics at the 
 time. The conduct of the audience was less 
 restrained by the sense of public decorum, and 
 smoking tobacco, playing at cards, eating and 
 drinking, were generally prevalent among them : 
 the hour of performance also was earlier ; the 
 play beginning at first at one, and afterwards at 
 three o'clock, in theal'ternoon. During the time 
 of representation, a flag was unfurled at the top 
 of the theatre ; and the floor of the stage (as was 
 the case with every floor at the time, from the 
 cottage to the palace.) was strewn with rushes. 
 But in other respects, the ancient theatres seem 
 to have been verj' nearly similar to those of mo- 
 dern times : they had their pit, where the infe- 
 rior class of spectators — the groundUngs — vented 
 their clamorous censure or approbation ; thev 
 had their boxes, and even their private boxes, of 
 which the right of exclusive admission was hired 
 by the night, for the more wealthy and refined 
 portion of the audience ;| and there were again 
 the galleries, or scaffolds iibove the boxes, for 
 those wh(T were content to purchase inferior 
 
 posing him to have been seven or eight years old 
 when he saw this interlude, the exhibition must 
 have been in lS71,orlS72. — Malon£, History of the 
 English Sfage. 
 
 • Gorboduc was produced in 1562. Gammer Gur* 
 ton, in I5tit). 
 
 t These prices appear latterly to have risen to two 
 shilling and half-a-crown for the best places. The 
 prices at the Blackfriars, were higher than at the 
 Globe. — Reed's Shaksjfcare, vol. iii. p. 78. 
 
 X A little i^ique happened betwixt the duke of 
 Lenox, and the Lord Chamberlain, atwut a box, 
 in a new play at the BliickfrUirs, of which the duke 
 had pot tlie key; which if it had come to be debated 
 betwixt them, as it was once intended, some heat 
 or perhn}^s other inconvenience might have hap- 
 pened.'— Ac^/rr/rowi Mr. GiJrrard, dated Jan. 22th, 
 1535. Strair. Letters, vol. i. p. 511. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPE ARE. 
 
 accommodation at a clieaper rate. On the stage, 
 the arrangements appear to have been nearly the 
 same as at present — the curtain divided the au- 
 dience from the actors ; which, at the third sound- 
 ing, not indeed of the bell, but of tlie trumpet, was 
 drawn for the commencement of the performance. 
 -Malone has puzzled himself and his readers, in 
 his account of the ancient theatre, by the suppo- 
 sition tliat there was a permanent elevation of 
 about nine feet, at the back of the stage, from 
 which, in many of the old plays, part dl the dia- 
 logue was spoken ; and that there was a private 
 box on each side of this platform. Such an ar- 
 rangement would have precluded the possibility 
 of all theatrical illusion ; and it seems an extra- 
 ordinaiy place to fix upon as a station for specta- 
 tors, where they could have seen nothing but the 
 backs and trains of the performers. But as Ma- 
 lone himself acknowledges the spot to have been 
 inconvenient, and that ' it is not very easy to 
 ascertain the precise situation where these boxes 
 really were ;'* it may be presumed, from our 
 knowledge of the good sense of our forefathers, 
 that, if indeed such boxes existed at all, they cer- 
 tainly were not where the historian of the Eng- 
 lish stage has placed them. Malone was possessed 
 with an opinion, that the use of scenes was 
 unknown in the early years of our national drama, 
 and he was perhaps not unwilling to adopt such 
 a theory respecting the distribution of the stage 
 as would effectually preclude the supposition 
 that such aids to the imagination of the audience 
 had ever been employed. That he was in error 
 respecting the want of painted scenery, I cannot 
 help suspecting, even against the high authority 
 of Mr. Gifford.f As to his permanent platform, 
 Dr upper stage, he may, or may not, be correct in 
 his opinion ; all that is certain upon this subject 
 is, that his quotations do not authorize the con- 
 clusion that he has deduced from them ; and only 
 prove that in the old, as in the modern theatre, 
 when the actor was to speak from a window, or 
 appear upon a balcony, or on the walls of a for- 
 tress, the requisite ingenuity was not wanting 
 to contrive an adequate representation of the 
 place. But, with regard to the use of scenery, 
 it is scarcely possible, from the very circumstances 
 of the case, that such a contrivance should have 
 escaped our ancestors. All the materials were 
 ready to their hands ; they had not to invent for 
 themselves, but to adapt an old invention to their 
 own purposes : and at a time when every better 
 apartment was adorned with tapestry; when even 
 the rooms of the commonest taverns were hung 
 with painted cloths ; while all the essentials of 
 scenery were continually before their eyes, we 
 can hardly believe our forefathers to have been 
 so deficient in ingenuity, as to suppose that they 
 never should have conceived the design of con- 
 
 • Reed's Shak/i'pcare, vol. iii. p. 83, note 9. 
 t Massin^er, vol. i. p. 103. 
 
 verting the common ornaments of their walls 
 into the decorations of their theatres. But, the 
 fact appears to be, that the use of scenery was 
 almost coexistent with the introduction of dra- 
 matic representations in this country. In the 
 Chester Mysteries, written in 1268, and, which 
 are the most ancient and complete collection of 
 the kind that we possess, we have the following 
 stage direction : ' Then Noe shall go into the 
 arke with all his familye, his wife excepte. Tht 
 arke nuisi be bimnhil round about, and upon tlie 
 border all tlie beastes andjawies heveajter rehearsed 
 must be painted, that their wordea may agree 
 with the pictures. 'J In this passage, then, is a 
 distinct reference to a painted scene ; and it is 
 not likely, that in the lapse of three centuries, 
 while all other arts were in a state of rapid im- 
 provement, and the art of dramatic writing per- 
 haps more rapidly and successfully improved than 
 any other, the art of theatrical decoration shoidd 
 have alone stood still. It is not improbable that 
 their scenes were few ; and that these were varied 
 as occasion might require, by the introduction of 
 diiferent pieces of stage furniture. Mr. Gilford, 
 who adheres to Malonc's opinion, says, ' a table 
 with a pen and ink thrust in, signified that the 
 stage was a counting-house ; if these were with- 
 drawn, and two stools put in their places, it was 
 then a tavern ;'§ and this might be perfectly 
 satisfactory, as long as the business of the play 
 was supposed to be passing within doors, but 
 when it was removed to the open air, such mea- 
 gre devices would no longer be sufficient to guide 
 the imagination of the audience, and some new 
 method must have been adopted to indicate the 
 place of action. After giving the subject consi- 
 derable attention, I cannot help thinking that 
 Steevens was right in rejecting the evidence of 
 Malone, strong as it may in some instances 
 appear ; and concluding that the spectators were, 
 as at the present day, assisted in following the 
 progress of the story, by means of painted and 
 moveable scenery. This opinion is confirmed 
 by the ancient stage directions. In the folio 
 Shakspcare, of 1623, we read, ' Enter Brutus, 
 in his orchard.' ' Enter Timon, in the woods,* 
 ^ EntQT Timon, from his care.' In Coriolanus: 
 
 * Marcius follows them to the gates, and is shut in.' 
 Innumerable instances of the same kind might 
 be cited, to prove that the ancient stage was not 
 so defective in the necessary decorations as some 
 antiquarians of great authority would represent. 
 
 * It may be added,' says Steevens, ' that the dia- 
 logue of Shakspeare has such perpetual reference 
 to objects supposed visible to the audience, that 
 the want of scenery could not have failed to 
 render many of the descriptions uttered by his 
 speakers absurd and laughable. Banquo ex- 
 amines the outside of Inverness castle with auch 
 
 I Rked's Shakspeare, vol. iii. p. 12. 
 $ Masslnger, vol. i. p. 103. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 minuteness, that he distinguishes even the nests 
 which the martins had built under the projecting 
 parts of its roof. Romeo, standing in a garden, 
 points to the tops of fruit-trees gilded by the moon. 
 The prologue speaker to the Second Pan of King 
 Henry IV. t expressly shews the spectators, *'this 
 worm-eaten hold of ragged stone." in which 
 Northumberland was lodged. lachimo takes the 
 most exact inventory of every article in Imogen's 
 bed-chamber, from the silk and silver of which 
 her tapestry was wrought, down to the Cupids 
 that support her andirons. Had not the inside 
 of this apartment, with its proper furniture, been 
 represented, how ridiculous must the action of 
 lachimo have appeared! He must have stood 
 looking out of the room for the particulars sup- 
 posed to be visible within it. In one of the parts 
 of King Henry VI., a cannon is discharged 
 as^ainst a tower ; and conversations are held in 
 almost every scene from different walls, turrets, 
 and battlements.' Indeed, must not all the hu- 
 mour of the mock play in the Midsummer Night's 
 Dream have failed in its intent, unless the au- 
 dience before whom it was performed were 
 accustomed to be gratified by the combination of 
 all the embellishments requisite to give effect to 
 a dramatic representation, and could therefore 
 estimate the absurdity of those shallow contri- 
 vances, and mean substitutes for scenery, which 
 were devised by the ignorance of the clowns?* 
 
 In only one respect do I perceive any material 
 difference between the mode of representation 
 at the time of Shakspeare and at present. In 
 his day, the female parts were performed by 
 boyS:f this custom, which must in many cases 
 have materially injured the illusion of the scene, 
 was in others of considerable advantage. It 
 furnished the stage with a succession of youths 
 regularly educated to the art, and experienced 
 to fill the parts appropriate for their age. It 
 
 • Tliis question appears to be set at rest by the 
 following: extracts of expenses from the Book of 
 Keveis, the oldest that exists, in the office of tlie 
 auditors of the Imprest. ' T/ie Cidlorer, Wiliiam 
 Lyzard, for jTold, sylver, and sundry other cullers by 
 him spent, in painting the houses that served for 
 the playes and players at tlie coorte, with their pro- 
 perties and necessaries incident. Sec, 13/. 16.^. Id. 
 
 ' Paper for pattemes, and for leaves of trees, and 
 other t^arnisbing, 4 reams, 24*. 
 
 * Airs. I);ine,lhe lyunen dealer, for canvas to paynte 
 for houses for the players, and other properties, as 
 monsters, yreat boHow trees, and such other, twenty 
 dozen ells, I'll. 
 
 ' William Lyzarde, for syze, cullers, pottes, nayles, 
 and pciisills, used and occupied upon the pajTitinge 
 of seven cities, one villadge, one countrey bouse, 
 one battlement, nine axes, a braunche, lillyes, and a 
 mounte for Christmas three holidays, 4/. 15^. Sd.' 
 
 Tiiere are several otj^ier references to 'paynting 
 great clothes of canvas,' which were evidently 
 neither liiore nor less than moveable canvass scenes. 
 —See Boswull's Shakspeare, vol. iii. p. 364 — 409. 
 
 t Tbrt tirst woman who appeared in a regular 
 drauaj on a public Btage, performed the part of Dea- 
 
 obviated the necessity of obtJ"uding performers 
 before the public in parts that were unsuited to 
 their time of life. When the Idd had become 
 too tall for Juliet^ he was prepared to act, and was 
 most admirably calculated in age to assume, the 
 character of the ardent Romeo : when the voice 
 had the 'mannish crack,' that rendered the 
 youth unfit to appear as the representative of the 
 gentle Imogen, he was skilled in the knowledge 
 of the stage, and capable of doing justice to the 
 princely sentiments of i4ruiV(igus or Guidcrius. 
 
 Such then was the state of the stage when 
 Shakspeare entered into its service, in the double 
 capacity of actor and author. As an author, 
 though Dryden says, that 
 
 * Shakspeare's own muse his Pericles first bore,'J 
 it is most probable that Titus Andronicus was the 
 earliest dramatic effort of his pen. Shakspeare 
 arrived in London about the year 1587, and ac- 
 cording to the date of the latter play, as intimated 
 by Ben Jonson, iii his introduction to Bartholo- 
 mew Fair,§ we find it to have been produced 
 immediately after his arrival. That Titus An- 
 dronicus is really the work of Shakspeare, it 
 would be a defiance to all contemporary evidence 
 to doubt. It was not only printed among his works 
 by his friends, Heminge and Condell, but is 
 mentioned as one of his tragedies by an author, || 
 who appears to have been on such terms of inti- 
 macy with him, as to have been admitted to a 
 sight of his iVIS. sonnets. Against this testimony, 
 the critics have nothing to oppose but the accu- 
 mulated horrors of its plot; the stately march 
 of its versification; and the dissimilarity of its 
 style from the other efforts of Shakspeare's 
 genius. It does not strike me that these argu- 
 ments are sufficient to lead us to reject the play 
 as the composition of our great dramatist. He 
 was, perhaps, little more than three-and- twenty 
 years of age when it was composed. The plays^ 
 
 demona, about the year 1660. Hername is unknown. 
 — Reed's Siiakspeare, vol iii. p. 133. 
 
 J Prolog-ue to the Tra^iedy of Circe. 
 
 $ In the year 1614, he speaks of it as a play which 
 had then been exhibited ' tive-and-twenty or thirty 
 years.' 
 
 II Meres, Palladis Tamia. 
 
 T Acolastus 1540. 
 
 Gorboduc 1561. 
 
 Damon and Pyf/iias 1502. 
 
 Tann-ed and Gismiuid 1568. 
 
 Cimibi/.scs, before 1570. 
 
 Appius and Virginia ) 
 
 Gam. GurtoJi's Aefd/e S ' ' 
 
 Promos and Cassa7id}'a 1578. 
 
 Arraignmnit of Paris J 
 
 Suplio and Phaon > . . . . l.')84. 
 
 Ait:iander and Campaspe j 
 
 Misfortunes of Arthur 1587. 
 
 Jeronimo ) 
 
 ^Spanish Tragedy V I5AS. 
 
 Tarnburlaine J 
 
 Titus Andronicus IM9. 
 
 Reed's Shakspeare, vol. iii. p. 3, 4. note 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 which at the time had possession of the stage, of 
 which very few had been written, and not above 
 fifteen are extant, supposing Andronicus to have 
 been produced in 1589, were all of the same 
 bombastic and exaggerated character; and the 
 youthful poet naturally imitated the popular 
 manner, and strove to beat his contemporaries 
 with their own weapons. However tiresome the 
 tragedy may be to us, it was a great favourite at 
 its first appearance. It was full of barbarities 
 that shock the refined ta.ste ; but these formed a 
 mode of exciting the interest of the audience 
 which was very commonly had recourse to by the 
 play-writers of the ago, and from which Shak- 
 speare never became fully weaned, even at a 
 period when his judgment was matured; as we 
 may learn from the murder of Macduff^s children, 
 the hamstringing of Cassio, and the plucking out 
 the eyes of Gloucester, The versification and 
 language of the play, are certainly very different 
 from those of Othello, of Hamlet, of Macbeth, or 
 Lear. The author had not yet acquired that 
 facility of comp"sition for which he was after- 
 wards distinguished. He wrote with labour, and 
 left in every line the trace of the labour with 
 which he wTOte. He had not yet discovered 
 (and it was he who eventually made the disco- 
 very), that the true language of nature and of 
 passion is that which passes most directly to the 
 heart : but it is not with the works of his expe- 
 rienced years, that this ' bloody tragedy' should 
 be compared ; if it be, we certainly should find 
 a difficulty in admitting that writings of such 
 opposite descriptions, could be the eflfusions of 
 the same intellect ; but, compare this tragedy 
 with the other works of his youth, and the diffi- 
 culty vanishes. Is it improbable that the author 
 of the Venus und Adonis, and the Rape tf Lucrece, 
 should, on turning his attention to the stage, 
 produce as heavy and monotonous a performance 
 as the Titits Andronicus ? 
 
 I have been rather more diffuse upon this sub- 
 ject, than the nature of the present notice would 
 appear to warrant, because it affords the means 
 of ascertaining the time when Shakspeare com- 
 menced writer for the stage. If Titus Androni' 
 Cits be really his, as I suppose, he became an 
 author immediately on finding himself in the 
 service of the theatre. His first play, though 
 we now despise and reject it, was the best play 
 that had been presented to the public ; and im- 
 mediately placed him in the first ranks of the pro- 
 fession, and among the principal supports of the 
 company to which he was attached, 
 
 Pericles, if the work of Shakspeare, was pro- 
 oably his next dramatic production. Dryden 
 has most unequivocally attributed this play to 
 Shakspeare, and he was also commended as its 
 author, in 1646, by S. Shepherd, in a poem 
 called Time disidayed. It is true that it was 
 omitted by Heminge and Condell, in their col- 
 
 lection of our poet's works; but this may hare 
 proceeded from forgetfulness, and it was only by 
 an afterthought, that Troilus and Crtt,sida escaped 
 a similar fortune. How far Pericles, as originally 
 written, was, or was not, worthy the talents of 
 Shakspeare, we have no means of judging. The 
 only editions of this tragedy that have come down 
 to us, are three spurious quartos, of which the 
 text W.1S printed from copies taken by illiterate 
 persons during representation, and published 
 without any regard to the property or the repu- 
 tation of the author, to impose on the curiosity 
 of the public. The Pericles of Shakspeare may 
 have been a splendid composition, and yet not 
 have shewn so in the garbled editions of the 
 booksellers. We may estimate the injuries that 
 Pericles received, by the injuries which we know 
 were inflicted upon Hamlet on its first issuing, 
 after such a process, from the press. In the first 
 edition of Hamlet, 1603, there is scarcely a trace 
 of the beauty and majesty of Shakspeare's work. 
 Long passages, and even scenes, are misplaced ; 
 grammar is set wholly at defiance ; half lines 
 frequently omitted, so as to destroy the sense ; 
 and sentences brought together without any 
 imaginable connexion. Sometimes the tran- 
 scriber caught the expression, but lost the senti- 
 ment ; and huddled the words together, without 
 any regard to the meaning or no-meaning that 
 they might happen to convey : at other times he 
 remembered the sentiment, but lost the expres- 
 sion ; and considered it no presumption to sup- 
 ply the lines of Shakspeare with doggerel verses 
 of his own. Such were, for the most part, the 
 early quarto impressions of our' author's plays : 
 and it is not difficult to conceive, that Peiiclcs, 
 which seems to have suffered more than any other 
 play in passing through the ignorant and neg- 
 ligent hands of the transcriber and the printer, 
 might have been originally the work of Shak- 
 speare, without retaining in its published form 
 any distinguishing characteristics of the magic 
 hand that framed it. To attempt tracing the 
 literary life of our great dramatist were a work 
 of unprofitable toil. I have given in the appen- 
 dix (No. 2.) the list of his plays, according to 
 the order in which Chalmers, Malone, and Dr. 
 Drake, suppose them to have been composed: 
 but the grounds of their conjectures are so un- 
 certain, that little reliance can be placed in them, 
 and all we really know upon the subject, is what 
 we learn from Mercs,* that previously to the 
 year 1598, that is, within twelve years after his 
 attaching himself to the theatre, Shakspeare had 
 not only published his two poems, the Venus and 
 Adonis, and the I{<ipe of' Lueiece ; but had already 
 written Titus Amironicus, King John^ Richard the 
 
 • Palladia Tamia, or Second Part of mi's Com- 
 mon Place Book, by Francis Meres, and printed at 
 London, 1693. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Second, Henrtf the Fourth, Richard the Third, 
 Romeo and Juliet, The Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Comedy if Errors, 
 The Love's Labour Lost, The Love's Labour Won,* 
 and The Merchant of Venice. He had also written 
 a great number of his Sonnets, and the minor 
 pieces of poetry which were collected and printed 
 by Jaggart, in 1599, under the somewhat affected 
 title of the Passionate Pilgrim. After this, we 
 have no means of ascertaining the succession in 
 which the plays of Shakspeare were composed. 
 
 Very early in his dramatic career, he appears 
 to have attained to a principal share in the direc- 
 tion and emoluments of the theatres to which he 
 was attached. His name stands second in the 
 list of proprietors of the Globe, and Blackfriars, 
 in the license granted to them by James the 
 First in 1603: and his industry in supporting 
 these establishments was indefatigable. Besides 
 the plays which were entirely of his own com- 
 position, or which he so completely rewrote as 
 to make them bis own, he seems to have been 
 frequently engaged in revising, and adding to, 
 and remodelling, the works of others.f This 
 task, however beneficial to the interests of his 
 theatre, and necessary to give attraction to the 
 pieces themselves, was viewed with an eye of 
 jealousy by the original authors ; and Robert 
 Greene, in his Groatsworth of Wit, himself a 
 writer for the stage, in admonishing his fellow- 
 dramatists to abandon their pursuit, and apply 
 themselves to some more profitable vocation, 
 refers them to this part of our author's labours 
 with no little asperity. * Trust them not (i. e. 
 the players), for there is an upstart crow beau- 
 tified with our feathers, that with his tyger's 
 heart wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is 
 as well able to bombast out a blank-verse as the 
 best of you ; and being an absolute Johannes fac- 
 totum, is in bis own conceit the only Shuk-scene 
 in a country.* This sarcasm, however, was 
 nothing more than the unwarranted effusion of 
 a dissolute and disappointed spirit. Greene was 
 a bad man. The pamphlet from which the 
 above passage is extracted was published after 
 his death by Henry Chettle ; and the editor, 
 after be had given it to the world, was so satis- 
 fied of the falsehood of the charges insinuated 
 against our author, that he made a public apo- 
 logy for his indiscretion in the preface to a sub- 
 sequent pamphlet of his oivn, entitled, Kind 
 Hart's Dreame; lamenting that he had not omit- 
 
 * There is no such play extant as Love's Labour 
 Won. Dr. Farmer supposes this to have been an- 
 other naxue for All's Well that Ends M'etl. 
 
 t As was the case with Henrij the Sixth ; and 
 probably many other^>lay3 that have not come down 
 to us. 
 
 X In the present copies we read — Julius Cssar, act 
 iii. sc. 1. 
 
 Know, Cirsar doth not wrong ; nor without cause, 
 Will he be satisfied i 
 
 ted, or at least moderated, what Greene had 
 written against Shakspeare, and adding, ' I am 
 as sorry as if the original fault had been my 
 fault ; because myself have sfP7i his demeanour, no 
 less civil than he exrellrth in the qualitie he pro., 
 f esses : besides divers of worship have reported his 
 uprightness of dealing, which argues his honestie, 
 and his facetious grace in writing, that approves his 
 art.' 
 
 It may be conceived from the abundance of 
 his works, of which, perhaps, very many have 
 been lost, that our author's facility of composi- 
 tion must have been extremely great ; and, on 
 this point, we have the contemporary testimony 
 of his sincere, kind-hearted, generous, and much 
 slandered friend, Ben Jonson, who writes in his 
 Discoveries, ' I remember the players have often 
 mentioned it as an honour to Shakspeare, that 
 in writing (whatsoever he penned) he never 
 blotted out a line. My answer hath been. Would 
 he had blotted out a thousand ! which they thought 
 a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity 
 this, but for their ignorance, who chose that cir- 
 cumstance to commend their friend by, wherein 
 he most faulted ; and to justify mine own can- 
 dour, for I loved the man, and do honour his 
 memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. 
 He was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free 
 nature, had an excellent fancy, brave notions, 
 and gentle expressions ; wherein he flowed with 
 that felicity, that sometimes it was necessary he 
 should be stopped : Sufflaminandus erat, as Au- 
 gustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his own 
 power ; would the rule of it had been so too 
 Many times he fell into those things which could 
 not escape laughter ; as when he said, in the 
 person of Ceesar, one speaking to him, 
 
 * Caesar, thou dost me wrong.' 
 ' He replied : 
 
 * Cffisar did never wrong, but with just cause,'t 
 
 ' and such like, which were ridiculous. But he 
 redeemed his vices with his virtues ; there was 
 ever more in him to be praised than to be par- 
 doned. '§ 
 
 But Shakspeare was not only an author but an 
 actor. In this union of the two professions he 
 was not singular ; his friend Ben Jonson resem- 
 bled him in this. With respect to the merits of 
 Shakspeare as a performer, there has existed 
 some doubt. From the expression used in 
 
 and so the speech ends with a defective line. The 
 original passage, we may presume, ran as Jonson 
 has quoted it : 
 
 Know, Ctesar doth not wrong, but with just cause ; 
 Nor without cause, will he be sathificd. 
 
 The line was attacked by the formidable criticism of 
 Jonson, and the offending words withdrawn. 
 
 $ Ben Jonson's Discoveries. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM sIlAKSPEARE. 
 
 Rowc's Life, it would appear that be had been 
 but indifferently skilled in the inferior half of his 
 double vocation, and never attempted any parts 
 superior to the Ghost in Hamlet ; but the words 
 of Chettlc, speaking of him as ' one excelUnt in 
 the qualitie he pnifesses,' confirm the account of 
 Aubrey, that 'he did act exceedingly well.' That 
 he understood the theory of his profession is 
 manifest from the invaluable instructions which 
 he has written, for the use of all future actors, 
 in the third act of Hamlet. His class of cha- 
 racters was probably not very extensive. If 
 the names of the performers prefixed to the 
 early editions of Every Man in his Htimimr 
 were arranged in the same order as the per- 
 sons of the drama, which was most probably 
 the case, he was the original representative of 
 Old Knowcll ; and an anecdote preserved by 
 Oldys would also make it appear that he played 
 Adam in As you like it. ' One of Sbalispeare's 
 brothers,* who lived to a good old age, even 
 some years after the restoration of Charles the 
 Second, would, in his younger days, come to 
 London to visit his brother Will, as he called 
 him, and be a spectator of him as an actor in some 
 of his own plays. This custom, as his brother's 
 fame enlarged, and his dramatic entertainments 
 grew the greatest support of our principal, if not 
 of all our theatres, he continued it seems so long 
 after his brother's death as even to the latter end 
 of his own life. The curiosity at this time of the 
 most noted actors (exciting them) to learn some- 
 thing from him of his brother, &c. they justly 
 held him in the highest veneration. And it may 
 be well believed, as there was, besides, a kinsman 
 and descendant of the family, who was then a 
 celebrated actor among them {Charles Hurt. 
 See Shakspeare's Will). This opportunity made 
 them greedily inquisitive into every little cir- 
 cumstance, more especially in his dramatic cha- 
 racter, which his brother could relate of him. 
 But he, it seems, was so stricken in years, and 
 possibly his memory so weakened with infirmities 
 (which might make him the easier pass for a man 
 of weak intellectsX that he could give them but 
 little light into their inquiries ; and all that 
 could be recollected from him of his brother 
 Will in that station was, the faint, general, and 
 almost lost ideas he had of having once seen him 
 act a part in one of his own comedies, wherein, 
 being to personate a decrepit old man, he wore a 
 long beard, and appeared so weak and drooping 
 and unable to walk, that he was forced to be 
 supported and carried by another person to a 
 table, at which he was seated among some com- 
 pany, who were eating, and one of them sung a 
 song.'f From this it would appear, that the class 
 of characters to which the histrionic exertions 
 
 • Gilbert. 
 
 t RcEu's Shaksjieare, vol. 
 
 of Shakspeare were confined, was that of elderly 
 persons ; parts, rather of declamation than of 
 passion. With a countenance which, if any one 
 of his pictures is a genuine resemblance of him, 
 we may adduce that one as our autliority for 
 esteeming capalile of every variety of expression ; 
 with a knowledge of the art that rendered him 
 fit to be the teacher of the first actors of his day, 
 and to instiiict Joseph Taylor in the character of 
 Hamlet, and John Lowine in that of King H-nry 
 the Eighth;^ with such admirable qualifications 
 for pre-eminence, we must infer that nothing but 
 some personal defect could have reduced him to 
 limit the exercise of his powers, and even in 
 youth assume the slow and deliberate motion, 
 wliich is the characteristic of old age. In his 
 minor poems we, perhaps, trace the origin of 
 this direction of his talents. It appears from two 
 places in his Sonnets, that he was lamed by some 
 accident. In the 37th sonnet he writes — 
 
 * So I made lame fay Fortune's dearest spite.' 
 
 And, in the 89th, he again alludes to his infir- 
 mity, and says — 
 
 •Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt.' 
 
 This imperfection would necessarily have ren- 
 dered him unfit to appear a^ the representative 
 of any characters of youthful ardour, in which 
 rapidity of movement or violence of exertion 
 was demanded ; and would oblige him to apply 
 his powers to such parts as were compatible with 
 his measured and impeded action. Malone has 
 most inefficiently attemptQ(i to explain away the 
 palpable meaning of the above lines ; and adds, 
 ' If Shakspeare was in truth lame, he had it not 
 in his power to halt occasiimalty for this or any 
 other purpose. The defect must have been fixed 
 and permanent.' Not so. Surely, many an in- 
 firmity of the kind may be skilfully concealed ; or 
 only become visible in the moments of hurried 
 movement. Either Sir Walter Scott or Lord 
 Bvron might, without any impropriety, have 
 written the verses in question. They would 
 have been applicable to either of them. Indeed 
 the lameness of Lord Byron was exactly such as 
 Shakspeare's might have been ; and I remember 
 as a boy, that he selected those speeches for de- 
 clamation, which would not constrain him to the 
 use of such exertions, as might obtrude the defect 
 of his person into notice. 
 
 Shakspeare's extraordinary merits, both as an 
 author and as an actor, did not fail of obtaining 
 for him the fame and the remuneration that they 
 deserved. He was soon honoured by the patron- 
 age of the young Lord Southampton, one of 
 the most amiable and accomplished noblemen of 
 the court of Elizabeth, and one of the earliest 
 
 X Roscti/s A nglicanus, commonly called, Do^vneA 
 
 the Prompter's Book. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 patrons of our national drama.* To this dis- 
 tinguished person our author dedicated, ' the first 
 heir of his invention, 'f the poem of Venus arid 
 4donis, in 1593. This was within five years 
 after Shakspeare arrived in London ; and, in the 
 followin-Ef year, he inscribed the Rape vf Lucrece 
 to the same nobleman, in terras which prove that 
 the barriers imposed by difference of condition 
 had become gradually levelled, and thaf, between 
 these young men, the cold and formal inter- 
 course of the patron and the client had been 
 rapidly exchanged for the kinder familiarity of 
 fiiendship. The first address is respectful ; the 
 second affectionate. When this intimacy began 
 Shakspeare was in his twenty-seventh, and Lord 
 Southampton in his twentieth year ; a time of 
 life when the expansion of our kindness is not 
 restrained by any of those apprehensions and 
 suspicions which, in after-life, impede the de- 
 velopment of the affections ; and when, in the 
 enthusiastic admiration of excellence, we hasten 
 to seek fellowship with it, and disregard every 
 irapedimeut to free communication which may be 
 opposed by the artificial distinctions of society. 
 The superiority of Shakspeare's genius raised 
 him to a level with his friend. Lord Southamp- 
 ton allowed the gifts of Nature to claim equal 
 privilege with the gifts of Fortune ; and the 
 splendid present of a thousand pounds, which 
 our great poet received from him, was bestowed 
 and accepted in the true spirit of generosity ; as 
 coming from one, who was exercising to its 
 noblest uses the power of his affluence, and re- 
 ceived by one whose soul was large enough to 
 contain the sense of obligation without any mix- 
 ture of petty shame or any sacrifice of indepen- 
 dence. The name of Henry Wriothcsley, earl of 
 Soutbampton, should be dear to every English- 
 man, as the first patron — the youthful friend — 
 and author of the fortunes of Shakspeare. 
 
 The authority for believing that this magnifi- 
 cent present was made — which is equivalent to 
 at least five thousand pounds at the present day 
 — is the best that can be obtamed respecting the 
 events of our author's life ; that of Sir William 
 D'Avenant. ' It was given,* he says, 'to complete 
 a purchase.' Malone doubts the extent of the 
 earl's munificence — and what does he not doubt ? 
 He says, 'no such purchase was ever made.'f 
 This is a mere gratuitous assumption; for it is 
 evident that Shakspeare had a very considerable 
 property in two principal theatres, which must 
 
 • 'My Lord Southampton and Lord Rutland came 
 not to the covin; the one doth but very seldome: 
 they pass away the time in London, merely in going 
 to plays every rf«y.'— Rowland Whvte's Letter to 
 Sir Robert Sidney, 1599. Sydney Papers, vol. ii 
 p. 132. 
 
 t Dedication to Venus and Adonis. 
 
 t Boswell's Shakspeare, vol. ii. p. 4S0. 
 
 i The Globe was, perhaps, worth about 500^; the 
 Rlavkfriars somewhat more : but this was the least 
 valuable portion of the concern. The scenery, the 
 
 have been obtained by purchase, and could not 
 have been obtained for an inconsiderable sura ;§ 
 nor by any means that our author could of him- 
 self have procured, by the most indefatigable 
 exertions of his talents and economy. At a time 
 when the most successful dramatic representation 
 did not produce to its author so much as twenty 
 pounds, and generally little more than ten;|| 
 when, as an actor, his salary would have amount- 
 ed to a mere trifle ; and when, as we have before 
 seen, the circumstances of his father could not 
 have aided him by any supplies from home, it is 
 only by adopting D'Avenant's statement, and 
 admitting the munificence of Lord Southampton, 
 that wc can account for the sudden prosperity of 
 Shakspeare. But, says Malone, ' it is more 
 likely that he presented the poet with a hundred 
 pounds in return for his dedications.'^ And this 
 instance of liberality, which is so creditable to 
 Shakspeare and his patron — to him who merited, 
 and the high-spirited and noble youth who com- 
 prehended and rewarded his exalted merit — is to 
 be discredited, because such an ardour of admira- 
 tion docs not square with the frigid views of pro- 
 bability entertained by the aged antiquarian in 
 the seclusion of his closet ! 
 
 The fortunes of Shakspeare were indeed rapid 
 in their rise ; but he did not selfishly monopolize 
 the emoluments of his success. On being driven 
 from Stratford, he left, as we have seen, a father 
 in reduced circumstances, and a wife and chil- 
 dren who were to be supported by his labours. 
 We may confidently assort, on a comparison of 
 facts and dates, that the spirit of Shakspeare was 
 not of a niggard and undiffusive kind. The 
 course of his success is marked by the returning 
 prosperity of his family. In 1578, his father was 
 unable to pay, as a member of the corporation, 
 his usual contribution of four-pence a-week to 
 the poor; and in 1588, a distress was issued for 
 the seizure of his goods, which his poverty ren- 
 dered nugatory; for it was returned, "Johannes 
 Shakspeare nihil habet unde distvibutio potest 
 levari.'" * Yet, from this state of poverty, we find 
 him within ten years rising with the fortunes of 
 his child; cheered and invigorated by the first 
 dawning of his illustrious son's prosperity ; and 
 in 1590, applying at the Herald's Office for a re- 
 newal of his grant of arms,f f and described as 
 a Justice of the Peace, and one possessing lands 
 and tenements to the amount of 500/. That 
 this restoration of Mr. John Shakspeare's affairs 
 
 properties, and the dresses, mu^t have been worth 
 infinitely more. In Greene's G route's north of Hit, 
 a player is introduced, boasting that his shave in the 
 stage apparel could not be sold for two hundred 
 pounds. Shakspeare was also the purchaser of pro- 
 perty at Stratford so early as 1597. 
 
 II GiF(-uBu's Mas.nnger, vol. i. p- 64. 
 
 % BobWELL's ShakxpearCj vol. ii. p. 47S. 
 
 •• Register of the Bailijf^^ (.tmrt oj Stratford. 
 
 W They were originally granted to bim in I5d9 
 while hi^hbailiff of the town. 
 
 02 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 originated in the filial piety of his son, appears 
 evident, from our knowledge that the branch of 
 traffic with which his circumstances in life were 
 inseparably connected, was at that period in its 
 most extreme state of depression. • 
 
 The kindness of Shakspeare was not restricted 
 to his family ; and the only letter which remains 
 out of the many he must have received, is one 
 from his townsman, Richard Quiney, requesting 
 in terms that speak him confident of success, the 
 loan of thirty pounds, a sum in those days by no 
 means inconsiderable. f 
 
 Pecuniary emolument and literary reputation 
 were not the only reward that our poet received 
 for his labours : the smiles of royalty itself shone 
 upon him. * Queen Elizabeth,' says Rowe, * gave 
 him many gracious marks of her favour ;'f and 
 so delighted was she with the character of Fal~ 
 staff, that she desired our author to continue it in 
 another play, and exhibit him in love. To this 
 command we owe The Merri) Wives of IVindsirr. 
 Dennis adds, that, from the Queen's eagerness to 
 see it acted, ' she commanded it to be finished in 
 fourteen days, and was afterwards, as tradition 
 tells us, very well pleased with the representa- 
 tion. '§ If Queen Elizabeth was pleased to direct 
 the course of our author's imagination, with her 
 successor he was a distinguished favourite : and 
 James the First, whose talents and judgment 
 have deserved more respect than they have re- 
 ceived, wrote him a letter with his own hand, 
 which was long in the possession of Sir W. 
 D'Avenant. II Dr. Farmer supposes this letter 
 to have been written in return for the compli- 
 ment paid the monarch in Macbeth ; but he has 
 overlooked an equally probable occasion. The 
 Tempest was written for the festivities that at- 
 tended the marriage of the Princess Elizabeth 
 with tlie Prince Palatine ; and was performed at 
 court in the beginning of the year 1613. In the 
 island Princess, Miranria, Shakspeare undoubtedly 
 designed a poetic representative of the virgin and 
 high-born bride ; in the royal and learned Prus- 
 pero, we may trace a complimentary allusion to the 
 literary character and mysterious studies of her 
 royal father; and it is at all events as likely that 
 the letter of .Tames to Shakspeare should have 
 had reference to The Tempest as to Macheth. Our 
 author seems to have formed a far more correct 
 estimate of the talents of his sovereign, than that 
 which we have blindly received and adopted on 
 the authority of his political enemies, the Non- 
 
 • Supplication to the Lord Treasurer Bui-ghley^ 
 ISOO. 
 
 + This letter is preserved in BoswcU's Shakspeare, 
 vol. ii. p. 4S5. 
 
 J Life of Shakspeare. 
 
 $ Episiie Deiiicatory to the Comical Gallant. 
 
 II James was the patron of Jonson and of Shak- 
 speare; he possessed himself no inconsiderable talent 
 for poetry. See Boswell's Shakspeare, vol.ii.p. 491, 
 
 conformists; and in a MS. volume of poems, 
 which was purchased by Boswell, the following 
 complimentary lines are preserved. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE UPON THE KIKO. 
 
 ' Crownes have their compass, length of dayes their 
 
 date, 
 Triumphes their tombs, felicity her fate : 
 Of more than earth caiin earth make none partaXer ; 
 But knowledge makes the kin^ moat like his Maker.'^ 
 
 Thus honoured and applauded by the great, 
 the intercourse of Shakspeare with that bright 
 band and company of gifted spirits, which en- 
 nobled the reigns of Elizabeth and James by 
 their writings, must have been a source of the 
 highest intellectual delight. The familiarity 
 with which they seem to have communicated ; 
 the constant practice of uniting their powers in 
 the completion of a joint production ; the un- 
 envying admiration with which they rejoiced in 
 the triumphs of their literary companions, and 
 introduced the compositions of one another to 
 the world by recommendatory verses, present us 
 with such a picture of kind and gay and intelli- 
 gent society, as the imagination finds it difficult 
 to entertain an adequate conception of. ' Sir 
 Walter Raleigh, previously to his unfortunate 
 engagement with the wretched Cobham and 
 others, had instituted a meeting of beaux esprits 
 at the Mermaid, a celebrated tavern in Friday- 
 street. Of this club, which combined more talent 
 and genius, perhaps, than ever met together be- 
 fore or since, our author was a member ; and 
 here, for many years, he regularly repaired with 
 Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, 
 Carew, Martin, Donne, and many others, whose 
 names, even at this distant period, call up a 
 mingled feeling of reverence and respect. Here, 
 in the full flow and confidence of friendship, the 
 lively and interesting " wit combats" took place 
 between Ben Jonson and our author ; and hither, 
 in probable allusion to them, Beaumont fondly 
 lets his thoughts wander, in his letter to Jonson, 
 from the country : 
 
 *" What things have we seen 
 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 
 As if that every one from whom they came. 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, &c." '** 
 
 The * wit combats' alluded to in this interesting 
 passage are mentioned by Fuller, who, speaking 
 of Shakspeare, says, ' Many were the wit com- 
 
 482. He was called a pedant; 'hut,' says Mr. D'ls- 
 raeli, ' he was no more a pedant than the ablest of 
 his contemporaries; nor abhorred the taste of tobacco, 
 nor feared witches, more than they did : he was a 
 great wit, a most acute disputant '&c. — Calamities o/ 
 Authors, vol. ii. p. '245. 
 
 IT Boswell's Shakspeare^ vol. ii.p. 481. 
 
 •• Gifford's Ben Jonson, vol. i. p. ls.v. Ixvi. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SH.'VKSPEARE. 
 
 bates between Shakspeare and Ben Jonson. I 
 behold them like a Spanish great galleon, and 
 an English man of war. Master Johnson, like 
 the former, was built far higher in learning, solid 
 but slow in his performances. Shakspeare, like 
 the latter, lesser in hulk, but lighter in sailing, 
 could turn with all tides, tack about, and take 
 advantage of all winds, by the quickness of his 
 wit and invention.'* 
 
 Of these encounters of the keenest intellects 
 not a vestige now remains.- The memory of 
 Fuller, perhaps, teemed with their sallies ; but 
 nothing on which we can depend has descended 
 to us. The few traditionary tales that remain, 
 are without any authority ; but such as they are, 
 I present them to the reader as Dr. Drake has 
 collected them.f 
 
 Shakspeare was godfather to one of Ben Jon- 
 son's children ; and after the christening, being 
 in deep study, Jonson came to cheer him up, and 
 asked him, why he was so melancholy ? ' No 
 faith, Ben,* says he, ' not I ; but I have been con- 
 sidering a great while what should be the fittest 
 gift for me to bestow upon my godchild, and I 
 have resolved at last." ' I prithee, what?' says 
 he. 'I'faith, Ben, I'll e'en give her a dozen 
 good Latin (lattenf) spoons, and thou shalt 
 translate them.' 
 
 ' The above,' says Archdeacon Nares, ' is a 
 pleasant raillery enough on Jonson's love for 
 translating.' The second is not so worthy of 
 preservation. * Mr. Ben Jonson and Mr. Wil- 
 liara Shakspeare being merrie at a tavern, Mr. 
 Jonson begins this for his epitaph : 
 
 ' Here lies Ben Jonson, 
 Who was once one 
 
 ' He gives it to Mr. Shakspeare to make up, who 
 presently writte, 
 
 * That, while he liv'd, was a slow thing:, 
 ADd now, bein^ dead, is iio-thiag." 
 
 ' This stuff,' adds Mr. Gifford, ' is copied from 
 the Ashmole .MS. 38. '§ 
 
 The aen may be said to be rather of a ' better 
 leer.' 
 
 'Verses by Ben Jonson and Shakspeare, oc- 
 casioned by the motto to the Globe Theatre- 
 Tutus mundus agithisti-ianem. 
 
 ' If, but stage actors, all the world displays. 
 Where shall we find spectators of their plays 1' 
 
 SH.\KSPEARE. 
 
 • Little, or much, of what we see, we do ; 
 We are all both actors and spectators tao.'|| 
 
 • Worthies, folio edition, p. 111. 126. 
 + Shakspeare and his Times, vol. it. p. 593, 
 { Lattrn, i. e. brass. The anecdote is from the 
 Harl. MSS. No. 639S. 
 
 The intimacy of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson 
 IS alluded to in the following letter, written by 
 G. Peel, a dramatic poet, to hjs friend Marie :— 
 
 ■friend marle, 
 
 ' I never longed for thy company more than 
 last night. We were aU very merrye at the 
 Globe, when Ned Allcyn did not scruple to 
 afiyrme pleasantely to thy friend Will, that he 
 had stolen his speeche about the qualityes of an 
 actor's excellencye, in Hamlet hys tragedye, from 
 conversations manyfold which had passed be- 
 tween them, and opinyons given by Alleyn 
 touchinge the subject. Shakspeare did not take 
 this talke in good sorte ; but Jonson put an end 
 to the strife, ,wittylie remarking, This affaire 
 needeth no contentione ; you stole it from Ned, 
 no doubt ; do not marvel : have you not seen 
 him act tymes out of number ? 
 
 G. Peel.' 
 
 The first appearance of this Letter was in the 
 Annual Register for 1770, whence it was copied 
 into the Biographia Britannica, and in both these 
 works it commences in the following manner : 
 ' I must desyre that my syster hyr watche, and 
 the cookerie book you proraysed, may be sente bye 
 the man. — I never longed, &c.* * Of the four, 
 this is the only anecdote worth preserving ; but,' 
 concludes Dr. Drake, ' I apprehend it to be a 
 mere forgery.' 
 
 The names of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson, as 
 friends, and the most successful cultivators of our 
 early dramatic literature, are so intimately con- 
 nected, that the life of one involves the frequent 
 mention of the other. Indeed, it is reported by 
 Rowe, that Shakspeare was the original means 
 of introducing the works of Jonson to the stage. 
 ' Jonson, altogether unknown to the world, had 
 offered one of his plays to the players, in order 
 to have it acted; and the persons into whose 
 hands it was put, after having turned it carelessly 
 and superciliously over, were just upon returning 
 it to him with an ill-natured answer, that it would 
 be of no service to their company, when Shak- 
 speare luckily cast his eye upon it, and found 
 something so well in it, as to engage him first to 
 read it through, and afterwards to recommend 
 Jonson and his writings to the public.' ^ — This 
 anecdote is disputed by Mr. Gifford. He proves 
 that in 1598, when Eueii/ Man in his Humour, 
 the first effort of Jonson's genius which we are 
 acquainted with, was produced, ' its author was 
 as well known as Shakspeare, and, perhaps, bet- 
 ter.'** Very true ; bat this does not in the least 
 impugn the credibility of Rowe's tradition. It 
 
 $ Gifford's Ben Jonson, vol. i. p. Ixxx. 
 II Poetical Characteristics, vol. i. MS. some time 
 in the Harleian Library. 
 T Rowe's Life 0/ Shakspeare. 
 •• Ben Jonson, vol. i. p. xliii. 
 
 A 2 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 is nowhere asserted, that Every Man in his Hu- 
 mour was the play which thus attracted the at- 
 tention of Shakspeare ; all arguments therefore 
 deduced from the situation held byJonson in the 
 literary world, at the time that comedy was first 
 acted, are perfectly invalid. The performance 
 which recommended him to Shakspeare, was 
 most probably a boyish effort, full of talent and 
 inexperience, which soon passed from the public 
 mind, but not sooner than the author wished it 
 to be for^^otten ; which he had the good sense to 
 omit in the collection of his works published in 
 1616. and which, perhaps, he only remembered 
 with pleasure from its having been the means of 
 introducing him to the friendship of his great 
 contemporary. ' 
 
 But whatever cause might have originated the 
 mutual kindness which subsisted between these 
 two excellent and distinguished men, it is certain 
 that an intimacy the most sincere and affectionate 
 really did subsist between them. On the part 
 of Jonson, indeed, the memorial of their attach- 
 ment has been handed down to us in expressions 
 as strong and unequivocal as any which the 
 power of language can combine. He speaks of 
 Shakspeare, not indeed as one blinded to the 
 many defects by which the beauty of his produc- 
 tions was impaired, but with such candour and 
 tenderness, as every reasonable man would desire 
 at the hands of his friends, and in terms which 
 secured a credit to his commendations, by shewing 
 that they were not the vain effects of a blind and 
 ridiculous partiality. Jonson writes, ' / hve the 
 man, und do hojinnr his jnemoiy^ on this side idola- 
 try, as much as any.' And it is from his Elegy, 
 To the Memory of his beloved Master Wiliiam 
 ShaMspeare, that we have derived the two most 
 endearing appellations, the ' Gentle Shahspeare,' 
 and ^ Sweet Swan of Avon ;' by which our poet 
 has been known and characterized for nearly two 
 centuries. * 
 
 It must appear extraordinary, that in opposi- 
 tion to such decisive proofs of the kindness en- 
 tertained by Jonson for our author, his memory 
 should have been persecuted for the last century 
 by the most unfounded calumnies, as if he had 
 been the insidious and persevering enemy of his 
 reputation. The rise and progress of this slander, 
 which has been propagated through every modern 
 edition of Shakspeare's works, is not wholly un- 
 deserving of our attention. Rowe, indeed, has 
 the following anecdote, which he relates, perhaps, 
 on the authority of Dryden, that ' in a conversa- 
 tion between Sir John Suckling, Sir William 
 D'Avenant, Endymion Porter, Mr. Hales of 
 Eton, and Ben Jonson, Sir John Suckling, who 
 was a professed admirer of Shakspeare, had un- 
 dertaken his defence against Ben Jonson with 
 some warmth ; Mr. Hales, who had sat still for 
 
 * Gifford's Ben JoTison, toI. viii. p. 332, note. 
 
 some time, told them, that, if Mr. SfiaJcspeare Had 
 not read the ancients, neither had he stolen any 
 thing from them; and that if he uould produce 
 any one topic finely treated hy anyone of them, hs 
 would undertake to shvw somt-lhing upon the same 
 subject at least as well uritten hq Shakspeare/ This 
 anecdote was written nearly a hundred years after 
 the death of our author, and more than seventy 
 after the death of Jonson. Even supposing all 
 the circumstances to be correct,f it only repre- 
 sents Jonson as maintaining an opinion in con- 
 versation which he has printed in his Discoveries^ 
 that * many times Shakspeare fell into those 
 things which could not escape laughter,' and 
 arguing, that a deeper knowledge of the classic 
 writers would have improved his genius, and, 
 taught him to lop away all such unseemly exube- 
 rances of style. It shews the most learned poet 
 of his time, or, perhaps, of any time, honestly as- 
 serting the advantages that a poet may derive 
 from variety of learning; but this is all; and 
 it supposes no undue or unfriendly attempt in 
 Jonson to depreciate the fame of Shakspeare. 
 Indeed no hint of the existence of any difference 
 or unkindness between those celebrated indivi- 
 duals is to be found in any contemporary author. 
 Dryden thought Jonson's Verses to Shakspeare 
 sparing and invidious; but to this opinion Pope 
 very justly recorded his dissent; and wondered 
 that Dryden should have held it. Rowe in the 
 first edition of his Life of Shakspeare, insinuates 
 a doubt of the sincerity of Jonson's friendship ; 
 before the publication of his second edition he 
 found cause to reject a suspicion so injurious to 
 the reputation of Jonson, and had the honesty to 
 erase the passage from his work. The words, 
 however, did not escape the vigilance of Malone : 
 they were re-printed, and the sentiment re- 
 adopted ; and, as if it were more valuable to the 
 commentators, from having been condemned by 
 its author, their united labours and ingenuity have 
 been indefatigably employed in inventing and 
 straining evidence to support an insinuation, 
 which was too carelessly disseminated, and too 
 silently withdrawn. Rowe should have made 
 such an explicit recantation of his error, as might 
 have repaired the ill he had occasioned, and 
 guai'ded the good name of one of our greatest 
 poets against the revival of the calumny : this he 
 unfortunately omitted; and he thus left the cha- 
 racter of Jonson bare to the senseless anc(^gra- 
 tuitous malignity of every puny spirit, that chose 
 to amuse its spleen by insulting the memory of the 
 mighty dead. For years, the friend and eulogist 
 of Shakspeare was aspersed as envious and ungrate^ 
 fill, in almost every second note of every edition 
 of our author's works ; and it is only lately that the 
 judicious exertions of Gilchrist and of Gifford 
 have exposed the fallacy of such unwarranted 
 
 t Which is very doubtful. 
 Jonson, vol. i. p. ccUx. 
 
 See Gifford's £ea 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 imputations, and demonstrated beyond the possi- 
 bility of future doubt, that * Jonson and Sbak- 
 speare were friends and associates, till the latter 
 finally retired— that no -feud, no jealousy, ever 
 disturbed tiieir connexion— that Shakspearc was 
 pleased with Jonson, and that Jonson loved and 
 adnlircd Shakspeare.'* 
 
 But courted, praised, and rewarded as he was, 
 the stage, as a profession, was little fitted to the 
 disposition of our poet. In his Sonnets^f which 
 afford us the only means of attaining a knowledge 
 of his sentiments upon the subject, we find bira 
 lamenting the nature of his life with that dissatis- 
 faction, which every noble spirit would necessa- 
 rily suffer, ill a state of unimportant labour and 
 undignified publicity. In the hundred and tenth 
 be exclaims, 
 
 * Alas, 'tis true I have ^one here and there. 
 And made myself a mofieyX to the view.' 
 
 And again, in the hundred and eleventh ; with 
 evident allusion to his being obliged to appear on 
 the stage, and write for the theatre, he repeats, 
 
 • 0, for my sake, do you with fortune chide 
 
 The g:uilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
 
 That did riot better for my life providCt 
 
 Than public meajis, which public mumiers breeds.* 
 
 With this distaste for a course of life, to which 
 adversity had originally driven him, it is not ex- 
 traordinary to find that he availed himself of the 
 first moment of independence, to abandon the 
 histrionic part of his double profession. This 
 occurred so early as 1604. After that time his 
 name never appears on the lists of performers 
 which were attached to the original editions of 
 the old plays. Ben Jonson's Sfjanus, which 
 came out in 1603, is the last play in which he is 
 
 • Gifpord's Ben Jo?ison, vol. i. p. ccli. iu which 
 work the question of Jonsou's supposed uiali^uity is 
 most satisfactorily discussed and disproved. 
 
 t Mr Boswell doubts whether we are justified in 
 refernn{j to the .Sonnets of Shakspeare, as contain- 
 ing any true intimations respecting the life and feel- 
 ings of the author; but I helieve very few have 
 looked into the volume, without conceiviuLT tliat these 
 fliiort poems were Haw^ olV at dilfei'eut periods of the 
 poet's life, from his boyhood till his forty-fifth year, 
 when he consented to their publication, as they were 
 elicited by circumstances. Boswell defends his po- 
 sition by asserting, that thelauguag;e of ntany of the 
 Sonnets is not applicable to what we know of Shak- 
 speare. He inetances the 73d, which he says * is such, 
 as could scarcely, without violent exairijeration, be 
 applicable to a man oiforty-^five.'^ — To me it appears 
 to be just such a description of that age when the 
 prime of life is past, and no more remains 
 
 ' but twilight of such day, 
 
 As after sun-set fadeth in the west.' 
 as a poet would naturally be inclined to give. But 
 we must not believe that these poems allude to the 
 actual atate of Shakspeare's existence, for they speak 
 of his ' harmful deeds,' of soraethinjr from which ' his 
 name had received a brand,' and of the 'impression 
 which vulgar scandal stampt upon his brow.' But 
 
 a BasM£LL's Shakspeare^ vol.xx. 220. 
 
 mentioned as a performer. As a writer for the 
 stage, and part proprietor of two principal thea- 
 tres, he was obliged to be much in London ; but 
 he never took root and settled there. His family 
 always resided at Stratford, and thither he once 
 a year repaired to them. In the privacy of his 
 native town all the affections of his heart appear 
 to have been *garner'd up;' and there, from his 
 beginning to reap the wages of success, be de- 
 posited the emoluments of his labours, and 
 hoped to find a home in his retirement. In 1597, 
 he purchased New Place, a house which he re- 
 paired and adorned to his own taste, and which 
 remained in the family till the death of his grand- 
 daughter. Lady Barnard ; and in the garden of 
 which he planted the celebrated mulberrv-tree, 
 which was so long an object of veneration as the 
 flourishing memorial of the poet. To the pos- 
 session of New Place, Shakspeare successively 
 added in thp course of the following eight years, 
 an estate of about one hundred and seven acres 
 of land, and a moiety of the great and small 
 tithes of fetratford.§ 
 
 It was in one of his periodical journeys from 
 London to Stratford, that *one midsummer 
 night' he met at Crendon, in Bucks, with the 
 original q( Dogberry. Aubrey says, that the con- 
 stable was still alive about 1642. * He and Ben 
 Jonson did gather humours of men wherever they 
 came;'|| and as the constable of Crendon sat for 
 the picture of Dogberry, so we are told, on the 
 authority of Bowman the player, that part of 
 Sir John Falstaff''s character was drawn from a 
 townsman of Stratford, ' who either faithlessly 
 broke a contract, or spitefully refused to part 
 with some land for a valuable consideration, ad- 
 joining to Shakspeare's house. '^ Oldys has 
 
 where is the man who has not offences to repent of? 
 Why are we to suppose Shakspeare alone immacu- 
 late i And would it not be continually urged as a 
 reproach by the calumnious voice of Envy against 
 the favoured friend of Southampton, that he had 
 been obliged to fly his country in poverty and dis- 
 grace ? 
 
 X Motley, i.e. a fool, a buffoon. 
 
 § The house at Stratford that Shakspeare had con- 
 secrated by his residence, exists no longer. Netf 
 Place descended from his daughter Susanna, to his 
 grand-daughter, Mrs. Nash, afterwards Lady Bar- 
 nard; and there, during the civil wars, that lady 
 and her husband, in lG4a, received Henrietta Maria, 
 the queen of Charles the First, who sojourned with 
 thein for three weeks. After passing through the 
 hands of several intervening proprietors, it fell into 
 the possession of Sir Hugh Cloptou, who pulled down 
 the ancient house, and built one more elegant ou 
 the same spot. This was in its turn destroyed by 
 the Kev. Mr. Gastrell, because he conceived himself 
 assessed too highly ; and it was by the same barba- 
 rous hands, that the celebrated mulberry-tree, which 
 Shakspeare himself had planted, was cut down, be- 
 cause he found himself inconvenienced by the visi* 
 tors, who were drawn by admiration of the poet, to 
 visit the classic ground on which it stood. 
 
 II AcBHEY. MS- Mas. Ashjnol. 
 
 f Reeu's Shakspeare, vol. i. p. 130. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPE4RE. 
 
 recorded in his MS. another anecdote connected 
 with those journeys of our poet to Stratford, 
 which I shall give in his own words — ' If tradi- 
 tion may be trusted, Shalcspeare often baited at 
 the Crown Inn or Tavern in Oxford, in his jour- 
 ney to and from London. The landlady was a 
 woman of great beauty and sprightly wit, and 
 her husband, Mr. John Davenant (afterwards 
 mayor of that city), a grave, melancholy man ; 
 who, as well as his wife, used much to delight in 
 Shakspeare's pleasant company. Their son, 
 young Will. Davenant (afterwards Sir William), 
 was then a little school-boy in the town, of about 
 seven or eight years old, and so fond also of 
 Shakspeare, that whenever he heard of his arri- 
 val, he would fly from school to see him. One 
 day, an old townsman observing the boy running 
 homeward, almost out of breath, asked him 
 whither he was posting in that heat and hurry. 
 He answered, to see his gmi-father Shakspeare. 
 There's a good boy, said the other, but have 
 a care that you don't take God's name in vain. 
 This story Mr. Pope told me at the Earl of 
 Oxford's table, upon occasion of some discourse 
 which arose about Shakspeare's monument, 
 then newly erected in Westminster Abbey; 
 and he quoted Mr. Betterton, the player, for 
 his authority.'* This tale is also mentioned 
 by Anthony Wood ; and certain it is, that the 
 traditionary scandal of Oxford, has always 
 spoken of Shakspeare as the father of D'Ave- 
 nant ;t but it imputes a crime to our author, 
 of which we may, without much stretch of cha- 
 rity, acquit him. It originated in the wicked 
 vanity of D'Avenant himself, who disdaining his 
 honest but mean descent from the vintner, had 
 the shameless impiety to deny his father, and 
 reproach the memory of his mother, by claiming 
 consanguinity with Shakspeare. 
 
 We are informed by a constant tradition, that 
 a few years previous to his death, our author re- 
 tired from the theatre, and spent his time at 
 Stratford, 'in ease, retirement, and the conversa- 
 tion of his friends.' This event appears to have 
 taken place about the close of 1613. He had 
 his wife and family about him ; he was sur- 
 rounded by familiar scenes and faces ; and he 
 was in possession of a property of about 300/. 
 a-year, equal to much more than 1000/. at pre- 
 sent ;f and which must have been fully adequate 
 to his modest views of happiness. 
 
 The anecdotes that are in circulation respect- 
 ing this portion of his life, are few, trivial, and 
 very probably unfounded in fact; but, such as 
 they are, I have collected them, rather that no- 
 thing connected with the name of Shakspeare 
 
 • Reed's Shakxpettre, vol. i. p. 124,^125. 
 tREED's Shakfiprare, note ix. p. 126, 127, 
 Jl take GiUlon's estimate of his fortune rather 
 than Maloue's, as it agrees with Aubrey's. 
 
 should be omitted in this edition, than trora any 
 regard for their intrinsic value. 
 
 A story, preserved by the tradition of Strat- 
 ford, and which, according to Malone, 'was re- 
 lated fifty years ago to a-gentleman of that place, 
 by a person upwards of eighty years of age, 
 whose father was contemporary with Shakspeare,' 
 may not improperly be attributed to this portion 
 of his life. It is said, that as Shakspeare was 
 leaning over the hatch of a mercer's door at 
 Stratford, a drunken blacksmith, with a carbuu- 
 cled face, reeled up to him and demanded, 
 
 ' Now, Mr. Shakspeare, tell me if you can. 
 The difference between a youth and a young man V 
 
 to which our poet instantly rejoined : 
 
 ' Thou son of fire, with thy face like a maple, 
 The same difference as between a scalded and 
 coddled apple.* 
 
 ' A part of the wit,' says Dr. Drake, ' turns upon 
 the comparison between the blacksmith's face, 
 and a species of maple, the bark of which is un- 
 commonly rough, and the grain undulated and 
 crisped into a variety of curls. '§ 
 
 Rowe relates, that he had a particular intimacy 
 with Mr. Combe, ' an old gentleman noted there- 
 abouts for his wealth and usury, it happened, 
 that in a pleasant conversation amongst their 
 common friends, Mr. Combe told Shakspeare, 
 in a laughing manner, that he fancied he intended 
 to write his epitaph, if he happened to outlive 
 him ; and since he could not know what might 
 be said of him when he was dead, he desired it 
 might be done immediately ; upon which Shak . 
 speare gave him these four verses : 
 
 * Ten in the hundred lies here ingrav'd ; 
 'Tis a hundred to teU his soul is not sav'd ; 
 If any man ask, who lies iu this tomb ? 
 Oh! oh I quoth the devil, 'tis my Jobn-a-Combe. 
 
 ' But the sharpness of the satire is said to have 
 stung the man so severely, that he never forgave 
 it. 'II Aubrey narrates the story ditferently, and 
 says, ' that one time as Shakspeare was at the 
 tavern at Stratford, Mr. Coombes, an old usurer, 
 ■was to be buried, he makes there this extempore 
 epitaph upon him : 
 
 ' Ten in the hundred the devil allows, 
 
 But Combe will have tucU'f, he sweais and he 
 
 vows ; 
 If any one ask, who lies in this tomb? 
 Hah 1 quoth the devil, 'tis my John-a-Combe.' 
 
 Dr. Drake considers Aubrey's version of the 
 event as the most probable. In some of its cir- 
 cumstances Rowe's account is contradicted ; for 
 it is certain, that Shakspeare and Combe con- 
 tinued friends till the death of the latter ; who 
 
 Drake's Shakspeare and his T^ffie; , vol. i.p, OS. 
 Reed's Shakspeare, vol. i. p. 77 — 80, 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 left him 51. as a token of kind remembrance in 
 his will ; and that no feud afterwards arose be- 
 tween our poet and the relations of Combe, 
 seems pretty evident from Shakspeare's having 
 bequeathed his sword to Mr. Thomas Combe, 
 the nephew of the usurer. 
 
 In addition to the above ludicrous verses, two 
 epitaphs of a serious character have been as- 
 cribed to Shakspeare by Sir William Dugdale, 
 which are preserved in a collection of epitaphs at 
 the end of the Visitation of Salop. Among the 
 monuments in Tongue Church, in the county of 
 Salop, is one erected in remembrance of Sir 
 Thomas Stanly, knight, whom Malone supposes 
 to have died about 1 600. The tomb stands on 
 the north side of the chancel, supported with 
 Corinthian columns. It hath two figures of men 
 in armour lying on it, one below the arches and 
 columns, the other above them ; and besides a 
 prose inscription in front, the monument is en- 
 riched by the following verses of Shakspeare. 
 
 Written on the east end of the tomb : 
 
 ' Aske who lyes here, but do not weepe ; 
 He is not dead, he dotli but sleepe. 
 This stony register is for his bones, 
 His fame is more perpetual than these stones: 
 And his own goodness, with himself being gone. 
 Shall live, when earthly monument is none. 
 
 M'ritten on the west end thereof : 
 
 * Not monumental stone preserves our fame. 
 Nor skye-aspiring: pyramids our name. 
 The memory of him for whom this stands. 
 Shall outlive marble, and defacer's hands. 
 Wheu all to time's consumption shall be ^iven, 
 Stanley, for whom this stands, shall stand in 
 heaven.' 
 
 Besides these inscriptions for the monument of 
 Sir Thomas Stanly, which we have the authority 
 of Dugdale, a Warwickshire man, and who spent 
 the greater part of his life in that county, for at- 
 tributing to our author ; we find another epitaph 
 ascribed to him in a manuscript volume of poems 
 by William Herrick, and others. The volume, 
 which is in the hand-writing of the time of 
 Charles the First, is among Rawlinson's Collec- 
 tions, in the Bodleian Library, and contains the 
 following epitaph ; 
 
 When God was pleas'd, the world unwilling yet, 
 
 Elias James to Nature payd his debt. 
 
 And here reposeth : as he lived, he dyde ; 
 
 The saying in him strongly veritide, — 
 
 Such life, such death ; tbeu, the known truth to 
 
 tell. 
 He lived a godly life, and dyde as well. 
 
 * Wm. Sh&ksfbarb.' 
 
 There was a family of the surname of James, 
 formerly resident at Stratford, to some one of 
 whom the above verses were probably inscribed. 
 
 • DRi&a'a Shakspeare and Aw rime^.vol. ii. p.611. 
 
 The life of our poet was now drawing iowarda 
 its close ; and he was soon to requu'e irom the 
 hands of others those last honours to the dead, 
 which, while alive, he had shewn himself so ready 
 to contribute. His eldest and favourite daughter, 
 Susanna, had been married as early as 1607, to 
 Dr. Hall, a physician of considerable skill and 
 reputation in his profession, who resided at 
 Stratford ; and early in 1616, his youngest 
 daughter, Judith, raan-icd Mr. Thomas Quiney, 
 a vintner of the same place. This ceremony 
 took place on February the 10th. On the twenty- 
 fifth of the following month, her father made his 
 will — being, according to his own account, in 
 perject health and memorii — and a second month 
 had not elapsed before Shakspeare was no more. 
 He died on the twenty-third of April, 1616, and 
 on his birth-day, having completed his fifty- 
 second year. * It is remarkable,' says Dr. Drake, 
 'that on the same day expired, in Spain, his 
 great and amiable contemporary Cervantes ; and 
 the world was thus deprived, nearly at the same 
 moment, of the two most original writers which 
 modern Europe has produced.'* 
 
 Of the disease by which the life of our poet 
 was thus suddenly terminated, we are left in 
 ignorance. His son-in-law. Dr. Hall, left for 
 publication a manuscript collection of cases, se- 
 lected from not less than a thousand disea-ses; 
 but the earliest case recorded is dated 1617, and 
 thus all mention is omitted of the only one which 
 could have secured to his work any permanent 
 interest or value. 
 
 On the second day after his decease, the re- 
 mains of Shakspeare were interred on the north 
 side of the chancel of the great church of Strat- 
 ford. Here a monument, containing a bust of 
 the poet, was erected to his memory. He is 
 represented under an arch, in a sitting posture, 
 a cushion spread before him, with a pen in his 
 right hand, and his left rested on a scroll of 
 paper. The following Latin distich is engraved 
 under the cushion : 
 
 Judiclo Pylium, gpiiio Socratem, arte Morone^n, 
 Terra tegit^yoputus maret, Olympus habet. 
 
 The first syllable in Sucratem is here made short, 
 which cannot be allowed. Perhaps we should 
 read Soph:<ciem. Shakspeare is then appositely 
 compared with a dramatic author among the an- 
 cients : but still it should be remembered, that 
 the eulogium is lessened while the metre is re- 
 formed ; and it is well known, that some of our 
 early writers of Latin poetry were uncommonly 
 negligent in their prosody, especially in proper 
 names. The thought of this distich, as ih. 
 Toilet obsenes, might have been taken from 
 Th; Faery Queene of Spenser. f 
 
 t Book 2. c. 9. St. -18, and c. 10. st. 3. 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 To ^is Latin inscription on ShakSpeare, 
 should be aJded the lines wliich are found under- 
 neath it on his monument : 
 
 Stay passenger, why dost thou go so fast ? 
 Read, if tliou canst, whom envious death hath plac'd 
 Within this monument; Shakspeare, with whom 
 Quick nature dy'd ; whose name doth deck the 
 
 tomb 
 Far nioi-e tlian cost ; since all that he hath writ 
 Leaves livinij art but pag-e to serve his wit.' 
 ' Obiit Ano. Dni. 1C16. 
 Mt. 53, die 23 Apri.' 
 
 And on his grave-stone underneath, is inscribed: 
 
 * Good friend, for Jesus' sake, forbear 
 To dig- the dust inclosed here. 
 Blest be the man that spares these stones. 
 And curst be he that moves my bones.' 
 
 The tomb at Stratford is not the only monu- 
 mental tribute that has been raised to the honour 
 of Shakspeare. A cenotaph was subsequently 
 erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, 
 by the direction of the Earl of Burlington, Pope, 
 Dr. Mead, and Mr. Martyn. This monument, 
 which cost three hundred pounds, was the work 
 of .Scheemaker, after a design by Kent, and was 
 opened in January, 1741; one hundred and 
 twenty-five years after the death of our author. 
 The dean and chapter of Westminster gave the 
 ground, and the expenses of the statuary were 
 defrayed by a benefit at each of the London thea- 
 tres. The receipts of Drury Lane exceeded two 
 hundred pounds; at Covent Garden they did 
 not amount to more than half that sum. 
 
 Of the genius of Shakspeare it were in this 
 place superfluous to write : that task has been 
 performed by others ; and is sufficiently discussed 
 in the discourses of Rowe, and Pope, and 
 Johnson ; but of his disposition and moral cha- 
 racter, it may not be uninteresting to give the 
 following passage from Dr. Drake :— ' To these 
 tradition has ever borne the most uniform and 
 favourable testimony. And, indeed, had she been 
 silent on the subject, his own works would have 
 whispered to us the truth ; would have told us, 
 in almost every page, of the gentleness, the be- 
 nevolence, and the goodness, of his heart. For, 
 though no one has exceeded him in painting the 
 stronger passions of the human breast, it is evi- 
 dent that he delighted most in the expression of 
 loveliness and simplicity, and was ever willing 
 to descend from the loftiest soarings of imagina- 
 tion, to sport with innocence and beauty. Though 
 " the world of spirits and of nature," says the ad- 
 mirable Schlegel, " had laid all their treasures at 
 his feet : in strength a demi-god, in profundity 
 of view a prophet, in all-seeing wisdom a pro- 
 tecting spirit of a higher order, he yet lowered 
 himself to mortals, as if unconscious of his supe- 
 riority, and was as open and unassuming as a 
 child." 
 
 ' That a temper of tliis description, and com- 
 
 bined with such talents, should be the object of 
 sincere and ardent friendship, can excite no sur- 
 prise. " I loved the man," says Jonson, with a 
 noble burst of enthusiasm, '* and do honour his 
 memory on this side idolatry, as much as any. 
 He was, indeed, honest ; and of an open and free 
 nature ;" and Rowe, repeating the uncontra- 
 dicted rumour of times past, has told us, — " that 
 every one, who had a true taste of merit, and 
 could distinguish men, had generally a just value 
 and esteem for him ;" adding, " that his exceed- 
 ing candour and good-nature must certainly have 
 inclined all the gentler part of the world to love 
 him." 
 
 ' No greater proof, indeed, can be given of the 
 felicity of his temper, and the sweetness of his 
 manners, than that all who addressed him, seem 
 to have unifoi-mly connected his name with the 
 epithets worthy, geiitte, or beloved ; nor was he 
 backward in returning this esteem, many of his 
 sonnets indicating the warmth with which he 
 cherished the remembrance of his friends. Thus 
 the thirtieth opens with the following pensive 
 retrospect : — ■ 
 
 * When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 
 I sigh 
 
 For precious friends, hid in death's dateless ni^ht.' 
 
 ' And in the thirty-first he tenderly exclaims ; — 
 
 * How many a holy and obsequious tear. 
 
 Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye. 
 As interest of the dead !' 
 
 ' Another very fascinating feature in the cha- 
 racter of Shakspeare, was the almost constant 
 cheerfulness and serenity of his mind ; he was 
 " verie good company," says Aubrey, " and of a 
 very ready, and pleasant, and smooth witt." In 
 this, as Mr. Godwin has justly observed, he bore 
 a striking resemblance to Chaucer, who was re- 
 markable for the placidity and cheerfulness of 
 his disposition ; nor can there, probably, be a 
 surer indication of that peace and sunshine of 
 the soul which surpasses all other gifts, tnan tois 
 habitual tone of mind. 
 
 ' Tliat .Shakspeare was entitled to its posses- 
 sion from his 7noral virtues, we have already 
 seen ; and that, in a religiaus point of view, he 
 had a claim to the enjoyment, the numerous pas- 
 sages in his works, which breathe a spirit of pious 
 gratitude and devotional rapture, will sufiiciently 
 declare. In fact, upon the topic of religious, as 
 upon that of ethic wisdom, no profane poet can 
 furnish us with a greater number of just and 
 luminous aphorisms; passages which dwell upon 
 the heart, and reach the soul ; for they have 
 issued from lips of i re, from conceptions worthy 
 of a superior nature, from feelings solemn and 
 unearthly.'* 
 
 • Drake's Shakspeare a7id his Times, vol,ii.^,Qli 
 
THE LIFE OF WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Of the descendants of Shakspcare there is not 
 one remaining. Hamnet, his only son, died in 
 childhood. His eldest daughter, Mrs. Hall, sur- 
 vived her father upwards of thirty years ; and if 
 the inscription of her tomb present us with a fair 
 estimate of her talents and her virtues, she was 
 the worthy child of Shakspeare.* She left one 
 daughter only, who is mentioned in our poet's 
 will, as his 'niece Elizabeth.' This lady was 
 twice married ; to Thomas Nashe, Esq. and 
 afterwards to Sir John Barnard, of Abington, 
 near Northampton, but had. no issue by either 
 husband. Judith, the other daughter of our 
 poet, was the mother of several children ; of 
 which the eldest, with an honest pride in that 
 maiden name, which her father's genius had 
 rendered illustrious, was christened Shakspeare ; 
 but none of her offspring arrived at years of 
 maturity. 
 
 It must strike every one as extraordinary, that 
 the WTitings of a poet so distinguished should 
 have been handed down to us in so corrupt and 
 imperfect a state; and that so little should be 
 known with any degree of certainty respecting 
 the author of them. Shakspcare himself ap- 
 pears to have been entirely careless of lite- 
 rary fame. In his early works he was suffi- 
 ciently cautious in superintending their pro- 
 gress through the press ; and the Venus and 
 Adonis, the Rape af Lucrece, a.nd the Thus An- 
 droniciis, were presented to the public with as 
 much typographical accuracy as any volumes of 
 the time. He was at first not indifferent to 
 celebrity as an author ; but it was a mere youth- 
 ful vanity, and having attained the object of his 
 ambition, and perceived its worthlessness, he 
 afterwards only considered his genius and his 
 improved skill in composition as the means of 
 acquiring independence for his family, and se- 
 curing an early retirement from the an.xieties of 
 public life. He wrote only for the theatre ; his 
 
 • * Here lyeth the body of Susanna, wife to John 
 Hall, Gent. y<^ daughter of William Sliakspeare, Gent 
 She deceased the llth of July, Ao. 1649, aj;ed 6G.' 
 * Witty above her sexe, but that's not all, 
 Wise to salvation was good Mistriss Hall. 
 Something of Shakspeare was in that, but this 
 Wholly of him with whom she's now in blisse. 
 Then, passenfjer, hast ne're a teare, 
 
 Toweepe with her that wept with all : 
 That wept, yet set herselfe to chere 
 
 Them up with comforts cordiall. 
 Her love shall live, her mercy spread, 
 When thou hast ne'er a teare to shed.' 
 ' The foregoing; English verses, which are pre- 
 8ei"vcd by Dui^dale, are not now remainintj, half of 
 the tombstone having been cut away, and another 
 half stone joined to it, with the following inscription 
 on it: — " Here lyeth the body of Richard Watts, of 
 Ryhon-Clifford, in the parish of Old Stratford, Gent, 
 who departed this life the 23d of May, Anno Dom. 
 1)07, and in the 46th year of his age." This Mr. 
 Watts, as I am informed by the Rev. Mr. Daven- 
 port, was owner of, and lived at, the estate of Ryhon- 
 Clifl'ord, which was once the property of Dr. Hall. 
 
 purpose was answered, if his pieces were suc- 
 cessful on the stage ; and he was perfectly care- 
 less of the manner in which his most splendid 
 productions were disfigured in surreptitious and 
 defective editions, and his most exquisite pas- 
 sages rendered ridiculous by the blunders of 
 ignorant transcribers. The plays that were 
 pi-inted in his life-time, with the exception of 
 Titus Aiidroniciis, had all issued from the press 
 under circumstances the most injurious to the 
 reputation of their author, without his revision or 
 superintendence, and perhaps without his consent 
 or knowledge ; and when, ciglit years after his 
 death, his friends Hemingo and Condell under- 
 took the collection and publication of his works, 
 it is scarcely possible that the M S S. fi-om which 
 the edition was printed should have been the 
 genuine MSS. of Shakspeare. Those hid most 
 probably perished in the fire that destroyed the 
 Globe 'Theatre in 1613; and the first folio was 
 made up from the playhouse copies, and de- 
 formed by all the omissions and the additions 
 which had been adopted to suit the imperfections 
 or the caprice of the several performers — If 
 Shakspeare still appears to us the first of poets, 
 it is in spite of every possible disadvantage, to 
 which his own sublime contempt of applause had 
 exposed his fame, from the ignorance, the negli- 
 gence, the avarice, or the officiousness, of his 
 early editors. f 
 
 To these causes it is to be ascribed that the 
 writings of Shakspeare have come down to us 
 in a state more imperfect than those of any 
 other author of his time, and requiring every 
 exertion of critical skill to illustrate and amend 
 them. Tliat so little should be known with cer- 
 tainty of the history of his life, was the natural 
 consequence of the events which immediately 
 followed his dissolution. It is true, that the 
 age in which he flourished was little curious 
 about the lives of literary men : but our ignorance 
 
 * Mrs. Hall was buried on the 16th July, 1649, as 
 appears from the register of Stratford.' — Malone. 
 
 t It may be perceived that many passages must 
 have been corrupted beyond the reach of restoration, 
 by comparing the following lines from Lear, which 
 the ingenuity of the commentators has fortunately 
 been able to set right, with the original test : 
 
 * i am ashamed 
 
 That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus: 
 That these hot tears, which break from me perforce, 
 Should make thee worth them. — Blasts and fogs 
 
 upon thee ! 
 The uutented woundings of a father's curse 
 Pierce every sense about thee I — Old fond eyes, 
 Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out. 
 And cast you, with the watei-s that you lose, 
 To temper clay.' 
 
 The first edition reads the first line correctly, and 
 continues,* t/iut these hot tears, that break from me 
 perforce, should make the worst blasts and fo^s 
 when the untender woundings of a father's curse, 
 peruse every sense about the old fond eyes, beweep 
 this cause again,' Sec. 
 
•the life of WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 must not wholly be attributed to the want of 
 
 curiosity in the immediate successors of the poet. 
 The public mind soon became violently agitated 
 in the conflict of opposite opinions. Every indi- 
 vidual was called upon to take his stand a-s the 
 partisan of a religious or political faction. Each 
 was too intimately occupied with his personal 
 interest to find leisure for so peaceful a pursuit 
 as tracing the biography of a poet. If this was 
 the case during the time of civil commotion, 
 under the puritanical dynasty of Cromwell the 
 stage was totally destroyed ; and the life of a dra- 
 matic author, however eminent his merits, would 
 not only have been considered as a subject un- 
 deserving of inquiry, but only worthy of contempt 
 and abomination. The genius of Shakspeare was 
 dear to Milton and Dryden ; to a few lofty minds 
 and gifted spirits ; but it was dead to the multi- 
 tude of his countrymen, who, in their foolish 
 bigotry, would have considered their very houses 
 as polluted, if they had contained a copy of his 
 works. ' After the Restoration, these severe re- 
 strictions were relaxed, and, as is universally the 
 case, the counteraction vias correspondent to the 
 action. The nation suddenly exchanged the 
 rigid austerity of Puritanism for the extreme of 
 profligacy and licentiousness, ^\^len the drama 
 was revived, it existed no longer to inculcate 
 such lessons of morality as were enforced by the 
 contrition of Macbeth, the purity of Isabel, or the 
 suffering constancy of Imogen ; but to teach 
 modesty to blush at its own innocence, to corrupt 
 the heart by pictures of debauchery, and to exalt 
 a gay selfishness and daring sensuality above all 
 that is noble in principle and honourable in 
 action. At this period Shakspeare was forgotten. 
 He wrote not for such profligate times. His sen- 
 timents would have been met b^ no corre- 
 spondent feelings in the breasts of such audiences 
 as were then collected within the walls of the 
 
 • Even in the reig:n of Elizabeth, the enmity against 
 the staije was carried to a great extent ; play-books 
 were burnt privately by the bishops, and publicly by 
 the Puritans. 
 
 metropolitan theatres, composed of men who 
 came to hear their vices flattered ; and of women 
 masked, ashamed to shew their faces at repre- 
 sentations which they were sufficiently abandoned 
 to delight in. The jesting, lying, bold intriguing 
 rake, whom Shakspeare had rendered contempt- 
 ible in Lucio, and hateful in lachimo, was the 
 very character that the dramatists of Charles's 
 time were painting after the model of the court 
 favourites, and representing in false colours as a 
 deserving object of approbation. French taste 
 and French morals had banished our author from 
 the stage, and his name had faded from the 
 memory of the people. Tate, in his altered play 
 of King Lear, mentions the original in his dedi- 
 cation as an obscure piece : the author of the Tat- 
 ler, in quoting some lines of Macbeth, cites them 
 from the disfigured alteration of D'Avenant- 
 The works of Shakspeare were only read by 
 those whom the desire of literary plunder in- 
 duced to pry into the volumes of antiquated 
 authors, with the hopes of discovering some neg- 
 lected jewels that might be clandestinely trans- 
 planted to enrich their own poverty of invention ; 
 and so little were the productions of the most 
 gifted poet that ever ventured to embark on the 
 varying waters of the imagination known to the 
 generality of his countrymen, that Otway stole 
 the character of the Nurse and all the love scenes 
 of Romeo and Juliet, and published them as his 
 own, without the slightest acknowledgment of 
 the obligation, or any apprehension of detection. 
 A better taste returned : but when, nearly a cen- 
 tury after the death of Shakspeare, Rowe under- 
 took to superintend an edition of his Plays, and 
 to collect the Memoirs of his Life ; the race had 
 passed away from whom any certain recollec- 
 tions of our great national poet might have been 
 gathered ; and nothing better was to be obtained 
 than the slight notes of Aulireii, the scattered 
 hints of Oldys, the loose intimations which had 
 escaped from D^Avenant ; and the vague reports 
 which Betterton had gleaned in his pilgrimage to 
 Sirafford. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE'S WILL, 
 
 FROM THE ORIGINAL 
 
 IN THE OFFICE OF THE PREROGATIVE COURT OF CANTERBURY. 
 
 Vicesimo quinto die Mart'd* Anno Re-^ui Domini 
 noitri Jacobi nujic Regis Anglic, Sjc. decimo 
 quartOy et ScotitE quadrageiiino uojw. Anno 
 Domini 1616. 
 
 Ix the name of God, Amen. I William Shak- 
 speare, of Stratford-upon-Avon, in the county of 
 Warwick, gent, in perfect health and memory 
 ( God be praised !) do make and ordain this my 
 last will and testament in manner and form fol- 
 lowing ; that is to say : 
 
 Firsty I commend my soul into the hands of 
 God my Creator, hoping, and assm*edly believing 
 through the only merits of Jesus Christ my 
 Saviour, to be made partaker of life everlasting ; 
 and my body to the earth whereof it is made. 
 
 item, I give and bequeath unto my daughter 
 Judith, one hundred and fifty pounds of lawful 
 English money, to be paid unto her in manner 
 and form following : that is to say, one hundred 
 pounds in discharge of her raai'riage portion 
 within one year after my decease, w'th conside- 
 ration after the rate of two shillings in the pound 
 for so long time as the same shall be unpaid 
 imto her after my decease ; and the fifty pounds 
 residue thereof, upon her surrendering of, or giving 
 of such sufficient security as the overseers of this 
 my will shall like of, to surrender or grant, all 
 her estate and right that shall descend or come 
 unto her after my decease, or that she now hath, 
 of, in, or to, one copyhold tenement, with the 
 appurtenances, Ij-ing and being in Stratford- 
 
 • Our poet's will appears to have been drawn up 
 in February, thouLjh not executed till the following 
 month; for February was first written, and after- 
 wards struck, out, aud March written over it. — 
 Malo.ne. 
 
 t This was found to be unnecessary, as it was 
 ascertained that the copyhold descended to the 
 
 upon-Avon aforesaid, in the said county of War- 
 wick, being parcel or holden of the manor of 
 Rowington, unto my daughter Susanna Hall, 
 and her heirs for ever.-f- 
 
 htm, I give and bequeath unto my said daugh- 
 ter Judith one hundred and fifty pounds more, if 
 she, or any issue of her body, be living at the end 
 of three years next ensuing the day of the date 
 of this my will, during which time my executors 
 to pay her consideration from my decease ac- 
 cording to the rate aforesaid: and if she die 
 within the said terra without issue of her body, 
 then my will is, and I do give and bequeath one 
 hundred pounds thereof to my niecef Elizabeth 
 Hall, and the fifty pounds to be set forth by my 
 executors during the life of my sister Joan Hart, 
 and the use and profit thereof coming, shall be 
 paid to my said sister Joan, and after her decease 
 the said fifty pounds shall remain amongst the 
 children of my said sister, equally to be divided 
 amongst them ; but if my said daughter Juditb 
 be living at the end of the said three years, or 
 any issue of her body, then my will is, and so I 
 devise and bequeath the said hundred and fifty 
 pounds to be set out by my executors and over- 
 seers for the best benefit of her and her issue, 
 and the stock not to be paid unto her so long as 
 she shall be married and covert baron ; but my will 
 is, that she shall have the consideration yearly 
 paid unto her during her life, and after her 
 decease the said stock and consideration to be 
 
 eldest daughter by the custom of the manor. — Ma- 
 lone, edit. 1821, 
 
 X — ^ to my niece — ] Elizabeth Hall was our poet's 
 grand-daughter. So, in Othello, Act I. sc. 1. lago 
 says to Brabantio : ' You'll have your nephews neigh 
 to you ;' meaning his grand-cbildren. — Malone. 
 
SHAKSPEARE'S WILL. 
 
 paid to ner children, if she have any, and if not, 
 to her executors or assigns, she living the said 
 term after my decease : provided that if such 
 husband as she shall at the end of the said three 
 years be married unto, or at any [time] after, do 
 sufficiently assure unto her, and the issue of her 
 body, lands answerable to the portion by this my 
 will given unto her, and to be adjudged so by 
 my exe'cutors and overseers, then my will is. that 
 the said hundred and fifty pounds shall be paid 
 to such husband as shall make such assurance, 
 to his own use. 
 
 Item^ I give and bequeath unto my said sister 
 Joan twenty pounds, and all my wearing apparel 
 to bo paid and delivered within one year after 
 my decease ; and I do will and devise unto her 
 the house, with the appurtenances, in Stratford, 
 wherein she dwelleth, for her natural life, under 
 the yearly rent of twelve-pence. 
 
 Item, I give and bequeath unto her three sons, 
 
 William Hart, Hart,* and Michael Hart, 
 
 five pounds a piece, to be paid within one year 
 after my decease. 
 
 Item, I give and bequeath unto the said Eliza- 
 beth Hall all my plate (except my broad silver 
 and gilt bowlf ), that I now have at the date of 
 this my will. 
 
 Item, I give and bequeath unto the poor of 
 Stratford aforesaid ten pounds ; to Mr. Thomas 
 Combe,^ my sword ; to Thomas Russel, esq. 
 five pounds; and to Francis Collins§ of the bo- 
 
 • flart,] It is sirifriilar that neither Shak- 
 
 speave nor any of his family should have recollected 
 the Christian name of his nephew, who was horn at 
 Stratford but eleven years before the making- of his 
 will. His Christian name was Thomas; and he was 
 baptized in that town, July 24, 1C.05.— AIalonk. 
 
 + except my broad silver and gUt bowl.] This 
 
 bowl, as we afterwards find, our poet bequeathed to 
 his daughter Judith. 
 
 X . Mr. Thomas Co^nhe,'] This gentleman was 
 
 baptized at Stratford, Feb. 9, 158S-9, so that he was 
 twenty seven years old at the time of Shakspeare's 
 death. He died at Stmtford in July 1057, aged 08; 
 and his elder brother William died at the same 
 place, Jan. 30, 1(360-7, aged 80. Mr. Thomas Combe 
 by his will, made June 20, WSO, directed his execu- 
 tors to convert all his personal property into money, 
 and to lay it out in the purchase of lands, to he set- 
 tled on VVilliam Combe the eldest son of John Combe 
 of AUchurch in the county of Worcester, gent, and 
 his heirs-male ; remainder to his two brothers suc- 
 cessively. Where, therefore, our poet's sword has 
 wandered, I have not been able to discover. I have 
 taken the trouble to ascertain the ages of Shak- 
 speare's friends and relations, and the time of their 
 deaths, because we are thus enabled to judge how 
 far the traditions concerning him which were com- 
 municated to Mr. Rowe iu the beginning- of this 
 century, are worthy of credit. — Malone. 
 
 $ to Francis Collhts — ] This gentleman was, 
 
 I believe, baptized at Warwick. Ho died the year 
 after our poet, and was buried at Stratford, Sep. 27, 
 1GI7, on which day he died.— Malone, edit. 1821. 
 
 II to I/amnet Sadler,] This gentleman was 
 
 godfather to Sbakspeare's only son, who was called 
 after him. Mr. Sadler, I believe, was born about 
 
 rough of Warwick, in the county of WatTviclt^ 
 gent, thirteen pounds six shillings and eight- 
 pence, to be paid within one year after my de- 
 cease. 
 
 Item, I give and bequeath to Hamlet [Hanrnet] 
 Sadler]] twenty-six shillings eight-pence, to buy 
 him a ring ; to William Reynolds, gent, twenty- 
 six shilling eight-pence, to buy him a ring ; 
 to my godson, William Walkcr,f twenty shillings 
 in gold ; to Anthony Nash,** gent, twenty-six 
 shillings eight-pence ; and to Mr. John Nash.ff 
 twenty-six shillings eight-pence ; and to my 
 fellows, John Hemynge, Richard Burbage, and 
 Henry Cundell,^^ twenty-six shillings eight- 
 pence a piece, to buy them rings. 
 
 Item, I give, will, bequeath, and devise, unto 
 my daughter, Susannah Hall, for better enabling 
 of her to perform this my will, and towards the 
 performance thereof, all that capital messuage or 
 tenement, with the appurtenances, in Stratford 
 aforesaid, called The New Place, wherein 1 now 
 dwell, and two messuages or tenements, with the 
 appurtenances, situate, lying, and being in Hen- 
 ley-street, within the borough of Stratford afore- 
 said ; and all my barns, stables, orchards, gar- 
 dens, lands, tenements, and hereditaments, what- 
 soever, situate, lying, and being, or to be had, 
 received, perceived, or taken, within the towns, 
 liamlets, villages, fields, and grounds, of Strat- 
 ford-upon-Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and 
 Welcombe,§§ or in any of them, in the said 
 
 the year 1550, and died at Stratford-upon-Avon, in 
 Octiiber 1024. His wife, Judith Sadler, who was 
 godmother to Shakspeare's youngest daughter, was 
 buried there, March 23, 1C13-14. Our poet probably 
 was godfather to their son fVilUam, who was bap 
 tized at Stratford, Feb. 5, 1597-8.— Malonk. 
 
 % to my godson, William JJ'alkcj',] William, 
 
 the son of Henry Walker, was baptized at Stratford, 
 Oct. 10, 1003. I mention this circumstance, because 
 it ascertains that our author was at his native town 
 in the autumn of that year. Mr. William Walker 
 was buried at Stratford, March 1, 1679-SO. — Malone. 
 
 •• to Anthoiiy Nash,] He was father of Mi. 
 
 Thomas Nash, who man-ied our poet's grand-daugh- 
 ter, Elizabeth Hall. He lived, I believe, at Wel- 
 combe, where his estate lay ; and was buried at 
 Stratford, Nov. 18, 1622.— Malone. 
 
 tt to Mr. John Xash,] This gentleman died 
 
 at Stratford, and was buried there, Nov. 10, 1623. — 
 Malone. 
 
 XX to 7tiy fellou-s John Hemynge, Richard 
 
 Burbage, attd Henry Cundell,] Tbese our poet's 
 fellows did not very long survive him. Burbage died 
 in March, 1019; Cumlell in December 1027; and He- 
 minge iu October, 1GI3.— Malone. 
 
 $5 . Old Stratford, Bishopton, and fJ'elcombe,] 
 
 The lands of Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Wel- 
 corabe.here devised, were, in Shakspeare's time, a 
 continuation of one large field, all in the parish of 
 Stratford. Bishopton is two miles from Stratford, 
 and Welcombe one. For Sishopto?i, Mr. Tlieobald 
 erroneously printed Bushartoti, and the error has 
 been continued in all the subsequent editions. The 
 word in Sbakspeare's original will is spelt Bvshop' 
 ton, the vulgar pronunciation of Bishopton. 
 
 I searched the Indexes in the Rolls Chapel from 
 
SHAKSPEARE'S WILL. 
 
 county of Warwick ; and also all that messuage or 
 tenement, with the appmtenances, wherein one 
 John Robinson dwelleih, situate, lying, and 
 being, in the Blackfriars in London near the 
 Wardrobe :* and all other my lands, tenements, 
 and hereditaments, whatsoever ; to have and to 
 hold all and singular the said premises, with their 
 appurtenances, unto the said Susanna Hall, for 
 and during the terra of her natural life ; and after 
 her decease to the first son of her body lawfully 
 issuing, and to the heirs-males of the body of 
 the said first son lawfully issuing ; and ibr default 
 of such issue, to the second son of her body law- 
 fully issuing, and to the heirs-males of the body 
 of the said second son lawfully issuing ; and for 
 default of such heirs, to the third son of the body 
 of the said Susanna lawfully issuing, and to the 
 heirs-males of the body of the said third son law- 
 fully issuittg ; and for default of such issue, the 
 same so to be and remain to the fourth, fifth, sixth, 
 and seventh sons of her body lawfully issuing one 
 after another, and to the heirs-males of the bodies 
 of the said fourtli, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons 
 lawfully issuing, iu si/ch manner as it is before 
 limited to be and remain to the first, second, and 
 third sons of her body, and to their heirs-males ; 
 and for default of such issue, the said premises to 
 be and remain to ray said niece Hall, and the heirs- 
 males of her body lawfully issuing ; and for default 
 of such issue, to my daughter Judith, and the 
 heirs-males cf her body lawfully issuing ; and for 
 default of such issue, to the right heirs of me 
 the said William Shakspeare for ever. 
 
 the year 1589 to lOiR, with the hope of finding an 
 enrohuent of the purchase-deed of the estate here 
 devised by our poet, aud of ascertaining its extent 
 and vahie ; but it was not enrolled during' th.it period, 
 iior could I fiiid any inquisition taken after his death, 
 by which its value might have been ascertained. I 
 Suppose it was conveyed by the former owner to 
 Shakapeare, not by bargain and sale, but by a deed of 
 feoffmeut, which it was not necessary to enroll. — 
 
 Ma LONE. 
 
 • that messuage or trnetnent—in the Black- 
 
 friarx in LondoJi near the Wardrobe ;] This was the 
 bouse which was mortgaged to Henry Walker. 
 
 By the Wardrobe is meant the King's Great 
 Wardrobe, a royal house, near Puddle-wharf, pur- 
 chased by King Edward the Third from Sir John 
 Beauchamp, who built it. King- Richard III. was 
 
 Item, I give unto my wife my second best bed, 
 with the furniture. f 
 
 Item, I give and bequeath to my said daughter 
 Judith, my broad silver gilt bowl. All the rest 
 of my goods, chattels, leases, plate, jewels, and 
 household stuff whatsoever, after my debts and 
 legacies paid, and my funeral expenses dis- 
 charged, I give, devise, and bequeath to my son- 
 in-law, John Hall, gent, and my daughter, Su- 
 sanna, his wife, whom I ordain and make execu- 
 tors of this ray last will and testament. And I do 
 entreat and appoint the said Thomas Russell, 
 esq. and Francis Collins, gent, to be overseers 
 hereof. And do revoke all former wills, and 
 publish this to be my last will and testament. 
 In witness whereof I have hereunto put my hand, 
 the day and year first above written. 
 
 By me WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Witness to the puhlUiing hereof, 
 
 Fra. Collyns, 
 Julius Shaw, 
 John Robinson, 
 Hamnet Sadler, 
 Robert Whatcott. 
 
 Prohatum fxi'it testamentum svprascriptum apud 
 London yCorain Magistro William Byrde, Legnm 
 Dnctore, ^'o. vicesimo secundo die inensis Jiin'n, 
 Anno Dumini, 1616; juramento Johannis Hall 
 
 - uniiis ex, cui, &[c. de bene, ^c. jurat, reservata 
 potestate, 8^c. SusaniKB Hall, alt. ex. <SfC. earn 
 cum venerit, S^c. petitur, 8^<-, 
 
 lodged in this house, in the second year of his reign. 
 See Stowe's Survey, p. 693, edit, 1618. After the fire 
 of London this office was kept in the Savoy: but it is 
 now abolished. — UrALONE. 
 
 f my second best bed, ivith the furniture.'] 
 
 Thus Shakspeare's original will. 
 
 It appear;), in the original will of Shakspeare (now 
 in the Prerogative-office, Doctors' Commons), that 
 he had forgot his wife ; the legacy to her being ex- 
 pressed by an interlineation, as weU as those to 
 Heminge, Burhage, and Condell. 
 
 The will is written on three sheets of paper, the 
 last two of which are undoubtedly subscribed with 
 Shakspeare's own hand. The first indeed has his 
 name in the margin, but it difters somewhat in spell- 
 ing as well as manner, from the two signatures 
 tiiat follow. — Malonk and Stkevens. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER 
 
 IN WHICH 
 
 THE PLAYS OF SHAKSPEARE 
 
 ARE SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN, ACCORDING TO THE 
 
 ARRANGEMENTS OF 
 
 CHALMERS, MALONE, AND DR. DRAKE. 
 
 Chalmers aiid Malone reject Tifiu Aniironicus, I 
 snd Peiicles, as spurious. Dr. Drake does not 
 notice the former play, but, on the authoritr of j 
 Drjden, admits the latter as genuine, and sup- I 
 
 poses it to have been produced in 1690. The 
 dates which thov severally ascribe to the re- 
 maining plays are as follows : — 
 
 
 
 
 Chalmers. 
 
 
 1. The Conietly of Errors 
 a. Loie's Labour Lost 
 
 
 1591 
 1592 
 
 
 3. Hoiuci> and Juliet 
 
 
 1592 
 
 
 •4. Henry VI. the Kirst Piirt . 
 
 
 1593 
 
 
 5. Heurv VI. the Second Part 
 
 
 1595 ■ 
 
 
 6. Henry ^■I. tho Thmi Part 
 
 
 1595 
 
 
 7. The Two Gentlemen of Vcpona . 
 
 
 1595 
 
 
 S. Richard III. 
 
 
 1595 
 
 
 9. Richard 11 
 
 
 1596 
 
 
 10. Tho Merry Wives of Windsor 
 
 
 1590 
 
 
 11. Henry IV. the Fii^t Part . 
 
 
 1696 
 
 
 IS. Henry IV. the Second Part 
 
 
 159- 
 
 
 13. Henry V 
 
 14. The Merchant of Venice 
 
 
 1597 
 1597 
 
 
 15. Hamlet .... 
 
 
 1597 
 
 
 16. KincJohn .... 
 
 
 159S 
 
 
 17. A Midsummer-Xicht's Dream 
 
 
 159S 
 
 
 18. The Taminir of the Shrew 
 
 
 159S 
 
 
 19. Alls Well that Ends Well . 
 
 
 1599 
 
 
 50. Much Ado .\boat Nothing 
 
 51. .\s You Like It . 
 
 
 
 1599 
 1599 
 
 
 sa. Troilus and Crtissida . 
 
 
 
 1600 
 
 
 13. Timon of Athens 
 
 
 
 1601 
 
 
 S4. The Winters Tale 
 
 
 
 1601 
 
 
 25. Measure for Measure 
 
 
 
 1604 
 
 
 26. Lear .... 
 
 
 
 1605 
 
 
 47. Cymbeline . 
 
 
 
 icon 
 
 
 SS. Macbeth 
 
 
 
 ICOG 
 
 
 S9. Julius Cics.w 
 
 
 
 1607 
 
 
 SO. Antony and Cleopatra 
 31. Coriolanus - 
 
 
 
 1603 
 1609 
 
 
 Ji. Tho Tempest 
 
 33. The T«-clfth Night 
 
 3*. Henry VIII. 
 
 
 
 1613 
 I6I3 
 MI3 
 
 
 35. Otheiio . 
 
 
 
 iai4 
 
 
 Malone. 
 
 Dr. Drake. 
 
 1592 
 
 1501 
 
 1594 
 
 1591 
 
 l.')96 
 
 1593 
 
 15S!) 
 
 1592 
 
 1591 
 
 1592 
 
 1591 
 
 
 1591 
 
 ISOS 
 
 1593 
 
 1595 
 
 1593 
 
 1596 
 
 IIWl 
 
 1601 
 
 159- 
 
 1596 
 
 1599 
 
 1596 
 
 15!>9 
 
 1599 
 
 1594 
 
 1597 
 
 1600 
 
 1597 
 
 1596 
 
 1S9S 
 
 15iH 
 
 1593 
 
 1596 
 
 1591 
 
 1606 
 
 1598 
 
 1600 
 
 158» 
 
 1599 
 
 1600 
 
 1002 
 
 1601 
 
 1610 
 
 1602 
 
 UUl 
 
 1610 
 
 1603 
 
 1603 
 
 1605 
 
 1604 
 
 1609 
 
 160S 
 
 1606 
 
 1606 
 
 1607 
 
 1607 
 
 160S 
 
 1008 
 
 1610 
 
 1609 
 
 1611 
 
 1611 
 
 1607 
 
 1613 
 
 1603 
 
 1602 
 
 1604 
 
 16ia 
 
APPENDIX- 
 No. 3. 
 
 I5BS . 
 
 . 1608 . 
 
 . 1C15 
 
 ISM . 
 
 . lUOl . 
 
 . IC12 
 
 1509 . 
 
 . lens 
 
 
 1500 .' 
 
 . 1604 . 
 
 . 1603 
 
 1602 . 
 
 . leos 
 
 
 EDITIONS OF SHAKSPEARE'S WORKS. 
 
 Of the following plays, editions were printed during the life-time of Shakspeare. 
 EARLY QUARTOS. 
 
 Titus Andronicus 1600 . 
 
 PericleJt 1609 
 
 Henry VI. Parts 2 antl 3 .... 
 
 RichanI II 1597 . 
 
 Richard III 1507 . 
 
 Romeo aud Juliet 1597 . 
 
 Love's Labour Lost 1598 
 
 Henrj- IV. the First Part .... 1598 . 
 
 Henry IV. the Second Part . . . 1600 
 
 Henry V 1600 . 
 
 Merchant of Venice 1000 
 
 Midsumraer-Xijrht's Dream . . . 1600 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing . . . 1800 
 
 Merry Wires of Windsor .... 1602 
 
 Hamlet 1603 . 
 
 Lear • . . . 1008 
 
 Troilua and Cressida 1609 
 
 Othello no date 
 
 The above are the only dramatic productions 
 of our Author which were published during his 
 life-time. All of thera were sent into the world 
 imperfectly ; some printed from copies surrepti- 
 tiously obtained by means of inferior performers, 
 wno, deriving no benefit from the theatre, except 
 their salary, were uninterested in the retention 
 of copies, which was one of the chief concerns of i 
 
 our ancient managers ; and the rest, as Hamlet in 
 its first edition, The Merry Whe$ cf Windsor, 
 Romeo and Juliet, Henry the Fifth, and the luo 
 Parts nf Henry the Fnurth, appear to have been 
 published from copies inaccurately taken by the 
 ear during representation, without any assistance 
 from the originals belonging to the playhouses 
 
 FOLIOS. 
 
 As Shakspeare had himself shewn such an 
 entire disregard for posthumous reputation as to 
 omit pubHshing a collected edition of his works, 
 an attempt was made to atone for his neglect by 
 his friends Heminge and Condell, about eight 
 years after his death, who published, in 1623, the 
 only authentic edition of his works. 
 
 The title-page is as follows : 
 
 'Mr. Milliam Shakspeare's Comedies, Histo- 
 ries, and Tragedies. Published according to 
 the true original Copies, 1623, Fol. Printed at 
 the Charges of W. Jaggard, Ed. Blount, 
 J. Smethweeke, and \V. Apsley. 
 
 The Dedication nf the Ptayers, prefixed to the 
 first folio, 1623. 
 
 To the most Noble and Incompar.ible Paire of 
 Brethren, William Isarle of Pembroke, &e. 
 
 Lord Chamberlaine to the Kings most Excel- 
 lent Majesty, and Philip Earle of .Montgomery 
 &c. Gentleman of his Majesties Bed-chamber. 
 Both Knights of the Most Noble Order of the 
 Garter, and our singular good Lords. 
 
 Right Honourable, 
 
 Whilst we studie to he thankful in our particu- 
 lar, for the many favours we ha\e received from 
 your L. L. wo are falne upon the ill fortune, to 
 mingle two the most diverse things that can bee, 
 feare and rashnesse ; rashnesse in the enterprize, 
 and feare of the successe. For, when we valew 
 the places your H. H. sustaine, we cannot but 
 know their dignity greater, then to descend to 
 the reading of these trifles : and, while we name 
 them trifles, we have depriv'd ourselves of the 
 defence of our Dedication. But since your L. L. 
 have been pleased to thinke these trifles some- 
 B 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 thing, heeretofore , and have prosequuted both 
 them, and their Authour living, with so much fa- 
 vour: we hojje tliat (they out-living him, and he 
 not having the fate, common with some, to be 
 excquutor to his owne writings) you will use the 
 same indulgence toward them, you have done 
 unto their parent. There is a great diSerence, 
 whether any booke choose his Patrones, or finde 
 them : This hath done both. For, so much were 
 your L. L. likings of the severall parts, when 
 they were acted, as before they were published, 
 the Volume ask'd to be yours. We have but 
 collected them, and done an office to the dead, to 
 procure his Orphanes, Guardians ; without am- 
 bition either of selfe-profit, or fame : onely to 
 keepe the memory of so worthy a Friend, and 
 Fellow alive, <is was our Shakkspeare, by humble 
 offer of his playes, to your most noble patronage. 
 Wherein, as we have justly observed, no man to 
 come neere your L. L. but with a kind of reli- 
 gious addresse, it hath bin the height of our care, 
 who are the Presenters, to make the present 
 worthy of your H. H. by the perfection. But, 
 there we must also crave our abilities to be con- 
 sidered, my Lords. We cannot go beyond our 
 ownc powers. Country hands reach foorth milke, 
 creame, fruites, or what they have : and many 
 Nations (we have heard) that had not gummes 
 and incense, obtained their requests with a lea- 
 vened Cake. It was no fault to approch their 
 Gods by whatmeanes they could: And the most, 
 though meanest, of things are made more pre- 
 cious, when they are dedicated to Temples. In 
 that name therefore, we most hAiibly consecrate 
 to your H. H. these remaines of your servant 
 Shakespeare ; that what delight is in them may 
 be ever your L. L. the reputation his, and the 
 faults ours, if any be committed, by a payre so 
 carefull to shew their gratitude both to the living, 
 and the dead, as is 
 
 Your Lordshippes most bounden, 
 
 John Hesiinge, 
 Henry Condell. 
 
 The Preface of the Players. Prejiied to the first 
 folio editum, published in 1623. 
 
 To the great variety of Readers, 
 
 From the most able, to him that can but spell : 
 there you are number'd. We had rather you 
 were weigh'd. Especially, when the fate of all 
 Bookes depends upon your capacities : and not 
 of your heads alone, but of your purses. M^ell ! 
 it is now publique, and you wil stand for your 
 priviledges wee know ; to read, and censure. 
 Do so, but buy it first. That doth best commend 
 a Booke, the Stationer sales. Then, how odde 
 soever your braines be, or your wisdomes, make 
 your licence the same, and spare not. Judge 
 your sixe-pcn'orth, your shillings worth, your 
 five sliillings worth at a time, or higher, so you 
 
 rise to tae just rates, and welcome. But, what- 
 ever you do. Buy. Censure will not drive a 
 Trade, or make the Jacke go. And though you 
 he a .Magistrate of wit, and sit on the Stage at 
 Black- Friers, or the Cock-pit, to arraigne Playes 
 dailie, know, these Playes have had their triall 
 alreadie, and stood out all Appeales; and do 
 now come forth quitted rather by a Decree of 
 Court, than any purchas'd Letters of commen- 
 dation. 
 
 It had bene a thing, we confcsse, worthie to 
 have bene wished, that the Author himselfe had 
 lived to have set forth, and overseen his owne 
 writings ; But since it hath bin ordain'd other- 
 wise, and he by death departed from that right, 
 wo pray you, doe not envie his Friends, the 
 office of their care and paine, to have collected 
 and publish'd them ; and so to have publish'd 
 them, as where (before) you were abus'd with 
 divers stolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed 
 and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of in- 
 jurious impostors, that expos'd them : even those 
 are now offer'd to your view cur'd, and perfect 
 of their limbes ; and all the rest, absolute in 
 their numbers, as he conceived the : Who, as he 
 was a happie imitator of Nature, was a most 
 gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went 
 together ; and what he thought, he uttered with 
 that easinesse, that wee have scarse received from 
 him a blot in his papers. But it is not our pro- 
 vince, who onely gather his works, and give 
 them you, to praise him. It is yours that reade 
 him. And there we hope, to your divers capa- 
 cities, you will finde enough, both to draw, and 
 hold you : for his wit can no more lie hid, then 
 it could be lost. Reade him, therefore ; and 
 againe, and againe : And if then you doe not like 
 bim, surely you are in some manifest danger, not 
 to understand him. And so we leave you to 
 other of his Friends, whom if you need, can bee 
 your guides : if you neede them not, you can 
 leade yourselves, and others. And such readers 
 we wish him. 
 
 John Heminge, 
 Henrie Condell. 
 
 Steevens, with some degree of probability, sup- 
 poses these prefaces to be the productions of 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 In 1632, the works of Shakspeare were re- 
 printed in folio by Thomas Cotes, for Robert 
 Allot. Of this edition Malone speaks most con- 
 temptuously, though many of the errors of the 
 first are corrected in it, and he himself silently 
 adopted 186 of its corrections without acknow- 
 ledging the debt. The judgment passed by 
 Steevens on this edition is, ' Though it be more 
 incorrectly printed than the preceding one, it has 
 likewise the advantage of various readings, which 
 are not merely such as reiterature of copies will 
 naturally produce. The curious examiner nf 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Shakspcare's text, xvho possesses tlie first of these. 
 ought not to be unfurnished with the second.' 
 
 The third folio was printed in 1664, for P. C. * 
 .\nd a fourth, for H. Herringham, E. Brewster, 
 and R. Bentley, in 1682. 
 
 * .\s to these impressions,' saj'S Steevens, * they 
 are little better than waste paper, for they differ 
 only from the preceding ones by a larger accu- 
 mulation of erroi"S.' 
 
 These are all the ancient editions of Shak. 
 speare. 
 
 MODERN EDITIONS. 
 
 Oc.avo, Rowe's, London, 1709, 7 vols. 
 Duodecimo, Rowe's, ditto, 1714, 9 ditto. 
 Quarto, Pope's, ditto, 1725, 6 ditto. 
 Duodecimo, Pope's, ditto, 1728, 10 ditto. 
 Octavo, Theobald's, ditto, 1733, 7 ditto. 
 Duodecimo, Theobald's, ditto, 1740, 8 ditto. 
 Quarto, Hanmer's, Oxford, 1744, 6 ditto. 
 Octavo, Warburton's, London, 1747, 8 ditto. 
 Ditto, Johnson's, ditto, 1765, 8 ditto. 
 Ditto, Steevens's, ditto, 1766, 4 ditto. 
 Crown 8vo. Capell's, 1768, 10 ditto. 
 Quarto, Hanmer's, Oxford, 1771, 6 ditto. 
 Octavo, Johnson and Steevens, London, 1773, 
 10 ditto. 
 
 Octavo, Johnson and Steevens, London, 1778, 
 
 10 vols. 
 Ditto (published by Stockdalel, 1784, 1 ditto. 
 Ditto, Johnson and Steevens, 1785, third edition, 
 revised and augmented by the editor of 
 Dodsley's Collection of old Plays (i. e. Mr. 
 Reed), 10 ditto. 
 Duodecimo (published by Bell), London, 1788, 
 
 20 vols. 
 Octavo (published by Stockdale), 1790, 1 ditto. 
 Crown 8vo. Malone's, ditto, 1790, 10 ditto. 
 Octavo, fourth edition, Johnson and Steevens, 
 
 &c. ditto, 1793, 15 ditto. 
 Octavo, fifth edition, Johnson and Steevens, by 
 
 Reed, 1803, 21 ditto. 
 The dramatic Works of Shakspeare, in 6 vols. 
 8vo. with Notes, by Joseph Rann, A. M. 
 Vicar of St. Trinity, in Coventry. — Cla- 
 rendon Press, Oxford. 
 
 Vol. i 1786 
 
 Vol.ii 1787 
 
 Vol. iii 1789 
 
 Vol. iv 1791 
 
 Vol. v 
 
 Vol. vi S' 
 
 The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare, 
 with the corrections and illustrations of various 
 commentators : comprehending a Life of the 
 Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by 
 the late Edward Malone, 1821. This edition 
 was superintended by the late Mr. Boswell, 
 
 1794 
 
 No. 4. 
 
 PLAYS ASCRIBED TO SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 EITHER Br THE EDITORS OF THE -TWO LATER FOLIOS, OR BY THE COMPILERS OP 
 ANCIENT CATALOGUES. 
 
 Locrine. 
 
 Sir John OUcadle, 
 
 Lord CroinwetL 
 
 The London ProdigaL 
 
 The Puritan. 
 
 The Yorkshire Traj^edy. 
 Tlics^ were all printed as Shakspeare's in the 
 third folio, 1664, witliout banng the slightest 
 claim to such a distinction. Steevens thought 
 that the York>,hiye Tragedy mig;ht probably be a 
 hasty sketch of our great poet ; but he after- 
 wards silently abandoned this opinion. We find 
 
 • This edition is more scarce than even that of 
 1623; most of the copies having been destroyed in 
 the fire of London, 1066. 
 
 from the papers of Henslowef that Sir John Old* 
 castle was the work of four writers — Munday, 
 Drayton, Wilson, and Hathway, It is impossible 
 to discover to whom the rest are to be attributed. 
 
 Some other plays, with about equal pretensions, 
 have likewise been given to our author. 
 
 The Arraignment of Paris, which is known to 
 have been written by George Peele. 
 
 The Birth of Merlin, the work of Rowley, al- 
 though in the title-page, 1662, probably by a 
 fraud of the bookseller, it is stated to be the joint 
 production of Rowley and Shakspeare. 
 
 t He appears to have been proprietor of the Rose 
 Theatre, near the bank sido iu Southwark. The MSS. 
 alluded to were found at Dulwich College. 
 
 B2 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 Edward the Third. This play Capell ascribed 
 to Shakspeare, for no other reason but that he 
 thought it too good to be the work of any of his 
 contemporaries. 
 
 Fair Emma. There is no other ground for 
 supposing this play to be among our author's 
 productions, than its having been met with in a 
 volume, which formerly belonged to Charles II. 
 which is lettered on the back, SHAKSPEARE, 
 Vol. I. 
 
 The Mnry Devil of Edmmitfln, entered on the 
 Stationers' books as Shakspeare's about the time 
 of the Restoration ; but there is a former entry, 
 in 1608, in which it is said to be written by T. B. 
 whom Malone supposes to have been Tony or 
 Antony Brewer, 
 
 Mucedt^rus. The real author unknown. Ma- 
 lone conceives that he might be R. Greene. 
 
 Shakspeare is supposed to have had a share 
 in two other plays, and to have assisted Ben 
 Jouson in Sejanug, and Fletcher in the Two NfAU 
 
 Kinsmen. If he was the person who united m(b 
 Jonson in the composition of Seja7iu», which Mr, 
 Gilford very reasonably doubts, no portion of his 
 work is now remaining. The piece, as originally 
 written, was not successful ; and the passages 
 supplied by the nameless friend of Jonson were 
 omitted in publication. The fact of his having 
 co-operated with Fletcher in the Two Voble Kins- 
 men has been much discussed ; Pope favours the 
 supposition that Shakspeare's hand may be dis- 
 covered in the tragedy : Dr. Warburton ex- 
 presses a belief that our great poet wrote ' the 
 first act, but in his worst manner.' Al! the rest 
 of the commentators, without exception, agree 
 in rejecting this opinion ; and attribute the origin 
 of the tale to the puff of a bookseller, who fouild 
 his profit in uniting the name of Shakspeare with 
 that of Fletcher on publishing the play. The 
 judgment of the majority appears in this ca*e to 
 be the most correct. . 
 
DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 T^HAT praises are without reason lavished on the 
 dead, and tliat the honours due only to excellence 
 are paid to antiquity, is a complaint likely to be 
 alwuvs continued by those, who, being able to add 
 nothing to truth, hope for eminence from the here- 
 sies of paiadox ; or those, who, being forced by dis- 
 appointment upon consolatory expedients, are will- 
 ing to hope from posterity what the present age re- 
 fuses, and flatter themselves that the regard which is 
 yet denied by envy, will be at last bestowed by time. 
 Antiquity, like every other quality that attracts 
 the notice of mankind, has undoubtedly votaries that 
 ieverence it. not from reason, but from prejudice. 
 Some seem to admire indiscriminately whatever has 
 been long preserved, without considering that time 
 has sometimes co-operated with chance ; all perhaps 
 are more willing to honour past than present excel- 
 lence : and the mind contemplates genius through tlie 
 shades; of age, as the eye surveys the sun tlirough 
 artificial opacity. The great contention of criticism 
 is to find the faults of the moderns, and the beauties 
 of the ancients. While an author is yet living, we 
 estimate his powers by his worst perfonnance, and 
 when he is dead, we rate them by his best. 
 
 To works, however, of which the excellence is not 
 absolute and definite, but gradual and comparative ; 
 to works not raised upon principles demonstrative 
 and scientific, but appealing wiioUy to observation 
 and experience, no other test can be applied than 
 length of duration and continuance of esteem. What 
 mankind have long possessed they have often ex- 
 amined and compared, and if they persist to value 
 the possession, it is because frequent comparisons 
 have confirmed opinion in its favour. As among the 
 works of nature, no man can properly call a river 
 deep, or a mountain high, without the knowledge of 
 many mouutaine, and many rivers ; so in the pro- 
 ductions of genius, nothing can be styled excellent 
 till it has been compared with other works of the 
 same kind. Demonstration immediately displays its 
 power, and has nothing to hope or fear from the flux 
 of years : but works tentative and experimental must 
 De estimated by their proportion to the general and 
 collective ability of man, as it is discovered in a long 
 succession of endeavours. Of the first building that 
 was raised, it might be with certainty determined 
 that it was round or square ; but whether it was 
 spacious or lofty must have been referred to time. 
 The Pythagorean scale of numbers was at once dis- 
 cf^ered to be perfect ; but the poems of Homer we 
 vet know not to transcend the common limits of 
 human intelligence, but by remarking, that nation 
 after nation, and century after century, has been able 
 to do little more than transpose his incidents, new 
 name his characters, and paraphrase his sentiments. 
 The reverence due to writings that have long sub- 
 sisted, arises therefore not from any credulous con- 
 fidence in tlie superior wisdom of past ages, or 
 gloomy persuasion of the degeneracy of mankind, 
 but is the consequence of acknowledged and indu- 
 bitable positions, that what has been longest known 
 has been most considered, and what is most con- 
 sidered is^est understood. 
 
 The poet, of whose works I have undertaken the 
 levision, may now begin to assume the dignity of an 
 
 ancient, and claim the privilege of established fame 
 and prescriptive veneration. He has long outlived 
 his century, the tenn commonly fixed as the test of 
 literary merit. Whatever advantages he might once 
 derive from personal allusions, local customs, or 
 temporary opmions, have for many years been lost ; 
 and every topic of merriment or motive of sorrow, 
 which the modes of artificial life afforded him, now 
 only obscure the scenes which they once illuminated. 
 The effects of favour and competition are at an end ; 
 the tradition of his friendships and his enmities has 
 perished ; his works support no opinion with argu- 
 ments, nor supply any faction with invectives ; they 
 can neither indulge vanity, nor gratify malignity ; 
 but are read without any other reason than the desire 
 of pleasure, and are therefore praised only as plea- 
 sure is obtained ; yet, thus unassisted by interest or 
 passion, they have passed through variations of taste 
 and changes of manners, and, as they are devolved 
 from one generation to another, have received new 
 honours at every transmission. 
 
 liut because human judgment, though it be gra- 
 dually gaining upon certainty, never becomes in- 
 fallible ; and approbation, though long continued* 
 may yet be only the approbation of prejudice or 
 fashion ; it is proper to inquire, by what peculiarities 
 of excellence Shakspeare has gained and kept the 
 favour of his countrymen. 
 
 Nothing can please many, and please long, but 
 just representations of general nature. Particular 
 manners can be known to few, and therefore few only 
 can judge how nearly they are copied. The irregu- 
 lar combinations of fanciful invention may delight 
 awhile, by that novelty of which the common satiety 
 I of life sends us all in quest ; but the pleasures of 
 sudden wondei' are soon exhausted, and the mind can 
 only repose on the stability of truth. 
 
 Shakspeare is above all writers, at least above aH 
 modern writers, the poet of nature ; the poet that [ 
 iiolds up to his readers a faithful mirror of manners 
 and of life. His charactt^rs are not modified by the 
 customs of particular places, unpractised by the rest 
 of the world ; by the peculiarities of studies or pro- 
 fessions, which can operate but upon small numbers ; 
 or by the accidents of transient fashions or temporary 
 opinions : they are the genuine progeny of common 
 humanity, such as the world will always supply, and 
 observation \vi\\ always find. His persons act and 
 speak by the influence of those general passions and 
 principles by which all minds are agitated, and the 
 whole system of life is continued in motion. In the 
 writings of other poets a character is too often an 
 individual ; in those of Shakspeare it is commonly a 
 species. 
 
 It is from this wide extension of design that so 
 much instruction is derived. It is this which fills 
 the plays of Shakspeare with practical axioms and 
 domestic wisdom. It was said of Euripides, that 
 every verse was a precept ; and it may be said ol 
 Shakspeare, that from his works may be collected a 
 system of civil and ceconomical prudence. Yet his 
 real power is not shevvn in the splendour of parti- 
 cular passages, but by the progress of liis fable, and 
 the tenor of his dialogue ; and he that tries to re- 
 commend him bv select quotations, will succeed 
 
VR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE 
 
 p ihe tjedant in nierucie;., •••■■^, ■-- 
 his housrto^ale, canied a brick m h.s pocket as 
 
 because he found nothing there ^^■hlch he shou d 
 because iil lu o ^^^^ remark 
 
 ''" ;r.'nXd tLmy st^ge but that of Shakspeare. 
 
 ?h^' lea rt when'it >^ under any other direct.on, ,s 
 
 Peril, in a language which was never heard, upon 
 loDC "which wUl never a.ise in the commerce of 
 mankind But the dialogue of this author is often 
 To evidently determined by the incident which pro^ 
 duces it and is pursued with so much ease and 
 s"nip icUv "hat it seems scarcely to claim the merit 
 of fie ion but to have been gleaned by diligent se- 
 lection oitof common conversation, and common 
 occurrences 
 
 his assigned ■ and it may be said, that he has not 
 on y shlln himan nature as it acts in real exigences 
 butCit would be found in trials, to which it cannot 
 
 '^Thfs'herefore is the praise of Shakspeare, that 
 
 which other writers raise up before h.m naj here be 
 cured of his delirious ecstacies, by reading human 
 senUments in human language ; by scenes rom 
 vhi ha hermit may estimate the transactions of the 
 world, and a confessor predict the progress of the 
 
 P^H-radherence to general nature has exposed h^m 
 
 to the censure o^"'.\'"> -\» J^s ^^d R ™ef th.Tk 
 upon narrower principles. /'enm=, anu j j y ,,■ ^^ 
 
 bis Romans not sufficiently 1 ™>f"- ^"f ^^^^^^ 
 censures his kings as not completely royal. iJen"'^ 
 s^"ffrnde^hatflenenius,asenatorofome should 
 
 play the buftoon; and Voltaire pc. haps thnksde 
 cencv violated when the Danish usurper .s repre- 
 ::n?Jdara drunkard. But SWf ^f-e ^l-ys make 
 nature predominate over accident; «"d it be pre 
 serves tlie essential character .s not vy-efu of 
 
 every action quickened or lelarcled. lo bring a lover, ^^ ^^^ 4 ^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ every other^city. 
 
 uiCKentuui iciu,.v^v.>*. o ., _ 
 
 ; ladv and a rival into the fable ; to entangle them 
 n :?niradictory obligations, l-^ple^ the^^n with op 
 positions of interest, and harass l-™ v« h v.o^nce 
 of desires inconsistent with each other, to maie 
 them meet in rapture, and part in agony ; to fill 
 :l;:;^m:::hswitniyperbolicaUoyandou^^eous 
 
 ires Komansoi ,....5=, "-- — ,,„,„•,,„- 
 on men He knows that Rome, like every other city, 
 had men of all dispositions ; and wanUng a buffo n 
 he went into the senate-house for that which tne 
 senate-house would certainly have f "/^e^ h m He 
 
 was inclined to shew an '^^,^1'" ,*"'*.,^™';t added 
 only odious, but despicable : he .herefore added 
 
 _w;r=s'^m;;-^,.,^r^l^"i^= 
 
 r i:t;;;ss'&asnothin hun^neverwas dranuenr.^^^ 
 
 ed ■ to deliver them as nothing human ever ^'"^^ '"^^ kings. These are the petty 
 
 was delivered, is the business of a modern dramaast. \ its natu'^al powe_^^^ j^^ ^ o^^^ overlooks the casual 
 
 '*'""''';Vred, is the business of a modern dramaus.. , '—"■/"''- ^^j-'d, a poet overb 
 Eor.hisp^babilityisviolated.Ufeismmepresented cavils of^p^^^^^^^ 
 
 ..aLi,ib,»J on, .1... I; -»''' •™,i ■ ' 
 
 stated and then examined. . . 
 
 Shakspea e's plays are not in the rigorous and en- 
 
 expiessmg uie ^.^ ,,,„,i,„r . in which, at the same 
 
 ^";^?-::lSj:^:Stl'Pposesandcasu^ 
 
 S:« <;;-ae^;avity,'as the writers , l^-^^-jia:^:-^^^:!^^'— "^^ 
 of baibirous romances invigorated '^e -^de^r by^a | c^u^s«m_^had^pre^ -■-."-. -^^r 
 
 kn w1haT:ny:;hV" assi'o;,as it was regular or 
 exo bitant, was a cause of happiness or calamity. 
 
 Characters thus ample and general were not easily 
 discriminated and prLerved. yet.I-riiaps - poe 
 pver kept his personages more distinct from eacn 
 olh r I will not say ^th Pope, that every speech 
 mav be as^.ned to the proper speaker, because many 
 Speeches" here are which liave nothing characteris- 
 ?fcal but perhaps, though some may be equally 
 adapied to every person, it will be difficult to find 
 anv that can be properly transferred from thepresent 
 Assessor ?o ano?he? claimant. The choice is right, 
 when there is reason for choice. . , . 
 
 Other dramatists can only gain attention by hy 
 
 perbolical or aggravated characters by fabulous and 
 
 uiiexani 
 
 mrrd3: their abs;MUre; -, some the moment- 
 Biant and a dwarf ; and he that should lorm ...» «- , ^'^^^.^^.^je^ ..f life, and some the lighter occur- 
 lee tation of human affairs from the play, orJVom the »" ^ "^^'^^^ ^^e terrors of distress, and some the 
 Lie, would be equally deceived. Shf spoa^e l.a^no rence. , ^^ _ 
 
 heroes; his scenes are occupied ™ly by men, wh 1^ . ,1- ,_..,, 
 
 rs o. U1M.1C33, I"— — - 
 Thus rose the two modes oi 
 
 ,ly by men, who ga.eties ot pfosp«j " • •' „{ ,„ rf^ and comedy^ 
 
 f have spoken or acted on ine "^'-'"--Q-^ l„^{ „,eans, and cons 
 here the agency is supernatural, the dialogue con y ^^^^ _^__ 
 
 1 with life. Other enters disguise he mos that 1 ^^^^_^^ 
 
 Idered as so little allied, 
 .loni the Greek or Romans 
 
 ^ ^v; wHh life* Other wnters disguise the mos ^-^^-j;^;:,^^,^ both. 
 
 natural passions and most frequent '-t^en ^^ » ^'^^'^^ " Thakspeare has united' .he powers of exx, ing 
 hewhocontemplatesthemmthebookwillno i^now 6 a P ^^ ^^^^ ^^i „ one muid, but m 
 
DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 duce seriousness and sorrowj and sometimes levity 
 and laugluer. 
 
 That tills is a practice coniiary to the rules of 
 criticism will be readily allowed ■ but there is always 
 an appeal open from criticism to nature. The end 
 of writing is to instruct ; the end of poetry to instruct 
 by pleasing. I'hat the mingled drama may convey 
 all tiie instruction of tragedy or comedy cannot be 
 denied, because it includes both in its alternations of 
 exhibition, and approaches nearer than either to the 
 appearance of life, by shewing how great machina- 
 tions and slender designs may promote or obviate 
 one another, and the high and the low co-operate in 
 the general system by unavoidable concatenation. 
 
 It is objected, that by this change of scenes the 
 passions are iuteirupted in their progression, and 
 that the principal event, being not advanced by a 
 due gradation of preparatory incidents, wants at last 
 the power to move, which constitutes the perfection 
 of dramatic poetry. This reasoning is so specious, 
 that it is received as true even by those who in daily 
 experience feel it to be false. The interchanges of 
 mingled scenes seldom fail to produce the intended 
 vicissitudes of passion. Fiction cannot move so 
 much, but that the attention may be easily trans- 
 ferred ; and though it must be allowed that pleasmg 
 melanciioly be sometimes interrupted by unwelcome 
 levity, yet let it be considered likewise, that melan- 
 choly is often not pleasing, and that the disturbance 
 of one man may be the relief of another ; that differ- 
 ent auditors have different habitudes ; and that, upon 
 the whole, all pleasure consists in variety. 
 
 The players, who in their edition divided our au- 
 thor's works into comedies, histories, and tragedies, 
 seem not to liave distinguished the three kinds, by 
 any very exact or definite ideas. 
 
 An action which ended happily to the principal 
 persons, however serious or distressful through its 
 intermediate incidents, in their opinion constituted 
 a comedy. This idea of a comedy continued long 
 amongst us, and plays were written, which, by chang- 
 ing the catastrophe, were tragedies to-day, and co- 
 medies to-morrow. 
 
 Tragedy was not in those times a poem of more 
 general dignity or elevation than comedy ; it required 
 only a calamitous conclusion, witli which the com- 
 mon criticism of that age was satisfied, whatever 
 lighter pleasure it aflorded in its progress. 
 
 History was a series of actions, with no other 
 than chronological succession, independent on each 
 other, and without any tendency to introduce and 
 regulate the conclusion. It is not always very nicely 
 distinguished from tragedy. Tiiere is not much 
 nearer approach to unity of action in the tragedy of 
 Aiitonii and Cieopatra. than in the history of Richard 
 the Second. But a history might be continued through 
 many plays ; as it had no plan, it had no limits. 
 
 Through all these denominations of the drama, 
 Shakspeare's mode of composition is the same; an 
 interchange of seriousness and merriment, by which 
 the mind is softened at one time, and exhilarated at 
 another. Hut whatever be his purpose, whether to 
 trladden or depress, or to conduct the story, without 
 vetiemence oi emotion, through tracts of easy and 
 familiar dialogue, he never fails to attain his pur- 
 pose ; as he commands us, we laugh or mourn, or 
 sit silent with quiet expectation, in tranquillity witli- 
 out indifference. 
 
 When Shakspeare's plan is understood, niost of 
 the criticisms of Hymer and Voltaiie vanish away. 
 Tlie play of Hamlet is opened, without impropriety, 
 by two ceiuiaels ; lago bellows at 13rabautio's win- 
 
 dow, without injury to the scheme of the play, though 
 in terms whicli a modern audience would not easily 
 endure ; the character of Polonius is seasonable ana 
 useful ; and the Gravcdiggers themselves may be 
 heard with applause. 
 
 Shakspeare engaged in dramatic poetry with the 
 world open before him ; the rules of the ancients 
 were yet known to few ; the public judgment was 
 unformed ; he had no example of such fame as might 
 force him upon imitation, nor critics of such autho- 
 rity as might restrain his extravagance : he therefore 
 indulged his natural disposition, and his disposition, 
 as Rynier lias remarked, led him to comedy. In tra- 
 gedy he often writes with great appearance of toil 
 and study, what is written at last with little felicity ; 
 but in his comic scenes, he seems to produce without 
 labour, what no labour can improve. In tragedy he 
 is alvvays struggling after some occasion to be comic, 
 but in comedy he seems to repose, or to luxuriate, 
 as in a mode of thinking congenial to his nature. In 
 his tragic scenes there is always something wanting, 
 but his comedy often surpasses expectation or desire. 
 His comedy pleases by the thoughts and the language, 
 and his tragedy for the greater part by incident and 
 action. His tragedy seems to be skill, his comedy to 
 be instinct. 
 
 The force of his comic scenes has suffered little 
 diminution from the changes made by a century and 
 a half, in manners or in words. As his personages 
 act upon principles arising from genuine passion^ 
 very little modified by particular forms, their plea- 
 sures and vexations are communicable to all times 
 and to all places; tiiey are natural, and titerefore 
 duralde ; the adventitious peculiarities of personal 
 habits, are only superficial dies, bright and pleasing 
 for a little while, yet soon fading to a deep tinct, with- 
 out any remains of former lustre ; but the discrimi- 
 nations of true passion are the colours of nature ; 
 they pervade the whole mass, and can only peiish 
 with the body that exhibits them. The accidental 
 compositions of heterogeneous modes are dissolved 
 by the chance which combined them : but the uniform 
 simplicity of primitive qualities neither admits in- 
 crease, nor suffers decay. The sand heaptd by one 
 flood is scattered by another, but the rock always 
 continues in its place. The stream of time, which is 
 continually washing the dissoluble fabric^ of other 
 poets, pasbeswithout injury by the adamant of Shak- 
 speare. 
 
 If there be, what I believe there is, in every nation, 
 a style which never becomes obsolete, a certain mode 
 of phraseology so consonant and congenial to the 
 analogy and principles of its respective language, as 
 to remain settled and unaltered : this style is pro- 
 bably to be sought in the common intercourse of life, 
 among those who speak only to be understood, with- 
 out ambition of elegance. The polite are always 
 catching modish innovations, and the learned depart 
 from established forms of speech, in hope of finding 
 or making belter; those who wish for distinction 
 forsake the vulgar, when the vulgar is right: but 
 there is a conversation above grossness and below 
 refinement, where propriety resides, and wheie this 
 poet seems to have gathered his comic dialogue. He 
 is therefore more agreeable to the ears of the present 
 age than any other author e([ually remote, and among 
 his other excellencies deserves to be studied as one 
 of the original masters of our language. 
 
 These observations are to be considered not as un- 
 exceptionally constant, but as containing general and 
 predominant truth. Shakspeare's familiar dialogue 
 is afhiTued to be smooth and clear, yet not wholly 
 
6 
 
 DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 without ruggedness or difficulty : as a country may 
 be eminently fruitful, though it has spots unfit for 
 cultivation : his characters are praised as natural, 
 though their sentiments are sometimes forced, and 
 tlieir actions improbable ; as the earth upon the 
 whole is spherical, though its surface is varied with 
 protuberances and cavities. 
 
 Shakspeare with his excellencies has likewise faults, 
 and faults sufficient to obscure and overwhelm any 
 other merit. I shall shew tiiem in the proportion in 
 which tiiey appear to me, without envious malignity 
 or superstitious veneration. No question can be 
 more innocently discussed than a dead poet's pre- 
 tensions to renown ; and Uttle regard is due to that 
 bigotry which sets candour higher than truth. 
 
 His first defect is that to which may be imputed 
 most of the evil in books or in men. lie sacrifices 
 virtue to convenience, and is so much more careful 
 to please than to instruct, that he seems to write 
 without any moral purpose. From his writings in- 
 deed a system of social duty may be selected, for he 
 that thinks reasonably must think morally ; but his 
 precepts and axioms drop casually from him ; he 
 makes no just distrib".tion of good or evil, nor is 
 always careful to shew in the virtuous a disapproba- 
 tion of the wicked ; lie carries his persons indiffer- 
 ently through right or wrong, and at the close dis- 
 misses them without further care, and leaves their 
 examples to operate by chance. This fault the 
 barbarity of his age cannot extenuate ; for it is 
 always a writer's duty to make the world better, and 
 justice is a virtue indeitendeut on time or place. 
 
 The plots are often so loosely formed, that a very 
 slight conside;ation may improve them, and so care- 
 lessly pursued, that he seems not always fully to 
 comprehend his own design. He omits opportuni- 
 ties of instructing or delighting, wiiich the train of 
 his story seems lo force upon him, and apparently 
 rejects those exliibitiuns which would be more af- 
 fecting, for the sake of those which arc more easv. 
 
 It may be observed, that in many of his plays the 
 latter part is evidently neglected. When he found 
 himself near the end of his work, and in view of his 
 reward, he shortened the labour, to snatch the profit. 
 He therefore remits his efforts where he should most 
 vigorously exert them, and his catastrophe is impro- 
 bably produced or impeifectly represented. 
 
 He had no regard to distinction of lime or place, 
 but gives to one age or nation, without scruple, the 
 customs, institutions, and opinions of another, at the 
 expence not only of likelihood, but of possibility. 
 These faults Pope has endeavoured, with more zeal 
 than judgment, to transfer to his imagined iuterpo- 
 la '-ors. We need not to wonder to find Hector quot- 
 ing Aristotle, when we see the loves of Theseus and 
 Hyppolyta combined with the Gothic mythology of 
 fairies. Shakspeare, indeed, was not the only vio- 
 lator of chronology, for in the same age Sidney, who 
 wanted not the advantages of learning, has in his 
 Arcadia, confounded the pastoral with the feudal 
 limes, the days of innocence, quiet, and security, 
 with those of turbulence, violence, and adventure. 
 
 In his comic scenes, he is seldom very successful, 
 when he engages his characters in reciprocations of 
 smartness and contests of sarcasm ; their jests are 
 commonly gross, and their pleasantry licentious ; 
 neither his gentlemen nor his ladies have much df.di- 
 cacy, nor are sufficiently distinguished from his 
 clowns by any appearance of refined manners. 
 Whether he represented the real conversation of his 
 time is not easy to determine ; the reign of Elizabeth 
 is commonly supposed to have been a time of state- 
 
 liness, formality, and reserve, yet perhaps the re- 
 laxations of that severity were not very elegdut. 
 There must, however, have been always some modes 
 of gaiety preferable lo others, and a writer oUght to 
 choose the best. 
 
 In tragedy his performance seems constantly to be 
 worse, as his labour is more. The effusions of pas- 
 sion, which exigence forces out, are for the most part 
 striking and energetic ; but whenever he solicits his 
 invention, or strains his faculties, the offspring oi 
 his throes is tumour, meanness, tediousness, and 
 obscurity. 
 
 In narration he affects a disproportionate pomp of 
 diction, and a wearisome train of circumlocution, 
 and tells the incident imperfectly in many words, 
 which might have been more plainly delivered in 
 few. Narration in dramatic poetry is naturally tedi- 
 ous, as it is unanimated and inactive, and obstructs 
 the progress of the action ; it should therefore always 
 be rapid, and enlivened by frequent interruption. 
 Shakspeare found it an incumbrance, and instead of 
 lightening it by brevity, endeavoured to recommend 
 it by dignity and splendour. 
 
 His declamations or set speeches are commonly 
 cold and weak, for his power was the power of natuie; 
 when he endeavoured, like other tragic writers, to 
 catch opportunities of amplification, and instead of 
 inquiring what the occasion demanded, to shew how 
 much his stores of knowledge could supply, he 
 seldom escapes without the pity or resentment of his 
 reader. 
 
 It is incident to him to be now and then entangled 
 with an unwieldy sentiment, which he cannot well 
 express, and will not reject ; he struggles with it a 
 while, and if it continues stubborn, comprises it in 
 words such as occur, and leaves it to be disentangled 
 and evolved by those who have more leisure to bestovp 
 upon it. 
 
 Not that always where the language is intricate, 
 the thought is subtle, or the imay;e always great 
 where the line is bulky ; the equality of words to 
 things is very often neglected, and trivial sentiments 
 and vulgar ideas disappoint the attention, to which 
 they are recommended by sonorous epithets and 
 swelling figures. 
 
 But the admirers of this great poet have most rea- 
 son to complain when he approaches nearest to his 
 highest excellence, and seems fully resolved to sink 
 them in dejection and mollify them with tendei 
 emotions by the fall of greatness, the danger of in- 
 nocence, or the crosses of love. What he does best, 
 he soon ceases to do. He is not long soft and pa- 
 thetic without some idle conceit, or contemptible 
 equivocation. He no sooner begins to move, than 
 he counteracts himself; and terror and pity, as they 
 are rising in the mind, are checked and blasted by 
 sudden frigidity. 
 
 A quibble is to Shahspeare. what luminous vapours 
 are to the traveller ; he follows it at all adventures ; 
 it is sure lo lead him out of Ids way, and sure to en- 
 gulf him in the mire. It has some malignant powej 
 over his mind, and its fascinations aie irresistible 
 Whatever be the dignity or profundity of his disqui- 
 sitions, whether he be enlarging knowledge, or ex- 
 alting affection, whether he be amusing attention 
 with incidents, or enchanting it in suspense, let but 
 a quibble spring up before him, and he leaves his 
 work unfinished. A quibble is the golden apple for 
 which he will always turn aside from his career, or 
 stoop from his elevation. A quibble, poor and barren 
 as it is, gave him such delight, that he v\as content 
 to purchase il by the sacrifice of reason, propriety, 
 
DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 aiKl truth. A quibble was to him the fatal Cleo- 
 patra for which he lost the world, and was content 
 to lose it. 
 
 It will be thought strange, that, in enumerating 
 the defects of this writer, 1 have not yet mentioned 
 his neglect of the unities ; his violation of those 
 laws which have been instituted and established by 
 the joint authority of poets and of critics. 
 
 For his other deviations from the art of writing, I 
 resijrn him to critical justice, without making any 
 other demand in his favour, than that which must be 
 indulged to all human excellence ; that his virtues 
 be rated with his failings ; but, from the censure 
 which this irregularity may bring upon hira, I shall, 
 with due reverence to that learning which I must 
 oppose, adventure to try how I can defend him. 
 
 His histories, being neither tragedies nor comedies, 
 are not subject to any of their laws ; nothing more 
 is necessary to all the praise which they expect, than 
 that the clianges of action be so prepared as to be 
 understood, that the incidents be various and affect- 
 ing, and the characters consistent, natural, and dis- 
 tinct. No other unity is intended, and therefore none 
 is to be sought. 
 
 In his other works he has well enough preserved 
 the unity of action. He has not, indeed, an intrigue 
 perplexed and regularly unravelled ; he does not tn- 
 deavour to hide his design only to discover it, for 
 this is seldom the order of real events, and Shak- 
 speare is the poet of nature : but his plan has com- 
 monly what Aristotle requires, a beginning, a middle, 
 and an end ; one event is concatenated with another, 
 and the conclusion follows by easy consequence. 
 There are perhaps some incidents that migiit be 
 spared, as in other poets there is much talk that only 
 fills up time upon the stage ; but the general system 
 makes gradual advances, and the end of the play is 
 the end of expectation. 
 
 To the unities of time and place he has shewn no 
 regard ; and perhaps a nearer view of the principles 
 on which they stand will diminish their value, and 
 withdraw from them the veneration which, from the 
 time of Corneille, they have very generally received, 
 by discovering that they have given more trouble to 
 the poet, than pleasure to the auditor. 
 
 The necessity of observing the unities of time and 
 place arises from the supposed necessity of making 
 the drama credible. The critics hold it impossible, 
 that an action of months or years can be possibly 
 believed to pass in three hours ; or that the specta- 
 tor can suppose himself to sit in the theatre, while 
 ambassadors go and return between distant kings, 
 while armies are levied and towns besieged, while 
 an exile wanders and returns, or till he whom they 
 saw courting his mistress, shall lament the untimely 
 fall of his son. The mind revolts from evident false- 
 hood, and fiction loses its force when it departs from 
 the resemblance of reality. 
 
 From the narrow limitation of time necessarily 
 arises the contraction of place. The spectator, who 
 knows that he saw the first act at Alexandria, can- 
 not suppose that he sees the next at Rome, at a dis- 
 tance to wiiich not the dragons of Medea could, in 
 so short a time, have transported him ; he knows with 
 certainty tliat he has not changed his place ; and he 
 knows liiat place cannot change itself ; that what 
 was a house cannot become a plain ; that what was 
 Thebes can never be Persepolis. 
 
 Such is tlui triumphant language with which a 
 critic evults over the misery of an irregular poet, 
 and exults commonly without resistance or reply. 
 It is time therefore to tell him, by the authority of 
 
 Shakspeare, that he assumes, as an unquestionable 
 principle, a position, which, while his breath is foim- 
 ing it into words, his understanding pronounces to be 
 false. It is false, that any representation is mis- 
 taken for reality ; that any dramatic fable in its ma- 
 teriality was ever credible, or, for a single moment, 
 was ever credited. 
 
 The objeciinn arising from the impossibility of 
 passing the first hour at Alexandria, and the next at 
 Rome, supposes, that when the play opens, the spec- 
 tator really imagines himself at Alexandria, and be- 
 lieves that his walk to the theatre has been a voyage 
 to Egypt, and that he lives in the days of Anthony 
 and Cleopatra. Surely he that imagines this may 
 imagine more. He that can take the stage at one 
 time for the palace of the Ptolemies, may lake it in 
 half an hour for the promontory of Actium. Delu- 
 sion, if delusion be admitted, has no certain limita- 
 tion ; if the spectator can be once persuaded, that 
 his old acquaintance are Alexander and Caesar, that 
 a room illuminated with candles is the plain of Phar- 
 salia, or the banks of Granicus, he is in a state of 
 elevation above the reach of reason, or of truth, and 
 from the heights of empyrean poetry, may despise 
 the circumscriptions of terrestrial nature. There is 
 no reason why a mind thus wandering in ecstacy 
 should count the clock, or why an hour should not 
 be a century in that calenture of the brains that can 
 make the stage a field. 
 
 The truth is, that the spectators are always iu their 
 senses, and know, from the first act to tlie last, that 
 the stage is only a stage, and that the players are 
 only players. They come to hear a certain number 
 of lines recited with just gesture and elegant modu- 
 lation. The lines relate to some action, and an ac- 
 tion must be in some place ; but the different ac- 
 tions that complete a story may be in places very 
 remote from each other, and where is tlie absurdity 
 of allowing that space to represent first Athens, and 
 then Sicily, which was always known to be neither 
 Sicily nor Athens, but a modern theatre ? 
 
 By supposition, as place isintroduced, time maybe 
 extended; the time required by the fable elapses 
 for the most part between the acts ; for, of so much 
 of the action as is represented, the real and poetical 
 duration is the same. If, in the first act, prepara- 
 tions for war against ■Mithridates are represented to 
 be made in Rome, the event of the war may, without 
 absurdity, be represented, in the catastrophe, as hap- 
 pening in Pontus ; we know tliat there is neither war, 
 nor preparation for war ; we know that we are neither 
 in Rome nor Pontus : that neither Jlithridales nor Lu- 
 cullus are before us. The drama exhibits successive 
 imitations of successive actions, and why may not 
 the second imitation represent an action that hap- 
 pened years after the first : if it be so connected with 
 it, that nothing but time can be supposed to inter- 
 vene ? Time is, of all modes of existence, moi^t ob- 
 sequious to the imagination ; a lapse of years is as 
 easily conceived as a passage of hours. In contem- 
 plation we easily contract the time of .eal actions, 
 and therefore willingly permit it to be contracted 
 when we only see their imitation. 
 
 It will be asked, how the drama moves, if it is not 
 credited. It is credited with all the credit due to a 
 drama. It is credited, whenever it moves, as a just 
 picture of a real original ; as representing to the au- 
 ditor what he would himself feel, if he were to do or 
 suffer what is tliere feigned to be suffered or to be 
 done. The reflection that strikes the heart is not, 
 that the evils before us are real evils, but that they 
 are evils to which we oursehes may be exposed. If 
 
8 
 
 DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 there be any fallacy, it is not that we fancy the pby- 
 ers but that we fancy ourselves unlrappy for a mo- 
 meluVb.t ,ve rather lament the pos.,b,l.ty than sup- 
 pose ihe presence of misery as a 7« '^'; "««F ^ 
 Lr babe, when she remembers tha <leath may take 
 it from her. T!>e delight of tragedy F" «« » f™" | 
 our consciousness of fiction ; it we thought murders 
 and treasons real, they would p ease no more 
 
 Imitations produce pam or pleasure, no because 
 they are mistaken for realities, but because theybnn» 
 realities to mind. When the imagmation is recreated 
 by a painted landscape, the trees are not supposed 
 cinable to give us shade, or the fountains coolness ; 
 buMv ' consider, how we should be pleased with sueh 
 fountains playing beside us, and such ^voods wanng 
 over us. We are agitated in reading the history of 
 Heurv the Fifth, yet no man takes his book for the 
 field of Agincourt. A dramatic exhibition is a book 
 recited with concomitants that increas^e or dim ni.h the besie^e^^ 
 
 superfluous and ostentatious art, by which is shewn, 
 rather what is possible, than what is necessary. 
 
 He that, without diminution of any other excel- 
 lence, shall preserve all the unities unbroken, de- 
 serves the like applause with the arcliitect, who sha I 
 display all the orders of architecture m a citadel, 
 withoutanv deduction from its strength; but the prin- 
 cipal beauty of a citadel is to exclude the enemy ; 
 and the greatest graces of a play arc to copy nature, 
 and instruct life. , .. n i,,.. 
 
 Perhaps, what I have here not dogniaticallv but 
 deliberately wntten, may recal the principles^ of the 
 drama to a" new examination. 1 am almost frighted 
 at mv own temerity ; and when 1 estimate the fame 
 and "strength of those tliat maintain the contrary 
 opinion, am ready to sink down in reverential silence , 
 as .-Eneas withdrew from the defence of Troy, when 
 he saw Neptune shaking the wall, and Juno headiue 
 
 [h conconiuaui* tiiti^ 
 
 its effect. Familiar comedy is often more powerful 
 in the theatre, than in the page ; impenal tragedy 
 is always less. The humour of Petruchio may be 
 heightened by grimace ; but what voice or what ges- 
 tu^f can hope to add dignityor force to the soliloquy 
 
 °^tXy read, aflfects the inind like a play aet^d. 
 It is therefore evident, that the action is not sup- 
 posed to be real; and it follows, that between the 
 acts a longer or shorter time may be a low-ed to pass 
 and that no more account of space or duration ,s to be 
 taken by the auditor of a drama, than by tlie reader 
 of a narrative, before whom may pass in an houi 
 the life of a hero, or the revolutions of an empire. 
 
 AVhether Shakspeare knew the unities and re- 
 jected them by design, or deviated from them by 
 iappy ignorance, it is, I think, impossible to decide, 
 anS useless to inquire. We may reasonably sup- 
 pose, that, when he rose to notice he did not want 
 the counsels and admonitions of scholars and critic,, 
 and that he at last deliberately persisted in a prac- 
 tice, which he might have begun by chance. As 
 nothing is essential to the fable, but unity of action, 
 and as the unities of time and place arise evidently 
 from false assumptions, and, by circumscribing the 
 extent of the draiua, lessen its variety 1 cannot think 
 
 # 
 
 Those whom my arguments cannot persuade 
 o-ive their approbation to the judgment of Shakspeare, 
 will easily, if they consider the condition of his life, 
 make some allowance for his ignorance. 
 
 Every man's perfonnances, to he rightly estimated, 
 must be compared to the state of the age in which he 
 lived, and with his own particular opportunities ; 
 and though to a reader a book be notworee or better 
 for the circumstances of the author, yet as there 13 
 always a silent reference of human works to huraaii 
 1 abilities, and as the inquiry, how far man may extend 
 his designs, or how high he may rate his native force, is 
 ' of far greater dignity than in what rank we shall place 
 any particular performance, curiosity is always busy 
 to discover the instruments, as well as to survey the 
 workmanship, to know how much is to be ascribed 
 to orit'inal powers, and how much to casual and ad- 
 ventitious help. The palaces of Peru or Mexico were 
 certainly mean and incommodious habilations. it 
 compared to the houses of European monarchs ; yet 
 who could forbear to view them with astonishment, 
 who remembered that they were built without the use 
 
 of iron ? ,. ^, , 
 
 The English nation, in the timeof Shakspeare, was 
 yet struggling to emerge from barbarity. I he phi- 
 
 It much to be lamented, that they were no known 
 by him, or not observed : nor, it such another poet 
 could arise, should I very vehemently reproach him. 
 that his first act passed at Venice, and his next in 
 Cyprus. Such violations of rules merely positive 
 become the comprehensive genius of Shakspeare, and 
 such censures are suitable to the minute and slender 
 criticisms of Voltaire : 
 
 "Son usque adeo pe'miscuitiaiis 
 Longus summa dii-s, ut non, si voc« Metelli 
 Serventur Itb-es, malint a Ca;saie lolU. 
 Yet when I speak thus slightly of dramatic rules, 
 I cannot but recollect how much wit and learning 
 may be produced against me ; before Sticli authoii- 
 "es I an? afraid to>tand,not that 1 think the present 
 question one of those that are to be decided by me 
 authority, but because it is to be suspected, that these 
 ;"/have not been so easily -ceived, but for 
 Cette. reasons than I have yet been ab e o hud. The 
 resuTt of my inquiries, in which it would be ludicrous 
 rboast of'im^artiality. is, that the unities of time 
 and olace are not essential to a just d.ama, that 
 d^oull they may sometimes conduce to pleasure, they 
 are 5wa^^o be sacrificed to the nobler beauties of 
 varie wand instruction ; and that a play, written with 
 ;?c" observation of critical rules.is to__be^contem^- 
 plated as 
 
 ?::ai k U^l^^:^'^ ;;;;;^anted hither in the 
 1 cannot minit .=.'„,, .'_.,. x.:..K^^ . on, tip Iparned an- 
 
 lology 01 liaiy n.m "<=^,i. ,.„..-,-. ------ 
 
 reign of Henry the Eighth ; and the learned laa- 
 cuao-es had been successfully cultivated by Lilly, 
 Linacre, and More ; by Pole. Cheke, and Oardiner; 
 and afterwards by Smith, Clerk, Haddon, and _As- 
 chara Greek was now taught to boys in the principal 
 schools ; and thosewho united elegance with learnmg 
 read, with great diligence, the Italian and Spanish 
 poets. But literature was yet confined to prolessed 
 scholars, or to men and womeu of high rank. 1 he 
 public was gross and daik ; and to be able to read 
 and write, was an accomplishment still valued foi 
 
 its rarity. , . . , . 
 
 ^a'iops, like individuals, have their infancy. A 
 people newh awakened to literary curiosity, being 
 yet unacquainted with the true state of things, knows 
 not how to judge of that which is proposed as its re- 
 l semblance. Whatever is remote from common ap- 
 ' pearances is always welcome to vulgar, as to childish 
 1 credulity ; and of a country unenlightened by learn- 
 I ing. the whole people is the vulgar. I he study of 
 ' those who then aspired to plebeian learning wa-s laid 
 ; out upon adventures, giants, dragons, and enchant- 
 ' ments. T/ieDfi.t/Mif-l.l/.urwasthe favourite volume. 
 I The mind, which has feasted on the luxurious won- 
 ' ders of fiction, has no taste of the insipidity of truth. 
 \ play which imitated only the common occurrences 
 
 t^z^lt::^.:^^ v;rXT::^\^':^^^=:^^-^ ^^--^ °^ -'-■-' 
 
DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 and Gu\f of Warwich, have made little impression ; 
 he that wrote for such an audience was under the 
 necessity of looking round ior strange events and 
 fahulous transactions, and that incredibility, by 
 whicii inaturer knowledge is offended, was the chief 
 recommendation of ^\ ritings, to unskilful curiosity. 
 
 Our author's plots are genei-ally borrowed from 
 novels ; and it is reasonable to suppose, that he 
 chose the most popular, such as were read by many, 
 and related by more ; for his audience could not have 
 followed him through the intricacies of the drama, 
 had they not held the thread of the story in their 
 bands. 
 
 The stories, which we now find only in remoter 
 authors, were in his time accessible and familiar. 
 The fable of As uou like it, which is supposed tb be 
 copied from Chaucer's GaineUuy was a little pam- 
 phlet of those times ; and old INIr. Gibber remem- 
 bged the tale of Hamlet in plain English prose, 
 inKch the critics have now to seek in Saxo Gram- 
 matictis. 
 
 His English histories he took from English chro- 
 nicles and English ballads ; and as the ancient wri- 
 ters were made known to his countrjineu by versions, 
 they supplied him ^nth new subjects ; he dilated , 
 some of Plutarch's lives into plays, when they had 
 been translated by North. 
 
 His plots, whether historical or fabulous, are al- 
 ways crowded with incidents, by 'which the attention 
 o( a rude people was more easily caught than by sen- 
 timent or argumentation ; and such is the power of 
 the raar\'ellous, even over those who despise it, that 
 ever)' man finds his mind more strongly seized by the 
 tragedies of Shakspeare than of any other wTiter ; 
 others please us by particular speeches, but he always 
 makes us anxious for the event, and has perhaps ex- 
 celled all but Homer in securing the first purpose of 
 a writer, by exciting resiless and unquenchable cu- 
 riosity, and compelling him that reads his work to 
 read it through. 
 
 Ttie snows and bustle with which his plays abound 
 have the same original. As knowledge advances, 
 pleasure passes from the eye to the ear, but returns, 
 as it declines, from the ear to the eye. Those to 
 whom our author's labours were exhibited had more 
 skill in pomps or processions than in poetical lan- 
 guage, and perhaps wanted some visible and discri- 
 minated events, as comments on the dialogue. He 
 knew how he should most please ; and whether his 
 practice is more agreeable to nature, or v.hether his 
 example has prejudiced the nation, we still find that 
 on our stage something must be done as well as said, 
 and inactive declamation is verj' coldly heard, how- 
 ever musical or elegant, passionate or sublime. 
 
 Voltaire expresse^i his wonder, that our author's 
 extravagancies are endured by a nation which has 
 seen the tragedy of Cuto. Let him be answered, that 
 Addison speaks the language of poets, and Shak- 
 bpeaie. of men. We find in Cato innumerable beau- 
 ties which enamour us of its author, but we see no- 
 thing that acquaints us with human sentiments or 
 human actions ; we place it with the fairest and the 
 noblest progeny wliich judgment propagates by con- 
 junction with learning ; but Othello is the vigorous 
 and vivacious offspring of observation impregnated 
 by genius. Cato affords a splendid exhibition of 
 artificial and fictitious manners, and delivers just 
 and noble sentiments, in diction easy, elevated, and 
 harmonious, but its hopes and fears communicate no 
 vibration to the heart ; the composition refers us only 
 to the writer ; we pronounce the name of Cato, but 
 **e thmt on AddUon 
 
 The work of a correct and regular writer is a gar- 
 den accurately formed and diligently planted, varied 
 wiih shades and scented with flowers : the composi- 
 tion of Sliakspeare is a forest, in which oaks extend 
 tlieir branches, and pines tower in the air, inter- 
 spersed sometimes with weeds and brambles, and 
 sometimes giving shelter to myrtles and to roses ; 
 filling the eye with awful pomp, and gratifying the 
 mind with endless diversity. Other poets' display 
 cabinets of precious rarities, minutely finishecl, 
 wrought into shape, and polished into brightness. 
 Shakspeare opens a mine which contains gold and 
 diamonds in inexhaustible plenty, though clouded 
 by incrustations, debased by impurities, and mingled 
 with a mass of meaner minerals.- 
 
 It has been much disputed, whether Shakspeare 
 owed his excellence to his own native force, or whe- 
 ther he had the common helps of scholastic educa- 
 tion, the precepts of critical science, and the exam- 
 ples of ancient authors. 
 
 There has always prevailed a tradition, that Shak- 
 speare wanted learning, that he had no regular edu' 
 cation, nor much skill in the dead languages. Jon- 
 son, his iViend, affirms, that he had small Latin, and 
 less (h'eek ; who, besides that he had no imaginable 
 temptation to falsehood, wrote at a time when the 
 character and acquisitions of Shakspeare were known 
 to multitudes. His evidence ought therefore to de- 
 cide the controversy, unless some testimony of equal 
 force could be opposed. 
 
 Some ha\e imagined, that they have discovered 
 
 ' deep learning in many imitations of old writers ; but 
 the examples whicli 1 have known urged, were drawn 
 from books translated in his time ; or were such easy 
 coincidences of thought, as will happen to all who 
 consider the same subjects ; oi such remarks on life 
 or axioms of morality as float in conversation, and aro 
 transmitted through the world in proverbial sentences. 
 1 have found it remarked, that in this important 
 sentence, Go before, I*ltfoilou-, we read a translation 
 of, / pnr, seqiiar. I have been told, that when Ca- 
 liban, after a pleasing dream, says, 1 cried to sleep 
 again, the author imitates Anacreon, who had, like 
 every other man, the same wish on the same occasion. 
 There are a few passages which may pass for imi 
 taiions, but so few, that the exception only confirms 
 the rule; he obtained them from accidental quotations, 
 or by oral communicaUon, and as he used what he 
 liad. would have used more if he had obtained it. 
 
 The Comedu of Errors is confessedly taken from 
 the Menachmi of Ptautus ; from the only play of 
 Plautus which was then in English. What can be 
 more probable, than that he who copied that, would 
 have copied more ; but that those which were not 
 translated were inaccessible 1 
 
 \Vhether he knew the modern languages is uncer- 
 tain. That his plays nave some French scenes proves 
 but little ; he might easily procure them to be writ- 
 ten, and probably, even though he had known the 
 language in the common degree, he could not have 
 written it without assistance. In the story of Uomeo 
 and Juliet he is observed to have followed the Eng- 
 lish translation, where it deviates from the Italian ; 
 
 I but this on the other part proves nothing against his 
 
 ; knowledge of the original. He was to copy, not what 
 
 [ he knew himself, but what was known to his audience. 
 
 ! It is most likely that he had learned Latin suffi- 
 ciently to make him acquainted with construction, 
 but that he never advanced to an easy perusal of the 
 
 ! Roman authors. Concerning his skill in modern 
 languages, I can find no sufficient ground of deter- 
 
 i mination ; but as no imitations of French or Italian 
 
10 
 
 DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 All those in- 
 
 ter tlie mouves uj av...""- --- 
 nuiries which from that time that human nature be- 
 2^r^hrfasLnable study, have been made some- 
 times wuh nice discernment f "' °f'^", JJ:'' , ^t'^ 
 
 fr such as deli.'hted in wonders rather than .n truth. 
 
 Mankind^:: Sot then to be ^^^'^^^2^^^:^^ 
 
 ,„„„ .... ., , ^^ ^oui^i know the world, was under the neces 
 
 the manufactures ol the shop ' ;. ' of deaning his own remarks, by minghng as he 
 
 There is, however, proof enough that he was ^ h'^yij iritTbuliness and aitrusements ^. ^ , . . 
 very dUi^e, t reader, nor was our language then o couM n "^ ''^ ^^^ himself upon h,s h,gh b.rh 
 indlent°of books, but that he might very Uberally f <^y'^ff,§„,,,j his curiosity, by facdUanug his 
 ndul,e his curiosity without excursion into fo eign be an^e ^^^ |,^^ „„ ,„,h advantage ; he came 
 
 "terauire. Many of the Roman authors were trans- f^^^^'-^ / j adventurer, and lived for a time 
 ated ani s me ^of the Greek ; the R^^f"-""" '>f J w'^trv mean e-ployments. Many works of genius 
 '^ ' . ,.i_„j™ ,.,;ih tliM bffical learning ; most by very lui-a j- j „p,.f„„,ed in states of hfe 
 
 niitl.ors have oeen ui^*-"*'^'^"' 9 1 . i„ 
 
 DoetTv was then high in esteem, 1 am inclined to be 
 fiet"- tlTat he read little more than Knglislj, and chose 
 for his alleonlv such tales as he lound translated. 
 That much knowledge is scattered over his works 
 inaimucuK.i ,", p but it is olten such 
 
 is very lustly obscrveil oy 1 ope, u".. 
 kuowlld.'e as books did not supply. He that will 
 
 ^Ie,\meramtr;.i'e%orts of the B Id d _,. 
 umesamo„gthemanu.acuresothehop. 
 
 lated and some of the Greek ; the Kelormauou.au employments. ..._.-, , .. 
 
 verance predominating over all externa agency and 
 
 Lingaom wui. ,..^«.v,g...— -- o 
 of the topics of human disquisition had found i>ng- 
 ilh' writers; and poetry had been cultivated not 
 only with diligence, but success, f^.s was a stocK 
 of knowledge sufficient lor a mind so capable 
 
 dul^t'of htsC genius. Hefoundtlie English^tag. 
 
 could be discovered 'Yt'ried^ Neither ^character! ...Wn from h, 
 one or other might be carrieu. 
 
 n. and in some of his happier scenes to have earned 
 them both to the utmost height 
 
 Sen frorn Ms m nd as d.. drn,./r,,m a /i«,.'. ...... 
 
 ''Thougrhe had so many difficulties '0 eneoun,e^ 
 and so little assistance to «"™°""V iT'of many 
 been able to obtain an exact knowledge of many 
 Ses of life, and many casts of "at-- d.sposU. ns^ 
 to vary them with great multiplicity ; to mark tliem 
 
 settled. Rowe is of opinion, la pjH^l ^J P;°P ^^^ „„„, ^„ imitate, but has hunself been 
 
 is not easi 
 
 is yet uiise — 
 
 we ai-e not to lookjorl 
 
 writers, in hi$ least pt.,c.. :"■■■■;',,., ,, , r,„. 
 
 and nature so Urge a share tu what ''^ ' !• ™ /;' 
 
 aught I )>.»». says he, the F':/"™-'";':^'''*!,"; \t 
 
 as they were the most .vigorous, were the best. l^"t '^c 
 povef of nature is only 'he jSovver ol u ng to any 
 pprtain ourpose the materials which dil gence pro 
 cureTorop'^ortunity supplies. Nature gives no man 
 knowledge, and when images 
 and experience, "^ /"'^ .^^'^'o-^rriavoSred by 
 
 S uTci -.^X, what he had learned ; and 
 ::'f::';;lt increase his ideas, liUotl^m^a.s,t^ 
 
 knew it 
 
 opinion that ferhafs by proper ^^.'''^^''^^^.-^i^', J' b.f has himself been 
 
 p-H^=t^rt^:;e5:^^:t:: 
 
 ^^Z'::i:'^lfS:^con,ined to the actions^ 
 
 -Na-turegiJesnoman men; he was an "act surveyor of h --^^^^^ 
 
 ■aifcoUec'ted by study world ; us ^-"'P;-^;„ ^ i,:': h ^gs as tLy really 
 
 „t in combining or ap- ''^.^; g^^^'^'f^^'^y^Xred, th'at the" oldest poets of 
 
 however, favoured by exist. 1 . "'=;.\hf«''='f,Vl.'_^,a,io„, and that the 
 
 gradual acquisition, he, like them, grew wis 
 Irew older,' could display life better, as he 
 
 
 lispby i.te better a. .. ...>=.^ . -■-- ^^^^^^^^ 
 
 more, and instruct with more efficacy, as wa Lheir descriptions are verineu ., c...,-..-.--.j 
 "-^-^l :S^:r7r^vation and accuracy | s^—^-^wWg^.X^^i^rSes 
 
 of^SJ^:i;::ir^^si^d-p.c^s— c.^ 
 
 fer ; from this almost all original^ i'"^, „"!.! ' '^ ' --^ -■"' '"■ '" ^'and in the place 01 
 
 
 curious ana attentive Other w"'^- -' " " ^ 1 e. whether life or nature be his subject 
 
 characters from preceding writers, and diversily tnem p , ^ ^^^^ ^^.^„^ 1^^^ „„„ ^e, he gi es 
 
 ontybv the accidental appendaps ol pre ent man plain^y.J ^^ he receives, not weakened o, d - 
 
 T '^"^l':' ■wlucl,'':; v''ed"iul ^ :^^^ colours. 1 except Homer, 
 '^S?:^.:^r:l>outthe.igina,benevoler^^ 
 
 except Homer, who invented somuch as Shakspeare. 
 X^^uch'advaiiced the studies wh.h he clU. 
 
 
DU. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 11 
 
 our English tragical harmony, that is, the harmony of 
 Hank lerse, (Hiersitied often by dissyllable and tris- 
 syitaHe lermiiiationi. For the diversity distinguishes 
 it from heroic harmony, and by bringing it )i«(irei' to 
 com!mm use makes it more proper to gain attention, 
 and more Jit for action and dialogue. Such verse u-e 
 make uhen ue are uriting prose ; ire make such verse 
 in common conversation. 
 
 I know not whether this praise is rigorously just. 
 The dissyllable termination, which the critic rightly 
 appropriates to the drama, is to be found, thojgh, I 
 think, not in Gorhoduc, which is confessedly before 
 our author ; yet in Hieroniimo, of which the date is 
 not certain, but which there is reason to believe at 
 least as old as his earliest plays. This however is 
 certain, that he is the first who taught either tragedy 
 or comedy to please, there being no theatrical piece 
 of anv older writer, of which the name is known, 
 except to antiquaries and collectors of books, which 
 are sought because they are scarce, and would not 
 have been scarce had they been much esteemed. 
 
 To him we must ascribe the praise, unless Spenser 
 may divide it with him, of havmg first discovered to 
 how much smoothness and harmony the English 
 language could be softened. He has speeches, per- 
 haps sometimes scenes, which have all the delicacy 
 of Rovve, without his effeminacy. lie endeavours 
 indeed commonly to strike by the force and vigour 
 of his dialogue, but he never executes his purpose 
 better than when he tries to soothe by softness. 
 
 Yet it must be at last confessed, that as we owe 
 every thing to him, he owes something to us ; that, 
 if much of his praise is paid by perception and judg- 
 ment, much is likewise given by custom and venera- 
 tion. We fix our eyes upon his graces, and turn 
 them from his deformities, and endure in him what 
 we should in another loath or despise. If we en- 
 dured without praising, respect for the father of our 
 drama might excuse us ; but I have seen, in the 
 book of some modern critic, a collection of anoma- 
 lies, which shew that he has corrupted language by 
 every mode of depravation, but which his admirer 
 has accumulated as a monument of honour. 
 
 He has scenes of undoubted and perpetual excel- 
 lence, but perhaps not one play, which, if it were 
 now exhibited as tlie work of a contemporary writer, 
 would be heard to the conclusion. I am indeed far 
 from thinking, that his works were wrought to his 
 own ideas of perfection ; when they were such as 
 would satisfy the audience, they satisfied the writer. 
 It is seldom that authors, though more studious of 
 fame than Shakspeare, rise much above the standard 
 of their own age ; to add a little to what is best will 
 always be sufficient for present praise, and those who 
 find themselves exalted into fame, are willing to cre- 
 dit their encomiasts, and to spare the labour of con- 
 tending with themselves. 
 
 It does not appear, that Shakspeare thought his 
 works worthy of posterity, that he levied any ideal 
 tribute upon future times, or had any further pros- 
 pect, than of present popularity, and present profit. 
 \\'hen his plays had been acted, his hope was at an 
 end ; he solicited no addition of honour from the 
 reader. He therefore made no scruple to repeat the 
 same jests in many dialogues, or to entangle different 
 plots by the same knot of perplexity, which may be 
 at least forgiven him, by those who recollect, that of 
 Congreve's four comedies, two are concluded by a 
 marriage in a mask, by a deception, which perhaps 
 never happened, and which, whether likely or not, 
 he did not invent. 
 So careless was this great poet of future fame. 
 
 that, though he retired to ease and plenty, while he 
 was yet little declined into the vale of years, before he 
 could be disgusted with fatigue, or disabled by infir- 
 mity, he made no collection of his works, nor desired 
 to rescue those that had been already published from 
 the depravations that obscured them, or secure to the 
 rest a better destiny, by giving them to the world in 
 their genuine state. 
 
 Of the plays which bear the name of Shakspeare 
 in the late editions, the greater part were not pub- 
 lished till about seven years after his death, and the 
 l'ew»which appeared in his life are apparently thrust 
 into the world without the care of the author, and 
 therefore probably without liis knowledge. 
 
 Of all the publisliers, clandestine or professed, 
 the negligence and unskilfulness has by the late re- 
 visers been sufficiently shewn. The faults of all are 
 indeed numerous and gross, and have not only cor- 
 rupted many passages, perhaps beyond recovery, but 
 have brought others into suspicion, which are only 
 obscured by obsolete phraseology, or by the writer's 
 unskilfulness and affectation. To alter is more easy 
 than to explain, and temerity is a more common 
 quality than diligence. Those who saw that they 
 must employ conjecture to a certain degree, were 
 willing to indulge it a little further. Had the author 
 published his own works, we should have sat quietly 
 down to disentangle his intricacies, and clear his 
 obscurities ; but now we tear what we cannot loose, 
 and eject what we happen not to understand. 
 
 The faults are more than could have happened 
 without the concurrence of many causes. The style 
 of Shakspeare was in itself ungrammatical , perplexed, 
 and obscure ; his works were transcribed for the 
 players by those who may be supposed to have sel- 
 dom understood them ; they were transmitted by 
 copiers equally unskilful, who still multiplied errors ; 
 they were perhaps sometimes mutilated by the actors, 
 for the sake of shortening the speeches : and were 
 at last printed without correction of the press. 
 
 In this state they remained, not as D'- 'Varburton 
 supposes, because they were unregarded, but be- 
 cause the editor's art was not yet applied to modern 
 languages, and our ancestors were accustomed to so 
 much negligence of English printers, that they could 
 very patfently endure it. At last an edition was 
 undertaken by Kowe ; not because a poet was to be 
 published by a poet, for Rowe seems to have thought 
 very little on correction or explanation, but that our 
 author's works might appear like those of his frater- 
 nity, with the appendages of a life and recommenda- 
 tory preface, Rowe has been clamorously blamed 
 for not performing what he did not undertake, and 
 it is time that justice be done him, by confessing, 
 that though he seems to have had no thought of cor- 
 ruption beyond the printer's errors, yet he has made 
 many emendations, if they were not made before, 
 which his successors have received without acknow- 
 ledgment, and which, if they had produced them, 
 would have filled pages and pages with censures of 
 the stupidity by which the faults were committed, 
 with displays of the absurdities which they involved, 
 with ostentatious expositions of the new reading, and 
 self-congratulations on the happiness of discovering it. 
 
 As of the other editors I have preserved the pre- 
 faces, I have likewise borrowed the author's life from 
 Rowe, though not written with much elegance or 
 spirit ; it relates, however, what is now to be known, 
 and therefore deserves to pass through all succeed- 
 ing publications. 
 
 The nation had been for many years content enough 
 with Mr. Rowe's performance, when Mr. Pope made 
 
12 
 
 DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 them acquainted with the true state of Shakspeare's 
 text, shewed that it was extremely corrupt, and gave 
 reason to hope that there were means of reforming it. 
 He collated the old copies, whicli none had thought 
 to examine before, and restored many lines to their 
 integrity ; but by a very compendious criticism, he 
 rejected whatever he disliked, and thought more of 
 amputation than of cure. 
 
 1 know not why he is commended byDr. Warbur- 
 ton for distinguisliing the genuine from the spurious 
 plays. In this choice he exerted no judgment of Iiis 
 own ; the plays which he received, were given by 
 Hemings and Condel, the first editors ; and»*those 
 which he rejected, though, according to the licen- 
 tiousness of the press in those times, they were 
 printed during Shakspeaie's life, with his name, had 
 been omitted by his friendvs, and were never added 
 to his works before the edition of 16(54, from which 
 tliey were copied by the later printers. 
 
 Tiiis was a work which Pope seems to have thought 
 unworthy of his abilities, being not able to suppress 
 his contempt of the dull dutu of an editor. He under- 
 stood but half his undertaking. The duty of a col- 
 lator is indeed dull, yet, like other tedious tasks, is 
 very necessary ; but an eniendatory critic would ill 
 discharge his duty, without qualities very different 
 from dulness. In perusing a corrupted piece, he 
 must have before him all possibilities of meaning, 
 with all possibilities of expression. Such must be 
 his comprehension of thought, and such his copious- 
 ness of language. Out of many readings possible, 
 he must be able to select that which best suits with 
 the state, opinions, and modes of language prevail- 
 ing in every aije, and with his author's particular 
 east of thought, and turn of expression. Such must 
 be his knowledge, and such his taste. Conjectural 
 criticism demands more than humanity possesses, 
 and he that exercises it with most praise, has very 
 fiequent need of indulgence. Let us now be told no 
 more of the dull duty of an editor. 
 
 Confidence is the common consequence of success. 
 They whose excellence of any kind has been loudly 
 celebrated, are ready to conclude, that their powers 
 are universal. Pope's edition fell below his own ex- 
 pectations, and he was so much ofi'ended, when he 
 ■was found to have left any thing for others to do, 
 that he passed the latter part of his life in a state of 
 hostility with verbal criticism. 
 
 I have retained all his notes, that no fragment of 
 so great a writer may be lost ; his preface, valuable 
 alike for elegance of composition and justness of re- 
 mark, and containing a general criticism on his au- 
 thor, so extensive that little can be added, and so 
 exact, that little can be disputed, every editor has 
 an interest to suppress, but that every reader would 
 demand its insertion. 
 
 Pope was succeeded by Theobald, aman of narrow 
 comprehension, and small acquisitions, with no native 
 and intrinsic splendour of genius, with little of the 
 artificial light of learning, but zealous for minute 
 accuracy, and not negligent in pursuing it. He col- 
 lated the ancient copies, and rectified many errors. 
 A man so anxiously scrupulous might have been ex- 
 pected to do more, but what little he did was com- 
 monly right. 
 
 In his report of copies and editions he is not to be 
 trusted without examination. He speaks sometimes 
 indefinitely of copies, when he has only one. In his 
 enumeration of editions, he mentions the two first 
 folios as of high, and the third folio as of middle au- 
 thority ; but the truth is, that the first is equivalent 
 to all others, and that the rest only deviate from it. 
 
 by the printer's negligence. AVhoever has any of the 
 folios has all, excepting those diversities which mere 
 reiteration of editions will produce. I collated them 
 all at the beginning, but afterwards used only the first. 
 
 Of his notes I have generally retained those which 
 he retained himself in his second edition, except when 
 they were confuted by subsequent annolators, or were 
 too minute to merit preservation. I have sometimes 
 adopted his restoration of a comma, without insert- 
 ing the panegyric in which he celebrated himself for 
 his achievement. The exuberant excrescence of hia 
 diction I have often lopped, his triumphant exulta- 
 tions over Pope and liowe I have sometimes sup- 
 pressed, and his contemptible ostentation I have fre* 
 quently concealed ; but I have in some places shewn 
 him, as he would have shewn himself, for the reader's 
 diversion, that the inflated emptiness of some notes 
 may justify or excus,e the contraction of the rest. 
 
 Theobald, thus weak and ignorant, thus mean and 
 faithless, thus petulant and ostentatious, by the good 
 luck of having Pope for his enemy, has escaped, and 
 escaped alone, with reputation, from this undertak- 
 ing. So willingly does the world support those who 
 solicit favour, against those who command reverence ; 
 and so easily is he praised, whom no man can envy. 
 
 Our author fell then into the hands of Sir Thomas 
 Hanmer, the Oxford editor, a man, in my opinion, 
 eminently qualified by nature for such studies. He 
 had, what is the first requisite to emendatory criticism, 
 that intuition by which the poet's intention is imme- 
 diately discovered, and that dexterity of intellect 
 which despatches its work by the easiest means. He 
 had undoubtedly read much : his acquaintance with 
 customs, opinions, and traditions, seems to have been 
 large ; and he is often learned without show. He 
 seldom passes what he does not understand, without 
 an attempt to find or to make a meaning, and some- 
 times hastily makes what a little more attention 
 would have found. He is solicitous to reduce to 
 grammar, what he could not be sure that his author 
 intended to be grammatical. Shakspeare regarded 
 more the series of ideas than of words ; and his lan- 
 guage, not being designed for the reader's desk, was 
 all that he desired it to be, if it conveyed his mean- 
 ing to the audience. 
 
 Hanmer's care of the metre has been too violently 
 censured. He found the measure reformed in so many 
 passages, by the silent labours of some editors, with 
 the silent acquiescence of the rest, that he thought 
 himself allowed to extend a little further the licence, 
 which had already been carried so far without re- 
 prehension ; and of his corrections in general, it 
 must be confessed, that they are often just, and made 
 commonly with the least possible violation of the text. 
 
 But, by inserting his emendations, whether in- 
 vented or borrowed, into the page, without any notice 
 of varying copies, he has appropriated the labour of 
 his predecessors, and made his own edition of little 
 authority. His confidence, indeed, both in himself 
 and others, was too great ; he supposes all to be right 
 that was done by Pope and Theobald ; he seems not to 
 suspect a critic of fallibility, and it was but reasonable 
 that he should claim what he so liberally granted. 
 
 As he never writes without careful inquiry and 
 diligent consideration, I have received all his notes, 
 and believe that every reader will wish for more. 
 
 Of the last editor it is more difiicult to speak. Re- 
 spect is due to high place, tenderness to living re- 
 putation, and veneration to genius and learning ; but 
 he cannot be justly offended at that liberty of which 
 he has himself so frequently given an example, nor 
 very solicitous what is thought of notes which he 
 
DR. JOHNSON'S PREFACE. 
 
 13 
 
 ought never to have considered as part of liis senous i the controversy ; the other attacks them with gloomy 
 employments, and which, 1 suppose, since the ardour '■ • '■ ' ' • . ■ .■ 
 
 of composition is remitted, lie no longer numbers 
 among his happy effusions. 
 
 'I'he original and predominant error of his com- 
 mentary, is acquiescence in his first thojights ; that 
 precipitation which is produced by consciousness of 
 quici discernment ; and that confidence which pre- 
 sumes, to do, by surveying the surface, what labour 
 only can perform, by penetrating the bottom. His 
 notes exhibit sometimes perverse interpretations, and 
 sometimes improbable conjectures ; he at one time 
 gives the author more profundity of meaning than 
 the sentence admits, and at another discovers absur- 
 dities, where the sense is plain to every other reader. 
 Jiut his emendations are likewise often happy and 
 just: and his interpretation of obscure passages 
 learned and sagai^ious. 
 
 Of his notes, I have commonly rejected those, 
 against which tile general voice of the public has ex- 
 claimed, or which their own incongruity immediately 
 condemns, and which, I suppose, the author himself 
 would desire to be forgotten. Of the rest, to part 
 I have given the highest approbation, by inserting 
 the offered reading in the text ; part I have left to 
 the judgment of the reader, as doubtful, though 
 specious ; and part 1 have censured without reserve, 
 but I am sure without bitterness of malice, and, I 
 hope, without wantonness of insult. 
 
 It is no pleasure to me, in revising my volumes, 
 to observe how much paper is wasted in confutation. 
 Whoever considers the revolutions of learning, and 
 the various questions of greater or less importance, 
 upon which wit and reason have exercised their power, 
 must lament the unsuccessfulness of inquiry, and the 
 slow advances of truth, when he reflects, that great 
 part of the labour of every writer is only the destruc- 
 tion of those that went Ijefore him. The first care 
 of the builder of a new system is to demolish the fa- 
 brics which are standing. The chief desire of him 
 that comments an author, is to shew how much other 
 commentators have corrupted and obscured him. The 
 opinions prevalent in one age, as truths above the 
 reach of controversy, are confuted and rejected in 
 another, and rise again to reception in remoter times. 
 Thus the human mind is kept in motion without pro- 
 gress. Thus sometimes truth and error, and some- 
 times contrarieties of error, take each other's place 
 by reciprocal invasion. The tide of seeming know- 
 ledge which is poured over one generation, retires 
 and leaves another naked and barren ; the sudden 
 meteors of intelligence, which for a while appear to 
 shoot their beams into the regions of obscurity, on a 
 sudden withdraw their lustre, and leave mortals again 
 to grope their way. 
 
 These elevations and depressions of renown, and 
 the contradictions to which all improvers of know- 
 ledge must for ever be exposed, since they are not 
 escaped by the highest and brightest of mankind, 
 may surely be endured with patience by critics and 
 annotators, who can rank themselves but as the 
 satellites of their authors. How canst thou beg for 
 life, says Homer's hero to his captive, when thou 
 kuowest that thou art now to suffer only what must 
 another day be suffered by Achilles? 
 
 Dr. Warburton had a name sufficient to confer 
 celebrity on those who could exa!t themselves into 
 antagonists, and his notes have raised a clamour too 
 loud to be distinct. His chief assailants are the au- 
 thors of The ('uiwHS of Criticism, and of The Revisal 
 ofSliaksjteare's Text ; of whom one ridicules his errors 
 with airy petulance, suitable enough to the levity of 
 
 alignily, as if he were dragging to justice an as- 
 sassin or incendiary. The one stings like a tly, sucks 
 a little blood, takes a gay flutter, and returns for 
 more ; the other bites like a viper, and would be 
 glad to leave inflammations and gangrene behind 
 him. When I think on one, with his confederates, 
 I remember the danger of dninUinus, who was afraid 
 that^^n/s with sjtits, urid boii:i uith stones, shoutd slay 
 him ill puni/ battle: when the other crosses my ima- 
 gination, I remember the prodigy in Macbeth : 
 
 A falcon tow'riug in his pride of place. 
 Was bj a mousiug owl hawk'd at and kill'd." 
 
 Let me however do them justice. One is a wit, 
 and one a scholar. They have both shewn acute- 
 ness sufficient in the discovery of faults, and have 
 both advanced some probable interpretations of ob- 
 scure passages ; but when they aspire to conjecture 
 and emendation, it appears how falsely we all esti- 
 mate our own abilities, and the little which they have 
 been able to iierform might have taught them more 
 candour to the endeavours of others. 
 
 Before Dr. Warburton's edition, Critical Observa- 
 tions on Shakspeare had been published by Mr. Upton, 
 a man skilled in languages, and acquainted with 
 books, but who seems to have had no great vit^our of 
 genius or nicety of taste. > INIany of his explanations 
 are curious and useful, but he likewise, though he 
 professed to oppose the licentious confidence ot edi- 
 tors, and adhere to the old copies, is unable to re- 
 strain the rage of emendation, though his ardour is 
 ill seconded by his skill. Every cold empiric, when 
 his heart is expanded by a successful experiment, 
 swells into a theorist, and the laborious collator at 
 some unlucky moments frolics in conjecture. 
 
 Critical, historical, and esiplanatorti Notes have been 
 likewise published upon Shakspeare by Dr. Grey, 
 whose diligent perusal of the old English writers has 
 enabled him to make some useful observations. What 
 he undertook he has well enough performed, but as 
 he neither attempts judicial nor emendatory criticism, 
 he employs rather his memory than his sagacity. It 
 were to be wished that all would endeavour to imi- 
 tate his modesty, who have not been able to surpass 
 his knowledge. 
 
 I can say with great sincerity of all my predeces- 
 sors, what I hope will hereafter be said of me, that 
 not one has left Shakspeare without improvement, 
 nor is there one to whom I have not been indebted 
 for assistance and information. Whatever I have 
 taken from them, it was my intention to refer to its 
 original author, and it is certain, that what I have 
 not given to another, I believed when I wrote it to 
 be my own. In some perhaps 1 have been antici- 
 pated ; but if I am ever found to encroach upon the 
 remarks of any other commentator, I am willing that 
 the honour, be it more or less, should be transferred to 
 the first claimant, for his right, and his alone, stands 
 above dispute ; the second can prove his pretensions 
 only to himself, nor can himself always distinguish 
 invention, with sufficient certainty, from recollection. 
 
 They have all been treated by me with candour, 
 which they have not been careful of observing to one 
 another. It is not easy to discover from what cause 
 the acrimony of a scholiast can naturally proceed. 
 The subjects to be discussed by him are of very small 
 importance ; they involve neither property no li- 
 berty ; nor favour the interest of sect or party. The 
 various readings of copies, and diffiBrent interpreta- 
 tions of a passa^^'c, seem to be questions tiiat might 
 exercise the wit, without engaging the passions. But 
 whether it be, that smalt thin<iP make mean men proudy 
 
DR. JOHNSONS PREFACE. 
 
 ia commentaries a spontaneous train « »_^«^";4=^ ^1°° ^artoTtnv design to chance and to caprice. The, 
 cont«:mpt. more eager and venotnous ^an 's >en^ re^^r 1 beUeve, isSeldom pleased to fird h>. op.- 
 bv the most furious controverUst m poUncs ^"^ V^on Uidpate^ ; it is natiral to deligH more tn 
 &ose whom he U hired l» defrune. t ^F ^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^ ■ ^h^^ „ receive. 
 
 Perhaps the bghtn^ °^t\ ITen^^e Zh to Judsment, l.ke other faculties, .s unproved by prac- 
 to the vehemence of the »S«'"=> .' .J^^ ,. to^cao^ ^ce and its advancement is hindered by subm.s^.on 
 be investigated .s so near to mex,aence,^^o^^cape ^^^^ ^^^^.^^^ ^ ^, n>emor>- grows torp.d 
 
 attention its bulk is to be enlarged Oy raje ana ei table book. Some mitia'.ion is how- 
 d^at on : that to which all would be 'ndifferen Un byjh^^^-;J^^.'=^„'f':,r2il. part is infused by pre- 
 'u on.WsU.e, may attract nouce when Ae^teoe>„n«e^^^ ^^^^^ ^V^^^^, ^ have 'he,«- 
 a name is appended to iL A commentator has in cepi, au p ^ ^_^,_^ ^^^^ r,„rf,date of 
 
 LXri^l^P^^o^s ;o%upVy by turbulence what 
 he tits of dilnit)-, to beat his hule gold to a spa- 
 cious surface, w work that to foam which no art or 
 diligence can exalt to spirit. 
 "''i^e°;:te=whichIhafeborrowedorw.,Uen^^ 
 
 cept, ana pan is uuiuiucu ^. "-_ ■■ J.,,. „f 
 
 fore shewn so much as may enable the candidate of 
 criticism to discover the rest. 
 
 To the end of most plavs 1 have added short stric- 
 tnres, containine a ^eneril censure of faults, or praise 
 of excellence ; in which I know not how much J have 
 
 " llenoteTwhichlhateborrowedorwnitpa^ei- o^e^n^ .u. .^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^ j ^^^^ 
 
 therillustrative.bywV,chdifficulue.^e«pl^d or c-c^^^^^^^.^^ of singul^ty deviated from 
 judicial, by which f''^!'^,=^<* ^,\"°"^,^Vc^eted ' it. Nothing is minutely and particularly examined, 
 'or emendatory, by which ^^^K^'^^^X^Tf Tdo and therefore it is to be supposed, that in the pl^s 
 The explanations ^^-<'"^f '°^.°'^"^ -o^ I which are condemned there is much to be prais^, 
 not subjoin any o^J-" ,'"''=^P/^'^"°°'bVrc^Sen"e ' and in those which are praised much to be condemned, 
 monlv to be right at least I '°'^°^, ''/.^XD^f ! The part of criticism in which the whole succession 
 to co-nfess, that I have nothing be.ter to ?^^^^ i ^^P^^ ^^ laboured with the greatest d.l.gence. 
 After the labours of f /^e ed^^ >, 1 ^^^^^^ ^.^^^^^ has occasioned the most arrogant ostentation, 
 passages which appeared to '°/ ''"^'^'^J" "^^'^^"^ j^ and escited the keenest acrimony, is the emendation 
 ^at?r number of readers, and thought t ^J <!"'?"' ^* ^^''^ passages, to which the pubhc at.enuon 
 g^Utate their passage. It is ^V>'^^^' ^^Z^ch t^^b^Tn fct dra;-n by the violence of the con- 
 positor not to 4Xte '""'^"l^^^Xt^'-^^essrhv tendon between Pope and Vheobald. has been con- 
 
 ^^:^^\^;^^^^ ,'%:tlSf;=s have pass^ . a state of de- 
 o^manv for which the ignorant wjl w^t h^s help | Th^^an „pas a.^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^ i„d„biubly cer- 
 These are "nsuxes merely relative^ and tnu^ be ^J^ ^^ ^^^^ 5,, „,,„„^i„„ U onlv to be attempted 
 qmetly endured. I have ^^^^^^l^^^^.e^^d bv collation of copies, or sagacity of conjecture 1 he 
 superfluously copious nor ^-^^f ^ff J^^^f "^^^^^ : cillalor's province is safe and easy, the conjecturer s 
 hoM that I have made my author s meaning acces ^ ^oaaior p ^^ , yet as the greater part of the 
 sS to many who before were fn?^tened fmm pe- P ^^-^^-/^^l-:^,' i„ „„e copy.W peril must no. 
 rusing him, and contnbuted sometog to the public, P^»>^ ^^ ^jirticulty refused. 
 
 bv diffusing innocent and ranonal pleasure. ioeaiomeu, ,. ... _, j 
 
 \he compete explanation of an author no^- 
 leinatic and consequential, but desultoo" and vagrant 
 ^S in casual allusions and light hints is no 
 to be exilcted from any single «=''"''=^'- ^^V' ?*' 
 ^nS reflations, when names are suppressed must 
 te uf a few years irrecoverably obliterated ; and cus- 
 J:^.t tinute to au^ct the nouce of Uw such 
 
 be avoided, nor the difficulty refused. 
 
 Of the readings which this emulation of amend- 
 ment has hitherto produced, some from the labours 
 of everv publisher 1 have advanced into the text ; 
 those ^e to be considered as in my opinion suffi- 
 cientlv supported ; some 1 have rejected without men- 
 tion is evidenUv erroneous ; some 1 have left m the 
 
 u, ^.^., ;^~- .. ,. „f ,,„ ^„.h notes without censure or approbation, as resting in 
 
 xoms, too ndnute to attract the nouce of Uw, such °°;f.^ between objection and defence; andsome^ 
 as mUes of dress, for^'l^^-rof'^^^l^X^-.^t! ! wl^cWemed specious but not right, 1 have mserted 
 of visits, disposition of furmture, and P.™":""^ °' ' .^ ^ut^uent animadversion. 
 cL^ony, wLch naturallv find P ^^^^ '^'^t^ fS^.i;7c^sed the observations of otlie«..I was 
 dialogue are so fugitive and «n-="^^,'^''?^/ *^'^^ I at last uTtr.- what I could substitute for the.r mis- 
 are not easily retained or ^°'^^f^J''^^'^^^^^^,,^nAbo^lcon\isun^yXhe^^ 
 known will be collected by chance, f'°°> J^f^'^^^'f , ^^'soch copies as 1 could procure, and wished for 
 "obscure and obsolete papers, P^YXVev^mtn ' mire, but have not found the coUectors of these ra- 
 with some other view. Of this knowledge ^^ e^ man ^°^. „^„„ica,ive. Of the editions which 
 has some, and none has much ; but «hen an author , "^^ J ■ ^ ;„,„ ^^ hands 1 have given 
 
 ^ engaged the public attention, those who can add , <^^^^J^^^^ ^^at I may nb. be blamed for neg- 
 
 any thin? to his ai"f^°°°-,<=°?XrdedlSt^ence. ikct^g what 1 had not the power to do. 
 coveries.andtimeproduceswhathadeludedOUi^cnce. leu s conies, I soon found that 
 
 To time 1 have'been obliged to resign ^^ P^fi 'Ae^^™W^her' with all?heir boasts of d.li^nce 
 saees, which, though I didnot understand them w^^l i'^^^^'^^^,, a,sages to stand unauthorised and 
 f^aps hereafter be expl^aned, haying, I ho^,^us- sufered^P^^^o ^^^ ^^^,^.^ ^^^ „f .^e 
 
 £,edsome,which others have neglected ormi^t^en ;Conten^ ^^^^^^^^^. .^ ^ ^ ^b'"?^-/"'^ 
 
 sometimes by short remarks »/ ■"^fl'^i'^fXn iS a Utile consideration might have found it .0 be 
 snch as everv editor has added at his "-t". and onei^ , ^ , alterations are only the ejec- 
 
 ly comment; more laborious than *« ^."^^^^^ , ^^f ^ ;„M f„, one that appeared to hm, more ele- 
 ^m to deserve ; but that -'",^';„'l "°t,'^„^*^S^ „'' 1 ^°t or more intelligible. These com.pt.ons I have 
 
 raSy-^SC'th^^iX,^ ^^--"-•^^ fo-"^ '-^'''" ""'"• 
 
DR. JOHXSON"S PREFACE. 
 
 1^ 
 
 gna^e, and the tnie force of our words, can only be 
 presened, by keeping the text of authors tree trom 
 aduUeraliou. Others, and those very frequent, 
 smoothed the cadence, or regTilated the measure ; 
 on these I have not exercised the same rigour ; if 
 onlv a word was transposed, or a particle inserted 
 cr omitted, I have sometimes suffered the line to 
 stand : for the inconstancy of the copies is such, as 
 that some liberties may be easily permitted. But 
 this practice I have not suffered to proceed far, hav- 
 ing restored the primitive diction wherever it could 
 for any reason be preferred. 
 
 The emendations, which comparison of copies sup- 
 plied, I have inserted in the text : sometimes, where 
 the improvement ^■as slight, without notice, and some- 
 times with an account of the reasons of the change. 
 
 Conjecture, though it be sometimes unavoidable, 
 I have not wantonly nor licentiously indulged- It 
 has been my settled principle, that the reading of the 
 ancient books is probably true, and therefore is not 
 to be disturbed for the sake of elegance, perspicuity, 
 or mere imorovement of the sense. For though much 
 credit is not due to the fidelity, nor any to the judg- 
 ment of the first publishers, yet they who had the 
 copv before their eves were more likely to read it 
 right, than we who read it only by imagination. But 
 it is evident that they have often made strange mistakes 
 bv isTnorance or ne£:lisence, and that therefore sorae- 
 liiing may be properly attempted by criticism, keeping 
 the middiie wuy bet^veen presumption and timidity. 
 
 Such criticism 1 iiave attempted to practise, and 
 where any passage appeared inextricably perplexed, 
 have endeavoured to discover how it may be recalled 
 to sense, with least \nolence. But my first labour is, 
 always to turn the old text on e^-en.- side, and try if 
 there be any interstice, through which li^ht can find 
 its way; nor would Huetius himself condemn me, as 
 refusing the trouble of research, for the ambition of 
 alleration. In this modest industry, I have not been 
 unsuccessful. I have rescued many lines from the 
 violations of temerity, and secured many scenes from 
 the inroads of correction. I have adopted the Ro- 
 man sentiment, that it is more honourable to save a 
 citizen, than to kill an enemy, and have been more 
 careful to protect than to attack. 
 
 I hare preserved the common distribution of the 
 plavs into acts, though I believe it to be in almost 
 all the plavs void of authority. Some of those which 
 are divided in the later editions have no division in 
 the first folio, and some that are di^^ided in the folio 
 have no diWsion in the preceding copies. The settled 
 mode of the theatre requires four intervals in the play, 
 but few, if any, of our author's compositions can be 
 properly distributed in that manner. An act is so 
 much of the drama as passes without intervention of 
 time, or change of place. A pause makes a new act. 
 In everj- real, and therefore in ever\" imitative action, 
 the intenals may be more or fewer, the restriction of 
 five acts being accidental and arbitrary. This Shak- 
 speare knew, and this he practised ; his plays were 
 written, and at first printed in one unbroken conti- 
 nuitj-, and ought now to be exhibited with short 
 pauses. in:erposed as often as the scene is changed, 
 or any consiaerabie time is required to pass. This 
 method would at once quell a thousand absurdities. 
 
 In restoring the author's works to their integrity, 
 I have considered the puLCluation as wholly in my 
 power ; for what could be their care of colons and 
 t:ommas. who corrupted words and sentences 1 What- 
 ever could be done by adjusting points, is therefore 
 silently performed, in some pfays with much dili- 
 gence, in others with less j it is hard to keep a busy 
 
 eye steadily fixed upon evanescent atoms, or a dis- 
 cursive mind upon evanescent truth. 
 
 The same liberty has been taken with a few par- 
 ticles, or other words of slight el^ecC 1 have some- 
 times inserted or omitted them without notice. I 
 have done that sometimes which the other editors 
 have done always, and which indeed the state of the 
 text may sunicientlv juslifv. 
 
 The greater part of readers, instead of blaming us 
 for passing trides. will wofitier that on mere tnfies 
 so much labour is expended, with such importance 
 of debate, and such solemnitT,- of diction. To these 
 I answer with confidence, that they are judging of an 
 art which they do not understand ; vet cannot much 
 reproach them with their ignorance, nor promise that 
 they would become in general, bv learning criticism, 
 more useful, happier, or wiser. 
 
 As I practised conjecture more, I learned to trust 
 
 it less ; and after I had printed a few piavs. resolved 
 
 to insert none of my own readings in the text. Vpon 
 
 I this caution I now congratulate mvself, for every day 
 
 increases my doubt of my emendation. 
 
 [ Since I have confined my imagination to the mar- 
 
 ■ gin, it must not be considered as verv reprehensible, 
 
 I if I have suffered it to play some freaks in its own 
 
 j dominion. There is no danger in conjecture, if it 
 
 I be proposed as conjecture ; and while the text re- 
 
 ' mains uninjured, those changes mav be salely offer- 
 
 I ed, which are not considered even by him that ofiexs 
 
 them as necessary or safe. 
 
 If my readings are of little value, thev have not 
 been ostentatiously displayed or importunately ob- 
 truded. I could have written longer notes, for the 
 art of writing notes is not of difficult attainment. 
 The work is performed, first by railing at the stupi- 
 dity, negligence, ignorance, and asinine tastelessness 
 of the former editors, shemng, from ail that goes 
 before and all that follows, tlie inelegance and absur- 
 dity of the old reading ; then by proposing somethino-, 
 which to superficial readers would seem specious, 
 but which the editor rejects with indignation : then 
 by producing the true reading, with a lone paraphrase, 
 and concluding with loud acclamations on the dis- 
 covery-, and a sober wish for the advancement and 
 prosperity of genuine criticism. 
 
 All this may be done, and perhaps done sometimes 
 without impropriety. But I have alwa^-s suspected 
 that the reading is right, which requires many words 
 to prove it wrong ; and the emendation wrong, that 
 cannot without so much labour appear to be ri^ht. 
 The justness of a happy restoration strikes at once, 
 and the moral precept may be well applied to criti- 
 cism, quod dtibitas neteceris. 
 
 To dread the shore which he sees spread with 
 wrecks, is natural-to the sailor. I had before my eye, 
 so many critical adventures ended in miscarriage, that 
 caution was forced upon me. 1 encountered in everv 
 page wit struggling with its own sophistry, and learn- 
 ing confused by the multiplicity of its \-iews. I was 
 forced to censure those whom 1 admired, and could 
 not but reflect, while 1 was dispossessing their emenda- 
 tions, how soon the same fate might happen to my own, 
 and how many of the readings which 1 have corrected 
 may be by some other editordefended and established. 
 
 " Critics t saw. that others' awnes efface, 
 Aud tix their own, iritb labour, in the place ; 
 Their ovcQ. iikroiliers. soon tiieir place nisign'd, 
 Ordisapyear'd.audkttlhe first behind." — Fop&. 
 
 That a conjectural critic shoxdd often be mistaken, 
 
 cannot be wonderful, either to others, or himself, if 
 
 it be considered, that in his art there is no system, 
 
 no principal and axiomatical truth that regulates. 
 
 B B 
 
.16 
 
 DR. JOHNSON'S PREi'.-VCE. 
 
 subordinate positions. His chance of error is renewed | explanation. Wlien his attention is strongly engaged, 
 at every attempt ; an oblit|ue view of the passage a I let it dibdain alike to turn aside to the name of Theo 
 
 slight misapprehension of a phrase, a casual inatten 
 tion to the parties connected, is sufficient to make 
 him not only fail, but fail ridiculously ; and when 
 he succeeds best, he produces perhaps but one read- 
 ing of many probable, and he that suggests another 
 will always be able to dispute his claims. 
 
 It is an unhappy state, in which danger is hid 
 under pleasure. 'I'he allurements of emendation are 
 scarcely resistible. Conjecture has all the joy and 
 all the pride of invention, and he that has once 
 started a happy change, is too much delighted to 
 consider what objections may rise against it. 
 
 Yet conjectural criticism has been of great use in 
 the learned world ; nor is it my intention to depre- 
 ciate a study, that has e.iercised so many mighty 
 minds, from the revival of learning to our own age, 
 from the Bishop of Aleria to English Bentley. The 
 critics on ancient authors have, in the exercise of 
 their sagacity, many assistances, which the editor of 
 Shakspeare is condemned to want. They are em- 
 ployed upon grammatical and settled languages, 
 whose construction contribute so much to peispi- 
 cuity, that Homer has fewer passages unintelligible 
 than Chaucer. The words have not only a known 
 regimen, but invariable quantities, which direct and 
 confine the choice. There are commonly more manu- 
 scripts than one ; and they do not often conspire in 
 the same mistakes. Vet Scaliger could confess to 
 Salmasius how little satisfaction his emendations 
 gave him. Jtludunt nobis conjecCur<e noUra, quarnm 
 tios ptidet, postetiqnam hi vieiiores ctHlices incidimus. 
 And Lipsius could complain, that critics were making 
 faults, by trying to remove them, Ut idim vitiis, ilu 
 nunc remediii luboratur. And indeed, when mere 
 conjecture is to be used, the emendations of Scaliger 
 and Lipsius, notwithstanding their wonderful saga- 
 city and erudition, are often vague and disputable, 
 like mine or Theobald' 
 
 bald and of Pope. Let him read on through bright- 
 ness and obscurity, through integrity and corruption ; 
 let him preserve his comprehension of the dialogue, 
 and his interest in the fable. And when the plea- 
 sures of novelty have ceased, let him attempt exact- 
 ness, and read the commentators. 
 
 Particular passages are cleared by notes, but the 
 general effect of the work is weakened. The mind 
 is refrigerated by interruption ; the thoughts are 
 diverted from the principal subject ; the reader is 
 weary, he suspects not why ; and at last throws 
 away the book which he has too diligently studied. 
 
 Parts are not to be examined till the whole has 
 been surveyed ; there is a kind of intellectual re- 
 moteness necessary for the comprehension of any 
 great work in its full design and in its true propor- 
 tions ; a close approach shews the smaller niceties, 
 but the beauty of the whole is discerned no longer. 
 
 It is not very grateful to consider how little the 
 succession of editors has added to this author's power 
 of pleasing. He was read, admired, studied, and 
 imitated, while he was yet deformed with all the 
 improprieties which ignorance and neglect could ac- 
 cumulate upon him ; while the reading was yet not 
 rectified, nor his allusions understood ; yet then did 
 Dryden pronounce, " that Shakspeare was the man, 
 who, of all modern and perhaps ancient poets, had 
 the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the 
 images of nature were still present to him, and he 
 drew them not laboriously, but luckily : when he de- 
 scribes any thing, you more than see it, you feel it 
 too. Those, who accuse him to have wanted learn- 
 ing, give him the greater commendation ; he was na- 
 turally learned ; he needed not the spectacles of 
 books to read nature ; he looked inwards, and found 
 her there. I cannot say he is every where alike ; 
 were he so, X should do him injury to compare him 
 with the greatest of mankind. He is many times flat 
 
 Perhaps I may not be more censured for doing and insipid ; his comic wit degenerating into 
 
 wrong, than for doing little ; for raising in the pub- 
 lic expectations, which at last I have not answered. 
 The expectation of ignorance is indefinite, and that 
 of knowledge is often tyrannical. It is hard to satisfy 
 those who know not what to demand, or those who 
 demand by design what they think impossible to be 
 done. I have indeed disappointed no opinion more 
 than my own ; yet I have endeavoured to perform 
 my task with no slight solicitude. Not a single pas- 
 sage in the whole work has appeared to me corrupt, 
 which I have not attempted to restore : or obscure, 
 which I have not endeavoured to illustrate. In many 
 I have failed like others ; and from many, after all 
 my efforts, I have retreated, and confessed the re- 
 pulse. I have not passed over, with affected supe- 
 riority, what is equally difficult to the reader and to 
 myself, but where I could not instruct him, have 
 owned my ignorance. I might easily have accumu- 
 lated a mass of seeming learning upon easy scenes ; 
 but it ought not to be imputed to negligence, that where 
 nothing was necessary, nothing has been done, or that, 
 where others have said enough, I have said no more. 
 Notes are often necessary, but they are necessary 
 evils. Let him, that is yet unacquainted with the 
 powers of Shakspeare, and who desires to feel the 
 highest pleasure that the drama can give, read every 
 play from the first scene to the last, with utter negli- 
 gence of all his commentators. When his fancy is 
 
 clenches, his serious swelling into bombast. But he 
 is always great, when some great occasion is pre- 
 sented to hieu ; no man can say, he ever had a fit 
 subject for his wit, and did not then raise himself as 
 high above the rest of poets, 
 
 ' Quantum lenta solent inter viburna copressi.' " 
 
 It is to be lamented, that such a writer should 
 want a commentary ; that his language should be- 
 come obsolete, or his sentiments obscure. But it is 
 vain to carry wishes beyond the condition of human 
 things ; that which must happen to all, has happen- 
 ed to Shakspeare, by accident and time ; and more 
 than has been sufliered by any other writer since the 
 use of types, has been suffered by him through his 
 own negligence of fame, or perhaps by that superio- 
 rity of mind, which despised its own performances, 
 when it compaied them with its powers, and judged 
 those works unwortliy to be preserved, which the 
 critics of following ages were to contend for the fame 
 of restoring and explaining. 
 
 Among these candidates of inferior fame, I am ' 
 now to stand the judgment of the public : and wish 
 that I could confidently produce my commentary as 
 equal to the encouragement which I have had the 
 honour of receiving. Every work of this kind is by 
 its nature deficient, and I should feel little solicitude 
 about the sentence, were it to be pronounced only 
 
 once on the wing, let it not stoop at correetion or I by the skilful and the learned. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 ABATE, to depress, siok, sub- 
 due. 
 
 A BC-book, a catechism. 
 
 Aluecis, servile persons. 
 
 Able, to nualify or uphold. 
 
 Atiorlive, issuing before Its 
 lime. 
 
 Absolutchighly accomplished, 
 perfect. 
 
 Abused, deceived. 
 
 Aby, to pay dear for. 
 
 Abysm, ibyss. 
 
 Accuse, accusation. 
 
 Achieve, to obtain. 
 
 Acquittance, requital. 
 
 Action, direction by mute 
 signs, charge, or accusation. 
 
 Action-taking, litigious. 
 
 Additions, titles or descrip- 
 tions. 
 
 Address, to mtdte ready. 
 
 Addressed, or addrtst, ready. 
 
 Advance, to prefer, to raise to 
 honour. 
 
 Adversity, contrariety. 
 
 Advertisement, admonition. 
 
 Advertibiu^', iitteotivc. 
 
 Advice, consideration, discre- 
 tion, thought. 
 
 Advise, to consider, recoHect. 
 
 Advised, not precipitant, cuo!, 
 cautious. 
 
 Afeard, afraid. 
 
 Affect, love. 
 
 Affeciion, afTectatt'on, imagi- 
 nation, disposition, quality. 
 
 Affectioned, afiectcd. 
 
 Affections, passions, inordinate 
 desires. 
 
 Aft'eered, confirmed. 
 
 Artied, betrothed, 
 
 Atfined, joined by affiiiity. 
 
 Affront, to meet or face. 
 
 Affy, to betroth in marriage- 
 
 Aglet-baby, dimiimtue being. 
 
 Agnize, acknowledge, confess. 
 
 A-good, in go'id earnest. 
 
 Aiery, the nest of an eagle or 
 hau-k. 
 
 Aim. guess, encouragement, 
 suspicion. 
 
 AI .er-liefest, beloved above ail 
 things. 
 
 Aie, a merry meeting. 
 
 Allow, to approve. 
 
 Allowance, approbation. 
 
 Amaze, to perplex or confase. 
 
 Ames-ace. the lowest chance 
 of the dice. 
 
 Amort, sunk and dispirited. 
 
 An, as if. 
 
 Anchor, anchoret. 
 
 Ancient, an ensign. 
 
 Anight, in the night. 
 
 Answer, retaliation. 
 
 AnthropophaRinian, cannibal. 
 
 Aniic, the fool of the old 
 farces. 
 
 Antiquity, old age. 
 
 Antres, caves and dens. 
 
 Apparent, seeming, not real, 
 heir apparent, or next clai- 
 mant. 
 
 Appeal, to accuse. 
 
 Appeared, r-^ndered apparent. 
 
 Apply, to attend to, consider. 
 
 Appointment. prei)nration. 
 
 Appr(^heiwioii, opinion. 
 
 Apprehensive, quick to under- 
 stand. 
 
 Approbation, entry on proba- 
 tion. 
 
 Approof, proof, approbation. 
 
 Approve, to jnstih,*, to make 
 good, to est.ildish, to recom- 
 mend to a.pprnbaiion. 
 
 Approved, fek, experienced, 
 convicted by proof. 
 
 Approvers, persons who try. 
 
 Aqua-vit?e, strong waters. 
 
 Arbitrate, to determine. 
 
 Arch, chief, 
 
 Argentine, silver. 
 
 Argier, Algiers. 
 
 Argosies, ships of great bur- 
 then, galleons. 
 
 Argument, subject for conver- 
 sation, evidence, proof. 
 
 Arm, to take up in the arms. 
 
 Aroiut, avauut, be gone. 
 
 Arow, successively, one after 
 another. 
 
 Art. practice as distinguished 
 from theory, theory. 
 
 Articulate, enter into articles. 
 
 Articulated, exhibited in arti- 
 cles. 
 
 Artiticial, ingenious, artful. 
 
 As, as it. 
 
 Asj)eci, countenance. 
 
 Aspersion, sprinkling. 
 
 Assay, test. 
 
 Assintgo, a he-ass. 
 
 Assurance, conveyance, deed. 
 
 Assured, atfianced. 
 
 Astrint;er, a lalcouer. 
 
 Ates, instigation from Ate, the 
 Qiischievoas goddess that in- 
 cites bloodshed. 
 
 Atomies, minute particles dis- 
 cernible m a stream of sun- 
 shine that breaks into a dark- 
 ened room, atoms. 
 
 Aloue, to reconcile. 
 
 Aitasked. repreheuded, cor- 
 rected. 
 
 Attended, waited for. 
 
 Attent, atienlive. 
 
 Attorney, deputation. 
 
 Attorneyshiji, the discretional 
 agency of ;iuoihcr. 
 
 Attorn ied, supplied by substi- 
 tution ul embassies. 
 
 Attributive, that which attri- 
 butes or gives. 
 
 Avaunt. contemptuous dismis- 
 sion. 
 
 Averring, confirming. 
 
 Audacious, spirited, onimBted, 
 
 Audrey, acorruption of l^lhcl- 
 dreda. 
 
 Augurs, auguries or prognosti- 
 cations. 
 
 Aukward, adverse. 
 
 Authentic, an epithet applied 
 to the learned. 
 
 Awful, reverend, worshipful. 
 
 Awless,not producing awe. 
 
 Baccare, stand back, give 
 place. 
 
 Rale, miserv.calamity. 
 
 Baleful, baneful. 
 
 Balked, bathed or piled up. 
 
 Bjlm.ihe oil of consecratioo. 
 
 Band, bond. 
 
 Bandog, village dog or mastiff. 
 
 Bajik, to sail along the hajiks. 
 
 Banning, cursing. 
 
 Banquet, a slight refection, a 
 desert. 
 
 Bans, curses. 
 
 Bar. barrier. 
 
 Barbed, caparisoned in a war- 
 like manner, 
 
 Barful.fiill of impediments. 
 
 Barm, yeast. 
 
 Bnrn, or bairn, a child. 
 
 Barnacle, n kind of shell-fish. 
 
 Ense, dishonoured. 
 
 Base, a rustic game, called pri- 
 son-base. 
 
 Base;, a kind of dress used by 
 knii'hts on horseback. 
 
 Basilisks, a species of cannon. 
 
 Bas;a. Spanish, 'tis enough. 
 
 Bastard, raisin wine. 
 
 Bat. a cluh, or staff. 
 
 Bale, strife. contention. 
 
 Bate, to flutter as a hawk. 
 
 Batlet.an instrument used by 
 washers of clothes. 
 
 Batten, to grow fat. 
 
 Battle, army. 
 
 Bavin, brushwood. 
 
 Bawcock.ajolly c«rk. 
 
 Bay, the space between the 
 main beams of a roof. 
 
 Bay-window. bow window, one 
 in a recess. 
 
 Beak, the forecastle, or the 
 boltsprit. 
 
 Beard, to oppose in a hostile 
 manner, to set at defiance. 
 
 BeAring, carriaee. demeanour. 
 
 Bearing-cloth, a mantle used 
 at christenings. 
 
 Beat, in falconry, to flutter. 
 
 Beating, hammering, dwelliug 
 upon. 
 
 Beaver, helmet in general. 
 Beck, a salutation made with 
 
 the head. 
 Becomed. becomiug. 
 Beetle, to hang over the base . 
 Being, abode. 
 Belongings, endowments. 
 Be-mete, c>e-meosure. * 
 
 Be-moiled, be-draggled, be- 
 
 mired. 
 Bending, unequal to the 
 
 weight. 
 Beneht, beneficiary. 
 Bent, the utmost degree of any 
 
 passion. 
 Benumbed, inflexible, immove- 
 able. 
 Beshrew, ill befall. 
 Best, bravest, 
 bestowed, left, stowed, or 
 
 loilged. 
 Bestrau'-'ht, distraught or dis- 
 tracted. 
 Beteem, to give, to pour out, 
 
 to permit, or sufler. 
 Bewray, betray, discover. 
 Bczonian, a term of reproach. 
 Bid. to invite, ti> pray. 
 Biding, place, abiding. 
 Biggiiig, a kind of caj). 
 Bilt'erry. the whortleberry. 
 Bilbo, aSpanish blade of pecu- 
 liar excellence. 
 Bilboes, asi>ec:tsof fetters. 
 Bill, a weapon ca rri ed bj' 
 watchmen, a label, nr adver- 
 tisement, articles of accusa- 
 tion. 
 Bird-bolt, a species of arrow. 
 Kissou, blind. 
 Blank, the white mark at 
 
 which an arrow is shot. 
 Blast, burst. 
 Blear, to decei\p. 
 Blench, to start off. 
 Blent, blended, mixed. 
 Blind-worm, the slow-worm. 
 Blistered, puffed out like blis- 
 ters. 
 Blotjil, ancestr>', high spirits, 
 true meial, passions, uatural 
 propensities. 
 Blood-boltered, daubed with 
 
 blood. 
 Blown, puffed or swollen. 
 Blows, swells. 
 Blunt, stupid, insensible. 
 Board, to accost, to address. 
 Bobb, to trick, to make a fool 
 
 of. 
 Bodged, boggled, made bung- 
 ling work. 
 Bodkin, a small dagger. 
 Bold, confident, to embolden. 
 Boldness, confidence. 
 Bolted, sifted, refined. 
 Bolting-hutch, the rece]>tncle 
 
 in which the me.il is bolted. 
 Bombard, or bumtmrd, a bar- 
 rel. 
 Bombast, stuffing of clothes. 
 Bona-robas, strumpets. 
 Bond,bounden duty. 
 Bony, or bonny . handsome, 
 
 goodlooking. 
 Book, paper of conditions. 
 Bool, profit. advani.i;,'p, some- 
 thing over and above. 
 Bore, demeaned. 
 Bore, the caliber of a gun, the 
 
 capacity of tlie barrel. 
 Bores, stabs, or wounds. 
 Bosky, woody. 
 Bosom, wish, heart's desire. 
 Bots. worms in the stomach of 
 
 a hiirse, 
 Bourn. boundary, rivulet. 
 Bow, yoke. 
 Brace, .irmour for the arm, 
 
 state of defence. 
 Brach,a species of hound. 
 Braid, crafty or dereitful. 
 Brake, a thicket, furze-bush. 
 Brave, to make fine or splen- 
 did. 
 Bravery, show\* dress. 
 Brawl, a kind of dance. 
 Breach, of the sea, breaking of 
 
 the sea. 
 Breast, voice, surface. 
 
 Breath, breathing, voice. 
 
 Breathe, to utter. 
 
 Breai.hcd, inured by constant 
 jjractice. 
 
 Breathing, complimentary. 
 
 Breeched, sheathed. 
 
 Breeching, liable to school-boy 
 punishment. 
 
 Bridal, the nuptial feast. 
 
 Brief, a short accomit, letter, 
 or enumeration. 
 
 Bring, to attend or accompany. 
 
 Brize, the gad, or horse-tly. 
 
 Broached, spitted, transfixed. 
 
 Brock, a badger. 
 
 Broke, to deal with a pander. 
 
 Broken, toothless. . 
 
 Broker, a matchmaker, a pro- 
 curess or pimp. 
 
 Brooch, an ornamental buckle. 
 
 bro'iched, adorned as with a 
 brooch. 
 
 Bioiherhoods. cou fraternities, 
 or coiporatious. 
 
 Brow, height. 
 
 brownist, the name of a sect. 
 
 Bruit, noise, report. 
 
 lUutted, reported with cla- 
 mour. 
 
 Brush, detrition, decav. 
 
 buckle, to bend, to yield to 
 pressure. 
 
 BuL-s, bugbears, terrors. 
 
 Hufk, the body. 
 
 Bumbard. See Bombard. 
 
 bunting, a bird outwardly 
 like a skylark. 
 
 Burgonet. a kind of helioet. 
 
 burst, broken. 
 
 Burj', to conceal, to keep se- 
 cret. 
 
 Btish, the sign of a public- 
 house. 
 
 Busky, woody. See Bosky. 
 
 but, only, unless, except. 
 
 Butt-shaft, an arrow to shooi 
 at butts with. 
 
 Buxom, obedient, under good 
 command. 
 
 By. nccorilingto.by means of. 
 
 by'rlakin, by our ladykiu or 
 little lady. 
 
 Caddis, a narrow worsted gal- 
 loon. 
 
 Cade, a barrel. 
 
 Cadent, falling. 
 
 Cage, a prison. 
 
 Caiij-coloured, yellow. 
 
 Caitiff, a pri.soner, a slave, a 
 scoundrel. 
 
 Calculate, to foretell or pro- 
 phesy. 
 
 Caliver, asi)eciesof musket. 
 
 Call, to visit. 
 
 Callet, a lewd woman. 
 
 Calling, appellation. 
 
 Calm, qualm. 
 
 Canary, a sprightly nimble 
 dance. 
 
 Caiidle-waisters, those who sit 
 ui) all night to drink. 
 
 (^anker, the dog-rose. 
 
 Cnnstick, candlestick. 
 
 Camel, or Cantle, a comer or 
 piece of any thing. 
 
 Cantons, cantos. 
 
 Canvas, to sift. 
 
 Canyns-climber, a sailor who 
 climbs to .adjust the ^riils. 
 
 Cap, the top, the princijial. 
 
 Cap, to salute by taking off the 
 cap. 
 
 Capable, perceptible, intelli- 
 gent, quick of apprehension, 
 emjilp, capacious. 
 
 Capitulate, to make head. 
 
 Capon, metaphor /or a letter. 
 
 Capricious, lascivious. 
 
 Captious, capacious, or reci- 
 pient. 
 
 Carack, a *hip of great bulk. 
 
 Carbonadoed, scotched like 
 meat for the gridiron. 
 
 Card, i)erhaps a sea-chart. 
 
 Care, to make provision, to 
 take care. 
 
 Care, inclination. 
 
 Careires. the motionof a horse. 
 
 Carkanet necklace or chain. 
 
20 
 
 Cart, clown or hasbandmao 
 t-.avloi, peasant. 
 Carrer, a cniic. 
 Carpet-coiibi(Jt;rRiicn, od a car- 
 pel, alealiviiy. 
 Carriaae, import. 
 Carntti, cuiiducied, managed. 
 Carry, to prevail over. 
 Cart, a chariot. 
 Case.comempiuously for skin, 
 
 outside ^arb. 
 CfiSe, to strip naked. 
 CasQues, helmets. 
 Cassock, a hur&eman's great- 
 coat. 
 Cast, to empty, as a pond, to 
 
 dismiss or reject. 
 Cast, cast up, reckoned. 
 CastiliaD, aa opproi>rious term. 
 Ca^tiliano vulgo, a caut term 
 
 of contempt. 
 Catalan, some kind of sharper. 
 Calling, a suiaLl laie-string 
 
 marie of catgut. 
 Cavaleroes, airy, gay fellows. 
 Caviare, a delicacy made of 
 
 the roc of sturgeon. 
 Camelous, insidious, cautious. 
 Cease, decease, die, to stop. 
 Censure, judgment, opinion. 
 Cfcnsure, to judye, 
 Censured, sentenced, esti- 
 
 ■aiaied. 
 Centuries, companies of an 
 
 hundred men each. 
 Ceremonies, honorary orna- 
 ments, tokens of reaped. 
 Ceremonious, superstitmus. 
 Cerles, certainly, in truth. 
 Cess, measure. 
 Chace, a te-m at tennis. 
 Chair, throne. 
 Chamoer, aucient name lor 
 
 London. 
 Chamber, a species of great 
 
 gun. 
 Chamberers, men of intrigue. 
 Champinn, an open country. 
 Chance, fortune. 
 Changeling, a child chajiged. 
 Channel, a kennel. 
 Character, description, hand- 
 writing. 
 Character, to write, to infix 
 
 strongly. 
 Charactery, the matter with 
 
 >4hich letters are made. 
 Chares, task-work. 
 Charge, to put to expense. 
 Charge, commission, employ- 
 ment. 
 Char^'e-house, the free-school. 
 Chariest, most cautious. 
 Chariness, caution. 
 Charitable, dear, endearing. 
 Charles's-wain, Uie constella- 
 tion called the I'ear. 
 Charneco, a sort of sweet wine. 
 Charter, a privilege. 
 Chaudron, entrails. 
 Cheater, escheator, an officer 
 
 in the exchequer, gamester. 
 Check, command, control. 
 Check, to object to, to rebuke. 
 Checks, probably for ethics. 
 Cheer, countenance. , 
 Cherry-pit, a pi ay w ith cherry- 
 stones. 
 Cheveril, soft or kid leather. 
 Chew, to ruminate, consider. 
 Chewet, noisy ch,.ttering bird. 
 Chide, to resound, to echo, to 
 
 scold, to be clamorous. 
 Cbiuing, sound. 
 Chiding, noisv. 
 Child, a female infant. 
 Childing, unseasonably preg- 
 nant. 
 Chopin, a high shoeorclo^. 
 Choush.abiidof the daw kind. 
 Christom, the white cloth put 
 
 on a new bapii7,ed child. 
 Chrj'stals, eyes. 
 Chuck, chicken, a term of en- 
 dearment. 
 Chuff, rich, avaricious. 
 Cicatrice, the scar of a wound. 
 Circumstance, detail of an ar- 
 gument, a circumlocution. 
 Cital, recital. 
 Cite, to incite, to shew, to 
 
 Civil, human creature, any 
 
 thinp huni^iU. 
 Clack-dish, a beggar's -dish. 
 Clfiw totlatitT. 
 Cltar, pure, blameless, ioDO' 
 
 GL0SSAK1, 
 
 cent, quite, fully, iierfectly. 
 Clearest, purest, freest from 
 
 evil. 
 Clear-story, a species of win- 
 
 di.ws in a church. 
 Ciea\e, I'j unite with closely. 
 Clerkly, like a scholar. 
 Clitf, a key in music, 
 t ling, to shrink or shrivel up. 
 Clinquant, glittering, shining, 
 t lip, to embrace, to infold. 
 Clusely. secretly, privately. 
 Clout, the white mark at which 
 
 arcberbtake aim. 
 Clown, a licensed jester in fa- 
 milies. 
 Clubs, a popular cry on a 
 
 street-quarrel. 
 Clutched, grasped. 
 Coach-fellow, one who draws 
 
 with a conlederate. 
 Coasting, conciliatory, invit- 
 
 in-r?. 
 Cobloaf. a crusty, uneven loaf. 
 Cock, cock-boat. 
 Cockle, a weed. 
 Cockled, inshelled like a 
 
 cockle. 
 Cock-shut-time, twilight. 
 Codling, anciently an imma- 
 ture Jijiple. 
 Cotfin, the cavity of a raised 
 
 pie. 
 Cog, to falsify, to lie, defraud. 
 Cognizance, badge or tukcu. 
 Coigne, corner, 
 Coil, bustle, stir. 
 C'Old, naked. 
 
 Collect, to assemble by obser- 
 vation. 
 Collection, corollary, conse- 
 quence. 
 Collied. black, smutted with 
 
 coal. 
 Collier, formerly a term of the 
 
 highest reproach. 
 Colour, ])retence. 
 Colourable, specious. 
 Colours, appearances, deceits. 
 Colt, to fool, to trick. 
 Co-marl, ajoint bargain. 
 Conibinate, betrothed. 
 Combine, to bind. 
 Combined, bound by agree- 
 ment. 
 C.imforting, aiding. 
 Conimcute, to give a begin- 
 ning. 
 Commended, committed. 
 Commission, authority, power. 
 Commodity, interest, profit. 
 Commonly, a comedy. 
 Compact, made up of 
 Companion, lellow. 
 Company, companion. 
 Comparative, a dealer in com- 
 parisons. 
 Compare, comparison. 
 Compassed, round. 
 Compassionate, plaintive. 
 Competitors, confederates or 
 
 associates. 
 Complements, accomplish- 
 ments. 
 Comple.xion, humour. 
 Comply, to compliment. 
 Compose, to come to a compo- 
 sition. 
 Composition, contract or bar- 
 cam, consistency, concor- 
 daiicy. 
 Composture, composition,com- 
 
 post. 
 Comptible, submissive. 
 Con. to know. 
 Conceit, fanciful conception, 
 
 thought. 
 Concent, connected harmony 
 
 in general. 
 Conclusion, determination, re- 
 solution. 
 Conclusions, experiments. 
 Concupy, concupiscence. 
 Condilion, temper, character, 
 qualities, vocations or incli- 
 nations. 
 Condolement. sorrow. 
 Conduct, conductor. 
 Coney-catched, deceived, 
 
 cheated. 
 Coney-catcher, a cheat, or 
 
 sharjier. 
 Confession, iJrofession. 
 Conject, coDJecturu. 
 Conjecture, suspicion. 
 Confound, to destroy, to ex- 
 pend, to consume. 
 I Confounded, worn or wasted. 
 
 Consent, to npree. 
 Consent, conspiracy, will, as- 
 sent, united \oice. 
 CoDiigned, sealed. 
 Consist, to stand upon. 
 Consort, coiiipany. 
 Conson, tokeei>compDuy wirh. 
 CoDsiaucy, cou6i»iency, stabi- 
 lity. 
 Constant, firm, determined. 
 Constantly, certainly, without 
 
 liuctuation. 
 Coniempiille, contemptuous. 
 Continent, the thing \^hich 
 
 coniiiins. 
 Continenta, banks of rivers. 
 Coiiiinujiie, uuiiiterrupteti. 
 Contraction, marnave con- 
 tract. 
 Contrarious, different. 
 Contrive, to spend and wear 
 
 out. 
 Control, to confute. 
 Convent, to Her%e or agree. 
 Convenied, cited, summoned. 
 Conversation, itimiliar inter- 
 course, conduit, behaviour. 
 Converse, interchange. 
 Conversioii, change of condi- 
 lion. 
 Convertite. convert. 
 Convey, to perform alight of 
 
 hand, to manage artfuMy, 
 Conveyance, iheii. fraud. 
 Convince, to overpower, sub- 
 due, convict. 
 Con\ icted, overpowered, baf- 
 
 tled. 
 Convive, to feast. 
 Cope, to encounter, to engage. 
 Cope, coverins;;, 
 Coiii>ed, rising to a cop, or 
 
 head. 
 Copy, theme. 
 Coragio, an exclamation of en- 
 
 couragenienl 
 Corinthian, a wenchcr 
 Corky, drv, withertd, husky. 
 Corners, by -places. 
 Corollary, surplus. 
 Coronet, a crown. 
 Corrigible, corrected. 
 Costard, the head. 
 Cosier-njonger, meanly, mer- 
 cenary. 
 Cole, to overtake. 
 Coted. quoted, observed, or 
 
 regarded. 
 Cotsale. Cotswoodin Glouces- 
 tershire. 
 Covered, hollow. 
 Count, to make actonnt, to 
 
 reckon upon. 
 Count Confect, a specious 
 
 nobleman. 
 Countenance, false appearance, 
 
 hypocrisy. 
 Counterfeit, a likeness, a por- 
 trait. 
 Counterpoints, counterpanes. 
 County, count, earl. 
 Cower, to sink by bending the 
 
 hams. 
 ' Cowl-btaff, a staff for carrying 
 
 a large tub. 
 Coy, lo soothe or stroke. 
 Coyed, conaescended unwil- 
 lingly, 
 Coystril, a coward rock, a 
 
 mean or drunken fellow. 
 Cozier, a tailor or botcher. 
 Crab, a ivild apple. 
 Crack, dissolution. 
 Crack, a boy or child, a boj*- 
 
 child. 
 Cranks, windings. 
 Crams, chants. 
 Crare, a small trndinfj vessel. 
 Craven, a degenerate, dispirit- 
 ed cock. 
 Craven, mean, cowardly, to 
 
 make cowardly. 
 Create, couipounded, or made 
 
 up- 
 Credent, creditable, credible. 
 Credit, account, information, 
 
 crpduliiy. 
 Credit, a great light set upon a 
 
 beacon. 
 Cressive, increasing. 
 Crest, the top. the height. 
 Crestless, those who have no 
 
 right to arms. 
 Crisp, curling, winding, curl- 
 ed, bent, hollow. 
 Critic, cynic. 
 Critical, censorious. 
 Crone, anotdworu-oatwoman. 
 
 Crosses, money stamped with s 
 
 cross. 
 Crow, to txijlt over. 
 Crow-keejier, a scare-gro*'. 
 Crown, to conclude. 
 Crowned, djsnif.ed, adorned. 
 Crownct, last purpose. 
 Cry, a iroop or pack. 
 Cue, in stage cant, the lasi 
 words of the preceding 
 speech. 
 CuJsses. armour for the thighs. 
 Cullion, a despicable fellow. 
 Cunning, sagacity, knowledge. 
 Curb, to bend or truckle. 
 Curiosity, tinical delicacy, 
 scrupulousness or capiioua- 
 ness. 
 Curious, scrupulous. 
 Curled, ostentatiously dressed. 
 Currents, occurrences. 
 Cursc«l, under the intiuence of 
 
 a malediction. 
 CiuM, petulant, crabbed, 
 shrewdish, or mischievous, 
 severe, harsh, vehemently 
 angry, 
 tiirstness, ill-humour. 
 Curtail, a cur of little value. 
 Curtal.B docked horse. 
 Cunlc-ax.or cutlace, abivad 
 
 sword. 
 Cnstard-cofEin, the crost of 8 
 
 custard or pie, 
 Cusiumer. a common ■woman. 
 Cut. a horse. 
 Cyprus, a transparent stuff'. 
 
 PafT or doff, to do off, to put 
 
 aside. 
 IJaUy.to play or trifle. 
 Damn, coiideain. 
 Danger, reach or control. 
 Dank, wet, rotten. 
 Dan^kers, natives of Denmark. 
 Dore.to challenge or incite. 
 Dark-house, a house mnda 
 
 gloomy by discontent. 
 Darkling, in the dark. 
 Darraign, to arrange, pot in 
 
 order. 
 Daub, todiscnise. 
 Daubery, falsehood and impo 
 
 sit ion. 
 Day-bed. a couch. 
 Day-light, broad-day. 
 Day -woman, dairy maid. 
 Dear. best, important, dire. 
 Dearn. Inuely solitary. 
 Death-tokens, spots appearing 
 
 on those infected by th» 
 
 jjI.Tpue. 
 Del-ished. debauched. 
 Decay, misfortunes. 
 Deceivable, deceptions. 
 
 Feck, to cover, apack. 
 ecline, to run through froro 
 
 first to last. 
 I'eclined, ihe fallen. 
 Dcpni, opinion, iurmise. 
 Deft at, destruction. 
 Defeatures, features, chauging 
 
 fpatures for the worse. 
 Defence, art of fencing. 
 Defend, to forbid. 
 Defensible, furnishing the 
 
 means of defence. 
 Defiance, refusal. 
 Deformed, deforming. 
 Deftly, dexterously, with 
 
 adroitness. 
 Defy, to refuse, to disdain 
 Degrees, steps. 
 Delay, to let slip. 
 Demerits, merits. 
 Demise, to grant. 
 Demurely, solemnly. 
 Denay, denial. 
 
 Oenied. disbelieved, or con- 
 temned. 
 Dniiir. the twelfth part of.S 
 
 French sou. 
 Denotements, indications or 
 
 discoveries. 
 Denv, to refuse. 
 Dei»ort, to part. 
 Departing, separation. 
 Depend, lo be in service. 
 Deprive, to disinherit. 
 Deracinate, lo force up by tho 
 
 roots. 
 Derogate, degraded, blasted* 
 De'icant, a lerm in mnsic. 
 Dcsftrt, merit. 
 Deserved, deserving. 
 Dc-iiRu, to mark OUT. 
 Despatched, bereft. 
 Desperate, bold, adventurous^ 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 [>5tect«d. ch*Pg«d. or guilty. 
 
 Dcieriiiuictl. ended. 
 IJibblciu msiruuient used by 
 
 giirdvueri. 
 Oica, dii ordoit. 
 lJic*.oii.iamiliiulj for Richard. 
 
 Diet, Mb'""«°- 
 L>i(;t, tu oblige to fo&I. 
 Uiffii^d, exir»v4b'«in, irregu- 
 lar. 
 :)ibTess, to deviate from the 
 rib'hi. 
 
 iiKre^iOH, truigresMOQ. 
 JiDt. iiiii>re^iou. 
 .>irec[ii>ji, judyuieni. skill. 
 Jisat'le. lu imdervalue. 
 
 Msaiii'ointtd. unprepared* 
 Jiicioae, to Uaicn. 
 >isconnrnting, kliMontenltd. 
 Jiscoiitujils. uiakuuteuis. 
 
 *isi.ourse. reasoii- 
 Jisdained, iliadmiiful. 
 ji»ea^e,^lleasllleAa.dl&coI)[e□t• 
 diseases, sayiiii^s. 
 >ist'ruct, hurdaliij), injury. 
 >isliuiQs,uiH>ai[il5,otilil(; rates. 
 )isp&rk. to destroy apark. 
 .>ispouge, tu diaciiiirge as a 
 
 S)iOIkb'e- 
 
 dispose, to make terms, to set- 
 tle mailers. 
 
 ')ispo5iti<m, frame, 
 
 -)isput:ible, di^j)utalious. 
 
 !)l^llUIe. to talk over. 
 
 lisseiuble. to gIo^5 over. 
 
 )i39euibhiib;, putting dissimi- 
 lar [liiiit;s tot^ether. 
 
 Jisia->te, to corrupt, to change 
 to a worse state. 
 
 !)istemper. intoxicatioa. 
 
 5isiemperaiur«. perturbation. 
 
 Jl^teui!>e^ed, ruined, out ot hu- 
 mour. 
 
 !)iatracLiuns, detachments, se- 
 parate bodies. 
 
 ;)islruu^ht, distracted. 
 
 Jivened, turned out of tha 
 course of nature. 
 
 Divid.tble. divided. 
 
 .division, thr pauses or parts of 
 musical comiiositiou. 
 
 .^ivulk;ed, spoken of. 
 
 Joctriue.i.liih. 
 
 Joff, see Daff. 
 
 I>ole, lot, allowance. 
 
 Joljihin, the D.iuphia of 
 t'rauce. 
 
 ^on, to do on, to put on. 
 
 !>one, expended, consumed. 
 
 !)otaiil, (liiLard. 
 
 Double, full of duplicity. 
 
 I^)oul>t, to fear. 
 
 Doul, to do out, extinguish. 
 
 Dowle, afemher. 
 
 Down-pvved, hooding down 
 like whiit confines the fetters 
 round the ancles. 
 
 Drab, whonu^. 
 
 Draught, the Jakes. 
 
 Drawn, embowelled, exeute- 
 raied. 
 
 Dread, epithet applied to kings. 
 
 Drew, assembled. 
 
 Dn tbliu},-, a lerm of contempt- 
 Drive, to fly with imiietuositv. 
 
 [Jrollery, a show performed by 
 puppets. 
 
 Drugs, drudges- 
 
 Druuible. to act lazily and stu- 
 pidlv. 
 
 Dry, t^iirsty- 
 
 Dmdaiiie. due ad me, bring 
 him lf> nie- 
 
 DudKcoii. ihe handle of a dag- 
 ger- 
 Due, to endue, deck, grace. 
 
 Dull, melancholy, gentle,aooth 
 intr. 
 
 Dull, to render callous, insen- 
 sible. 
 
 Dullard, a oerson stupidly un- 
 concerned. 
 
 r)ump. ft mournful elegy. 
 
 Dap, to do tip, to lift up. 
 
 Eacer, sour, sharp, har^h. 
 
 I-juilinps. iambs just dropt. 
 
 Ear, to plough' 
 
 F.Bsy, slight, inconsiderable. 
 
 Eche. to eke out. 
 
 Ecstncv. alienation of mind, 
 
 ntaduess. 
 I-ffects, affects, nr affections, 
 
 actions, deeds effecled- 
 Eftesi, defiest. readiest. 
 Esj/pt.a gypsy. 
 Eld. old tiQ^v. or persons. 
 
 Element. initiatioD, previous 
 practice. 
 
 Embossed, inclosed, swollen, 
 puft'y. 
 
 F.mbowelled, exhausted. 
 
 Kmbraced, indulged in, 
 
 Kutiueiice. high honours. 
 
 Kmpen\ dominion, sovereigu 
 command. 
 
 Emulation, rivalrj', envy, fac- 
 tious contention. 
 
 Emulous, jealous of higher au* 
 thority. 
 
 Encave.tohide. 
 
 Enfeoff, to invest with posses- 
 sion- 
 Engine, instrument of wnr, 
 military machine, the rack. 
 
 Engros%, to fatten, to pamper. 
 
 I'-itgrossments, ncc urn ula.t ions. 
 
 I'likindle, to stimulate. 
 
 Enuiew, to coop up. 
 
 Ensconce, to protect as with a 
 fort. 
 
 Ensenmed, greasy. 
 
 Ijiihield, shielded. 
 
 Lmeptain, to retain in service. 
 
 Entertainment, the pay of an 
 army, admission to office. * 
 
 Enireatmeuts, the objects of 
 entre.ity. 
 
 Envy, hiitred or malice. 
 
 Ephesian, a cant lerm for a 
 toper. 
 
 F-^uipage. stolen goods* 
 
 Krewhile.just now. 
 
 Erring, wandering. 
 
 r-scoted, paid- 
 
 Esil.a river so called, or vine- 
 gar. 
 
 Esperance, the motto of the 
 Fercy family. 
 
 Espials, spies. 
 
 Essential, existent, real- 
 
 Estimate, price. 
 
 Ebiimation, conjecture* 
 
 l.ienie, eternal. 
 
 Even, calm, eouable, tempe- 
 rate, equal, fellow. 
 
 Even, to net up to. 
 
 I'xamined, questioned, doubted. 
 
 Kxcrement, the beard. 
 
 Excrements, the hair, nails, 
 feathers of birds, ^c. 
 
 Execuie, to employ, put to use. 
 
 Execution, employment or ex- 
 ercise. 
 
 Executors, execotioners* 
 
 F.xempt, excluded. 
 
 Exercise, exhortation, lecture, 
 or confession. 
 
 Txhule. hale or lug out. 
 
 Exhibition, nllowance. 
 
 Exigent, end- 
 Exorcist, a person who can 
 raise si)irils. 
 
 Exp-^-ct, expectation. 
 
 t Apedieul. expeditions. 
 
 Ixpiiiie, fully eompleled. 
 
 ixi'Obitil.ite. inquire ordiscuss* 
 
 Exposture. exposure* 
 
 Expres*-, to reveal. 
 
 Expulsed. expelled. 
 
 Exsultiicate.contemptible, abo- 
 uiiuable. 
 
 Extend, to seize. 
 
 Extent, in law, violence in ge- 
 neral* 
 
 Extern, nutward. 
 
 Exiirped. rooted out. 
 
 Extracting, that which draws 
 away from every thing but 
 its own object. 
 
 Extravatjant, wandering. 
 
 Extreines.extravagnnce of con- 
 duct, extremities. 
 
 Evases, young nestlings. 
 
 Eyas musket, infnnt lilliputiao. 
 
 Eye. a small shade of colour. 
 
 Eylinds. glances, looks* See 
 Oeiliads. 
 
 Eyne, eyes. 
 
 Face, to carry a foolish appear- 
 ance. 
 
 Faced, turned up with facings. 
 
 FacinoroiiN. wicked. 
 
 Fact, guilt- 
 
 Factious, active- 
 
 Faculties, medicinal virtues, 
 office, exercise "i power. 
 
 radK'e,io suit or fit. 
 
 Fodinf^.the burthen of a song. 
 
 Fain, lond. 
 
 Fair, beauty, complexion, fair- 
 ness. 
 
 Fair betrothed. fairlvcontr.-icl- 
 cd, honourably atfi&nced. 
 
 Faith, fidelity. 
 
 I auliiiil. not un infidel. 
 
 I'-iithtultv, fervently. 
 
 l'aiior>, tniitors, rascals. 
 
 Fall, to let fall, to drop. 
 
 tall, an ebb. 
 
 False, to make false. 
 
 Falsely, dishonestly, ireacher* 
 
 ously. 
 Falsing, falsifying. 
 Familiar, a ileuiou. 
 Fancy, love. 
 Fancy free, exempt from the 
 
 power of love. 
 Fang, to seize or gripe. 
 Fauged, possessed of faugs. 
 Fans, ancient. 
 
 Faiitasticid, creatures of laucy. 
 Fap, druuk. 
 Far, extensively. 
 Farced, stQfled. 
 I'ashions, farcens or fany. 
 Fast, dfteruiiiied, fixed. 
 Fat, dull, 
 late, un action predetermined 
 
 by tate. 
 Favour, countenance, features, 
 
 indulgence, pardon, nppeajr- 
 
 auce. 
 Fear, ihe object of fear, danger. 
 Fear, lo intimidate. 
 I'eared, frightened. 
 Fearful, timorous, formidable. 
 Feat, ready, dexterous. 
 Feat, an exploit. 
 Fented, formed, made neat, 
 Feature, beauty in geiier.il, 
 
 cast .ind make of the face. 
 Federary. ;i confederate. 
 Fee-grief, a peculiar sorrow. 
 Feeder, an eater, a servant. 
 I'eere,or Pheere, acomjiauion, 
 
 a husb.niid. 
 Feet, f lotiiig. 
 IVII.skin. 
 
 IVII-feats, savage practices. 
 Fellow, companion. 
 Fence, the art of, or skill in 
 
 defence. 
 Feodarv, an accomplice, a con- 
 
 feder.ite. 
 Fester, to comipt. 
 I'estmately, hastily. 
 Festival terms, splendid phra- 
 seology. 
 Fet, fetcned- 
 
 Eew, in short, in few words. 
 Fico. a fip. 
 
 Fielded, in the field of battle. 
 Fierce, proud, hasty, vehe- 
 ment, rapid* 
 Fig. to insult- 
 Fights, clothes hung roond n 
 
 5hi|) to conceal the men from 
 
 the enemv- 
 File, a list." 
 I'iled.detiled. 
 
 Filed, gone an equal pace with. 
 Fills, the shalis. 
 Filths, tonimoii sewers- 
 Fine, ihe conclusion. 
 Fine, full of finesse, artful- 
 Fine, to make showy, specious. 
 Fineless. boundless," endless. 
 FiiMgii fur \'irni:o- 
 Fire-drake. will-o'-the-wisp, or 
 
 a firework. 
 Fire new. bren-new, new from 
 
 the force. 
 Firk. to chastise. 
 First, noblest, most eminent. 
 Fit, a division of II song. 
 Fitchew, a iHilecat. 
 Fitly, exnctlv. 
 Fives, n distemper in horses. 
 Flap-dragon, ftsmall inflamma- 
 ble substance, which topers 
 
 swallow in a glass of wine. 
 Flap .incks, pan-cakes. 
 Flask, a soldier's pnuder-horn. 
 Flatness, lowness, dipth. 
 Flaw, a sudden violent gust of 
 
 wind. 
 Flayed. stripped. 
 Flecked, spotted, dappled, 
 
 streaked. 
 Fleet, to float. 
 Fleeting, incoiistant. 
 Fleshment. first act of military 
 
 Service. 
 Flewed, having the flews or 
 
 chaps of a hound. 
 Flickering, fluttering like the 
 
 motirm of a tiaiiie. 
 Flight, a sort of shooting. 
 Flourish, ornament. 
 Flote. wave. 
 Flush, mature, ripe. 
 
 Foeman, an enemy in war. 
 
 Foiu, to thrust in tencing. 
 
 Foizon, plenty. 
 
 Folly, depravity of mind. 
 
 Fond, foolish, prized by tolly 
 
 Fonder, more weak or foolish. 
 
 Foiidty, loolibbiy. 
 
 Fool's zLiuies, baubles with tha 
 head^of a fool. 
 
 Foot-cioib, a housing covering 
 the body of the horse, andal- 
 niost reaching to the ground. 
 
 I or. lor that, since, bceause. 
 
 I orbid. uuder interdiction. 
 
 iorce. power. 
 
 Force, to enforce, to urge. 
 
 Forte, to stuflF. 
 
 Forced, false. 
 
 Fordid, destroyed. 
 
 I'Ordo, to undo, to destroy. 
 
 1 oredone, overcome. 
 
 Forfeuded, prohibited, forbid- 
 den. 
 
 Foreign, employed in foreign 
 embassies. 
 
 Forej)tist, alreadvhnd. 
 
 tore-^low, to be dilatory, to 
 loner. 
 
 Forestall, to prevent by antici- 
 
 PiltlOU. 
 
 Forgetive, inventive, imagina- 
 tive. 
 
 Forked, horned. 
 
 Formal, not out of form, regu- 
 lar, sensible.inform,iu shape. 
 
 Former, foremost. 
 
 Forspent, wasted, exhausted. 
 
 I-orspoke. contradicted, sjioken 
 against. 
 
 Forthcoming, io custody. 
 
 Forwearied, worn out. 
 
 Foul, homely, not fair. 
 
 r ox, a cant wordfor a sword, 
 
 FoKship, mean, cunning. 
 
 Frainpold, peevish, fretful, or 
 cross. 
 
 Frank, a sty. 
 
 Franklin, a little gentleman, or 
 freeholder. 
 
 Free, artless, free from art, ge- 
 nerous. 
 
 Fret, the ■■stop of a musical in- 
 strument, which regulates 
 the vibriition of the string. 
 
 Friend, a lo^er, a term applt- 
 cnble to both sexes, a para- 
 niour* 
 
 Friend, friendship. 
 
 Fripl)evy, a shop where old 
 clothes were sold. 
 
 Frize , a cloth made in Wales. 
 
 From, in ojiposition to. 
 
 l"routed, opposed. 
 
 Frontier, forehead. 
 
 Frouilel. a forebefjd cloth* 
 
 Frush, to break or bruise. 
 
 Frustrate, frustrated. 
 
 Fulfitliug, fillini: till there be 
 no room for more. 
 
 Full, complete. 
 
 F'ullams, fonded dice. 
 
 Fullest, most comi)lete and per- 
 fect. 
 
 Fumiter. fumitory. 
 
 Furnished, dressed. 
 
 Gabardine, a loose felt cloak. 
 
 tiad.a pointed instrnmeiit. 
 
 (iain-giving, misgiving. 
 
 Gainsay, to unsay, deny, con- 
 tradict. 
 
 Gait, way or steps. 
 
 (inllifird.an ancient dance. 
 
 Galliasses. a sjieiMes of galleys. 
 
 (iallowglasses, heavy amied 
 fool. 
 
 Gallow. to scarcer friphteQ. 
 
 G.'illymawfry.a medley. 
 
 Game, sport, jest. 
 
 Gamester, a frolicsome per- 
 son, a wanton. 
 
 Gaping, shouting or roaring. 
 
 (iarboils, commotion, stir. 
 
 Garish, gaudy, showy. 
 
 Garner, to treasure up. 
 
 Gasied, frightened. 
 
 Goudy, a festival Jay. 
 
 GbwiIs, baubles, toys. 
 
 Gaze, attention. 
 
 Gear, a gf neral word for thing 
 or matters. 
 
 Geek, a fool. 
 
 General, generality. 
 
 General, coiupeodions. 
 
 ("rineraiion, rnildren. 
 
 (".enerosity. high birth. 
 
 Generous, most noblo. 
 
 Gentility, urbanity. 
 
22 
 
 Gemle.noMe.high-miDded.be- i 
 ioDgiiib' to geoiry. 
 
 Gtnir>'. comylaiaaiice. 
 
 Gtiriuaii, akin. 
 
 Oftrmius. seeds begun tosprout. 
 
 Gest, a siatje or joiuuty. 
 
 Gfb, a cut. 
 
 Gifts, eiidowmtnts. 
 
 Giglol.a WEUitou wench. 
 
 Gilder, a com valued ai- Is. Oa. 
 or 2s. 
 
 Gik.b'illing, golden money. 
 
 Giuimal, a rmg oreugme. 
 
 GlDg, ayang. ., 
 
 Gird, a sarcasm or gibe, emo- 
 tion- _ , 
 
 Gltet, to joke or scoff, to be- 
 
 Grimmerins, faintly illuminat- 
 ed by the stars. 
 Glaze, to expound, to comment 
 
 upon. . „ 
 
 Glut, to euglut or swallow up. 
 Guarlvd, kiioLied. , 
 Good-deed, indeed, in very 
 
 deed- 
 Good-den, good evening., . 
 Good-hie, of a nioriU or jovial 
 turn. , , 
 
 Good-jer, gougere, morbus gul- 
 
 licus. , , 
 
 Gorbellied. fat and corpulent. 
 Gossips, tattling women who 
 
 attend lyings-in. 
 Gossomer, the white cobweb- 
 like exhalations tUut tly about 
 in hot sunny weather. 
 Government, evenness of tem- 
 per, decency of uiauiiers. 
 Gourds, a species ol dice. 
 Gouts, drops. 
 
 Grace, acceptableness, favour. 
 Grace, to bless, to make happy. 
 Gracious, graceful, luvely 
 Grained, tnrrowtd, like the 
 grain of wood, dyed in gram 
 or indented. 
 Gramercy, grand mercy, great 
 
 thanks. , , ,. 
 
 Grange, the farni-houbc ot a 
 
 monastery ; a lone house. 
 Graulhty, gratuity. 
 Gratulate, graiilymg, accept- 
 able. 
 Grave, to entomb. 
 Graves, or greaves, armour tor 
 
 the legs. 
 Greasily, grossly. 
 Greek, a bawd, or pander. 
 Green, unripe.not tully furniea. 
 Greenly, awkwardly, unskil- 
 
 fully. 
 Greets, pleases. 
 Gncf, pain, grievances. 
 Griefs, grievances, wrongs. 
 Grievances, sorrows, sorrowtui 
 
 afl'eclions. 
 Grieve, to lament for. 
 Grise, a step. 
 Grossly, palpably. 
 Groundlings, the frequenters 
 of the pit in the pUyhouse. 
 Growing, accruing. 
 Guard, defence. 
 Guard, to fringe or lace. 
 Guarded, oniamented. 
 Guards, badges of dignity. 
 Guerdon, reward. 
 Guerdoned, rewarded. 
 Guiled, treacherous. 
 Guinea-hen, a prostitute. 
 Gules, red, a leirain heraldry. 
 Gulf, the swallow, the throat. 
 Gun-stones, cannon-balls. 
 Gurnet, a fish resembling a 
 
 piper. 
 Gust, taste, rashness. 
 Gyve, to catch, to shackle. 
 Gyves, shackles. 
 
 Hack, to become cheap and vul- 
 gar. 
 
 Haggard, a species of hawk. 
 
 Haggard, wild. 
 
 Hair, complexion orchorocter. 
 
 Happily, accidentally, form- 
 nJtely. 
 
 Happy, accomiilished 
 
 Hnrdimeiit, bravery, stoutness. 
 
 Harlofks, wild mustard. 
 
 Harlot, a cheat. 
 
 Harp, to touch on a passion. 
 
 Harrow, to conquer, to sub- 
 due. , , . 
 
 Harrv, touse rouphly. harass. 
 
 Having, estate or fortune, pro- 
 motion, allowance of expense. 
 
 Haviour, behaviour. 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Haught. hauglity. 
 
 Haughty, high, elevated. 
 
 ItiiUDi.i-'ompany. 
 
 11 ay, a term in the fencing- 
 school. 
 
 Head, the source, the fountain. 
 
 Head, body nf forces. 
 
 Hear., the most valuable or 
 preiijous part. 
 
 Heat, heated. 
 
 Heat, violence of resentment. 
 
 Heavy, slow. 
 
 lit bcnoii, henbane. 
 
 Ilefifd, heaved. 
 
 Heits, heaviiiRS, 
 
 Hell, an obscure dungeon in a 
 prison. 
 
 Helmed, steered through. 
 
 Hence, henceforth. 
 
 Henchman, a page of honour- 
 Hem, seized, or taken posses- 
 sion of. 
 
 Hereby, as it may happen. 
 
 Hecniits, beadsmen. 
 
 Hest. behest, command. 
 
 High-fantastical, fantastical to 
 the height. 
 
 High-repLiited, repented to the 
 utmost. 
 
 Hitjht. chilled. 
 
 Hirdipg,a paltry cowardly fel- 
 low. 
 
 Mint, suggest ion.circumslance. 
 
 lliren, aharlot. 
 
 His. often used for its. 
 
 Hit. to ngree. 
 
 Hoist, hoisted. 
 
 Hold, to esteem. 
 
 Holla, a term of the manege. 
 
 Holy, faithful. 
 
 Horae,comi>letely, in full ex- 
 tent. 
 
 Honest, chaste. 
 
 Honesty, liberality. 
 
 I loney stalks, clover flowers. 
 
 Honour, acquired reputation. 
 
 Hoop, a measure. 
 
 Hope, to e:Kpect. 
 
 Horologe, clock- 
 
 Ho.x, to h.im-string. 
 
 Hull, to drive to and fro upon 
 the water, without sails or 
 rudder. 
 Humorous, chargeable, hu- 
 mid, moist. 
 Hungry, steril.unprolific. 
 H unt-counter, base tyke, worth- 
 less dog. 
 Hunts-up, the name of a ttine, 
 
 a morning song. 
 Hurlv. noise. 
 
 Hurtling, merry with impetuo- 
 sity. , ,. 
 Husbandry, thrift, frugality. 
 HuswUe, a jilt. 
 
 Ice-brook, a brook of icy quali- 
 ties in .Spain. 
 
 r ftcks, in faith. 
 
 lgn(Mny. ignominy. 
 
 lU-inhabiied, ill-lodged. 
 
 Ill-nurtured, ill-educated. 
 
 Images, children, representa 
 tives. J L I, 
 
 Imaginary, produced by tne 
 power of i[nat;ination. 
 
 luibare, to lay open or display 
 to view. 
 
 Immanity, barbarity, savage' 
 
 Immediacy. close connexion, 
 Imp, to supply. 
 Imp, progeny. 
 Inipa:r, unsuitable. 
 Impartial, sometimes used lor 
 
 partial. , j , j 
 
 Impawned,waperedantlstaked. 
 
 Impeach, tobring into question. 
 
 Impeachment, reproach or im- 
 putation, hindrance. 
 
 Imperious, imperial. 
 
 linjierseveraiu, perseyerant. 
 
 lnii)eiicos. to impeltitoal or 
 impocket. 
 
 Importance, importunacy. 
 
 lmportance,thelhing imported, 
 
 Importing, implying, denoting. 
 
 Impose, injunction, command. 
 
 Impositions, commands. 
 
 Impossible, incredible, or in^ 
 conceivable. 
 
 Impress, to compel to serve. 
 
 Impre-is, adevice or motto. 
 
 Impugn, oppose, controvert. 
 
 Incapable, unintelligent. 
 
 Incarnardine, to stain of a red 
 lolour. 
 
 Incensed, incited, suggested, 
 
 Inclining, compliant. 
 Iiiclip. to embrace. 
 Include, to shut up, conclude. 
 Inclusive, enclosed. 
 Incony.orkony, fine, delicate. 
 Incoriect, ill-regulated. 
 Increase, produce. 
 Indent, to bargain and article. 
 Index, something preparatory. 
 Indifferent, sometimes for dif- 
 ferent, inii)arlial. 
 Indite, to convict. 
 InduLiion, entrance, beginning, 
 
 preparations. 
 Indiirance, delay, procra.stina- 
 
 tion. 
 Infinite, extent or ])ower. 
 Ingaged, sometimes for unen- 
 gaged. 
 Ingrafi, rooted, settlpd. 
 Inhalitable. nut habitable. 
 Inberii.lo i»ossess. 
 Inhibit, to forbid. 
 Inhooped, enclosed, confined. 
 Inkhorn-niare. a book-mate. 
 Inkle, a kind of tape, crewell. 
 
 or worsted. 
 Inland, civilized, not rustic. 
 Insane, that which makes in- 
 sane. 
 Insconce, to fortify. 
 Insculped. engraven. 
 Inseparate, insejtarable. 
 Instance, example, proof. 
 Instances, motives, 
 insuit. solicitation. 
 Intend, to pretend. 
 Intending, regarding. 
 Intendment, intention or dis- 
 position. 
 Intenible, incapable of retain- 
 ing. 
 Intention, eagerness nf desirC' 
 Intentivelv. with full attention, 
 Interessed, interested. 
 Intergatories, interrogatories. 
 Intermission, pause, interven' 
 
 ing time. 
 Intrenchant, that which cannot 
 
 be cut. 
 Intrinse, intrinsicale. 
 Invention, imagination. 
 Inwardness, iutiuiacy, confi- 
 dence. 
 Iron, clad in armour. 
 Irregulous, lawless, licentious. 
 Issues, consequences, conclu- 
 sions. 
 Iteration, citation, recitation. 
 
 Jack, a term of contempt. 
 Jack-a-Ient, a puppet thrown at 
 
 in Lent. 
 Jack guardnnt. a jack in office- 
 Jaded, treated Mith contempt, 
 
 worthless. 
 Jar, tne noise made by the pen- 
 dulum of a clock. 
 Jauncing, jaunting. 
 Jesses, straps of leather by 
 
 which the hawk is held on the 
 
 fist. 
 Jest, to play a part in a mask. 
 Jet, to strut. 
 
 Jovial, belonging to Jove. 
 Journal, daily. 
 Jump, to arree with, to put 
 
 into agitation. 
 Jump, hazard, to venture at. 
 Jump. just. 
 
 Jusiicer, justice, judge. 
 .Int. to encroach. 
 Julty. to project. 
 Juvenal, a young man. 
 
 Kam.awry, crooked. 
 
 Keech, asolid lump or mass. 
 
 Keel, to cool. 
 
 Keeji, to restrain, to dwell, to 
 resiiie. 
 
 Keisar, Cssar. 
 
 Kernes, light-armed Irish foot. 
 
 Key. the key for tuning, a tun- 
 ing-hammer. 
 
 Kicksv-wicksy, a wife. 
 
 Kiln hole, a place into which 
 coals are put under a stove. 
 
 Kind, nature, species. 
 
 Kindless, r,nn?itura]. 
 
 Kindly, natiir.illy. 
 
 Kindly, kii'dvtd. 
 
 Kinged, ruled by. 
 
 Kinsman, near relative. 
 
 Kirtle, part of a woman's dress. 
 
 Knave. ser\'ant. 
 
 Knife, a sword or dagger. 
 
 Knots, figures planted in box. 
 
 Know, to acknowledge. 
 
 Know of, to consider, 
 
 Labraa. lips. 
 
 Laced mutton, a womauofthe 
 
 town. 
 Lackeying, moving like a 
 
 lackey or page. 
 Lag, tlie mealiest persons. 
 Lances Inuce-men. 
 Land-damn, to destroy in some 
 
 way. 
 Lands, landing-places. 
 Lapsed, time suffered to slip. 
 Large, licentious. 
 Lass-lorn, forsaken of his mis- 
 tress. 
 Latch, to lay hold of. 
 Latched or letched, licked over 
 Late, lately. 
 
 Lnied, bc^lated, benighted. 
 Latten. thin as a lath. 
 Lavoitas, a kind of dances. 
 Lauud, lawn. 
 Lay,awaeer. 
 Leaguer, the camp. 
 Leasing. lying. 
 Leather-coats, a species of 
 
 apple. 
 Leave, to part with, to givo 
 
 away. 
 Leech, a physician. 
 I^er, feature, complexion. 
 Leet.court-leet.orcoui'tof the 
 
 manor. 
 Legerity. lightQe5h,nitnbleness. 
 Leges, alleges. 
 Leiger, resident. 
 Lemau, lover, mistress. 
 Lenten, short and spare. 
 L'envoy. moral, or conclusion 
 
 of a poetn. 
 Let, to hinder. 
 Let be. to desist. 
 Lethe, death. 
 
 Lewd. ignorant. idle, wicked. . 
 Lewdly, wickedly. 
 Libbavd.orlubb;ir.a leopard. 
 Liberal, licentious or gross in 
 
 lan^;uage. 
 Liberty, libertinism. 
 License, an appearance of liceD* 
 
 tiousness. 
 Lie, to reside, to be imprisoned. 
 Liefest, dearest. 
 Lieger, an ambassador at a f^ 
 
 reign court. 
 Lifter, a thief. 
 Light o'love, a dance tune. 
 Lightly, commonly, in ordi- 
 nary course. 
 Lightness. levity. 
 Like, to compare. 
 Likelihood, similitude. 
 Likeness, specious or seeming 
 
 virtue. 
 Liking, condition of body. 
 Limbeck, a vessel used in dis- 
 tilling. 
 Limbo, a iilace supposed to be 
 in the-^ieiuhbtmrhood of hell. 
 Liine, birdlime. 
 Lime, to cement. 
 Limed, entnni^ltd or caught, as 
 
 with bird.lime. 
 Limit, appointed time. 
 Limited, appointed, regular, 
 
 orderly. 
 Limits. estimates, calculatitHls. 
 Line, genealo;.'y. 
 Lined, delineated. 
 Link.atorch of pitch. 
 Linstock, the staff to which the 
 match is fixed when ordi- 
 nance is fired. 
 List, the bound orlimit. 
 Lilher, flexible, yielding. 
 Little, miniature. 
 Livplihnod,ai>pearance of life. 
 Livery, alaw pnrase bplunging 
 
 to the feudal tenures. 
 Living, estate, pToi)ertv. 
 Living, speaking, manifest, ac- 
 tual. 
 Lnnch. a small fish. 
 Lob, looby, a term of contempt. 
 Loi^kram, some kind of cheap 
 
 linen. 
 Lode-star, the leading or glid- 
 ing star. 
 Lodged, laid by the wind. 
 Loffe. to laugh. 
 Lo«pats. a game played with 
 
 pins of wnod. 
 Longing, lunged for. 
 Lonifly, loncingly. 
 Loot, to bring a vessel clt*se lii 
 
 the wind. 
 L.oon or lown.abase fellow 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Lop the br&nches. 
 LuX, a prizf- 
 Lottery, allotment. 
 Lover, a niisfress. 
 Lown. See I-oon. 
 
 ^0*1611, treated with contempt, 
 owis, tlowns, 
 
 Lozei.wortiiless, dishonest, 
 
 Ltihbar. Sve I-ibbaid. 
 
 Luilaoy, sltcp in house, i. e., 
 cradle. 
 
 Lunes, lunacy, frerzy. 
 
 Lurch, to win. 
 
 Lure, a thing stuffed to tempt 
 the hawk. 
 
 Lush, rank, luscious. 
 
 I.U->l, iDclmation. will. 
 
 Lusnck, lusty, cheerlul, plea- 
 sant. 
 
 Lusty, saucy. 
 
 Luxurious. lascivious. 
 
 Luxuriously, wautonly. 
 
 LuKur5'. lust. 
 
 Lym.a species of dog. 
 
 Mace, a sceptre. 
 
 Siaii, Willi, inconstant. 
 
 Made, enriched. 
 
 RJat;nitic«iit, gloryine. boast- 
 ing. 
 
 Magnifico, a chief nian or 
 ^TaniJee ai Venice. 
 
 Mailed, wrapped up, covered 
 with. 
 
 M ain-top, top of the main-mast. 
 
 I\lnke,to b:ir, 10 shut. 
 
 IVlakest, dost. 
 
 Malkin. a scullion, a coarse 
 weiicn. 
 
 i\Iail. iJrs. alias Mary Frith, or 
 Moll Cutpurse. 
 
 Mailecho, misrbicf. 
 
 Mdinnierinh!, hesit'tiing. 
 
 Aiammets, pujipets. 
 
 Mammock, locnt in pieces. 
 
 Man. to tame ti hawk. 
 
 Manacle, ahntidculT. 
 
 Manage, conduct, adqnnistra- 
 lion. 
 
 Mandrake, a root supposed to 
 have the shape of a man. 
 
 Mankind, masculine. 
 
 Marches, the borders, limits, 
 or confines. 
 
 Marchpane, a species of sweet- 
 meat. 
 
 Martiftl-haiid.acareless scrawl- 
 
 Marllemas, the latter spriiig. 
 
 fllatch. an appointment, a com- 
 pact. 
 
 Jlate, to confound. 
 
 Mnted, ama'ed, dismayed. 
 
 Meacock, B dastardly creature. 
 
 Rlealed, sprinkled or mingled. 
 
 Meun, the tenor in music. 
 
 Mtan, the middle. 
 
 iVIeaus, interest, pains. 
 
 Measure, the reach. 
 
 Mi'.isure, stately solemn dance. 
 
 Mt-asure, means. 
 
 Mfazels.lei'ers. 
 
 Medal, portrait. 
 
 ^leiiille. 10 mix wiiti. 
 
 Medicine, a she-physician. 
 
 Meed, reward. 
 
 Meed.merit. desert.excellence. 
 
 Meet, match. 
 
 Meiny.peoi>le, domestics. 
 
 Memories, memorials, remem- 
 brances. 
 
 Memorized, made memorable. 
 
 Memor>'. memorial. 
 
 Mephisfophilns. il»e name of a 
 spirit or familiar. 
 
 Mercaiantf, a merchant. 
 
 Mere, exact, entire, absolute. 
 
 Mered, mere. 
 
 Mermaid, siren. 
 
 Messes, deprees about court. 
 
 Metal, tempe" 
 
 Metaphysical, sapernatural. 
 
 Mete-yard, measurmg yard. 
 
 Mewed, confined. 
 
 Micher.a truant, Inrkinc thief. 
 
 Michiop, playing truiint.skulii.- 
 ing about. 
 
 Mien, countenance. 
 
 Mince, to walk with affected 
 delicacy. 
 
 MiudinK, calling to remem- 
 brance, reminding. 
 
 Mineral, a mine. 
 
 Winnow, a small river fish, a 
 term of coniempt. 
 
 Minstrelsy, "ffice of minstrel. 
 
 AHsconctived, misconceivers. 
 
 Wiscreatc, ill-begotlea. illegi 
 Umate. 
 
 Misdoubt, to suspect. 
 
 .Miber, aniisernble creature. 
 
 ^Jisery, avarice. 
 
 Misprised, mistaken. 
 
 Misprising, despisiuR, or ua- 
 dervaluiug. 
 
 Missives, messengers. 
 
 Mistaken, misrepreseuted. 
 
 Mislem]jered, angry. 
 
 Misthink, to think ill. 
 
 Mistress, the jack in bowline, 
 
 Mobled or mabted, veiled, 
 gvosslv covered. 
 
 Mude, ihti form or state of 
 things. 
 
 Model, image, representative, 
 copy. 
 
 .Moiiern.lrite, common, mean- 
 ly pretty. 
 
 Modesty, moderation. 
 
 Moilule, model, pattern. 
 
 Moe or uiowe. to make mouths. 
 
 Moiely, a portion. 
 
 Moliitication, pacification, 
 sofieiiiiig. 
 
 Mome, a dull stupid blockhead. 
 
 MouK-ntany, momeniarv. 
 
 Month's Uiiiid, a popish anni- 
 versary. 
 
 Mood, anger, resentment, mau- 
 fifr. 
 
 Moody, melancholy. 
 
 Moon-calf, an maoimate shape- 
 less mass. 
 
 Moonish, variable. 
 
 Mope, to apiiear stupid. 
 
 Moral, secret meaning. 
 
 Morisco. i'\loor or Moorish, OP 
 morris. 
 
 ^lorris-pikc, Moorish pike. 
 
 Mortal, murdcrou!^. fatal. 
 
 Mortal staring, that which 
 stares fatally. 
 
 Mortified, abc'eiic, religious. 
 
 Most, greatest. 
 
 Motion, akiudof pui)pet show. 
 
 Motion, divinitory agitation. 
 
 Motion, de.sires. 
 
 Motions, indignation. 
 
 Motive, assistant or mover, 
 that which contributes to 
 motion. 
 
 Mould, earth. 
 
 Mouse, to mammock, to tear to 
 pieces. 
 
 Mouse, a term of endearment. 
 
 Mouse-hunt, a wtiisel. 
 
 Mowe. See Moe. 
 
 Moy, a piece of money or a 
 measure uf corn. 
 
 Much, an exiiression of disdain. 
 
 Much, strange, wonderful. 
 
 Muck-water, drain of a dung 
 hill. 
 
 Muffler, a kind of dress for the 
 lower part of the tace. 
 
 Muliters. muleteers. 
 
 Mulled.sofiened and dispirited. 
 
 -Multiplied, muhitudiiious. 
 
 Multiplving, multiiili'^d. 
 
 Multitudinous, lull of multi- 
 tudes. 
 
 Mummy.thebaUamic liquor of. 
 
 Mundane, worldly. 
 
 Mure, a wall. 
 
 Murkv, d»rk. 
 
 Murrian, a plague in cattle. 
 
 >Iuse, to a(Imire. to wonder. 
 
 Must, a scramble. 
 
 Mutine,tori5e in nmliny. 
 
 Mutines, mutineers. 
 
 Kapkin, handkerchief. 
 
 N ajiless, threadbare. 
 
 Native, formed by nature. 
 
 Nature, natural parent. 
 
 Nay-word, a watch-word or 
 by -word. 
 
 Neat, finical. 
 
 N eb or nib, 'he mouth. 
 
 Neeld, needle. 
 
 Neif, fist. 
 
 Nephew, a grandson or.any li- 
 neal descendant. 
 
 '^■ether--stock^, stockings. 
 
 Newness, innovation. 
 
 Newt, theeft. 
 
 Next, nearest. 
 
 Nice, sillv, trifling. 
 
 Nick, rtckoning or count. 
 
 Nit k,to set a mark of folly on. 
 
 Nighted, made dark as night. 
 
 N ight-mle, frolic of the night. 
 
 N ine men's morris, a game. 
 
 Nobility.distinction, eminence. 
 
 Nobless, nobleness. 
 
 Nodrly, fool, game at cards. 
 
 Noise, music. 
 
 Nonce, on purpose, fortbe turn. 
 
 Nook-shoiteii, that which 
 sliQots into capes. 
 
 Northern man, vir borealis, a 
 clown. 
 
 Note, notice, information, re- 
 mark. 
 
 Novice, a youth. 
 
 Novum, some game at dice. 
 
 Nouruh, to nurse. 
 
 Nowl, a head. 
 
 N uriure, education. 
 
 Nuihook, a thief. 
 
 Obligations, bonds. 
 
 Observed, paid respective at- 
 tention to. 
 
 Observing, religiously atten- 
 tive. 
 
 Obsequious, serious, as at fu 
 neral obsequies, careful of. 
 
 Obsequiously, funerally. 
 
 Oiistacle, obstinate. 
 
 Occupation, men occupied in 
 business. 
 
 Occurreiits, incidents. 
 
 Oe, a circle. 
 
 Oeiliad, a cast or glance of the 
 eye. ^ee Eyliails. 
 
 O'erdied, died too much. 
 
 O'erlookeil, slighted. 
 
 O'er-pnrted, having too consi- 
 derable a par:. 
 
 Ojer-raughl, over- reached. 
 
 O'er-wrested, wrested beyond 
 the iruth. 
 
 Of. through. 
 
 Offering, ilie assailant. 
 
 Office, service. 
 
 Offices, culinary or servants' 
 aparCnienls. 
 
 Old, frequent, more than 
 enciu',^h. 
 
 Old age, ages past. 
 
 Once, son.etinie. 
 
 Oiieyers, accountants, bankers. 
 
 Opal, a precious stone of al- 
 most all colours. 
 
 Oj)en,iiublicly. 
 
 Operant, active. 
 
 Opinion, obalinacy, conceit, 
 character. 
 
 Opposite, adverse, hostile, ad- 
 vers-'UT. 
 
 Opposition, combat. 
 
 Or, before. 
 
 Orbs, circles made by fairies 
 on the ground. 
 
 Orchard, a garden. 
 
 Order, measures. 
 
 Ordinance, rank. 
 
 Orgulous. ])roud, disdainful. 
 
 Ospi'ey, a kind of eagle, 
 
 Ostent, show, ostentation. 
 
 Ostentation, show, appearance. 
 
 Overblow, to drive away, to 
 keei' off. 
 
 Overture, opening, discovery. 
 
 Ounce, a small tiger, or tiger- 
 cat. 
 
 Ouph. fairy, goblin. 
 
 t)usel-cock, the cock blackbird. 
 
 Out, be Kone. 
 
 Out, full, complete. 
 
 Outlook, to face down. 
 
 Outvied, a term at the game of 
 gleek. 
 
 Outward, not in the secret of 
 affairs. 
 
 Owe, to own, possess, govern. 
 
 Oxl-lip, the great cowslip. 
 
 Pack, to bargain with. 
 
 Pack, coniliined, accomplice. 
 
 Packing, plotting, underhand 
 contrivance. 
 
 Paddock, toad. 
 
 Pagan, a loose vicious person. 
 
 Pageant, a dumb show. 
 
 Paid, punished. 
 
 Pain, peiinliy. 
 
 Pains, labour, toil. 
 
 Palabras, words. 
 
 Pale, to empaie, encircle with a 
 crown- 
 
 PpII, to wrap, to invest. 
 
 Palled, vapid. 
 
 Palmers, holy pilgrims. 
 
 Palmy, victorious 
 
 Palter, to juggle, or shuffle. 
 
 Paper, to write down, or ap- 
 point by writing. 
 
 Paper, written securities. 
 
 Parcel, reckon up. 
 
 Parcel-gilt, gilt only on certain 
 parts. 
 
 Parish-top, a large top formerly 
 kept in every village to be 
 
 23 
 
 whipped for exercise. 
 Paritur, an apparitor, an officer 
 
 ol the bishop's comt. 
 Parle, parity. 
 J'arlous. perilous, 
 1 arlous, keen, shrewd. 
 Part, to depart. 
 Partake, to participate. 
 Partaker, accomplice, confede- 
 rate. 
 Parted, shared. 
 Parted, endowed with ports. 
 Participate, participant, parti- 
 
 cipaiiug. 
 Partizan, a pike. 
 Parts, party, 
 Pash, a head. 
 
 Pash, to strike wiih violence, 
 Pasbed. bruised, crushed. 
 Pass, to decide, to assure or 
 
 convey. 
 Pass, to exceed, to go beyond 
 
 common bounds. 
 Pas.sed, excelling, past all ei- 
 
 pression or bnundi. 
 Passes, what has passed. 
 Passing, euiinciit, egregious. 
 Passion, suflennp. 
 Passioniite, a prey to mournful 
 
 Sensaiioiis. 
 Passioning, being in a passion. 
 Prssy-measure, a darn c. 
 Pastry, the room where'pastrv 
 
 was made. 
 Patch, ;i term of reproach. 
 Patched, in a paiii-coloured 
 
 coat. 
 Path, to Malk. 
 Patheiical, deeply affecting. 
 Patient, to make paiieut, to 
 
 compose. 
 Patine, a dish used with the 
 
 chalice, in the udministratioji 
 
 ol the Liicharisi. 
 Patteiu, ii;stani;e, example. 
 Pavin, a donee. 
 Pane as, few. 
 Pay, to beat, to hit. 
 Peat, a word of endearment. 
 Peda^cule, a pedant. 
 Peer, to come out, to appear. 
 Pee^ ish, foolish. 
 Peize, to balance, to keep in 
 
 susijense, to weigh down. 
 Pelting, paltry, petty, iuconsi- 
 
 derable. 
 Pennons, small flags, 
 Peothesilia. Amazon. 
 Perch, a meo-sure of five yards 
 
 and a half. 
 Perdurable. lasting. 
 Perdy, par Dieu, a French 
 
 oaih. 
 Perfect, certain. well informed. 
 I'erfections, liver, brain, and 
 
 heart. 
 Perjure, a peijured person- 
 Periapts, charms sewed up and 
 
 ■worn about the neck. 
 Perspectives, cerlam optical 
 
 glasses. 
 Pervert, to avert. 
 1 ew-fellow, a companion. 
 Pheere. See Feere. 
 Pheece, to teaze or beat, to 
 
 comb or curry. 
 Pia mater, the membrane co- 
 vering the substance of the 
 
 brain. 
 Pick, to pitch. 
 
 Picked, nicely dressed, foppish. 
 Pickers, the hands. 
 Picking, piddling, insignificant. 
 Pickt-hatch, a place noted for 
 
 brothels. 
 Piece, a word of contempt for a 
 
 woman. 
 Piel'd, shaven. 
 Pight. pitched, fixed. 
 Piicher.a nil che, the scabbard. 
 Pilled, pillaged. 
 Pin and web, disorders of the 
 
 eye. 
 Pinnace, small shii' of burthen. 
 Pix.asma'.lchest in which the 
 
 consecrated host was kept. 
 Placket, a petticoat. 
 Plague. 10 punish. 
 Plain song, the chant, in piano 
 
 cantu. 
 Plainly, openly. 
 Plaited, complicated, involved. 
 Pianched.made of brands. 
 Plant, the foot. 
 Platforms, plans, schemes. _ 
 Plausive, gracious, pleasing, 
 
 popular. 
 Pleached, folded together. 
 
24 
 
 Pint, piece or poriion. 
 
 Poiut, BQielal hooli (astened to 
 
 itie liose or brttches. 
 Puiiit, the utmost height. 
 Poi iit-de-vice, with tUe utmost 
 
 possible exactness. 
 Points, tug!) to the laces. 
 Poize, weijjhtor moment. 
 Polled, bfired, cleared. 
 Pomander, a ball made of por- 
 
 fuDies. 
 Pomewater. aspecies of apple. 
 Poor-john, hake dried, salted. 
 Pojiinjay, a parrot. 
 Popularity, plebeian inter- 
 course. 
 Port, external pomp, figure. 
 Port, a gate. 
 Portable, bearable. 
 Portaoce. carriage, behaviour. 
 Possess, to inform, to make to 
 
 understand. 
 Possessed, acquainted with, 
 
 fully mfornied. 
 Possessed, afflicted with mad- 
 ness, 
 Potch, to push violently. 
 Puteuts. potentates. 
 Pouniret-Dox, a small box for 
 
 perfumes 
 Power, forces, an army. 
 Practice, unlawful or insidious 
 
 stratagem. 
 Practise, to employ unwarrant- 
 able arts. 
 Practisants, confederates in 
 
 stratagems. 
 Prank, to adorn, to dress osten- 
 
 taiiouslj', to plume. 
 Precedent, original draft. 
 Precept, a justice's warrant. 
 Precisian, a great pretender to 
 
 sanctity. 
 Prefer, to recommend, to ad- 
 vance. 
 Pregnancy, readiness. 
 Pret'uant, ready, plain, evi- 
 dent, apposite, 
 Pret'nanl cneuiy, the enemy of 
 
 m fin kind. 
 Premised, sent before the time 
 Prenominate, already named. 
 Pre-ordiiKiuce, ordinance al 
 
 ready established. 
 Presence, the presence-cham- 
 ber, a public rooni. 
 Presence,di6aity of mien, form, 
 
 figure. 
 Prest, ready. 
 
 Pretence, design, intention. 
 Pretend, to intend, design. 
 Pretended, purposed, intended, 
 Prevent, to anticipate. 
 Prick, the point on the dial. 
 Pricks, prickles, skewers. 
 Pride, haughty power. 
 Prig, to filth. 
 Prime, youth, the vigour of 
 
 life. 
 Prime, prompt. 
 Primer, niore urgent, more 
 
 important. 
 Primero, a game at cards. 
 Principality, the first or princi- 
 
 cii)al of women. 
 Principals, rafters of a build- 
 ing. 
 Princox, a coxcomb, or spoiled 
 
 child. 
 Probal, probable. 
 Process, summons 
 Procure, to bring. 
 Prodigious, portentous, omi- 
 nous. 
 Proface, much good may it do 
 
 you. 
 Profane, love of talk, gross of 
 
 language. 
 Protession, end and purpose of 
 
 coming. 
 Progress, a royal journey of 
 
 state. 
 Project, to shape or form. 
 Prompture, suggestion, temp- 
 tation. 
 Prone, sometimes humble. 
 Prone, forward, 
 proof, confirmed state of man- 
 hood. 
 Propagate, to advance or im- 
 prove. 
 Propagation, getting. 
 Proper, weli-lookinff, hand- 
 some. . 
 Proper-false, proper or fair, 
 
 and false or deceitful. 
 Proiiertied. taken possession of. 
 Properties, iucidentul necessa- 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 ries to a theatre. 
 
 Property, due performance 
 
 Prupeny, a thiuij quite at dis- 
 posal. 
 
 Propose, to image, to imagine. 
 
 Froi'osinij, cuiiversing. 
 
 Propriety, regular and proper 
 state. 
 
 Prorogoc, lengthen or prolong. 
 
 Provand. provender. 
 
 Provencial, Provenvitit from 
 Provence. 
 
 Provincial, belonging to one's 
 (Tovince. 
 
 Provost, sheriff or gaoler. 
 
 I'ruiie, to plume. 
 
 Puck, or hobgoblin in fairy 
 mythology. 
 
 Pugging, thievish. 
 
 Puu, to pound. 
 
 Purchase, stolen u-oods. 
 
 Purchased, acquired by unjust 
 methods. 
 
 Purlieu, border, enclosure. 
 
 Pursuivants, heralds. 
 
 Put to know, compelled to ac- 
 knowledge. 
 
 Putier-on, one who instigates. 
 
 Putter-out. one who places out 
 money at interest. 
 
 Puttl^^-on, spur, incitement. 
 
 PuLiocK. a ileyeiierate species 
 of hawk. 
 
 Quail, to faint, languish. 
 
 tjuaint, fantastical, graceful. 
 
 Quaiiit-mazes, a game running 
 the figure of eight. 
 
 Quaked, thrown into trepida- 
 tion. 
 
 Qualify, to lessen, moderate. 
 
 Quality, coiilederates. 
 
 Quality, profession, condition 
 of life. 
 
 QuaiTel.aquarreller, the cause 
 of a quarrel. 
 
 Quarry, game after it is killed. 
 
 Quart d'ecu, fourth part ot a 
 French crown. 
 
 Quarter, the allotted posts, sta- 
 tion. 
 
 Quat, a pimple. 
 
 Queasy, squeamish, delicate, 
 unsettled. 
 
 Quell, to murder, to destroy. 
 
 Queiich, to grow cool. 
 
 Quern, ahand-niill. 
 
 Quest, inquest orjurj', se»rch, 
 expedition. 
 
 Question, conversiition. 
 
 Questrist, one who goes io 
 search of another. 
 
 Quests, reports. 
 
 Quick, lively. sprightly, living. 
 
 QuKrken, to animate. 
 
 Quiddits, sulitilties. 
 
 Quillets, law chicane. 
 
 Quintain, a post set up for va- 
 rious exercises. 
 
 Quips, reproaches and scoffs. 
 
 Quire, to play in concert. 
 
 Quit, quitted. 
 
 Quit, to requite oranswer. 
 
 Quittance, return of obliga- 
 tions. 
 
 Quiver, nimble, active. 
 
 Quote, to observe. 
 
 Rabato, an ornament for the 
 neck. 
 
 Rabbit-sucker, a sucking rab- 
 bit. 
 
 Race, original disposition, in- 
 born qualities, a smack or 
 flavour. 
 
 Rack, wreck. 
 
 Rack, to exaiTgerate. 
 
 It ack, to harass by exactions. 
 
 Rack, the Heeting away of the 
 ciniids. 
 
 Racking, in rapid motion. 
 
 Rng, an opprobrious epithet, 
 
 Hagged, rugged. 
 
 Itake, to cover. 
 
 Rank, rale or pace. 
 
 Rank, grown up to a great 
 height and strength. 
 
 Rapt, rapturously affected. 
 
 Ivapture.a fit. 
 
 Rarely, curiously, happily. 
 
 Pascally. applied to lean deer. 
 
 Rash, heady, thoughtless, 
 quick, viident. 
 
 Rash remonstrance, premature 
 discovery. 
 
 Rated, chided. 
 
 Ravin, to devour eagerly. 
 
 Ravin, ravenous. 
 
 Havined, glutted with prey. 
 
 Raught, reached. 
 
 Ka\i-, ignorant, unripe, unskil- 
 ful. 
 
 Rawly, young and helpless. 
 
 Koyea, bewrayed. 
 
 Razed . sldshed. raised. 
 
 Redr-mouse, a bat. 
 
 Reason, discourse. 
 
 Reason, to talk, lo argue for. 
 
 Relieik, an old musical instru- 
 ment. 
 
 Receiving, ready apprehension. 
 
 Jteceipt, receptacle. 
 
 Recheate.asouiui hy which the 
 dogs are culled imcK. 
 
 Reck, to care for. to mind, to 
 utiendto. 
 
 Rt(.kless. careless, needless. 
 
 Recollected, stuuiea or often 
 repeated. 
 
 Record, to sine. 
 
 Recorder, a kind of flute or 
 Hageolet. 
 
 Recure, to recover. 
 
 Ked-lailice, tne sign of an ale- 
 house. 
 
 Reduce, to bring back. 
 
 Reechy, discoloured by smoke, 
 smoky. greasy. 
 
 Refell. to refute. 
 
 Refer, lo reserve to. 
 
 Regard, look. 
 
 Kegimeut government, autho- 
 rity 
 
 Kegreet, exchange of saluta- 
 tion. 
 
 Reguerdon, recompense, re- 
 turn. 
 
 Relative, nearly related, or 
 connected. 
 
 Remembered, remembering. 
 
 Remembrance, admonition. 
 
 Remorse, pity, tenderness of 
 heart. 
 
 RemiiLion, removal or remote- 
 ness. 
 
 Removed, remote, sequestered. 
 
 ilender, lo describe. 
 
 Render, a confession, au ac- 
 count. 
 
 Renege, to renounce. 
 
 Repair, to renovate. 
 
 Repeal, to recall. 
 
 Reports, reporters. 
 
 Reproof, confutation. 
 
 Repugn, to resist. 
 
 Reputing, boasting of. 
 
 Requiem a mass for the soul 
 ot a person deceased. 
 
 Resolve, lo be firmly persuad- 
 ed, satisfied. 
 
 Resolve, to dissolve. 
 
 Respect, consideration, cau- 
 tion. 
 
 Respective, respectable, re- 
 spectful, formal. 
 
 Respective, cool, considerate. 
 
 Respectively, respectfully. 
 
 Retailed, handed down. 
 
 Retire, to draw bick. 
 
 Reverb, to reverberate. 
 
 Revolts, revolters. 
 
 Rib, to enclose. 
 
 Rid, to destroy. 
 
 Rift, split. 
 
 Ricgish, wanton. 
 
 Right, just, even. 
 
 Right drawn, drawn in a right 
 cause, 
 
 Rigol, a circle. 
 
 Ringed, environed, encircled. 
 
 Ripe, come to the heik'ht. 
 
 Rivage, the bank or shore. 
 
 Kivalily, equal rank. 
 
 Rivals, partners. 
 
 itive, to burst, to fire. 
 
 Uoad, the haven where ships 
 ride at anuhor. 
 
 Rogues, vagrants. 
 
 Rnmage, rummage. 
 
 Ronvon, a scurvy woman. 
 
 Rood, the cross. 
 
 Rook, to squ.it down. 
 
 Ropery, roguery. 
 
 Rope-lricks, abusive language. 
 
 Round, a diadem. 
 
 Round, rough, unceremonious. 
 
 Rounded, whispered. 
 
 Rounding, wlnsperin^. 
 Roundel, a country d(.nce. 
 
 Roundure. circle. 
 
 Rouse, a draught of jollity. 
 
 Royal, due to a king. 
 
 Royalize, to m:ike royal. 
 
 Royalty, nobleness, supreme 
 excellence. 
 
 Roynish, mangy or scabby. 
 
 Ruddock, the redbreast. 
 
 KuH, the folding of Che torn of 
 boots. 
 
 RutHe, to riot, to create dis- 
 turbance. 
 
 RuUiiug. rustling. 
 
 Ruin, displeasure producing 
 ruin, 
 
 Itule.amethod of life. 
 
 Ruth, pity, compassion. 
 
 Sacred, accursed. 
 
 Sacrificial, worshioping, 
 
 tiad, grave orsenous. 
 
 hadly. seriously. 
 
 badness, seriousness. 
 
 b^ife, to render stife. 
 
 Sagg or swagg. to sink down. 
 
 Sail* tears. 
 
 .Sanded, of a sandy colour, 
 
 Satisfy, rest with satisfaction. 
 
 bavatje, silvau, imuulltvaied, 
 wild. 
 
 Savageness, wildness. 
 
 Saucy. Liscivious. 
 
 Saw, ajiciently. not a proyerb, 
 but the whole tenor of any 
 discourse. 
 
 Say, bilk. 
 
 Siiy. a sample, a taste orn-lish. 
 
 Scaffoldage.tne gallery paJtof 
 the theatre. 
 
 Scald, a word of contempt, 
 poor, filthy. 
 
 Scale, disperse, jmt to flight. 
 
 Scaled, over reiiched. 
 
 Scaling, weighing. 
 
 Sc(dl,ajiold word of reproach. 
 
 Scamble, to scramble. 
 
 Scan, to examine nicely. 
 
 Scant, to be deficient in, to cob* 
 tract. 
 
 Scantling, measure. proportion. 
 
 Scapes of wit, sallies, irivgu- 
 larities. 
 
 Scared, frightened. 
 
 Scarfed, decorated with flags. 
 
 Scath, destruction, harm. 
 
 Scath, to do an injury. 
 
 Scathful, miscUievous.destruc- 
 live. 
 
 Scone, a petty fortificaiioo. 
 
 Sconce, tue head. 
 
 Scotched, cut slib'hily. 
 
 Scrimens, ftuctrs. 
 
 Scrip, a writing, a list. 
 
 Scroyles, scabby fellows. 
 
 Sculls, great numbers of fishes 
 swimming together. 
 
 Scutched, whipt, carted. 
 
 Seal, to sirenglheu or con>- 
 plete. 
 
 Seam, lar*i. 
 
 Sear, to stigmatize, to close. 
 See Sere. 
 
 Season, to temper, to infix, to 
 impress. 
 
 Seasoned, established or sellted 
 by time. 
 
 Seat, throne. 
 
 Seated, fixed, firmly placed. 
 
 Sect, a cutting in gardening. 
 
 Secur ly, witn too great confi- 
 dence. 
 
 Seel, to close up. 
 
 Seeling, blinding. 
 
 Seeming, specious, hypocriti- 
 cal. 
 
 Seeming, seemly. 
 
 Seen, versed, practised. 
 
 Setd, seldom. 
 
 Self-bounty, inherent genero- 
 sity. 
 
 Seiptdably, in resemblance, 
 alike. 
 
 .Seuiory, seniority. 
 
 Sennet, a fiourishorsoundin??. 
 
 Seiisej reason. natural afleciioo, 
 feeling. sensual|>assion. 
 
 Sensible, havingseusatioo. 
 
 Sepientrioii, the north. 
 
 Sequestration, separation. 
 
 Sere or sear, dry, 
 
 Serjeant, a baililT or sheriff's 
 officer. 
 
 Serpigo, a kind of tetter. 
 
 Serve, to fulfil. 
 
 Serve, to accompany. 
 
 Set. seated. 
 
 Setebos, a species of devil. 
 
 Several, separated, appro- 
 priated. 
 
 Sewer, an ofl^cer who placed 
 the dishes on (he table. 
 
 Shame, to disgrace. 
 
 Shame, modesty. 
 
 Shard-borne, born by shards cNt 
 scaly win^s. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 Shards, the wings of a 6eetle. 
 
 Shards, t-rokeii pots or tiles. 
 
 Sharktd. picked up as a shark 
 collects nis prey. 
 
 Sheen, shiuiiig, splendour, 
 lustre. 
 
 Sheer, pellacid. transparent. 
 
 SheD'., scoldea, rebuked, 
 ashamed, disgraced. 
 
 Sheiil.lo reprove hurshly. 
 
 SheriffVpust. a large post set 
 up at the doer ol that odicer 
 (uT affixing proclamatioQS. 
 
 Shive, a slice. 
 
 Shoe, shooter. 
 
 Shavel-board, a game. 
 
 Shouijhs, shocks, a species of 
 doj:. 
 
 Shouldered, rudely thrust into. 
 
 Shrewd, having the qualities 
 of a shrew. 
 
 Shrift, confession. 
 
 Shrive, to confess, to call to 
 coofessioD. 
 
 .*ihut-up, to conclude. 
 
 Side-sleeves, long ^leeves. 
 
 Siege, stool, seat. rank. 
 
 Sight, the perforated part of a 
 helmet. 
 
 Sightless, unsightly. 
 
 Si^;n, toshew, todenote. 
 
 Silly, simple or rustic. 
 
 Silly, sooth, plain, simple truth. 
 
 Sincere, honest. 
 
 Sinew, strength. 
 
 Single, weak, debile, sniall, 
 Toidof duplicity or guile. 
 
 Sink-a-pace, cinque-pace, a 
 dance. 
 
 Sir. the desigtiation of a parson. 
 
 Sir- reverence, a coiTUption of 
 save-reverence. 
 
 Siih, since. 
 
 Sitheiice. thence. 
 
 Sizes, allowances of victuals, 
 
 Skains-mates, loose compa- 
 nions. 
 
 Skirr, to scour, to ride hastily. 
 
 Slack, to neglect. 
 
 Slave, to treat as a slave. 
 
 Sleave. [he ravelled knotty part 
 of the silk. 
 
 Sledded, riding in a sled or 
 sledge. 
 
 Slights, arts, subtle practices. 
 
 Slips, a contrivance <.>f leather, 
 to start two dogs at the same 
 time. 
 
 Sliver, fo cut a piece or slice. 
 
 Slops, loose breeches, or trow- 
 sers. tawdiT dress. 
 
 Slough, the skin which the ser- 
 pent anaually throws ofi". 
 
 Slower, more serious. 
 
 Slubber, to do any thing care- 
 lessly, imperfectly, ol»scure. 
 
 Smilingly, with signs of plea- 
 sure. 
 
 Smirched, soiled or obscured. 
 
 Smoothed, to stroke, to caress, 
 to fondle. 
 
 Sneap, to check or rebuke, a 
 rebuke. 
 
 Sneaping, nipping. 
 
 Sneck-up, a cant-phrase, " go 
 hangyourself," 
 
 Snuff, tiasty auger. 
 
 Snuffs, dislikes. 
 
 Soil, spot, turpitude, reproach. 
 
 Solely, alone. 
 
 Solicit, courtship. 
 
 Solicit, to excite. 
 
 Soliciting, information. 
 
 Solidares, an unknown coin. 
 
 Sometimes, formerly. 
 
 Sooth, truth. 
 
 Sooth, sweetness. 
 
 Sorriest, worthless, vile. 
 
 Sorry, sorrowful or dismal. 
 
 Sort, to choose out. 
 
 Sort, acompanv.a pack, ranks 
 and decrees of men. 
 
 Sort, to happen, to agree. 
 
 Sort, the lot. 
 
 Sort and suit, figure and rank. 
 
 Sot, a fool. 
 
 Soul -fearing, soul-appallin?. 
 
 Sound, to declhri: or publish. 
 
 Sound, soundly. 
 
 Sowl,tos>ull by the ears. 
 
 Sowier, perhaps tlie name of a 
 hound. 
 
 Spanned, measured. 
 
 Specially, particulor rights. 
 
 Sped, the fate decided. 
 
 Bpeed, event. 
 
 Cperr, tn sbat ap, defend by 
 bant Ate. 
 
 Spleen, humour, caprice. spirit, 
 
 reseulmeDt. 
 Spleen, violent hurry, tumul- 
 tuous speed. 
 Spleens, inclination to spiteful 
 
 mirth. 
 Spot, stain or disgrace. 
 Spotted, wicked. 
 Sprag, or spackt, apt to learn. 
 Spread, to stand separately. 
 Sprighted. haunted. 
 Sprights, spirits 
 Springhalt, a disease incident 
 
 to horses. 
 Springing, blooming, ia the 
 
 spriiir of life. 
 Sprightly, ghostly. 
 Spurs, the longest and largest 
 
 roots of trees. 
 Square, to quarrel. 
 Square, regular, equitable, just, 
 
 suitable. 
 Square, compass, comprehen- 
 sion, or complement, 
 Squarer, a quarrelsome fellow. 
 Squash, an immature i)eascod. 
 Squiny, to look asquint. 
 Sqiiire, a square or rule. 
 Sta;,'gers, delirious, perturba- 
 tion. 
 Stale, a bait or decoy to catch 
 
 birds. 
 Stale, a pretence. 
 Stale, to allure. 
 Stfujd, to withstand, to resist. 
 Standing bowls, bowls elevated 
 
 on feet. 
 Stanoval, the common stone- 
 _ hawk. 
 
 Star, a scar of that appearance. 
 St.Trk, stiff. . 
 
 Starkly, stiffly. 
 Stiirred, destined. 
 State, a chair with a canopy 
 
 over it. 
 State, standing. 
 Stale, official state, dignity. 
 Stales, persons of high rank. 
 Station, the act of standing. 
 Statist, statesman. 
 Statue. 8 portrait. 
 Staves, the wood of the lance.i. 
 Stay, ahinderer, a supj)orter. 
 Stead, to assist, or help. 
 Stickiiig-place. the stop in a 
 
 machine. 
 Sticklers, arbitrators, judges, 
 
 sidesmen. 
 Stigmatical, marked or stigma- 
 tized. 
 Stigmatic, one on whom nature 
 
 has set a mark of deformity. 
 Still, constant or continual. 
 ■Stilly, gently, lowly. 
 Stint, to stop, to retard. 
 Stith, an anvil. 
 Stoccata, a thrust or stab with 
 
 a rapier. 
 Slock, a term in fencing. 
 Stock, i-tockin^. 
 Stomach, passion, pride, stnli- 
 
 born resolution, constancy, 
 
 resolution. 
 Stoop, a measure somewhat 
 
 more than half a crallon. 
 Stover, a kind of thatch. 
 Stoup. a kind of fiayon. 
 Strachy, probably some kind of 
 
 domestic olnce. 
 Straight, immediately. 
 Strain, descent, lineage. 
 Strain, difficulty, doubt, 
 ^tr.'iit, narrow, avaricious. 
 Straited, put to difficulties. 
 Strange, odd, different from. 
 Strange, alien, becoming a 
 
 stranger, a stranger. 
 Strangely, wonderfully. 
 Strangeness, shyness, distant 
 
 behaviour. 
 Stranger, an alien. 
 Strangle, to suppress. 
 Stratagem, great or dreadful 
 
 event. 
 Strict, hard. 
 Strive, to contend. 
 Stuck, a thrust in fencing. See 
 
 Stoccata. Stock. 
 Stuff, baggage. 
 Stuff, substance or essence. 
 Stuffed, plenty, more than 
 
 enouph. 
 Subscnbe.to a^ee to. 
 Subscribe, to yield, to surren- 
 
 der. 
 •Subscription, obedience. 
 Submerged, whelmed under 
 
 water. 
 
 Subtilty, deception- 
 Subtle, smooth, level. 
 
 .Success, succesiiion. 
 
 Successive, belonging to the 
 succession. 
 
 Successively, by order of suc- 
 cession. 
 
 Sudden, violent. 
 
 Sufficiency, abilities. 
 
 Suggest, to tempt, to prompt, 
 to instigate. 
 
 Suggestion, hint. 
 
 Suggestions, temptations. 
 
 Suited, dressed. 
 
 SuUeu, obstinately trouble- 
 some. 
 
 Summer-swellmg. that which 
 swellsorexpands in summer. 
 
 Sumnioners, summoning offi- 
 cers. 
 
 Sumpter. a horse that carries 
 necess.-iries on a journey. 
 
 Superfluous, over-clothed. 
 
 Superstitious, serving with 
 superstitious atteTitiou. 
 
 Supposed, counterfeited, ima- 
 gined. 
 
 Sure, safe, out of danger, 
 surely. 
 
 Sar-reined, over-worked, or 
 ridden. 
 
 Suspire, to breathe. 
 
 Sxvaggerer, a roaring, fighting 
 fellow. 
 
 Swart orswarth, black, or dark 
 brown. 
 
 Swarth or swath, as much 
 grass or corn as a mower 
 cuts down at one stroke of 
 his scythe. 
 
 Swashing, noisy, bullying. 
 
 Swathf the dress of a new-born 
 child. 
 
 Sway, the whole weight, mo- 
 mentum. 
 
 Sweeting, a species of apple. 
 
 Swill, readv. 
 
 Swinge-bucklers. rakes, rioters. 
 
 Swoop, the descent of a bird of 
 prey. 
 
 Table, the palm of the hand 
 extended. 
 
 Table, a picture, 
 lables, table-books, memoran- 
 dums. 
 
 Tabourine.a small drum. 
 
 Tag, the lowest of the pojiulace. 
 
 Taint, to throw aslurnnon 
 lake, to strike with a disease, 
 to blast. 
 
 Take-in, to conquer, to get the 
 better ot. 
 
 Take-up, to contradict, to call 
 to an account. 
 
 Take-up, to levy. 
 
 'J all, stout, bold, courageous. 
 
 J allow-ktech, the fat of an ox 
 or cow. 
 
 Tame, ineffectual. 
 
 Tame sn.ike, a contemptible 
 fellow. 
 
 Tamed, fiat, spiritless. 
 
 Tarre, to stimulate, to excite, 
 provoke. 
 
 Tartar. Tartarus, the fabled 
 place of future punishment. 
 
 1 ask, to keep busied with scru- 
 ples. 
 
 Tasked, taxed. 
 
 Taurus, sides and heart in me- 
 dical astriilogy. 
 
 Tawdry, a kind of necklaces 
 •worn by country girls. 
 
 Taxation, censure or satire. 
 
 leen, sorrow, grief. 
 
 Temper, to mould like wax. 
 
 Temper, temperament, consti- 
 tution. 
 
 Temperance, temperature. 
 
 Tempered, rendered plia)<Ie. 
 
 'lend, to attend upon, to wait 
 for. 
 
 Tender, to regard with affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Tend'ring, watchmg with ten- 
 derness. 
 
 Tent, to take up residence. 
 
 Tercel, the male hawk. 
 
 Termagant, the god of the 
 Saracens. 
 
 Termagant, furious 
 
 Tested, brought to the test. 
 
 Testern, to gratify with a tes- 
 ter, or sixpence. 
 
 Tetchy, louchv, i*evish, fret- 
 ful. 
 
 Tharboroagh, thirdborough, aj 
 
 25 
 
 peace officer, 
 
 Theu-.e. a subject. 
 
 'Iheorick, theory. 
 
 l hewes, muscular strengtn. 
 
 Thick, in quick succession. 
 
 Thick-pleached, thickly inter- 
 woven. 
 
 Thill, the shafts of a cart. 
 
 Thirdborough, See Thar- 
 borough. 
 
 Thought, melancholy. 
 
 Thrasonical, boastful, brag- 
 ging. 
 
 Thread, fibre or part. 
 Thread, to pass through. 
 Three-maii-beeile, an imj'le- 
 
 ment u^ed for driving piles. 
 
 l^hree-pile,rich velvet. 
 
 Thrift, a stale of prosperity. 
 
 Throes, einii-s as in parturition. 
 
 Thrum, the extremity of a 
 Weaver's warp. 
 
 Thrutiinied. made of course 
 woollen cloth. 
 
 Tib, a itrumpel. 
 
 'lickle, ticklish. 
 
 lickle-brain, some strong li- 
 ,quor. 
 
 Tight, handv, adroit. 
 
 I'Pfitly.cltverly, adroitly. 
 
 li.iy-valley, an interjecfvon of 
 contempt. 
 
 Tilth, tillage. 
 
 I inieless. untimely. 
 
 Tjnct, tincture. 
 
 Tire, head-dress. 
 
 'lire, to fasten, to fix the talons 
 on. 
 
 Tire, to be idly employed on. 
 
 1 ired, adorned with ribands. 
 
 iod, to yield orjiroduce a tod, 
 or twenty-eight pounds. 
 
 lokened, spotted as in the 
 plague, 
 
 Toll, to enter on the toll-book 
 lolling, taking toll. 
 
 Tomboy, amascuUne, fonvard 
 girl. 
 
 Toiiless, that which has no- 
 thing above it, supreme 
 
 Toi>ple, to tumble. 
 
 Touch, sensation, sense, feel- 
 ing. 
 
 Touch, exploit or stroke. 
 
 Touch, a spice or particle. 
 I ouch, touchstone. 
 
 1 ouches, features. 
 
 Tout lied, tried. 
 
 |oward, in a state of readines;: 
 
 ioys. rumours idle reports, 
 lancies.freaks of imaginatioa. 
 
 ioze, to ptill or pluck. 
 
 lYnce, to follow. 
 
 Trade, a custom, an established 
 habit. 
 
 Tradiiion.traditional practices. 
 
 Traditional, adherent to old 
 customs. 
 
 Trail, the scent left by the pas- 
 sage of the game. 
 
 Traitress.a term of endearment. 
 
 Iranect. a ferry. 
 
 Translate, to transfer, to ex- 
 plain. 
 
 T rash, a hunting phrase, to cor- 
 rect. 
 
 Travel, to stroll. 
 
 'Iraverse, a ttrm in military 
 exercise. 
 
 Traversed, across. 
 
 Tray-trip, some kind of game. 
 
 ireachers, treacherous per- 
 .sons. 
 
 Trenched, cut, caired. 
 
 Trick, trick of the times. 
 
 Trick, peculiarity of voice, 
 face, &c. 
 
 Trick, smeared, painted, in he- 
 raldr>-. 
 
 Tricking, dress. 
 
 Tricksy, clever, adroit. 
 
 Triumphs, masques, revels, 
 public exhibitions, 
 
 Trojan, cant word for a thief. 
 
 Troll, to dismiss trippingly 
 from the tongue. 
 
 Trol-my-dames. a game. 
 
 '1 rossers. trowsers, 
 
 'J row, to believe. 
 
 'Jrulh, honesty. 
 
 Tucket, or tucket sonnaance a 
 flourish. 
 
 Turlygood, orturlupin, a spe- 
 cies of gipsy. 
 Turn, to become acescent. 
 Turquoise, a precious stone. 
 '1 wangling an expre-^sioa of 
 tontempl. 
 
26 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Twigging, wK'kcred. 
 
 'i'>ea. limited, cirrumscnbftQ. | 
 
 Type, distinKiiishJiig mir«. 
 
 snow oreruWeiu. 
 Tythinc, division of a lUacc, a 
 
 district. , 
 
 Vail, to coiidescena to look, to 
 
 let down, to liow, to sink. 
 Vailing, Inwerius- 
 Vain, vanity. 
 
 Vain, light of tongue, not vera- 
 cious. , . , . J 
 Valance, frini^ed with a beard. 
 Validity, value. 
 Vanity, illusion. 
 Vantage, coiivenipnce. oppor- 
 tunity, advantage. 
 Vantbrace, armour for the arm . 
 Varlel. a servant or footman to 
 
 a warrior. 
 Vast, waste, dreari'- , 
 
 Vaunt, tlieavant, what went be- 
 fore . 
 Vaward, the fore part. 
 Velure, velvet. . 
 
 Venew.a bout, a term m fenc- 
 ing. . 
 Vengeance, mischief. 
 Vent, rumour, matter for dis 
 
 course. , , , , ^ . 
 Ventages, the holes of a tlute. 
 Venys, hits in fencing. 
 Verbal, verbose, full of t.ilk. 
 
 » Cl I'tVl. * CI V-.!^^ , 1 .... ... 
 
 Verity, to bffir truewitne 
 Verv, immediate. 
 Via.'acant phrase of exnltntion 
 Vice, the fool of the old mo 
 
 ralities. 
 Vice.toadvi5C. 
 Vice, grasp. , 
 
 Vie, to contend in rivalry. 
 Vied, hracsed. . . ., , 1 
 
 Viewless, utis.-en, invisiMe. 
 Vilkin. a worthless fellow, a 
 
 servant. , 
 
 Virginallingt playing on tbe , 
 
 virginal, a spinnet. 
 Virtue, the most efficacious. 
 
 part, valour. 
 Virtuous, salittiferous. | 
 
 Virtuous, belonging to good- 
 breeding. 1 f„r 
 
 Vixen, or fixen. a female tox. 
 
 Vlzaments, adviscnirMits. 
 
 Voluntary, volmitanly. 
 
 Votarist. supplifiiiit. 
 
 Vouchsafed, vouchsating. 
 
 Vox, tone or voice. 
 
 Vulgar, common. 
 
 Vulgarly, publicly. 
 
 TJmhcr. a dusky yellow-colour- 
 ed earth. , , ^, 
 
 Umbered, discoloured by the 
 cleam of fir'?. 
 
 Unaccustomed, unseemly, in- 
 decent. 
 
 UDoneled. without extreme 
 unction. ., ,, 
 
 Unavoided, unavoidable. 
 
 Unbarhed, tntrimmed. 
 
 shaven. 
 I'nba'ed, not blunted. 
 I'nbolt. to open.fxpiain. 
 rnbolted, coarse 
 TTobookish. igncrant. 
 Cnbrenthed, unexercised, un- 
 
 practibfd. 
 Uncape, to dig out. a term m 
 
 fox-hunting. 
 Uncbart;fd, unnttacked. 
 Unclew.to dra.w out, exhaust. 
 i Uncoineil, real, unrefined, un- 
 adorned. . , . 
 Unconfirmed, unpractised in 
 ' thewaysof the world. 
 Under generation, the anti- 
 podes. 
 Undergo, to be subject to. 
 Under-skinker, a tapster, an 
 
 underdrawer. 
 Undertaker, one who takes 
 upon himself the quarrel ot 
 another. 
 Undenvrite, to subscribe, to 
 
 Under-wrought, underwork- 
 ed, umletermined. 
 
 Undeserving, undesen.-ed. 
 
 Unearned, not deserved. 
 
 Uiieath. scarcely, not easily. 
 
 Unexpressive, inexpressible. 
 
 Unhappy, mi'-chievously wag- 
 gish, unlucky. 
 
 Unhidden, open, clenr. 
 
 Unhoused, free from domestic 
 cares. 
 
 Unhouseled, not having re- 
 reived the sacrament. 
 
 Unimproved, not guided by 
 
 1 UDtruth,disloyaUy, treachery. 
 
 Unvalued, invaluable- 
 
 Up-spring, upstart. 
 
 Urchins, hedge-hogs, or per- 
 haps fairies. 
 
 Usance, usury. 
 ' Use, practice Inngcouuieuanc- 
 edny custom. 
 
 Use, to make a practice of. 
 
 Use, interest. 
 
 Used, behaved. 
 
 Usurping, false. 
 
 Utis.an.errv festival. 
 
 Utier, to vend by retail. 
 
 Utterance, a phrase in combat 
 extremity. 
 
 J null i"'-"^ •^"" ' " '' 
 
 knowledge, or experience. 
 Union, a species of pearl.. 
 
 t'nion, B ^l'c^ 11.-3 .M i"""j 
 
 Unkind, contrary to kind, or 
 
 nature. ,. . ■ i 
 
 l^nmastered. licentmns. | 
 
 Unowed. that which has no. 
 
 owner. . , , 1 
 
 Unprei^nant. not finickened. 
 Unproper. common. 
 Unqualitied, unmanned, dis- 
 armed ofhis facilities. 
 Un<iu est ion able, unwilling to I 
 be conversed with. | 
 
 Unreadv, undrc-sed. 
 Unrespective, inattentive to , 
 I consequences. 
 I Unrest, disquiet. 
 
 V.fnrriugh. smooth-faced, un- 
 bearded, 
 
 Unsisted. untried. 
 
 Unsisting, always open, never 
 I at rest. j ci j 
 
 TTnsmirrhed. clean. not defiled. 
 ■ Unsqiinred, unadapted to their 
 ' sub.iect. , 
 
 TTnstanched. mcontinent. . 
 
 Untempering. not tempering, 
 not softening. 
 
 Untraced, singular, not in com- 
 ' mon use. , 
 
 Untrimmed, undressed. 
 
 Waft, to beckon. 
 
 Wage, to fight, to combat, to 
 
 liresciibe to. 
 Wages, is equal to. 
 Waist, the part between the 
 quarter-deck and Uie fore- 
 castle. . 
 Waist, the middle. 
 Walk, a district in a forest. 
 Wannion. vengeance^. 
 Ward, posture of defence. 
 Ward, guardianship. 
 Warden, a species 01 pears. 
 Warder, guard, sentinel. 
 Warn, to summon. 
 Wassels, meetings of rustic 
 
 mirth. , ,. , 
 
 Watch, a watch-light. 
 Water-work, water-colours. 
 Wax. to grow. 
 i Waxen, increase. 
 Wealth advantage, happiness. 
 
 Wear, the fashion. 
 
 Wee, little. * 
 
 Weeds, clothing. 
 I Ween, to think, to imagine. 
 I Weet.to know. 
 
 Weigh, to value or esteem, to 
 
 deliberate. , ^ t i 
 
 ] Welkin, the colour of the sky. 
 
 WelUound, of acknowledged 
 excellence. , _. „ 
 
 I Well-liking, plump, embon- 
 point. 
 
 Wen, swollen excrescence. 
 
 Wend, to go. 
 
 Whelked,varied withprotnber- 
 
 ances. 
 Whe'r, whether. 
 I Where, whereas. 
 I Whiffler, an olTicer who walks 
 first in iirocessiuns. 
 Whiles, until. , , . , 
 Whip. tVie crack, the best, 
 Whipstock, a carters whip 
 Whirrin?. whirring awny. 
 White, l^e white mark in ar- 
 
 White^death. the chlorosis. 
 Whiting-time, bleachiug-time 
 
 Whittle, a species of knife. 
 Whoopiug. measure or reckon 
 
 Wide", remotely from, wide of 
 
 ll;e mark. 
 Wilderness, wildoess. 
 Will, wilfulness. 
 Wuiiple, a hood or veil. 
 Winlergrouod. to protect ft- 
 gainst the iuclemeucy ol 
 winter. 
 Wis. to know, 
 \V ibth, to recommend' 
 Wit, to know. 
 
 Witch, to charm, to bewitch. 
 Wits, senses. , 
 
 S\ ittol, knowing, couseious o^ 
 Witty, judicious, cunning. 
 Woe, to be sorry. 
 Wonina, to affect suddeuly ana 
 
 deeply.. 
 Woman-tired, heij-pecked. 
 Wondered, able to perform 
 
 woiidirs. 
 Wood, crazy, frantic. 
 Woodman, an allendiuit OU the 
 
 forciier. 
 Woolward. a phrase appro- 
 priated to pilgrims andpem- 
 leiitiaries. 
 Wurds, dispute, contention. 
 Work . a term of fonihcation. 
 Workings, labours of thought. 
 World, to go to the, to be mar- 
 ried. 
 Worm, a serpent. 
 Worship, dignity, authority. 
 Worth, wealth or fortune, the 
 value, full quota or propotv 
 tion. 
 Worts, cabbage. 
 Wot, to know. 
 Wound, twisted about, 
 Wre ilk, resentment. 
 , Wreak, to revenge. 
 I Wrest, an instrument for ltu> 
 
 ing the harp. 
 I Wrested, obtained by violence. 
 Writ, writing, composition. 
 Writhled. wrinkled. 
 Wrongs, persons who ^^Tong. 
 Wrongs, injurious practices. 
 Wroth, misfortune. 
 Wrought, worked, agitated. 
 Wrung, pressed, strained. 
 
 Yarelv. readily, nimbly. 
 Yearns, grieves or vexes. 
 Yeasty, or yesty, foaauog or 
 
 Yeild, to inform of, condescend 
 
 to. , 
 
 Ypild. to reward. 
 Yell Dwr.ess, jealousy. 
 Yeoman, a bailift's follower. 
 
 Zany, a buffoon, a merry aa- 
 drew. 
 
 wSIra, bleachers of Unea. 
 
THE TEMPEST. 
 
 Tb BR B was no edition of this play prcTioas to the first folio of 
 the Author's works, in 1623.— It was one of the very latest of 
 his pruduttioiis: Mr. >]alone supposes it tobave been written 
 in the year 1011 ;— but it was Dl0^l probably protluceii in the 
 latter part of 1012, or the beginning of 1613, as we find from 
 Mr. \ertuc's MSS. that it " was acted by John lleining and 
 the rest of the King's company, before Piince Charles, the 
 Lady Elizabeih. and the Prince Palatine Elector, in the be- 
 giuiiinb' of the year 1613."— The Prince Palatine was mairied 
 to the Lady Elizabeth in February 1613, and tliia exquisite 
 poem, which relates the loves of a youtit' prince and princess, 
 and introduces a pageant of spirits to crown them with 
 
 Honour, riches, inarriage-hlessing, 
 Long continuance, and increasing", 
 was not improbably composed ou the occasion of their royal 
 nuptials ; as we know that it made a part of the splendid fes- 
 tivities in celebration of them. Mr. Malone imagines in this 
 fiay a reference to the shipwreck of SirGeoryi- Somerson the 
 sland of Hernmd i. 1 cannot follow him in tracing the i-e- 
 semblance.— It is difficult to perceive the connexion between 
 R tempest in the Mediterranean and a hurricane in the At- 
 lantic ; — or between the wreck of an English ship, with her 
 crew of adventurous navigators, on the coast of Bermuda, and 
 the loss of an Italian vessel, conveying the king of Naples and 
 the Duke of Milan from a royal marriage in ) unis, ou an 
 imaginary island, near the coast of Africa. — The only cir- 
 cumstance I can discover in the aciounts of fSir George 
 Somers's .shipwreck, which shaLspeare appuars to have hatl 
 in his mind in writing this play, is the only circumstance that 
 none of the coami en triors have noticed, though it is related 
 in a volmii^_ to which they have all referred, viz. 6nth's 
 iLvitory of I'irginia.— l'^^ assumption of royal authority by 
 Steph.iuo, and the scenes between that character and Caliban 
 and Iriiirulo, may have been sngeested by the event related 
 in the fnllowiiig passage.— When :^ir George Somers left the 
 Island of Bermuda iu the year 1609, " Christopher Carter, 
 Edward Waiers, and Edward Chard remained tehind. Sir 
 George's vessel being once out of sight, these three lords, 
 and sole inhabitants of all these islands, began to erect their 
 little commonwealth, with equal power and brotherly regency, 
 bnilding a house, preparing the ground, planting I'heir com, 
 and such seeds aad fruits as they had, and providing other 
 necessaries and conveniences. Then making search among 
 the crannies and corners of those craggy rocks, what the 
 oceaQ, from the world's creation, had thrown up among them, 
 
 besides divers smaller pieces, they happened upoj the largest 
 block of Ambergris that had ever been seen or heard ot in 
 one lump. It weighed fourscore pounds, and is said, itself 
 alone, besides the olhers, to have been then worth nine or leu 
 thousand pounds. And now being rich, they grew so rioty 
 and ambitious, that tliese three forlorn men, above three 
 thousand miles from their native country, and with 'itile 
 probability of ever steiug it again, fell out for thesuiferiority 
 and rule ; and their compeiuion and quarrel grew so high, 
 that Chard and Waters, being of the greater spirit, had ap. 
 pointed to decide the mailer in the field. But Carierwisely 
 •Stopped their arras, choosing rather tobear with such trouble- 
 some rivals, than, by being rid of them, to live alone." — 
 Siit/t's ttrginia, j). ICO.— It shakspeare in composing his play 
 had any recollection of the above event, 'J'fte I'empest could 
 not have been written till after the year 1612. when the story 
 was brought to England by Captain .^Iatthew Somers. Ihis 
 gentleniaii was nephew of .Sir George Somers ; he accompanied 
 nis uncle both in his first and second visit to the Kermudas, 
 and. after his death on the Island, returned to EnyUnd with 
 the body. 
 
 Collins the poet informed Thomas Warton. that the subject of 
 this play was taken from a novel called Aurelio and Isabella ; 
 but this information has Droved to be incorrect.— I he memory 
 of Collins became contused in his last melancholy illness, 
 and he probably gave the name of one novel for another. — 
 A circumstance which he added, may perhaps lead to the 
 discovery of the real tale :— the principal character of the. 
 romance, answering to Shaksiieare's Prnspero.M'asa chemical 
 necromancer, who nad bound a spirit, like Ariel, to perform 
 his services.— Mr. Boswell relates, that a friend of nis had 
 met with an Italian novel which corresponded with Collins's 
 description. 
 
 Malone, Steevens, and Blackstone have discovered, in the fol- 
 lowing words from the Induction to Ben Jonson" s Baro'io/otnew 
 Fair — "If there be never a servant-monster in the fair, who 
 can help it'" an allusion to the character of Crdiban. and 
 another proof of thai malignity against our Author which 
 they have chosen to impute to the great contempnriiry and 
 personal friend of Shakspeare.— Ihis subject is fuUv dis- 
 ctissed in the Life prefixed to Harness's editinn, and only 
 mentioned here, to shew on how slight authority this absurj 
 falsehood has been propagated ; and as another instance to 
 prove, that to the theories of a commentator, as to the dreams 
 of jealousy, " trifles light as air. are confirmations strong as 
 proofs of holy writ.' 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Alonso, King of Naples. 
 Sebastian-, his brother. 
 PnospEno, the rightful Duke ri^ Milan. 
 Antonio, his brothei-, the usurping Duke (i/'Milaa. 
 Ferdinand, son to the King of' Naples, 
 GoNZALo, an honest old counsellor of Naples. 
 Adrian, Francisco, lorits. 
 Caliban, a soroge and deformed slave. 
 Trinci'lo, a jester. 
 Stephano, a dnutken butler. 
 Master af a ship, Boatsuoin, a'td Mariners. 
 Miranda, daughter to Prospero. 
 Ariel, an airv spirit. 
 
 Iris, Ceres, Juno, Nymphs, Reapers, spirits. 
 Other spirits attending on Prospero. 
 
 SCENE. — The Sea, with a Ship ; afterwards an 
 uninhabited Island, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — On a Ship at Sea. — .i Storm with 
 Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 Enter a Ship-master and a Boatswain. 
 Master. Boatswain, — 
 Boats. Here, master : What cheer ' 
 Mast. Good : Speak to the mariners : fall to't yarely 
 or we run ourselves aground ; bestir, bestir. [Exit'. 
 Enter jMariners. 
 Baits. Heigh, my hearts ; cheerly, cheerly, my 
 
 hearts ; yaie, yare : take in the top-sail ; Tend to 
 the master's whistle. — Blow till thou burst thy wind, 
 if room enough ! 
 
 Enter Alonzo, Sfhastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, 
 Gunzalo, and otliers. 
 
 Alan. Good Boatswain, have care. Where's the 
 master 1 Play the men. 
 
 Boats. I pray now, keep below. 
 
 Ant. \Vhere is the master. Boatswain? 
 
 Boats. Do you not hear him ? You mar our la- 
 bour ; Keep your cabins : you do assist the storm. 
 
 Goo. i\ay. good, be patient. 
 
 Boats. \Vhen the sea is. Hence! What care 
 these roarers for the name of king ? To cabin : si- 
 lence : trouble us not. 
 
 Gon. Good ; yet rememberwhom thou hast aboard. 
 
 Boats. None that I more love than myself. You 
 are a counsellor ; if you can command these ele- 
 ments to silence, and work the peace of the present, 
 we will not hand a rope more ; use your authority. 
 If you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, 
 and make yourself ready in your cabin for the mis- 
 chance of the hour, if it so hap. — Cheerly, good 
 hearts. — Out of our way, I say. [K.iit, 
 
 Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow: me- 
 thinks he hath no drowning mark upon him ; his 
 complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good 
 fate, to his hanging ! make the rope of his destiny 
 our cable, for our own doth little advantage ! If he 
 be not bom to be hanged, our case is miserable. 
 
 [Eieunt, 
 
28 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Re-enter Boatswain. 
 
 lower, 
 
 [.1 crii 
 
 they are 
 
 Bouts. Down with the topmast ; yare : 
 lower ; bring her to try with main-course. 
 withiu.'] A plague upon this howling! 
 louder than the weather, or our office.— 
 
 Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalq. 
 
 Yet again 7 what do you here ''. Shall we give o'er, 
 ■ " ' ' to sink 
 
 bawling, blas- 
 
 and drown 7 Have you a mind to sink 1 
 
 you 
 
 Seb. A pox o' your throat 
 phemous, incharitable dog 1 
 
 Boats. Work you, then. 
 
 Ant. Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent 
 noise-makei, we are less afraid to be drowned tlian 
 thou art. 
 
 GiKi. I'll warrant him from drowning ; though the 
 ship were no stronger than a nut-shell, and as leaky 
 as an unstanched wench. 
 
 Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold : set her two courses 
 off; to sea again, lay her off. 
 
 Enter Mariners wet. 
 
 Mar. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost ! 
 
 \_Kxeunt. 
 
 Boats. What, must our mouths be cold 1 
 
 Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us as- 
 
 For our case is as theirs. [sist them, 
 
 Seb. I am out of patience. [drunkards.— 
 
 Ant. We are merely cheated of our lives by 
 
 This wide-chapped rascal ; — 'Would, thou might'st 
 
 The washing of ten tides ! [lie drowning, 
 
 Gon. He'll be hanged yet ; 
 Though every drop of water swear against it, 
 And gape at wid'st to glut him. 
 [A ctmfused noise u'it/ii/i.]— Mercy on us ! We split, 
 we split ! —Farewell, my wife and children ! Fare- 
 well, brother! We split, we split, we split ! — 
 Ant. Let's all sink with the king. [Evil. 
 
 Seb. Let's take leave of him. ,[^■"'■ 
 
 Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of 
 sea for an acre of barren ground ; long heath, brown 
 furze, any thing : The wills above be done ! but I 
 would fain die a diy death. [E.rit. 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 The Island : before the Cell of Prospeho. 
 Enter Prospeho and Mikanda. 
 Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have 
 Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them : 
 The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch. 
 But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek. 
 Dashes the tire out. O, 1 have suffer'd 
 With those that I saw suffer ! a brave vessel, 
 Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her, 
 Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock 
 Against my very heart ! Poor souls ! tliey perish'd. 
 Had I been any god of power, I would 
 Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er 
 It should tlie good ship so have swallowed, and 
 The freighting souls within her. 
 
 Pro. Be collected ; 
 
 No more amazement : tell your piteous heart, 
 There's no harm done. 
 
 Mira. O, woe the day ! 
 
 p,.„. No harm 
 
 I have done nothing but in care of thee, 
 (Of tliee, my dear one ! tliee, my daughter !) who 
 Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing 
 Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better 
 Than Prospero. master of a full poor cell, 
 And thy no greater father. 
 
 Mira. More to know 
 
 Did never meddle with my thoughts. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis time 
 
 I should infoi-m thee further. Lend thy hand. 
 And pluck my magic garment from me. — So ; 
 
 [J.(ii/s doirn his jnnntU, 
 Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes ; have 
 
 comfort. 
 The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd 
 The very virtue of compassion in thee, 
 I have with such provision in mine art 
 So safely order'd, tliat there is no soul — 
 No, not so mucli perdition as a hair, 
 Betid to any creature in the vessel 
 Which thoii heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. — 
 For tliou must now know further. [Sit down ; 
 
 Mira. "You have often 
 
 Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd 
 And left me to a bootless inquisition ; 
 Concluding,. Stay, not yet. — 
 
 Pro. The hour's now come , 
 
 The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ; 
 Oliey, and be attentive. Can'st thou remember 
 A time before we came unto this cell 1 
 I do not think tliou can'st ; for then thou wast not 
 Out three years old. 
 
 Mira. ' Certainly, sir, I can. 
 
 Pro. By what 1 by any otlier house, or person ? 
 Of any thing the image tell me, that 
 Hath kept with thy remembrance. 
 
 Mira. 'Tis far off; 
 
 And rather like a dream than an assurance 
 That my remembrance warrants : Had I not 
 Four or five women once, tliat tended me 1 [is it. 
 Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda: But how 
 That this lives in thy mind t What see'st thou else 
 In the dark backward and abysm of time ? 
 If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here. 
 How thou cam'st here, thou may'st. 
 
 Mira. But that I do not. 
 
 Pro. Twelve years since, Miranda, twelve years 
 Thy father was iiie duke of Milan, and [since, 
 
 A prince of power. 
 
 Mira. Sir, are not you my father' 
 
 Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and 
 She said — thou wast my daughter ; and thy father 
 Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir 
 A princess, no worse issued. 
 
 Mira. O, the heavens I 
 
 What foul play had we, that we came from thence; 
 Or blessed was't, we did 1 
 
 Pro. Both, both, my girl ; 
 
 By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd thence ; 
 But blessedly holp hither. 
 
 Mira. O, my heart bleeds 
 
 To think o' the teen that I have turn'd you to, [Iher. 
 Which is from my remembrance I Please you,^ far- 
 Pro. My l)rother, and tliy uncle, call'd Antonio, — 
 I pray thee, mark me, — tliat a brother should 
 Be so perfidious !— he whom, next thyself, 
 Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put 
 The manage of my state ; as, a* that time, 
 Throuijli all the signiories it was the first. 
 And P'rospcro the prime duke ; being so reputed 
 In dignity, and, for tlie liberal arts. 
 Without a parallel : those being all my study, 
 The government I cast upon my brother. 
 And to my state grew stranger, being transported. 
 And rapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle — 
 Dost thou attend me ? 
 
 Mira. Sir, most heedfully. 
 
 Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits. 
 
[«'"V"""'''---'|jr'iiT°i["'" '■i''?"" "'"■•""■r'"irnri'i:'"''^"'''''-'viii'^''''''"'''""i"'^¥r"'^fg°''«™'"'^^^ 
 
ACT I.— SCENE II. 
 
 29 
 
 How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom 
 To trash for over-topping ; new created 
 The creatures that were mine ; I say. or chang'd them, 
 Or else new form'd them ; having hoth the key 
 Of officer and office, set all hearts i'th'state 
 To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was 
 The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk. 
 And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend'st 
 I pray tliee, mark me. [not : 
 
 Mira. O good sir, I do. 
 
 Pro. I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicate 
 To closeness, and the bettering of my mind 
 "With that, which, but by being so retired, 
 O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother 
 Awak'd an e^il nature : and my trust, 
 Like a good parent, did beget of him 
 A falsehood, in its contrary as great 
 As my trust was ; which had, indeed, no limit, 
 A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded, 
 Kot only with what my revenue yielded, 
 But uhat my power might else exact, — like one, 
 \\'ho having, unto truth, by telling of it, 
 Made such a sinner of his memory, 
 ■j'o credit his own lie, — he did believe 
 He was indeed the duke ; out of the substitution. 
 And executing tlie outward face of royalty, 
 AVith all prerogative : — Hence his ambition 
 Growing, — Dost hear ? 
 
 Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness. 
 
 Pro. To have no screen between this part he play'd, 
 And him he plav'd it for, he needs will be 
 Absolute Milan : lie, poor man ! — ^my library 
 Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties 
 He thinks me now incapable : confederates 
 (So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples, 
 To give nim annual tribute, do him homage j 
 Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend 
 The dukedom, yet unbow'd, (^alas, poor Milan ! ) 
 To most ignoble stooping. 
 Mira. O the heavens ! 
 
 Pro. Mark his condition, and the event ; then tell 
 If this might be a brother. [me, 
 
 Mira. I should sin 
 
 To think but nobly of my grandmother : 
 Good wombs have bonie" bad sons. 
 
 ^i'"- Now the condition. 
 
 This king of Naples, being an enemy 
 To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ; 
 Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises, — 
 Of homage, and 1 know not how much tribute, — 
 Should presently extirpate me and mine 
 Out of the dukeclom ; and confer fair Jlilan, 
 With all the honours, on my brother: Whereon, 
 A treacherous array levied, one midnight 
 Fated to the purpose, did Antonio open 
 The gates of Milan ; and, i' the dead of darkness, 
 I'he ministers for the purpose hurried thence 
 Me, and thy crjing self. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for pity! 
 
 I, not rememb'ring how I cry'd out then, 
 Will cry it o'er again : it is a hint, 
 That wrings mine eyes to 't. 
 
 Pro. ^ Hear a little farther, 
 
 And then I '11 bring thee to the present business 
 Which now's upon us ; without the which, this story 
 Were most impertinent. 
 
 Mira. Wherefore did they not 
 
 That hour destroy us 1 
 
 P">- Well demanded, wench ; 
 
 My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst not ; 
 (So dear the love my people bore me) nor set 
 A mark so bloody on the business; but 
 
 With colours fairer painter their foul ends. 
 In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ; 
 Bore us some leagues to sea ; where they prepar'd 
 .\ rotten carcase of a boat, not rigg'd. 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats 
 Instinctively had quit it: there they hoist us, 
 To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh 
 To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again. 
 Did us but loving WTong. 
 
 Mira. Alack! what trouble 
 
 Was I then to you ! 
 
 Pro. O ! a cherubim 
 
 Thou wast, thou didst preserve me ! Thou didst smile, 
 Infused with a fortitude from heaven. — 
 When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt; 
 Under my burden groan'd ; which rais'd in me 
 An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
 Against what should ensue. 
 
 Mira. How came we ashore? 
 
 Pro. By Providence divine. 
 Some food we had. and some fresh water, that 
 A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
 Out of his charity, (who being then appointed 
 Master of this design, ) did give us ; witli 
 Rich gannents, linens, stuffs, and necessaries, 
 Which since have steaded much ; so, of his gentleness. 
 Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me. 
 From my own library, with volumes that 
 I prize above my dukedom. 
 
 Jliii-a. 'Would I might 
 
 But ever see that man ! 
 
 Pro. Now I arise : — 
 
 Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
 Here in this island we arrived ; and here 
 Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
 Than other princes can, that have more time 
 For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful, [you, sir, 
 
 Mira. Heavens thank you for 't ! And now, 1 pray 
 (For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason 
 For raising this sea-storm t 
 
 Pro. Know thus far forth. — 
 
 By accident most strange, bountiful fortune. 
 Now mv dear lady, hath mine enemies 
 Brought to this shoie ; and by my prescience 
 I find my zenith doth depend upon 
 A most auspicious star ; whose influence 
 If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes 
 Will ever after droop. — Here cease more questions ; 
 Thou art inclin'd to sleep; 'tis a good dulness, 
 And give it way ; — I know thou can'st not choose. 
 
 [Miranda sleeps. 
 Come away, servant, come: I am ready now; 
 Approach, my Ariel ; come. 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 Ari. All hail, great master ! grave sir. hail ! I come 
 To answer thy best pleasure ; be 't to fly. 
 To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride 
 On the curl'd clouds; to thy strong bidding, task 
 Ariel, and all his quality. 
 
 Pro. Hast thou, spirit. 
 
 Performed to point the tempest that 1 bade thee 1 
 
 Ari. To every article. 
 I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak. 
 Now in the waist, the deck, in ever}- cabin, 
 1 fiam'd amazement: Sometimes, I'd divide, 
 And burn in many places ; on the top-mast 
 The yards and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly. 
 Then meet, and join : .love's lightnings, the precursors 
 O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary 
 And sight-out-running were not: The fire, and cracks 
 Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune 
 
30 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble, 
 Yea, his dread uidtnl. shake. 
 
 p\.^ My brave spirit ! 
 
 Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 
 
 Would not infect his reason 1 
 
 . . Not a soul 
 
 Bilt 'felt a fever of the mad, and play'd 
 Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners 
 I'lun^'d in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, 
 ■n,ea°all a-fire with me. Tlie king's son, Ferdiaand, 
 With hair up-staring, (then ike ■.e^^'l^'""' .''="'•' , 
 Was the first man that leap'd ; cried. Hell u empty. 
 And all the devils are here. . 
 
 Pro. Why, that's my spirit ! 
 
 But was not this nigh shore 1 „,„„, 
 
 ^i.;. Close by, my master. 
 
 iVo. But are they, Ariel, safe? , . ,., 
 
 ^,,;_ Not a hair perisli d 
 
 On their sustaining garments not a blemish. 
 But freslier than before: and, as thou bad st me. 
 In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle: 
 The kine's son have I landed by himself ; 
 Whom 1 left cooling of the air with sighs, 
 In an odd angle of tlie isle, and sitting. 
 His arms in this sad knot. 
 
 p„. Of the king's ship. 
 
 The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd. 
 And all the rest o' the fleet 1 , . , , 
 
 ^j.1 Safely in harbour 
 
 Is the'king's ship; in the deep nook where once 
 Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew 
 From the stiU-vex'd Bermoothes, there she s hid: 
 'I'he mariners all under hatches stow'd ; 
 Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer d labour 
 I have left asleep: and lor the rest o the tieet. 
 Which 1 dispers'd, tliey all have met again ; 
 And are upon the Mediterranean flole, 
 Bound sadly home for Naples ; 
 Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck d, 
 And his great person perish. . . , , , 
 
 P,.„. *^ "^ "^ Ariel, thy charge 
 
 Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work : 
 What IS the time o' the day'! 
 ^^,; Past the mid season. 
 
 Pro. At least two glasses: The time 'twixt six and 
 Must by us both be spent most preciously. [now, 
 Ari. Is there more toil 1-Since thou dost give me 
 pains, . , , 
 
 Let me remember thee what thou hast promis d. 
 Which is not yet perform'd me. 
 
 p,.„_ •" "^ How now 1 moody 1 
 
 What is 't thou can'st demand 1 
 
 Ari. ^'y liberty. 
 
 Pro. Before the time be ouf! no more. 
 Ari. \ P''='y ""' 
 
 Remember, I have done thee worthy service ; 
 Told thee no lies, made no mistakiugs, sery d 
 -Without or grudge, or grumblings •. thou didst pro- 
 To bate me a full year. L""^^ 
 
 Pro. Dost thou forget 
 
 From what a torment I did free thee ? 
 
 An. No. 
 
 Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st 
 It much to tread the ooze of the salt deep ; 
 To run upon the sharp wind of the north ; 
 To do me business in the veins o' the earth, 
 When it is bak'd with frost. 
 
 ^j.; I do not, sir. 
 
 Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast tliou forgot 
 Tlie foul witch Sycorax, who, witJi age and envy. 
 Was grown into a hoop'! hast tUou forgot her! 
 Ari. No, sir. 
 
 Pro Thou hast: Wliere was she born? 
 
 ^n! Sir, in Argier. [speak; tell me. 
 
 Pr^ 0, was she so ! I must. 
 
 Once in a month, recount what thou hast been. 
 Which thou forget'st. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, 
 For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries iernble 
 To enter human hearing, from Argier, 
 Thou know'st, was banish'd ; for one thing she did, 
 They would not take her life: Is not this ^"^y^.^^ 
 
 Ari Av Sir. L i' 
 
 Pro This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with 
 \nd here was left by the sailors: Thou, my slave, 
 As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant: 
 And, for thou wast a spint too delicate 
 To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands 
 Refusing her grand bests, she did conhne thee. 
 By help of her more potent ministers. 
 And in her most unmitigable rage, 
 Into a cloven pine ; within which ritt 
 Imprison'd, thou did'st painfully remain 
 A dozen years ; within which space she died. 
 And left thee there ; where thou did st vent thy groans, 
 As fast as mill-wheels strike : Then was this island, 
 (Save for the son that she did Utter here,^ 
 I A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honour d with 
 
 A human shape. 
 
 yfri Yes ; Caliban her son. 
 
 Pro. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban, _ 
 Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know si 
 What tonnent I did find thee in : thy groans 
 Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts 
 Of ever- angry bears ; it was a torment 
 To lay upon the damn'd, which Sycorax 
 Could not again undo ; it was mine art. 
 When 1 arriv'd. and heard thee, that made gape 
 The pin£, and let thee out. , , , 
 
 ^,1; I thank thee, master. 
 
 Pro. If thou more murmur'st. I will rend an oak. 
 And peg thee in his knotty entrails, till 
 Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. 
 
 , . Pardon, master . 
 
 An. , 
 
 I will be correspondent to command, 
 And^^do my spiriting gentlj-. ^^ _ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 ^tw ''"""'''"" That's my noble master! 
 What'shall I do 1 say what ! what shall I doj 
 
 Pro. Go, make thyself like to a njmiph o the sea. 
 Be subject to no sight but mine ; ■""^■hle 
 To eve y eve-ball else. Go, take th. shape, 
 I^ndTitUomein't: hence, with diUgence.^^^^^ 
 
 Awake, dear heart, awake! thou hast slept well ; 
 ' Mno. The strangeness of your story put 
 Heaviness in me. g^^^ ;, „ff . Come on , 
 We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never 
 Yields us a kind answer. , ^ , 
 
 Mira. 
 I do not love to look on. 
 
 p.r, But, as tis. 
 
 We cannot miss him : he does make our fire, 
 Fetch in our wood ; and serves m oftces 
 That profit us. What ho ! slave ! Caliban ! 
 Thou earth, thou! speak. . -.i • 
 
 Cal. fwii'""-] There 's wood enough wtthm. 
 Pro. Come forth, I say; there's other business for 
 Come forth, thou tortoise! when! iihee. 
 
 He-enter Ariel, like a uater-nymph. 
 Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel, 
 Hark in thine ear. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE II. 
 
 31 
 
 jlfi. My lord, it shaH be done. [Exit. 
 
 Pro. Thou poisonous slave, got by tbe devil himself 
 Upon thy wicked dam, come forth ! 
 Enter Camdan. 
 Cat. As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
 With raven's feather from unwholesome fen, 
 Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye, 
 And blister you all o'er. [cramps, 
 
 Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have 
 Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins 
 Shall, for that vast of night that they may work, 
 All exercise on thee : thou shalt be pinch'd 
 As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging 
 Than bees that made them. 
 
 Cal. I must eat my dinner. 
 
 This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, 
 Which thou tak'st from me. When thou earnest first. 
 Thou strok'dst me, and mad'stmuch of me ; would'st 
 Water with berries in 't; and teach me how [give me 
 To name the bigger light, and how tbe less. 
 That burn by day and night: and then I lov'd thee. 
 And shew'd thee all the qu.ilities o' the isle. 
 The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fertile ; 
 Cursed be I that I did so! — All the charms 
 Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on you! 
 For I am all the subjects that you have, 
 Which first was mine own king ; and here you sty me 
 In this hard rock, while you do keep from me 
 The rest of the island. 
 
 Pro. Thou most lying slave, [thee. 
 
 Whom stripes may move, not kindness: I have us'd 
 Filth as thou art. with human care; and lodg'd thee 
 In mine own cell, till thou did'st seek to violate 
 The honour of my child. 
 
 Cat. O ho, O ho! — 'would it had been done ! 
 Thou did'st prevent me ; I had peopled else 
 This isle with Calibans. 
 
 Pro. Abhorred slave ; 
 
 Which any print of goodness will not take. 
 Being capable of all ill! I pitied thee. 
 Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour 
 One thing or other: when thou did'st not, savage. 
 Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like 
 A thing most brutish. I endow'd thy purposes 
 With words that made them known : But thy vile race. 
 Though thou did'st learn, had that in 't which good 
 
 natures 
 Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou 
 Deservedly confin'd into this rock. 
 Who had'st deserv'd more than a prison. 
 
 Cal. You taught me language ; and my profit on 't 
 Is, I know how to curse : the red plague rid you. 
 For learning me your language ! 
 
 Pro, Hag-seed, hence ! 
 
 Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best, 
 »To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice 1 
 If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly 
 What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps; 
 Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar 
 That beasts shall tremble at thy din. 
 
 Cal. No, pray thee ! — 
 
 I must obey : his art is of such power, lAside. 
 
 It would control my dam's god, Setebos, 
 And make a vassal of him. 
 
 Pro. So, slave ; hence ! [Exit Caliban 
 
 Re-enter Ariel invisible, placing and singing ; 
 FERmyASD foUowijig hirn. 
 
 Ariel's Song. 
 Come unto these ijelloiu sands^ 
 And then take hands: 
 
 Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd, 
 
 (The i^iUl waves ivhist,) 
 Foot itfeatly here and there ; 
 And, street sprites^ the burden bear. 
 
 Hark, hark! 
 Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. {dispersedly. 
 
 The uiitch-dogs bark : 
 Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [dispersedlii. 
 
 Hlu-},, hark ! 1 hear 
 The strain rf strutting chanticlere 
 Cry, Cack-a-doodie-doo. 
 
 Feri Where should this music be? i' the air, or the 
 It sounds no more : — and sure it waits upon [earth ? 
 Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank 
 Weeping again the king my father's wreck, 
 This music crept by me upon the waters ; 
 AUaving both their fury, and my passion. 
 With its sweet air : thence 1 have follow "d it, 
 Or it hath drawn me rather : — But 'tis- gone. 
 No, it begins again. 
 
 AniEL sings. 
 
 Full fathom Jive thy father lies: 
 
 Of his bones are carat made ; 
 Those are pearls, that were his eves : 
 
 Nnthtng of him that dothfade, 
 But doth suffer a seo'change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-numphs hourtii ring his knell: 
 Hark ! now I Iiear them, — ding-dong, hell. 
 \_Barden, ding-dong. 
 
 Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd father : — 
 This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
 That the earth owes : — I hear it now above me. 
 
 Pro. The fringed curtain of thine eye advance 
 And say, what thou seest yond'. 
 
 .Ifiia. What is 't? a spirit? 
 
 Lord, how it looks about ! Believe me, sir. 
 It carries a brave form : — But 'tis a spirit. 
 
 Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and hath 
 such senses 
 As we have, such : This gallant, which thou seest, 
 Was in the wreck ; and but he's something stain'd 
 With grief — that's beauty canker — thou might'st call 
 A goodly person. He hath lost his fellows, [him 
 And strays about to find them. 
 
 Mira. I might call him 
 
 A thing divine ; for nothing natural 
 I ever saw so noble. 
 
 Pro. It goes on. I see, [Aside. 
 
 As my soul prompts it : — Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll free 
 Within two days for this. [thee 
 
 Fer. Most sure, the goddess 
 
 On whom these airs attend I — A'ouchsafe, my prayer 
 May know, if you remain upon this island ; 
 And that you will some good instruction give, 
 How I may bear me here ; ]My prime request, 
 Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder ! 
 If you be maid or no 1 
 
 Mira. No wonder, sir ; 
 
 But, certainly a maid. 
 
 Fer, My language ! heavens ' — 
 
 I am the best of them that speak this speech. 
 Were I but where 'tis spoken. 
 
 Pro. How ! the best ? 
 
 What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee ! 
 Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders 
 To'hear thee speak 6f Naples : He does hear me ; 
 .\nd, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples ; 
 Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld 
 The king my father wreck'd. 
 
32 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Mira. Alack, for mercy ! 
 
 Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the duke of 
 And his brave son, being -twain. [Milan, 
 
 Pro. The duke of Milan, 
 
 And his more braver daughter, could control thee. 
 If now 'twere fit to do 't : — At the first sight [Aside. 
 They have chang'd eyes : — Delicate Ariel, 
 I'll set thee free for tliis ! — A word, good sir; 
 I fear you have done yourself some wrong : a word. 
 
 Mii-a. Why speaks my father so ungently 7 This 
 Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first 
 That e'er 1 sigh'd for : pity move my father 
 To be inclin'd my way ! 
 
 Fer. O, if a virgin. 
 
 And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you 
 The queen of Naples. 
 
 Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more. — 
 
 They are both, in either's powers ; but tliis swift 
 business [/lsi(/e. 
 
 I must uneasy make, lest too light winning 
 ]\Iake the prize light. — One word more ; I charge 
 That tliou attend me : thou dost here usurp [thee, 
 The name thou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself 
 Upon this island, as a spy, to win it 
 From me, the lord on't. 
 
 Fer, No, as I am a man. 
 
 Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a 
 If the ill spirit have so fair an house, [temple: 
 
 Good things will strive to dwell with't. 
 
 Pro. Follow me. — [To Ff.rd. 
 
 Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. — Come. 
 I '11 manacle thy neck and feet together : 
 Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be 
 The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks 
 Wherein the acorn cradled : Follow. 
 
 Fer. No ; 
 
 I will resist such entertainment, till 
 Mine enemy has more power. [He draws. 
 
 Mira. O dear father. 
 
 Make not too rash a trial of him, for 
 He 's gentle, and not fearful. 
 
 Pro. What, I say, 
 
 IMy foot my tutor ! Put thy sword up, traitor ; 
 Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy con- 
 science 
 Is so possess'd with guilt : come ; from thy ward ; 
 For I can here disarm thee with this stick, 
 A nd make thy weapon drop. 
 
 Mira. Beseech you, father I 
 
 Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments. 
 
 Mira. Sir, have pity, 
 
 I '11 be his surety. 
 
 Pi-o. Silence ! one word more 
 
 Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What! 
 An advocate for an impostor 1 hush ! 
 Thou think'st tiiere are no more such shapes as he. 
 Having seen but him and Caliban : Foolish wench ! 
 To the most of men this is a Caliban, 
 And they to him are angels. 
 
 Mira. My affections 
 
 Are then most humble ; I have no ambition 
 To see a goodlier man. 
 
 Pro. Come on ; obey : [To Ferd. 
 
 Thy nerves are in their infancy again. 
 And have no vigour in them. 
 
 Fer. So they are : 
 
 My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 
 Mv father's loss, the weakness which I feel. 
 The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats. 
 To whom I am subdued, are but light to me. 
 Might I but through my prison once a day 
 Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth 
 
 Let liberty make use of ; space enough 
 Have I, in such a prison. 
 
 Pro. It works : — Come on.— 
 
 Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! — Follow me. — 
 
 [To Ferd. and Min. 
 Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [Tn Ariel. 
 
 Mira. Be of comfort ; 
 
 My father's of a better nature, sir, 
 Than he appears by speech ; this is unwonted. 
 Which now came from him. 
 
 I'ro. Thou shalt be as free 
 
 As mountain winds ; but then exactly do 
 All points of my command. 
 
 .■Iri. To the syllable. 
 
 Pro. Come, follow: speak not for him. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Another part of the Island. 
 
 Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
 Adrian, Francisco, and others. 
 
 Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry: you have cause 
 (So have we all) of joy ; for our escape 
 Is much beyond our loss : Our hint of woe 
 Is common ; every day, some sailor's wife. 
 The masters of some merchant, and the mei'chaiit. 
 Have just our theme of woe : but for the miracle, 
 I mean our preservation, few in millions 
 Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh 
 Our sorrow with our comfort. 
 
 Alon. Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 Seb. He receives comfort like cold porridge. 
 
 Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so. 
 
 Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit; 
 By and by it will strike. 
 
 Gon. Sir, — 
 
 Seb. One:— Tell. 
 
 Go7i. When evei-y grief is entertain'd that 's offer'd, 
 Comes to the entertainer — 
 
 Seb. A dollar. 
 
 Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed ; you have 
 spoken truer than you purposed. [should. 
 
 Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you 
 
 Gon. Therefore, my lord, — 
 
 Ant. Fye, what a spendtlirift is he of his tongue! 
 
 Alon. 1 pr'ythee spare. 
 
 Gon. Well, I have done: But yet — 
 
 Seb. He will be talking. 
 
 Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good 
 wager, first begins to crow ! 
 
 Seb. The old cock. 
 
 Ant. The cockiel. 
 
 Seb. Done : the wager 1 
 
 Ant. A laughter. 
 
 Seb. A match. 
 
 Adr. Though this island seem to be desert, — 
 
 Seb. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ant. So, you've pay'd. 
 
 Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,— 
 
 Seb. Y'et, 
 
 Adr. Y'et— 
 
 Ant. He could not miss it. 
 
 Adr. It must needs be of subtle, tender, and deli- 
 cate temperance. 
 
 Arit. Temperance was a delicate wench, [livered, 
 
 Seb. Ay, and a subtle ; as he most learnedly de- 
 
 Adr. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. 
 
 Seb. As if it had lungs, and rotten ones. 
 
 A7it. Or, as 'twere perfumed by a fen. 
 
 Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to lifev 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 33 
 
 Ant, True ; save means to lire. 
 Seb 0( that there's none, or little. [green ! 
 
 Gon. How lush and lusty the grass looks! how 
 Ant. The ground, indeed, is tawny. 
 Seb. AVith an eye of green in't. 
 Ant, He misses not much. 
 
 Seb. No ; he doth but mistake the truth totally. 
 Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed al- 
 most beyond credit) — 
 
 Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are. 
 Can. That our garments, being, as they were, 
 drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their 
 freiiJiness, and glosses ; being rather new dy'd, than 
 stain'd with salt water. 
 
 Ant. If but one of his pockets could speak, would 
 it not say, he lies } 
 
 Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report. 
 
 Gon. JMethinks, our garments are now as fresh as 
 
 when we put them on first in Afi ic, at the marriage of 
 
 the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king of Tunis. 
 
 Seb, 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper well 
 
 in our return. 
 
 Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a 
 paragon to their queen. 
 
 Gvn. Not since widow Dido's time. 
 Ant. AVidowl a pox o'that ! liow came that 
 widow ill t Widow Dido ! 
 
 Seb, Wiiat if he had said, widower iEneas too ? 
 good loid, how you take it ! 
 
 Adr. Widow Dido, said you 1 you make me study 
 of that : She was of Carthage, not of Tunis. 
 Gon. Tliis Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 
 Adr. Carthage ? 
 Gon. I assure you, Carthage. 
 Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp. 
 Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too. 
 ^H(.\\ hat impossible matter will he make easynexf? 
 Seb. I think he will carry this island home in his 
 pocket, and give it his son for an apple. 
 
 Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea, 
 bring forth more islands. 
 Gon. Ay ? 
 
 Ant. Why, in good time. 
 
 Gim. Sir, we were talking, that our garments seem 
 now as fresh as when we were at Tunis at the mar- 
 riage of your daughter, who is now queen. 
 Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there. 
 Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido. 
 Ant. 0, widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido. 
 Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresh as the first 
 day I wore it"! 1 mean, in a so'-t. 
 Ant. That sort was well tish'd for. 
 Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's marriage ? 
 Aton. You cram these words into mine ears, against 
 The stomach of my sense : 'Would 1 had never 
 Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence. 
 My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she too, 
 V/ao is so far from Italy remov'd, 
 I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir 
 Of Naples and of Milan, what strang&fish 
 Hath made his meal on thee I 
 
 Fran. Sir, he may live ; 
 
 I saw him beat the surges under him, 
 And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water, 
 Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted 
 The surge most swoln that met him ; his bold head 
 'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd 
 Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke 
 To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd. 
 As stooping to relieve him ; 1 not doubt, 
 rie came alive to land. 
 Alon. No, no, he's gone. 
 
 Seb. Sir, you mavthank yourself for this great loss ; 
 That would not bless our Europe with your daughter, 
 But rather lose her to an African ; 
 Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye, 
 Who hath cause to wet the grief on 't. 
 
 Alon, Pr'ythee, peace. 
 
 iSW'. Youwerekneel'dto, and importun'd otherwise 
 By all of us ; and the fair soul herself 
 Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at 
 Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost 
 I fear, for ever; Milan and Naples have [your sou, 
 More widows in them of this business' making, 
 Tlian we bring men to comfort them. The fault 's 
 Your own. 
 Alon. So is the dearest of the loss. 
 Goti. Jly lord Sebastian, 
 
 The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness, 
 And time to speak it in ; you rub the sore. 
 When you should bring the plaster. 
 
 Seb. Ver}' well. 
 
 Ant. And most chirurgeonly. 
 Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir, 
 When you are cloudy. 
 
 Seb. Foul weather t 
 
 Ant. Very foul. 
 
 Gon. Had T a plantation of this isle, my lord, — 
 Attt. He'd sow it with nettle-seed. 
 Seb. Or docks, or mallows. 
 
 Gon. And were the king of it. What would I do ? 
 Seb. 'Scape being drunk, for want of wine. 
 Gon. V the commonwealth, I would by contraries 
 Execute all things : for no kind of traffic 
 Would 1 admit ; no name of magistrate ; 
 Letters should not be known ; no use of service, 
 Of riches, or of poverty ; no contracts, 
 I Successions ; bour.d of land, tilth, vineyard, none : 
 I No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil : 
 No occupation ; all men idle, all ; 
 And women too ; but innocent and pure : 
 No sovereignty : — 
 
 Sch. And yet he would be king on*t. [beginning. 
 Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets the 
 Gon. All things in common nature should produce 
 Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony. 
 Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, 
 Would 1 not have ; but nature should bring forth. 
 Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance. 
 To feed my innocent people 
 
 Seb. No marrying 'mong his subjects ? 
 Ant. None, man ; all idle ; whores and knaves, 
 Gon. I would with such perfection govern, sir. 
 To excel the golden age. 
 
 Sell. 'Save his majesty ! 
 
 Ant. Long live Gonzalo ! 
 
 Gon. And, do you mark me, sir? — [to me, 
 
 Aton. Pr'ythee, no more ; thou dost talk notliing 
 
 Gon. 1 do well believe your highness ; and did it 
 
 to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are of 
 
 such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always use 
 
 to laugh at nothing. 
 
 Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at. 
 Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am no- 
 thing to you: so you may contimie, and laugh at 
 nothing still. 
 
 Ant. What a blow was there given 1 
 Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long. 
 Gon, You are gentlemen of brave mettle ; you 
 would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would 
 continue in it five weeks without changing. 
 
 Enter Ariel, invisible, playing solemn music, 
 
 Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling. 
 C 
 
34 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Ant. Nav, Eood my lord, be not angry. 
 Gon. No, I warrant you; 1 will not adventure my 
 discrcuon so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep, 
 
 for I am very heavy 1 
 
 Jnt. Go sleep, and hear us. 
 
 [All sleep but Alon Sed. and Ant. 
 
 Ahn. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine eyes 
 
 Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : 1 
 
 Thev are inclin'd to do so. . L"""- 
 
 S^,j. Please you, sir, 
 
 Do not omit the heavy offer of it : 
 It seldom visits sorrow ; when it doth. 
 It is a comforter. 
 
 jl,it. We two, my lord. 
 
 Will guard your person while you take your rest. 
 And watch your safety. 
 
 ^;„,j Thank you : wondrous heavy.— 
 
 [Alonso sleeps. Erit AniEL. 
 Seb What a strange drowsiness possesses them ! 
 Ant. It is the quality o' the climate. ^^_^ 
 
 Doth it not then our eye-lids sink 1 I find not 
 Myself dispos'd to sleep. . 
 
 'jl„t, jS'or I ; my spirits are nimble, 
 
 Thev fell together all, as by consent; 
 Thev dropp'd, as by a thunder-stroke. What might, 
 ■ Worthy Sebastian ?-0, what might 1-No more :- 
 And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face. 
 What thou should'st be : tlie occasion speaks thee ; 
 My stronif imagination sees a crown L'^'"^ 
 
 Dropping upon thy head. ^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^._^^ , 
 
 i,;. Do you not hear me speak 1^^_^^^_^^^^^^^ 
 
 It is a sleepy language ; and thou speak'st 
 
 Out of thy sleep : What is it thou did st say 1 
 
 This is a strange repose, to be asleep 
 
 With eyes wide open ; standing, speaking, moving, 
 
 And yet so fast asleep. ,,,,„, . 
 
 ^,/j Noble Sebastian, 
 
 Thou iet'stthy fortune sleep— die rather ; wink'st 
 Whiles thou art waking. ,• ,• „,i„ . 
 
 g^,j_ Thou dost snore distinctly ; 
 
 There's meaning in thy snores. 
 
 Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you 
 Must be so too, if heed me ; which to do 
 Trebles thee o'er. ,■ . , 
 
 Sei,. Well ; I am standing water. 
 
 ^,it. I'll teach you how to flow. - 
 
 g , Do so : to ebb. 
 
 Hereditary sloth instructs me. 
 
 ^"t- , °' 1, ■ 1, 
 
 If vou but knew, how you the purpose cherisn, 
 
 Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it, 
 You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed. 
 Most often do so near the bottom run, 
 Bv their own fear, or sloth. 
 
 ■'5j,j,_ Pr'ythee, say on : 
 
 Tlie setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim 
 A matter ; and a birth, indeed, 
 Which throes thee much to yield. 
 
 Ant. Thus, sir: 
 
 Although this lord of weak remembrance, this 
 (-Who shall be of as little memory. 
 When he is earth'd). hath here almost persuaded 
 CFor he's a spirit of persuasion only) 
 The kins, his son's alive : 'tis as impossible 
 That he' s undrown'd, as he that sleeps here, swims. 
 
 Seb. I have no hope 
 That he's undrown'd. 
 
 4„( 0, out of that no hope^ 
 
 wiiat great hope have you ! no hope, that way, is 
 
 Another way so high a hope, (Hat even 
 Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond. 
 But doubts discovery there. W lU you grant, with me, 
 That Ferdinand is drown'd 1 
 
 Heb. He's gone. 
 
 Aiit. r'"^"' ''^" '"^• 
 
 Who 's the next heir of Naples 1 
 
 Seb. Clanbel. 
 
 Ant. She that is queen of Tunis : she that dwells 
 Ten leagues beyond man's life ; she that from Naples 
 Can have no note, unless the sun were post, 
 (The mani' the moon's too slow, ) till new-born chins 
 Be rough and razorable ; she, from whom 
 We were all sea-swallow'd, though some castagam; 
 And, by that, destin'd to perform an act. 
 Whereof wliat's past is prologue ; what to come, 
 In yours and ray discharge. 
 
 Seb. What stuff is this ?— How say you 1 
 
 'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis: 
 So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions 
 There is some space. » 
 
 yj„(. A space whose every cubit 
 
 Seems to cry out. How shiitl that Clarihel 
 Measure ns back to Ntipies ?— Keep in Tunis, 
 And let Sebastian wake!— Say, this were death 
 That new hath seiz'd them ; why, they were no worse 
 Than now tliey are ; There be, that can rule Naples, 
 As well as he that sleeps ; lords, that can prate 
 As amply and unnecessarily. 
 As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make 
 A chough of as deep chat. 0, that you bore 
 The mind that I do '. what a sleep were this 
 For your advancement! Do you understand me? 
 Seb. Methinks, I do. 
 ^,i(_ And how does your content 
 
 Tender your own good fortune t 
 
 S(l,, I remember, 
 
 Vou did supplant your brother Prospero. 
 
 Ant. . True: 
 
 And look, how well my gannents sit upon me ; 
 Much feater than before : My brother's servants 
 Were then my fellows, now they are my men. 
 Seb. But, lor your conscience— 
 Ant. Ay, sir; where lies that 1 if it were a kybe, 
 'Twould put me to my slipper : But I feel not 
 This deity in my bosom ; twenty consciences, 
 ' That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they. 
 And melt, ere they molest ! Here lies your brother, 
 No better tlian the earth he lies upon, 
 If he were that which now he's like : whom I, 
 With this obedient steel, three inches of it. 
 Can lay to bed for ever : whiles you, doing thus, 
 To the perpetual wink for aye miglit put 
 Tills ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who 
 Should not upbraid our course. For all the rest, 
 They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk; 
 They '11 tell the clock to any business that 
 We say befits the hour. . , . . , 
 
 S,,;,. • Thy case, dear friend. 
 
 Shall be my precedent ; as tiiou got'st Milan, 
 I '11 come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one stroke 
 Shall free tliee from the tribute which thou pay n ; 
 And 1 the king shall love thee. 
 
 ^„(_ Draw together : 
 
 And when I rear my hand, do you the like. 
 To fall it on Gonzalo. 
 Seb. O, but one word. 
 
 [T/iev converse apart.' 
 
 Music. Re-enter Abiel, invisible. 
 
 Ari. Jlymaster through his art foresees the danger 
 That these, his friends, are in ; and sends me forth. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 35 
 
 (For else his project dies,) to keep tliem living. 
 
 [Ai»^5 in GoNZALo's ear. 
 White you here do snoring lie 
 Open-cya conspiractf 
 
 His time doth take : 
 If of life uou keep a care, 
 ihake ofl^ slumber, and beware: 
 Awaiie! Awake! 
 Ant, Then let us both be sudden. 
 Gon, Now, good angels, preserve the king I 
 
 [Theu awake. 
 Ahn, "Why. how now, ho ! awake ! Why are you 
 Wherefore this ghastly looking. [drawn ? 
 
 Gon. What's the matter ? 
 
 Seb. Whiles we stood here securing j-our repose, 
 Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing 
 Like bulls, or rather lions ; did it not wake you I 
 It struck mine ear most terribly 
 
 A Ion. 1 heard nothing. 
 
 Aut. 0, 'twas a din to fright a monster's ear ; 
 To make an earthquake ! sure it was the roar 
 Of a whole herd of lions. 
 
 AloH, Heard you this, Gonzalo ? 
 
 Gon. Upon mine honour, sir, 1 heard a humming, 
 And that a strange one too, which did awake me : 
 I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd ; as mine eyes open'd, 
 I saw their weapons drawn : — tliere was a noise, 
 That's verity : 'Tis best we stand upon our guard ; 
 Or that we quit this place : let's draw our weapons. 
 Alon. Lead ofT this ground ; and let's make farther 
 For my poor son. • [search 
 
 Gon, Heavens keep him from the beasts ! 
 
 For he is, sure, i' the island. 
 
 Ahm, Lead away. 
 
 Ari. Prospero, my lord, shall know what I have 
 done: [Aside. 
 
 So, king, go safely on to seek thy son, [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another part of the Island. 
 Enter Cai-ibax, with a burden of wood, 
 A jwise if thunder heard. 
 Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
 From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make hira 
 By inch-meal a disease ! Kis spirits hear me, 
 Aad yet I needs must curse. But they "11 nor pinch. 
 Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' tiie mire, 
 Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark 
 Out of ray way, unless he bid them ; but 
 For every trifle are they set upon me : 
 Sometimes like apes, that moe and chatter at me, 
 And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which 
 Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, and mount 
 Their pricks at my foot-fall ; sometime am I 
 All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues. 
 Do hiss me into madness : — Lo ! now ! lo ! 
 
 Enter Trinculo. 
 Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me. 
 For bringing wood in slowly : I 'U fall flat ; 
 Perchance, he will not mind me. 
 
 Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub to bear off 
 any weather at all, and another storm brewing ; I 
 hear it sing i' the wind; yond' same black cloud, 
 yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard that would 
 shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it did be- 
 fore, I know not where to hide my head : yond' same 
 • cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfulls.- What have 
 we here 1 a man or a fish ? Dead or alive 1 A fish : 
 he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish like 
 smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor- John. A 
 strange fish ! Were I in England now, (as once I 
 
 wa<;.) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday 
 fool there but would give a piece of silver : there 
 would this monster make a man ; any strange beast 
 there makes a man : when they will not give a doit 
 to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see 
 a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins 
 like arms ! Wann, o* my troth ! I do now let loose 
 rny opinion, hold it no longer ; this is no fish, but an 
 islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunder-bolt. 
 [Thunder.] Alas ! the storm is come again : my best 
 way is to creep under his gaberdine ; there is no 
 other shelter hereabout : Misery acquaints a man 
 with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud, till 
 the dregs of the storm be past. 
 
 Enter Stf.phano, singing; a bottle in his hand. 
 
 Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea. 
 Here shall I die a-shore : — 
 This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's funeral : 
 Well, here's my oomfort. [Drinks. 
 
 The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
 The gunner, and his mate, 
 
 Lov*d Mail, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, 
 But 7ione of us car^d for Kate: 
 For she had a tongue ivith a tang. 
 Would cry to a sailor. Go, hang: 
 
 She lov'd not t!te savour of tar nor of pitch, 
 
 Yet a tailor might scratch her ivhere-e'er she did itch : 
 Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 
 This is a scurvy tune too ; But here's my comfort, 
 
 [Drinks. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me : O ! 
 
 Ste. What's the matter? Have we devils here! 
 Do you put tricks upon uswith savages, and men of 
 Inde ! Ha ! I have not 'scap'd drowning, to be afeard 
 now of your four legs ; for it hath been said. As 
 proper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot make 
 him give ground : and it shall be said so again, while 
 Stephano breathes at nostrils. 
 
 Cal. The spirit torments me : O ! 
 
 Ste, This is some monster of the isle, with four 
 legs ; who hath got. as I take it. an ague : Where 
 the devil should he learn our language ? 1 will give 
 him some relief, if it be but for that : If I can re- 
 cover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples 
 with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever 
 trod on neat's leather. 
 
 Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ; 
 1 '11 bring my wood home faster. 
 
 Ste. He's in liis fit now ; and does not talk after 
 the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have 
 never drank wine afore, it will go near to remove his 
 tit : if 1 can recover him and keep him tame, I will 
 not take too much for iiim : he shall pay for him 
 that hath him, and that soundly. 
 
 Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou wilt 
 Anon, I know it by thy trembling ; 
 Now Prosper works upon thee. 
 
 Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth : here 
 is that which will give language to you, cat ; open 
 your mouth : this will shake your shaking, I can tell 
 you, and that soundly ; you cannot tell who's your 
 friend ; open your chaps again. 
 
 Trin. 1 should know that voice : It should be — 
 But he is drowned ; and tliese are devils : O ! de- 
 fend me ! — 
 
 Ste. Four legs, and two voices j a most delicate 
 monster ! His forward voice nowis to speak well of his 
 friend ; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches, 
 and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will re- 
 cover him, I will help his ague : Come — Amen ! I 
 will pour some in thy other mouth. 
 C 2 
 
30 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Trin. Stepliano, — 
 
 Ste. Doth Ihy other mouth call me t ■Mercy ! mercy ! 
 This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; 
 1 have no long spoon. 
 
 Tiin. Stephano ! — if thou beest Stephano, touch 
 me, and speak to me ; for I am Trinculo ; — be not 
 at'eard, — thy good friend Trinculo. 
 
 Hie. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll pull 
 thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trinculo's legs, 
 these are thev. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed : 
 How cam'st tiiou to be the siege of this mooncalf ? 
 Can he vent Trinculos 1 
 
 Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder- 
 stroke ; — But art thou not drowned, Stephano ! 1 
 hope now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm over- 
 blown ? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaber- 
 dine, for fear of the storm : And art thou living, 
 Stephano ! O Stephano, two Neapolitans 'scap'd ! 
 
 ^te. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about ; my stomach 
 is not constant. 
 
 Cat, These be fine things, and if they be not sprites. 
 That 's a brave god, and bears celestial liijuor : 
 I will kEeel to him. 
 
 Ste. How did'st thou 'scape 1 how cam'st thou 
 hither 1 swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither. 
 I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors 
 heaved over-board, by this bottle ! which I made of 
 the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was 
 cast a-shore. 
 
 Cal. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy 
 True subject ; for the liquor is not eartlily. 
 
 Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escap'dst. 
 
 Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a dueic ; I can 
 swim like a duck, I'll be sworn. 
 
 Ste. Here, kiss the book: Though thou canst swim 
 like a duck, thou art made like a goose. 
 
 Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this ? 
 
 Ste. The whole butt, man ; my cellar is in a rock 
 by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, 
 moon-calf I how does thine ague 1 
 
 Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven 1 
 
 Ste. C)ut o" the moon, 1 do assure thee : 1 was the 
 man in the moon, when time was. 
 
 Cat. 1 have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee ; 
 My mistress shewed me thee, thy dog, and bush. 
 
 Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will 
 furnish it anon with new contents : swear. 
 
 Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow 
 monster : — I afeard of him ] a very weak monster : 
 — The man i' the moon ! — a most poor credulous 
 monster : Well drawn, monster, in good sooth. 
 
 Cal. I '11 shew thee every fertile inch o' the island ; 
 And kiss thy foot : I pr'ythee, be my god. 
 
 Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken 
 monster ; when his god 's asleep, he '11 rob his bottle. 
 
 Cal. I '11 kiss thy foot : I '11 swear myself thy subject, 
 
 Ste. Come on then ; down and swear. 
 
 Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy- 
 headed monster : a most scurvy monster ! I could 
 find in my heart to beat him, — 
 
 Ste. Come, kiss. 
 
 Trin. — but that the poor monster's in drink ; 
 An abominable monster ! [berries. 
 
 Cal. I '11 shew thee the best springs ; I '11 pluck thee 
 I '11 fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. 
 A plague upon the tyrant that I serve ! 
 I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, 
 Thou wond'rons man. 
 
 2'7/H. A most ridiculous monster ! to make a won- 
 der of a poor drunkard. 
 
 Cal. I pr'ythe", let me bring thee where crabs grow ; 
 And I witli my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts ; 
 
 Shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how 
 To snare the nimble marmozet ;. I'll bring thee 
 To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes 1 '11 get thee 
 Young sea-mellsfrom therock : VViltthou gowithme? 
 Ste. I pr'ythee now, lead the way. without any 
 more talking. — Trinculo, the king and all our com- 
 pany el.se being drown'd, we will inherit here. — 
 Here; bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill 
 him by and by again. 
 
 Cat. Farewell, muster : farewell, farewell. 
 
 [Sings drnnkentij, 
 Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster. 
 Cat. No more dams I'll makeforjish ; 
 Kor fetch in f ring 
 At requiring. 
 Nor scrape trenchering, ntrr wash dish ; 
 'Ban 'Ban, Ca — Catilyan, 
 Has a new master — Get a new man. 
 Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom I freedom, 
 hey-day, freedom ! 
 Ste. O brave monster ! lead the way. [Eieitnt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE 1.— Before Prospero's Cell. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log. 
 
 Per. There be some sports are painful ; but their 
 labour 
 Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness 
 .\re nobly undergone ; and most poor matters 
 Point to rich ends. 'This my mean task would be 
 As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but 
 The mistress, which I serve, quickens what's dead. 
 And makes my labours pleasures : O, she is 
 Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ; 
 And he's compos'd of harshness. I must remove 
 Some thousands of tliebC logs, and pile them up. 
 Upon a sore injunction : JMy sweet mistress 
 Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such base- 
 Had ne'er like e.\ecutor. I forget : [ness 
 But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours ; 
 Most busy-less, when I do it. 
 
 Enter Miranda, and PiiosPEno at a distance. 
 
 Mira. x\las, now I pray you. 
 
 Work not so hard ; I would the lightning had 
 Burnt up those logs, that you are enjoin'd to pile ! 
 Pray, set it down, and rest you : when this burns, 
 'Twill weep for having wearied you : My father 
 Is hard at study ; pray now, rest yourself; 
 He's safe for these thiee hours. 
 
 Fer. O most dear mistress, 
 
 The sun will set, before I shall discharge 
 What I must strive to do. 
 
 ilira. If you'll sit down, 
 
 I'll bear your logs the while : Pray, give me that ; 
 I'll carry it to the pile. 
 
 Fer. No, precious creature : 
 
 I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, 
 Than you should such dishonour undergo, 
 Wliile" I sit lazy by. 
 
 Mira. It would become me 
 
 As well as it does you : and I should do it 
 With much more ease ; for my good will is to it. 
 And yours it is against. 
 
 Pro. Poor worm ! thou art infected ; 
 
 This visitation shews it. 
 
 Mira. You look wearily. 
 
 Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with me. 
 When you are by at night. I do beseech you, 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 37 
 
 (Cl'.iefly, that I might set it in My prayers,) 
 iVhat is your name ) 
 
 Mira, Miranda : — O my father, 
 
 I have broke your best to say so ! 
 
 fer. ' Admir'd Miranda ! 
 
 Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth 
 What's dearest to the workl ! Full many a lady 
 I have ey'd with best regard ; and many a time 
 I'he harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
 Drought my' too diligent ear : for several virtues 
 Have 1 lik'd several women ; never any 
 With so full soul, but some defect in her 
 Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow"d, 
 And put it to the foil : But you, you. 
 So perfect, and so peerless, are created 
 Of every creature's best. 
 
 Mira. 1 do not know 
 
 One of my sex ; no woman's face remember. 
 Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen 
 More that I may call men, than you, good friend. 
 And my dear fatlier : how features are abroad, 
 I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, 
 (The jewel in my dower,) 1 would not wish 
 Any companion in tiie world but you ; 
 Nor can imagination form a shape. 
 Beside yourself, to like of; But I prattle 
 Something too wildly, and my father's precepts 
 I therein do forget. 
 
 Fer. I am, in my condition, 
 
 A prince, Jliranda ; I do think, a king ; 
 (I would, not so ! ) and would no more endure 
 "rius wooden slavery, than I would suffer 
 The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul speak; — 
 The very instant that 1 saw you, did 
 My heart fly to your service ; there resides, 
 I'o make me slave to it ; and for your sake, 
 Ain 1 this patient log-man. 
 
 Mira. Do you love me "i 
 
 Fcr. O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound 
 And crown what I profess with kind event. 
 If I speak true ; if hollowly, invert 
 What best is boded me, to mischief! I, 
 Beyond all limit of what else i' the world, 
 Do love, prize, honour you. 
 
 Mira. I am a fool. 
 
 To weep at what I am glad of. 
 
 I'ro. Fair encounter 
 
 Of two nmst rare affections ! Heavens rain grace 
 On that which breeds between them ! 
 
 Fer. \\ herefore weep you 1 
 
 Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not ofl'er 
 What I desire to give ; and much less take. 
 What I shall die to want : But this is trifling ; 
 And all the more it seeks to hide itself. 
 The bigger bulk it shews. Hence, basliful cunning! 
 And prompt me, plain and holy innocence ! 
 I am your wife, if you will marry me ; 
 If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow 
 ■Y'ou may deny me ; but I'll be your servant. 
 Whether you will or no. 
 
 Fer. My mistress, dearest, 
 
 And I thus humble ever. 
 
 Mira. My husband then 1 
 
 Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing 
 As bondage e'er of freedom : here's my hand. 
 
 Mira. And mine, with my heart in't : And now 
 
 Till half an hour hence. [farewell, 
 
 Fer. A thousand ! thousand ! 
 
 [Exeunt Fer. and Mir. 
 Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be. 
 Who are surpriz'd with all ; but my rejoicing 
 At nothing can be more. I'll to my book ; 
 
 [Eiiu 
 
 For vet ere supper time, must I perform 
 Mucli business appertaining. 
 
 SCENE II. — Atlother part of the Island. 
 
 Enter Sriii-UANO and Trinculo ; CAUaAy follow- 
 ing with a bottle, 
 Sle. Tell not me ; — when the butt is out, we will 
 drink water ; not a drop before : therefoje bear up, 
 and board 'em : Servant-monster, drink to me. 
 
 Trin. Servant-monster? the folly of this island ! 
 They say, there's but five upon this isle: we are three 
 of them ; if the other two be brained like us, the 
 state totters. 
 
 Ste. Drink. ser\'ant-monster, when I bid thee ; thy 
 eyes are almost set in tliv head. 
 
 Trin. Where should they be set else 1 he were a 
 brave monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. 
 
 Ste. jMy man monster hatli drowned his tongue in 
 sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I 
 swam, ere 1 could recover the shore, five-and-thirty 
 leagues, off and on, by this light. — Thou slialt be 
 inv lieutenant, monster, or my standard. 
 
 Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list ; he's no stan- 
 dard. 
 
 Ste. '\^'e'll not run, monsieur monster. 
 Trin. Nor go neither : but you'll lie, like dogs ; 
 and yet say nothing neither. 
 
 Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou 
 beest a good moon-calf. 
 
 Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe : 
 I'll not serve him, he is not valiant. 
 
 Trin. Tliou liest, most ignorant monster ; I am 
 in case to justle a constable ; why, thou deboshed 
 fish thou, was there ever a man a coward, that hath 
 drunk so much sack as I to-day ! Wilt thou tell a 
 monstrous lie, being but half a fish, and half a monslerl 
 Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him, 
 my lord 1 
 
 Trin. Lord, quoth he ! — that a monster should be 
 such a natural ! 
 
 Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'ythee. 
 Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head ; 
 if you prove a mutineer, tiie next tree— The poor 
 monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indig- 
 nity. 
 
 Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased 
 To hearken once again the suit I made thee 1 
 
 Ste. Marry will 1 : kneel and repeat it ; I will 
 stand, and so shall Trinculo. 
 
 Enter .'Vriel, invisible, 
 Cal. As I told thee 
 Before I am subj ect to a tyrant ; 
 A sorcerer, that bv his cunning hath 
 Cheated me of this island. 
 
 Ari. Thou liest. 
 
 Cat. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou ; 
 I would, my valiant master would destroy th'ee : 
 I do not lie. 
 
 .Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his 
 tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. 
 Trin. Why, 1 said nothing. 
 
 Ste. Mum then, and no more.— [To Caliban.] 
 Proceed. 
 
 Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle ; 
 From me he got it. If thy greatness will 
 Revenge it on him — for, I know, thou dar'st ; 
 But this thing dare not. 
 Ste. That's most certain. 
 
 Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee. 
 Ste. How now shall this be compassed 1 Canst 
 thou bring me to the party ? 
 
30 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Cal. Yea, yea, my lord; I'll yield him thee asleep, 
 ^Vhe^e thou may'st knock a nail into his head. 
 
 Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not. [patch ! — 
 
 Cal. What a pied ninny's this? Thou scurvy 
 I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows, 
 And take his bottle from him : when that's gone, 
 He shall-drink nought but brine ; tor Til not shew 
 Where the quick freshes are. [him 
 
 Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : inter- 
 rupt the monster one word further, and, by this liand, 
 I'll turn. my mercy out of doors, and make a stock- 
 fish of thee. 
 
 Trin. Why, what did I ? I did nothing ; I'll go 
 further off. 
 
 iite. Didst thou not say, he lied 1 
 
 Ari. Thou liest, 
 
 Ste. Do 1 so? take thou that. [Strikes him.'\ As 
 you like this, give me the lie another time. 
 
 Trin. I did not give the lie : — Out o' your wits, 
 
 and hearing too ? A pox o' your bottle ! this can 
 
 sack, and drinking do. — A murrain on your monster, 
 and the devil take your fingers ! 
 
 Cat. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ylhee stand 
 further off. 
 
 Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time, 
 I'll beat him too. 
 
 Ste. Stand further. — Corae, proceed. 
 
 Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him 
 I' the afternoon to sleep ; there thou may'st brain him, 
 Having first seiz'd his books ; or with a log- 
 Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, 
 Or cut his wezand with thy knife : Remember, 
 First to possess his books ; for without them 
 He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not 
 One spirit to command : Ihey all do hate him. 
 As rootedly as I : Burn but his books ; 
 He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them,) 
 Which, when he has a house, he'll deck withal. 
 And that most deeply to consider, is 
 The beauty of his daughter ; he himself 
 Calls her a non-pareil : I never saw a woman, 
 But only Sycorax my dam, and she ; 
 But she as far surpasseih Sycorax, 
 As greatest does least. 
 
 Ste. Is it so brave a lass 1 
 
 Cat. Ay, lord ; she will become thy bed, I warrant. 
 And bring thee forth brave brood. 
 
 Ste. AXonster, I will kill this man : his daughter 
 and I will be king and queen ; (save our graces !) 
 and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys : — Dost 
 thou like the plot, Trinculo i 
 
 Triti. Excellent. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand ; I am sorry I beat thee : 
 but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. 
 
 Cat. Within this half hour will he be asleep ; 
 Wilt thou destroy him then 1 
 
 Ste, Ay, on mine honour. 
 
 Ari. This will I tell my master. 
 
 Cal. Thou muk'st me merry : I am full of pleasure ; 
 Let us be jocund : Will you troll the catch 
 You taught me but while-ere 1 
 
 Ste. At thy request, monster, I will do reason, 
 any reason : Come on, Trinculo, let us sing, [i'i/iw-s. 
 
 Flout* em, and skout^ein; and skout^em, and 
 Thought is free, [Jlout'em; 
 
 Cat. That's not the tune. 
 
 [Ariel pUitis the tune on a tabor and pipe, 
 Ste. What is this same ? 
 
 Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by the 
 picture of No-body. 
 
 Ste. If thou beest a man, sliew thyself in thy like- 
 ness : if thou becst a devil, take't as thou list. 
 
 Trin. O, forgive me my sins ! 
 
 Ste. He that dies, pays all debts : I defy thee . — 
 Mercy upon us ! 
 
 Cat. Art thou afeard ? 
 
 Ste. No, monster, not I. 
 
 Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises, 
 Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. 
 Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments 
 Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices. 
 That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep. 
 Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming. 
 The clouds, methought, would open and shew riches 
 Ready to drop upon me ; that, when I wak'd, 
 I cry'd to dream again. 
 
 Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where 
 I shall have my music for nothing. 
 
 Cat. When Prospero is destroyed. 
 
 Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember tlie story. 
 
 Trin. The sound is going away: let's follow it, 
 and after, do our work. 
 
 Ste. Lead, monster ; we'll follow. — I would, I 
 could sec this laborer : he lays it on. 
 
 Trin, Wilt come? I'll follow, Stephano. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another part of the Island, 
 
 Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, 
 Aduian, Francisco, and others, 
 
 Gon. By'r lakin, I can go no further, sir ; 
 I\Iy old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed, 
 Through foith-rights and meanders 1 by your patience, 
 I needs must rest me. 
 
 A Ion. Old lord, I cannot blame thee. 
 
 Who am myself attach'd with weariness, 
 To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest. 
 Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it 
 No longer for my flatterer : he is drown'd. 
 Whom thus we stray to find ; and the sea mocks 
 Our frustrate search on land : Well, let him go. 
 
 Ant. 1 am right glad that he's so out of hope. 
 
 [Abide to Sedastiaw. 
 Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose 
 That you resolv'd to eflect, 
 
 Seh. The next advantage 
 
 Will we take thoroughly. 
 
 Ant. Let it be to-night ; 
 
 For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they 
 Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance. 
 As when they are fresh. 
 
 Seb. I say, to-night : no more. 
 
 Solemn and strange music ; and Prospero above, i/j- 
 visihle. Knter several strange Shapes, bringing in 
 a banquet ; they dance about it with gentle actions 
 of salutation ; and inviting the King, &ic, to eat, 
 theq depart. 
 
 Alon. What harmony is this? my good friends, 
 Gon. Marvellous sweet music ! [hark '. 
 
 Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What were 
 
 these ? 
 Seb, A living drollery : Now I will believe. 
 
 That there are uuicorns ; that, in Arabia 
 
 There is one tree, the phcenix' throne; one phoenix 
 
 At this hour reigning there. 
 
 Ant. I'll believe both ; 
 
 And what does else want credit, come to me. 
 
 And I'll be sworn 'tis true : Travellers ne'er didlie. 
 
 Though fools at home condemn them. 
 
 Gon. If in Naples 
 
 [ should report this now, would they believe me 1 
 
 If I should say, I saw such islanders. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 39 
 
 (For. certes, these are people of the island,) 
 Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, 
 Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of 
 Our human generation you shall find 
 Many, nay, almost any. 
 
 Pro. Honest lord, 
 
 Thou hast said well ; for some of you there present, 
 Are worse than devils. [Aside. 
 
 Ahn. I cannot too much muse, 
 
 Such shape*i,such gesture, and such sound, expressing 
 (Although they want the use of tongue) a kind 
 Of excellent dumb discourse. 
 
 Pro. Praise in departing. [Aside. 
 
 Fran. They vanish'd strangely. 
 
 Seb. No matter, since 
 
 They have left their viands behind ; for we have 
 Wili't please you tasteof what is here"! [stomachs — 
 
 Atari. Not I. [boys, 
 
 Gon Faith, sir, you need not fear: When we were 
 Who would believe that there were mountaineers, 
 Dew-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging 
 
 at them 
 Wallets of flesh ] or that there were such men. 
 Whose heads stood in their breasts 1 which now we 
 Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us [find, 
 Good warrant of. 
 
 Alou. I will stand to, and feed, 
 
 Although my last: no matter, since I feel, 
 The best is past : — -Brother, my lord the duke, 
 Stand to, and do as we. 
 
 Thunder ai\d lightning. Enter Ariel like a harpv ; 
 claps his wings upon the table, and with a quaint 
 device, the banquet vanishes. 
 
 Ari. You are three men of sin, whom destiny 
 (That hath to instrument this lower world, 
 And what is in't.) the never-surfeited sea 
 Hath caused to belch up ; and on this island 
 Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'mongst men 
 Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad ; 
 
 [Seeing Alos. Seb. ^;c. draw their swo ds. 
 And even with such like valour, men hang and drown 
 Their proper selves. Vou fools ! I and my fellows 
 Are ministers of fate ; the elements. 
 Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well 
 Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at slabs 
 Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish 
 One dowle that's in my plume ; my fellow ministers 
 Areiike invulnerable: if you cOTild hurt, 
 Your swords are now too massy for your strengths. 
 And will not be uplifted : liut, remember, 
 (For that's my business to you, j that you three 
 From Milan did supplant good Prospero ; 
 Expos'd unto the sea, which hath reqult it. 
 Him, and his innocent child : for which foul deed 
 The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have 
 Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creature*. 
 Against your peace : Thee, of thy son, Alonzo, 
 They have bereft ; and do pronounce by me, 
 LingVing perdition (worse than any death 
 Can be at once) shall step by step attend 
 You. and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you from 
 (Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls 
 Upon your heads, ) is nothing, but heart's sorrow. 
 And a cleai life ensuing. 
 
 He vanishes in thunder: then, to soft musiCt enter the 
 Shapes again, and dance with mops and mowes, and 
 carryi out the table. 
 
 Pro. [nstde.'\ Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou 
 Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had. devouring : 
 Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated, 
 
 In what thou hadst to say : so, with good life. 
 And observation strange, my meaner ministers 
 Their several kinds have done : my high charms work, 
 And these, mine enemies, are all knit up 
 In their distractions : they now are in my power ; 
 And in these fits 1 leave them, whilst I visit 
 Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose isdrown'd,) 
 And liis and my loved darling. 
 
 [Exit Prospero yVom above. 
 
 Gon. T the name of something holy, sir, why stand 
 In this strange stare ? [you 
 
 Alon, O, it is monstrous ! monstrous ! 
 
 Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ; 
 The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder. 
 That deep and dreadful oroan-pipe, pronounc'd 
 The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass. 
 Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and 
 I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, 
 And with him tliere lie mudded. [Exit. 
 
 Seb. But one fiend at a time, 
 
 I'll fight their legions o'er. 
 
 Ant. I'll be thy second. [Exeunt. Seb. and Ant. 
 
 Gon. All three of them are desperate ; their great 
 Like poison given to work a great time after, [guilt, 
 Now 'gins to bile tlie spirits : — I do beseech you 
 That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly. 
 And hinder them from what this ecstacy 
 May now provoke them to. 
 
 Adr. Follow, I pray you. [Eieiuit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— -Before Prospero's Cell. 
 Eiiter PiiospERo, Ferdinand, and Miranda. 
 
 Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you. 
 Your compensation makes amends ; for I 
 Have given you here a thread of mine own life. 
 Or that for which 1 live ; whom once again 
 I tender to thy hand ; all thy vexations 
 Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 
 Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven, 
 I ratify this my rich gift. Ferdinand, 
 Do not smile at me, tliat I boast her off. 
 For tliou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, 
 And make it halt behind her. 
 
 Fer. 1 do believe it. 
 
 Against an oracle. 
 
 Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition 
 Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter : But 
 If thou dost break her virgin knot before 
 All sanctimonious ceremonies may 
 With full and holy rite be minister.'d. 
 No swott aspersion shall the heavens let fall 
 To make this contract grow ; but barren hate, 
 Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall bestrew 
 The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, 
 riiat you shall hate it both : therefore take heed. 
 As Hymen's lamps shall light you. 
 
 Fer. As I hope 
 
 For quiet days, fair issue, and long life, 
 With such love as 'tis now: the murkiest den. 
 The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion 
 Our worser Genius can, shall never melt 
 Mine honour into lust ; to take away 
 The edge of that day's celebration, 
 When 1 shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd, 
 Or night kept chaln'd below. 
 
 Pro. Fairly spoke : 
 
 Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own. — 
 Wliat, Ariel ; my industrious servant Ariel ! 
 
40 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Filter Ariel. 
 
 Ari. What would my potent master? here I am. 
 
 Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service 
 Did worthily perform ; and I must use you 
 In such another trick : go, bring the rahble, 
 O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place : 
 Incite them to quick motion ; for I must 
 Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple 
 Some vanity of mine art ; it is my promise, 
 And they expect it from me. 
 
 Art. Presently ? 
 
 Pro. Aye, with a twink. 
 
 Ari. Before you can say. Come, and go, 
 And breathe twice ; and cry, so, so ; 
 Each one, tripping on his toe, 
 Will be here with mop and mowe : 
 Do you love me, master 1 no. 
 
 Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel : Do not approach. 
 Till thou dost hear me call. 
 
 Ari, Well I conceive. [Erit. 
 
 Pro. Look, thou be trite : do not give dalliance 
 Too much the rein : the strongest oaths are straw 
 To the fire i' the blood : be more abstemious, 
 Or else, good night, your vow ! 
 
 Fer. I warrant you, sir, 
 
 The white cold virgin snow upon my heart 
 Abates the ardour of my liver. 
 
 Pro. Well.— 
 
 Now come, my Ariel : bring a corollary. 
 Rather than want a spirit : appear, and pertly — 
 No tongue ; all eyes ; be silent. ISoJt music. 
 
 A Masque. Enter Iris. 
 
 Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich lease 
 Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease ; 
 Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep. 
 And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep ; 
 Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims, 
 With spongy April at thy best betrims, [groves, 
 To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom 
 W^hose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, 
 Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ; 
 And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard, 
 Where thou thyself dost air : The queen o' the sky, 
 Whose watery arch, and messenger, am I, 
 Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace, 
 Here on this grass-plot, in this very place. 
 To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain ; 
 Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. 
 
 Enter Cedes. 
 
 Cer. Hall many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er 
 Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter ; 
 Who, with tliy saffron wings, upon my flowers 
 Difl'usest honey-drops, refieshing showers ; 
 And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown > 
 Rly bosky acres, and my unshiubb'd down. 
 Rich scarf to my proud earth ; Why hath tliy queen 
 Summon'd me hither, to this short grass'd-green 1 
 
 Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ; 
 And son)e donation freely to estate 
 On the bless'd lovers. 
 
 Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow, 
 
 If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know. 
 Do now attend the queen 1 since they did plot 
 The means, that dusky Dis my daugliter got. 
 Her and her bliud boy'sscandal'd company \ 
 I have forsworn. f 
 
 Iris. Of her society ( 
 
 Be not afraid ; I met her deity ' 
 
 Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son 
 Dove-drawn with her : here thought they to have done 
 
 Some wanton charm upon this man and maid. 
 Whose vows are that no bed- rite shall be paid 
 Till Hymen's torch be lighted : but in vain ; 
 Mars's hot minion is return'd again ; 
 Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows. 
 Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, 
 And be a boy right out. 
 
 Cer. Highest queen of state, 
 
 Great Juno comes : I know her by lier gait. 
 
 Enter Juno. 
 Jiin. How does my bounteous sister"? Go with me, 
 To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be 
 And honour'd in their issue. 
 
 SONG. 
 Jun. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, 
 
 Long continuance, and increasing, 
 
 Hourlu jous be stiil ujion you. ! 
 
 Juno sings her blessings on you. 
 Cer. Earth's increase, andjoison plentif. 
 
 Barns and garners never empty ; 
 
 Vines, viith clust'ring bunches growing f 
 
 Plants, with goodlu burden bowing ; 
 
 Spring come to you, at the farthest, 
 
 In the verit end of harvest 1 
 
 Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
 
 Ceres' blessing so is on you. 
 
 Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and 
 Harmonious charmingly : May I be bold 
 To think these spirits I 
 
 Pro. Spirits, wliich by mine art 
 
 I have from their confines called to enact 
 My present fancies. 
 
 Fer. Let me live here ever ; 
 
 So rare a wonder'd father, and a wife. 
 Make this place Paradise. 
 
 [Juno and Cr.itES whisper, and send Iris on 
 employment. . 
 
 Pro. Sweet now, silence ; 
 
 Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ; 
 There's something else to do; hush, and be mute. 
 Or else our spell is marr'd. [brooks, 
 
 Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wand'ring 
 With your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks. 
 Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land 
 Answer your summons ; Juno does command : 
 Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate 
 A contract of true love ; be not too late. 
 
 Enter certain Nymphs, 
 Vou sun-burn'd sicklemen, of August weary. 
 Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ; 
 Make holy-day; your rye-straw hats put on. 
 And these fresh nyr.iphs encounter every one 
 In country footing. 
 
 Enter certain Reapers, properly habited ; theif join 
 with the Nijmphs in a graceful dance ', towards the 
 end whereof PRosvT.no starts snddenlii, and speaks; 
 after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, 
 they heavily vanish. 
 
 Pro. [(is((/e.] I had forgot that foul conspiracy 
 Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates, 
 Against ray life ; the minute of their plot 
 Is almost come. — [To the Spirits.} Well done ; — 
 avoid ; — no more. 
 
 Fer. This is most strange : your father's in some 
 That works him strongly. [passion 
 
 Mira. Never till this day. 
 
 Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd. 
 
 Pro'. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort 
 As if you were dismety'd : be cheerful, sir : 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 41 
 
 )ur revels now are ended : these our actors, 
 
 is I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 
 ire melted into air, into thin air : 
 
 Vnd, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 
 I'he cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 
 I'he solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 
 t'ea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ; 
 
 Vnd, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 
 ^eave not a rack behind : \Ve are such stuff 
 
 is dreams are made of, and our little life 
 
 s rounded witli a sleep.— Sir, 1 am vex'd ; 
 
 3ear with my weakness ; my old brain is troubled. 
 
 3c not disturb'd with my infirmity : 
 
 f you be pleas'd, retire into my cell, 
 
 ind there reposu; a turn or two I'll walk, 
 
 fo still my beating mind. 
 
 Fer. iV/iio. We wish your peace. [E.veiinl. 
 
 Pro. Come with a thought ; — I thank you : — 
 Ariel, come. 
 
 Enter Ariel. 
 
 .4 ri. Thy thoughts I cleave to : What's thy pleasure 1 
 
 Pro. Spirit, 
 
 rt'e must prepare to meet with Caliban. 
 
 Ari. Ay, my commander ; when I presented Ceres, 
 [ thought to have told thee of it ; but I fear'd, 
 Lest 1 might anger thee. 
 
 Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets ? 
 
 Ari. I told you, sir, they were red hot with drink- 
 Jo full of valour, that they smote the air [ing : 
 For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground 
 I'or kissing of their feet ; yet always bending 
 i'owards their project: Then 1 beat my tabor. 
 At which, like unLack'd colts, they prick'd their ears, 
 Advanc'd their eye-lids, lilted up their noses. 
 As they smelt music ; so 1 charm'd their ears, 
 rhat, calf-like, they my lowing followed, through 
 Footh'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns. 
 Which enter'd their frail siiins ; at last I left them 
 [* the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell. 
 There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake 
 O'erstunk their feet. 
 
 Pio. This was well done, my bird ; 
 
 1"!iy shape invisible retain thou still ; 
 The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither. 
 For stale to catch these thieves. 
 
 Ari. .1 go, I go. [Exit, 
 
 Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
 Nurture can never stick ; on wiiom my pains. 
 Humanely taken, all, all lost, Cjuite lost: 
 And as, with age, his body uglier grows, 
 So his mind cankers : 1 will plague them all, 
 
 Re-enter Ariel loaden with glistering apparel^ ^c. 
 Even to roaring : — Come, hang them on this line. 
 
 Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter Ca- 
 liban, Stephano, and Tuinculo, all wet. 
 
 Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may 
 Hear a foot fall; we now are near his cell. [not 
 
 Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a 
 harmless fairy, has done little better than played the 
 Jack with us. 
 
 Trin, Monster, I do smell all horse-piss ; at which 
 my nose is in great indignation. 
 
 Ste. So is mine. Uo vou hear, monsterl If I should 
 take a displeasure against you ; look you, — 
 
 Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster. 
 
 Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still : 
 the patient, for the prize I '11 bring thee to 
 Shall hood-wink tins mischance: therefore speak 
 All 's hush'd as midnight yet. [softly, 
 
 Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, — 
 
 Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in 
 that, monster, but an infinite loss. 
 
 Trin. That 's more to me than my wetting : yet 
 this is your harmless fairy, monster. 
 
 Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er 
 ears for my labour. 
 
 Cal. Pry thee, my king, be quiet: Seest thou here, 
 This is the mouth o' the cell : no noise, and enter. 
 Do that good mischief, which may make this island 
 Thine own for ever, and 1, thy Caliban, 
 For aye thy foot-licker. 
 
 Ste. Give me thy hand: I do begin to have bloody 
 thoughts. 
 
 Trin. O king Stephano ! O peer ! worthy 
 Stephano ! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee '. 
 Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash. 
 Trin. O, bo, monster; we know what belongs to 
 a frippery : — O king Stephano ! 
 
 Ste. Put ofif that gown, Trinculo j by this hand, 
 I '11 have that gown. 
 
 Trin. Thy grace shall have it. [mean, 
 
 Cal. The dropsy drown this fool ! what do you 
 To doat thus on such luggage t Let's along. 
 And do the murder first : if he awake,' 
 From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches ; 
 JMake us strange stuff. 
 
 Ste. Be you quiet, monster. — ^Mistress line, is not 
 this my jerkin 1 Now this is the jerkin under the line: 
 now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove 
 a bald jerkin. 
 
 Trill. Do, do : We steal by line and level an't 
 like your grace. 
 
 Ste. I thank thee for that jest : here's a garment 
 for't: wit shall not go unrewarded, while lam king 
 of this country: Steal bit line and leiel, is an excel- 
 lent pass of pate ; there's another garment for't. 
 
 Trill. jNlonster, come, put some lime upon your 
 fingers, and away with the rest. 
 
 Cal. I will have none on 't : we shall lose our time, 
 And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes 
 With foreheads villainous low. 
 
 Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers ; help to bear 
 this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll 
 turn you out of my kingdom : go to, carry this. 
 !jrriii. And this. 
 Ste. Ay, and this. 
 A^noise ofhuntersheard. Enter dirers Spirits, inshape 
 of hounds, and hunt them about. Puospero and 
 Ariel setting them on. 
 
 Pro. Hey, Mountaiit, hey ! 
 
 Ari. Silver! there it goes, Si/ifr .' [hark! 
 
 Pro. Ftiry, Fnrif ! there, Tifrant, there! hark, 
 [Cal. Ste. and TniN. are driven out. 
 Go, charge mv goblins that they grind their joints 
 With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews 
 With aged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make 
 Than pard, or cat o' mountain. 
 
 Ari. Hark, they roar. 
 
 Pro. Let them be hunted soundly : At this hour 
 Lie at mv mercy all inine enemies : 
 Shortly sliall all my labours end, and thou 
 Shalt have the air of freedom : for a little, 
 Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before the Cell n/" Prospero. 
 
 Eyiter Prospero in his magic robes ; and Ariel. 
 
 Pro. Now does my prcject gather to a head : 
 
 My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time 
 
42 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Goes upright with his carriage. How 's the day ? 
 
 Tri ol the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord, 
 You said our work should cease.^^.^^^^^^^ 
 
 Whin'first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit, 
 "-[-""^•^^'"'^"'""Confiad together 
 In the same fashion as you gave in chaige ; 
 Just as vou left them, sir ; all prisoners 
 In the lime-grove which weather-fends your cell ; 
 The cannot budge, till your release. The king. 
 His bSher. and yours, abide all three distracted 
 And the remainder mourning over them 
 Brim-full of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly 
 Him you lerm'd, sir. The good old lord. Oonzalo; 
 His tears run down his beard, like winter s drops 
 Frorl eaves of reeds : your charm so strongly works 
 ThaTif you now beheld them, your affections [them. 
 
 Would become tender. .„:,;,i 
 
 p" ^ Dost thou think so, spirit ! 
 
 AH. Mine would, sir, were 1 human. 
 
 p And mine shall. 
 
 Hastlhou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
 Of their afflictions-! and shall not myselt 
 One of their kind, that relish all as sharply. 
 Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art 
 Though with their high wrongs 1 am J ™;'' ° f^*^ 
 Yet, with my nobler .reason gainst my fury L>iuick, 
 Do I take part : the rarer action 's 
 In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, 
 The sole drift of my purpose doth extend 
 Not a frown further ■ Go. release tl>em. Ar.e , 
 My charms I'll break, their senses 1 11 restoie, 
 And they shall be themselves. . 
 
 ■^ ■: . ' I'll fetch them, sir. [Eiil. 
 
 p7o Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and 
 And ve, that on the sands with printless toot [groves- 
 
 Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do tiy h.ra 
 When he comes back ; you demi-puppet., that^ 
 Bv moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets m^l^^ 
 \\Creof the ewe not bites ; and you whose pastime 
 Is to make midnight-mushrooms ; that rejoice 
 To hear the solemn curfew ; by vvhose aid 
 (Weak masters though ye be), 1 have he-dimm d 
 ■ 'bie noon-tide snn, call'd forth the mutinous winds 
 And 'twixt the green sea and the aiur d vault 
 Set roaring war : to the dread ratting thunder . 
 Have 1 given fire, and rifted Jove s stout oak 
 With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd Promontory 
 Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck d up 
 
 IMine eves, even- sociable to the shew of thine, ■ 
 Fall fello^ly drops.-The charm dissolves apace; 
 And as the morning steals upon the night. 
 Melting the darkness, so their rising senses 
 ?3egia i chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
 Their clearer reason.-O my good Oonzalo, 
 Mv true preserver, and a loyal sir 
 To him t lou foUoWst ; I will pay thy graces 
 Home, both in word and deed.--i\Iost cruelly 
 Didst thou, Alonso, use me ^"'l.™>- ^^"g'^'^.^.^a 
 Thv brother was a furtherer in the act ;— Lhlooa, 
 Thou'rt inch'd for't now, Sebastian.-Flesh and 
 You brother mine, that entertain d amnion 
 Fxpell'd remorse and nature ; who, with Sebastian 
 (X e inward pinches therefore are most sm.ng,) 
 Would have kiU'd your king; I do torgive t lee. 
 Unnatural though thou art !-l heir undestandin? 
 Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide 
 Will shortly till the reasonable shores. 
 That now ife foul and muddy Not one of them 
 That yet looks on me, or would know '™ -'^r;^^' 
 Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ; [£^'1 Anitu 
 I will dis-case me, and myself present. 
 As I was sometime Milan :— qu ckly, spirit, 
 Thou shalt ere long be free. 
 
 Ariel re-e,Uers. singing.and helps to Mire PnosPBBO. 
 Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I; 
 In a cowslip's hell 1 He ; 
 There I couch icheu owls do cry. 
 On the bat's back 1 dojiy. 
 After summer, merrily : 
 Merril<i,merTily,shuUI iivenow, 
 
 Under'the iiossum that haugs on the bougn. 
 Pro Why that'smydainty Ariel: I shall miss thee; 
 But vet thou Shalt have freedom : so, so, so.— 
 To the king's ship, invisible as thou art: ' 
 There shalt thou find the mariners asleep . 
 
 Under the hatches ; the master and the boatswain. 
 Being awake, enforce them to this place ; 
 And ^presently, I pr'ythee. 
 
 An. 1 drink the air before me, and return 
 Or e'er vour pulse twice beat. [t-x't AniEi. 
 
 Son All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement 
 Inhabits here : Some heavenly power guide us 
 Out of this fearful country '• 
 
 p"g • Behold, sir king, 
 
 The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero : 
 For more assurance that a living prince 
 Doernow speak to thee, I einbiace thy body; 
 And to thee, and thy company, i bid 
 
 The pine and cedar : graves, at my c"' " - -• . ^ (,^^,, welcome. 
 
 Have waked their sleepers ; oped, and let them loith A nea y ^^^^^,^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ „, „o^ 
 
 .„....,,...„„„,, ....,e 'or some enchanted triHe to abuse me. 
 
 late I have been, I not know : thy pulse 
 
 By my so potent art ; But this rough magic 
 I here abjure : and, when I have requir d 
 Some heavenly music, (which even now I do,) 
 To work mine end upon their senses, that 
 This airy charm is for, I'll break ray staff, 
 Burv It certain fathoms in the earth, 
 A J, deeper than did ever plummet sound ^^^ ^^,^^ 
 I 11 drown iny book. L" 
 
 Re-enter Ariel : after him, Alonso, «il/» a frantic 
 Jesure. attended by Gonzalo ■ Sebastian and 
 •anton o in like manner, attended 6v Adrian and 
 FrIncisco : the, all enter the circle »/uc/.. Prostero 
 lad made, and -there stand charmed; whuhV^os- 
 PERO observing, speaks. 
 A solemn air, and the best comforter 
 rr ..„ „n^Pttled fancv, cure thy brains, 
 ll".tt.U itithin thy^'skuU ! There stand. 
 
 For you are spell stopp d. 
 
 Holy Gonzalo, honourable man 
 
 As late 1 have oeen, i uu^ >-""■• • -y r— - , 
 Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and, since I saw theev 
 The affliction of my mind amends, with which, 
 I fear, a madness held me : this must crave 
 (And if this be at all) a "^"f/trange story^ 
 Vhy dukedom 1 resign; and do en^eat ^Prospe^o 
 Thou pardon me my wrongs :-But how snouia 
 Be living, and be here! p;^,,_ „„tle friend, 
 Let n"; embrace thine age ; whose honour cannot 
 Bemeasur'd.orconhn'd. ^^^^^^ ^^is be, 
 
 Uon, 
 Or be not, I'll not swear. ^^^ j^ j.^ taste 
 
 Some'''subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you 
 Believe things certain :-Welcome my friends all .- 
 But you, my brace of lords, were 1 so minded 
 cui you, luj ^Aside to Seb. and Ant. 
 
ACT V- -SCENE I. 
 
 43 
 
 here could pluck his highness" frown upoayou, 
 ml justify you traitors ; at this time 
 '11 tell no tales. 
 
 Seh. The devil speaks in him. [Aside. 
 
 Pro. ^ No: 
 
 or vou, most wicked sir. whom to call brother 
 i'ould even infect my mouth, 1 do forgive 
 hy rankest fault ; all of them ; and require 
 Iv dukedom of ihee, which, perforce, I know, 
 hou must restore. 
 
 Atoti. If tliou beest Prospeio, 
 
 ive us particulars of thy preservation : 
 ow thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
 ^'ere wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost, 
 ow sharp the point of this remembrance is ! 
 [y dear son Ferdinand. 
 'pro. I am woe for*t, sir. 
 
 Alan. Irreparable Is the loss ; and patience 
 lys it is past her cure. 
 
 Pro. I rather think, 
 
 ou have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace 
 or the like loss, 1 have her sovereign aid, 
 nd rest myself content. 
 
 Aloii. You the like loss 1 
 
 Pro. As great to me, as late ; and, supportable 
 make the dear loss, have I means much weaker 
 Iian you may call to comfort you ; for 1 
 ave lost my daughter. 
 
 Alon. A daughter? 
 
 heavens ! that they were living both in Naples, 
 he king and queen there ! that they were, 1 wish 
 [yself were mudded in that oozy bed i^^^^- 
 
 ►'hcremy son lies. \Vheudid you lose yourdaugh- 
 
 Pro. In this la^t tempest. I perceive, these lords 
 t this encounter do so much admire, 
 hat they devour their reason ; and scarce think 
 heir eyes do offices of truth, their words 
 re natural breath : but, howsoe'er you have 
 ■een justled from your senses, know for certain, 
 hat I am Prospero, and that very duke 
 I'hichwasthrust forth of Milan; w'ho most strangely 
 pon this shore, where you were wreck'd, was landed, 
 o be the lord on 't. No more yet of this j 
 or 'tis a chronicle of day by day, 
 ^ot a relation for a breakfast, nor 
 iefitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; 
 'his cell's ray court: here have I few attendants, 
 tnd subjects none abroad : pray you, look in. 
 ly dukedom since you have given me again, 
 
 will requite you with as good a thing ; 
 it least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye, 
 LS much as me my dukedom. 
 
 "he entrance of the Cell opens, and discovers Ferdi- 
 NAND and Miranda -playing at chess, 
 
 Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false, 
 
 Fer. No, my dearest love, 
 
 >vould not for the world. [wrangle, 
 
 Mira. Ves, for a score of kingdoms you should 
 Lnd I would call it fair play. 
 
 Alon. If this prove 
 
 L vision of the island, one dear son 
 hall I twice lose. 
 
 Seh. A most high miracle ! 
 
 Fer. Though the seas threaten they are merciful : 
 
 have cur&'d them without cause. 
 
 [Ferd. hneels to Alon. 
 
 Alon. Now all the blessings 
 
 )f a glad father compass thee about ! 
 Vrise, and say how thou cam'st here. 
 
 Mira. O ! wonder ! 
 
 3ow many goodly creatures are there here ! 
 
 IIow beauteous mankind is ! brave new world. 
 That has such people in't ! 
 
 Pro. 'Tis new to thee. [plnv ? 
 
 Alon. Wliat is tliis maid, with whom thou wast at 
 Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours : 
 Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, 
 And brought us thus together 1 
 
 Fer. Sir, she 's mortal ; 
 
 But, by immortal providence, she 's mine ; 
 I chose her, when 1 could not ask my father 
 For his advice ; nor thought I had one : she 
 Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, 
 Of whom so often I have heard renown, 
 But never saw before ; of whom I have' 
 Received a second life, and second father 
 This lady makes him to me. 
 
 Alon. I am hers : 
 
 But O, how oddly "ill it sound, that I 
 Must ask my child forgiveness ! 
 
 Pro. There, sir,*stop ; 
 
 Let us not burden our remembrances 
 With a heaviness that's gone. 
 
 Gon ^ I have inly wept. 
 
 Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods. 
 And on this couple drop a blessed jjrown ; 
 YoT it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way 
 Which brought us hither ! 
 
 Alon, I say, Amen, Gonzalo! 
 
 Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue 
 Should become kings of Naples 1 O, rejoice 
 Beyond a common joy ; and set it down 
 With gold ou lasting pillars : In one voyage 
 Did C'laribel her husband find at Tunis ; 
 And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife, 
 Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom. 
 In a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves. 
 When no man was his own. ' 
 
 Alon. Give me your hands : [To Fer. and Mir. 
 Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart. 
 That doth not wish you joy ! 
 
 Gon, Be 't so ! Amen ! 
 
 Re-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain 
 amazedlu following. 
 
 look, sir, look, sir ; here are more of us 1 
 
 1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land, 
 
 This fellow could not drown : Now, blasphemy, 
 Tliat swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore. 
 Hast thou no mouth by land ! What is the news ? 
 
 Bouts. The best news is, that we have safely found 
 Our king, and company ; the next our ship, — 
 Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split,— 
 Is tight, and yare, and bravely rigg'd, as when 
 We first put out to sea. 
 
 Ari. Sir, all this service J 
 
 Have I done since I went. ^ Aside, 
 
 Pro. My tricksy spirit ! > 
 
 yi/on. These are not natural events ; they strengthen. 
 From strange to stranger : — Say , how came you hither' 
 
 Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, 
 I 'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep. 
 And (how, we know not) all clapp'd under hatches. 
 Where, but even now, with strange and several noises 
 Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains. 
 And more diversity of sounds, all horrible. 
 We were awak'd ; straitway, at liberty ; 
 Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld 
 Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master 
 Capering to eye her : On a trice, so please you, 
 Even in a dream, were we divided from them. 
 And were brought moping hither, 
 
 Ari. Was 't well done? [free. } ^^.^^^^ 
 
 Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou shah be ^ * 
 
44 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 Abn. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod : 
 And there is in this business more than nature 
 Was ever conduct of: some oracle 
 JIust rectify our knowledge. 
 
 Fro. Sir, my liege, 
 
 Do not infest your mind with beating on 
 The strangeness of this business : at pick'd leisure, 
 Which shall be shortly, single I 'U resolve you 
 (Which to you shall seem probable), of every 
 These happen'd accidents ; till when, be cheerful. 
 And think of each thing well. — Come hither, spirit ; 
 
 [Aside. 
 Set Caliban and his companions free : [cioussir? 
 Untie the spell. [EjiC Ahiel.] How fares my gra- 
 There are yet missing of your company 
 Some few odd lads that you remember not, 
 
 lie-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano, and 
 TniNcuLO, in their stolen Apparel* 
 
 Ste\ Every man shift for all the rest, and let no 
 man take care for himself ; for all is but fortune : — 
 Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio ! 
 
 Trln. If these be true spi^s which I wear in my 
 head, here's a goodly sight. 
 
 Cat. O Setebos, these be brave spirits, indeed I 
 How fine ray master is ! I am afraid 
 He will chastise me. 
 
 Seh, Ha, ha ; 
 
 What things are these, my lord Antonio ! 
 Will money buy them 1 
 
 Ant. Very like ; one of them 
 Is a plain fiih, and, no doubt, marketable. 
 
 Prn. I\Iark but the badges oflliese men, my lords, 
 Then say, if they be true: — This mis-shapen knave, — 
 His mother was a witch ; and one so strong 
 That could corttroi the moon, make flows and ebbs. 
 And deal in her command, without her power : 
 These three have robb'd me : and this demi-devil 
 (For he 's a bastard one) had plotted with them 
 To lake my life : two of these fellows you 
 Must know, and own ; this thing of darkness I 
 Acknowledge mine. 
 
 Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death. 
 
 Aion. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? 
 
 Seb. He is drunk now : where had he the wine 1 
 
 No^v my charms are all o'erthrown, 
 And what strength I have's mine own ; 
 Which is most faint : now 'tis true, 
 I must be here confin'd by you. 
 Or sent to Aaples ; Let me not. 
 Since 1 have my dukedom got, 
 And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell 
 In this bare island, by your spell ; 
 But release me from my bands, 
 With the help of your good iiands. 
 
 Alan, And Trinculo is reeling ripe : Where should 
 Fmd this grand liquor thatluuh gilded them ? — [they 
 How cam'st thou in this pickle \ 
 
 Trin, I have been in such a pickle since I saw you 
 last, that, I fear me, w ill never out of my bones : I 
 shall not fear fty blowing. 
 
 &eb* Why, how now, Stephano 1 [cramp, 
 
 Sle. O, touch me not; 1 am not Stephano, buta 
 Pro. You 'd be king of the isle, sirrah \ 
 Ste. I should have been a sore one then. 
 Alon. This is as strange a thmg as e'er I look'd on. 
 [i'ointiug to Caliban. 
 Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners, 
 As in his shape : — Go. sirrah, to my cell ; 
 Take with you your companions ; as you look 
 To have my pardon, trim it handsomely, 
 
 Cal. Ay, that I will ; and 1 '11 be wise hereafter, 
 And seek for grace : What a thrice-double ass 
 Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, 
 And worship this dull fool \ 
 
 Pro. Go to ; away ! [found it. 
 
 Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you 
 5e6. Or stole it, rather. [E.xeunt Cal. ST^.aadTuiH, 
 Pro. Sir, I invite your higliness, and your tram. 
 To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest 
 For this one night ; which (part of it) I'll waste 
 With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it 
 Go quick away : the story of my life. 
 And the particular accidents, gone by. 
 Since I came to this isle : And in the morn, 
 I '11 bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, 
 Where 1 have hope to see the nuptial 
 Of tiiese our dear-beloved solemniz'd ; 
 And thence retire me to my Milan, where 
 Every third thought shall be ray grave. 
 
 Alon. I loDg 
 
 To hear the story of your life, which must 
 Take the ear strangely. 
 
 Pro. ril deliver all ; 
 
 And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, 
 And sail so expeditious, that shall catch 
 Your royal fleet far ofl'. — My Ariel ; — chick, — 
 That is thy charge ; then to the elements 
 Be free, and fare tliou well ! — [aside.] Please you 
 draw near. [EieunU 
 
 EPILOGUE. — Spoken hu PROSPnno. 
 
 Gentle breath of yours my sails 
 ]\Iust fill, or else my project fails. 
 Which was to please : iS'ow 1 wanl 
 Spirits to enforce, art to enchant j 
 And my ending is despair. 
 Unless I be reliev'd by prayer , 
 Which pierces so, that it assaults 
 Mercy itself, and frees all faults. 
 As you from crimes would pardon'd be. 
 Let your indulgence set me free. 
 
 It is observed of T/c Tempest^ that its plan is regular; this 
 the author of The Reiisal ihiriks, what I iliiril: loo, an acciden- 
 tal efftciof the story, not iiili;iided or reyarili^d I'y our author, 
 ilut, whalever iiiiKiit be Shakspeare's intt'iainn in forming or 
 adopliiig the plnl, he has mad*' it instrunjfiital to tlie production 
 of many characters, diversified with boundless invention, and 
 preserved with profouiid skill in nature, extensive knowledge of 
 opinions, and accunite observation of life. In a single dramd 
 are here e.\hibiled i)rinces, courtiers, and sailors, all sped.kinb' 
 in their real rhariicters. 1 here is the aKency of ain' s])irits, 
 and of an eaithly goblin. The operation'^ of magic, the tumults 
 of astorni,the udventures of a desert island. the nntiveeflusion 
 of untaught affection, the ptmishnient of yinlt, and the final hap- 
 piness of the pair for whom our passions and reason are equally 
 iDleresled.— John. SUN. 
 
 The unity of tune is strictly observed in this play. The fable 
 scarcely takes up a greater number of hours than are employed 
 in the representation: and from the very particular care which 
 01T author takes to point out this circumstance in so many pas- 
 sapes, it should seem that it was not necidental, l>ut designed to 
 shew the cavillers oi^ the time, that he too could write a ulay 
 withinall the strictest laws of reb'ulariiy. when he chose to load 
 
 himself with the critic's fetters.— Alonso says, 
 " if thou beest Pro&pero. 
 
 Give us particulars of thy preservation : 
 
 How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 
 
 \\'ere wreck'd upon this shore." — 
 The boatswain marks the progress of the day again ; 
 
 '* iVhich hut three glasses jih«,"— &c. 
 At the beginninii of the fifth act the duration of the time em- 
 ployed on the stage is particularly ascertained ; 
 '^'i'ro. How's ihe day. ^ 
 
 Ari. Oil the sixth hour." 
 And they again refer to a passage in the first act : 
 " Pro. JV'hat is the lime of the day I 
 
 Ari. Past the mid season, a! /*?<iir /:i0.f/a.tjfj."— Steevkns 
 It may be farther added to the above observation of Steevens^ 
 that the unities of action and of place are as exactly observed 
 as the unity of time. " In this play." says Dr. WartOJi, Adveii- 
 tiirer, N>nn6er 97. '* the action is one, great, and entire the n? 
 storaiion of Prospero to his dukedom ; this business is trans^ ■ 
 acted in the compass of a small island, and m or nearthti cave 
 of Prospero." 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 :re was no edition of this play, till that of the year ldC3; 
 I It must !i^\el'een wriitcii much ciilier, as it is meiuiouod 
 Mere-*, in his /ri^v iV*"."/!/. which uns pul-hshed iiUoytS. 
 Mr Malme considers ihis phiy as shakspeare s first pro- 
 ctinii — I he internal evidvrice is acainst such a supposition, 
 has neither the beauties or the faults-lhe exuDcrauce or 
 ■ iiiequalitifs— that uenernilv distinguish the inexperienced 
 6ns of a rich and urib'iniil genius.— I he general tone of the 
 Qiedv. thou^-h occasionally relieved t.y passages of much 
 ice and sweetness, is that of siuooth, elev:ant, dull medio- 
 ty. It is rejected as entirely spurious by Hanmer and 
 )lou: and thnu^-h the quibMesof ^K^t/, the lolly oj Laimce, 
 i some delighitul hues scattered here and there in the seri- 
 5 scenes of the play, are so perfectly in the manner oi s-bak- 
 'are, as to convince the reader that it had undergone his 
 .ision and improvement, I cnnnol helpbelieviofit impossible 
 « our^treni Dramatist could have been the author oi a 
 rk, inwhiihthe chanicters nie so entirely devoid of indivi- 
 aiily, the dialocueso elaborately heavy, so smoothly tame, 
 1 so little varieH with the changes of siluatioa. Dr. John- 
 
 son thinks differently, and says, " 'When I read this play I 
 ciniiut but think that I tind, both in the serious and ludicrous 
 scenes, the language and stntniients of bhakspeare. It is not, 
 indeed, one of his most powerful effusions ; it hiia neither manjr 
 diversities of characier, norsirikiny delineations of li!e ; butiC 
 abounds in ivuifj-a, beyoud most of his plays, *md few have 
 more lines or passages, which, singly considered, are euii- 
 uemly beautiful. I am yet inclined lo believe that it wasnot 
 very successlul, and suspect that it has escajJed corruption, 
 only because, beiiif seblum pl:iyed, it was less exposed to the 
 iiazards of transcripiiun." 
 The story of Proteus .uid Julia. has been resembled to a storyin 
 ttie Diana ofGeorpeof il/onrtmamir. which, according to Mrs. 
 Lenox, was translated in shakspenre's iiuie,— 1 he incident of 
 Valeutiiie'sjoininf,'llie robbers is also supposed lobe taken from 
 the Arcailia of sir I'liilip MdiU'V.book 1. chap. 6 where Py- 
 rocles consents lo head the I leloti.—Boih these adventures 
 are common it) tale and history, and. ifnnt alre^idy prepared 
 to the author's hand, mi^'ht have been ia\ented without aiiv 
 great stretch of imagination- 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 tE OF Milan, /(((/<cr to Silvia. 
 
 .ENTiNi:, pROTEi's, Ceutleinen ^'Verona. 
 
 roTiio, father to Proteus. 
 
 jRio, a foolish rimi to Valentine. 
 
 -AMOUR, agent for Silvia, in her escape* 
 
 ED, a clownish servant to Valentine. 
 
 ;nce, sem'ant to Pioteus. 
 
 JTHiNO, servant to Antonio. 
 
 t, where Julia lodges in Milan. 
 
 :-laws. 
 
 ,iA, a ladif of Verona, beloved hu Proteus. 
 VIA, the duke's daughter, beloved by Valentine. 
 :;etta, waiting-woman to Julia. 
 
 Servants, Musiciajis, 
 
 lENE, sometimes in Verona ; sometimes in Mi- 
 lan; and on the Frontiers (/Mantua. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— -li! open place in Verona. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Proteus. 
 
 Vnl. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus ; 
 ime-keeping youth have ever homely wits ; 
 aret not, affection chains thy tender days 
 the sweet glances of thy honour'd love, 
 atlier would entreat thy company, 
 see the wonders of the world abroad, 
 an living dully sluggardiz'd at home, 
 ear out tliy youth with shapeless idleness. 
 it, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein 
 en as I would, when 1 to love begin. 
 Pro. Wilt thou be gonel Sweet Valentine, adieu ! 
 ink on thy Proteus, when thou, haply, seest 
 me rare note-worthy object in thy travel : 
 ish me partaker in thy happiness, 
 hen thou dost meet good nap; and, in thy danger, 
 ever danger do environ thee, 
 immend thy Grievance to my holy prayers, 
 ir I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine. 
 VaL And on a love book pray for my success. 
 Pro. Upon some book 1 love, I '11 pray for thee. 
 Vol. That 's on some shallow story of deep love, 
 ow young Leander cross'd the Hellespont. 
 Pro. That 's a deep story of a deeper love ; 
 >r he was more than over shoes in love. 
 
 Val. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in love, 
 .\nd yet you never swam the Hellespont. 
 
 Pro. Over the boots? nay, give me not the boots. 
 
 Val. No, I '11 not, for -it boots thee not. 
 
 Pro. What 1 
 
 Val. To be 
 
 In love, where scorn is bought with groans; coy looks. 
 With heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's mirth, 
 With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights • 
 If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain ; 
 If lost, why then a grievous labour won ; 
 How'ever, but a folly bought with wit. 
 Or else a w-it by folly vanquished. 
 
 Pin. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool, 
 
 Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove. 
 
 Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at ; I am not love. 
 
 VaL Love is your master, for he masters you : 
 And he that is so yoked by a foe', 
 Blethinks should not be chronicled for wise. 
 
 Fill. Yet writers say. As in the s^veetest bud 
 The eating canker dwells, so eating love 
 Inhabits in the finest wits of all. 
 
 Val. And writers say. As the most forward bud 
 Is eaten by the canker ere it blow, 
 Even so by love the voung and tender wit 
 Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud, 
 Losing his verdure even in the prime, 
 And ail the fair effects of future hopes. 
 But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee, 
 That art a votary to fond desire ? 
 Once more adieu : my father at the road 
 Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd. 
 
 Pro. And tliither will I bring thee. Valentine. 
 
 Vat. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave. 
 At Milan, let me hear from thee by letters. 
 Of thy success in love, and what news else 
 Betidelh here in absence of thy friend ; 
 And I likewise will visit thee with mine. 
 
 Pro. All happiness bechance to thee in Milan ! 
 
 Val. As much to you at home ! and so, farewell. 
 [Eiit Valentine. 
 
 Pro. He after honour hunts, I after love : 
 He leaves his friends to dignify them more ; 
 I leave myself, my friends, and all for love. 
 Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me ; 
 Made me neglect my studies, lose my time, 
 War with good counsel, set the world at nought ; 
 Made wit with musingweak, heart sick with thought. 
 
 Enter Speed. 
 Speed. Sir Proteus, save you : Saw you my master? 
 
40 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Pro. But now he parted hence, to embark for Milan. 
 
 Speed. Twenty to one then he is sliipp'd already j 
 And I have play'd the sheep, in losing him. 
 
 Pro. Indted a sheep doth very often stray. 
 An if the shepherd be awhile away. 
 
 Speed. Vou coucludy that my master is a shepherd 
 
 Pro. I do. [then, and 1 a sheep ? 
 
 Speed, ^^'hy then my horns are his horns, whether 
 I wake or sleep. 
 
 Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep. 
 
 Speed. This proves me still a sheep 
 
 pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd. 
 
 Speed. Nay, that 1 can deny by a circumstance. 
 
 Pro. It shall go hard, but 1 '11 prove it by another. 
 
 Speed- The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the 
 sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my 
 master seeks not met therefore, 1 am no sheep. 
 
 Pro, The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd, 
 the shepherd for food follows not the sheep ; thou 
 for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages 
 follows not thee : therefore, thou art a sheep. 
 
 Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa. 
 
 Pro. But dost thou hear? gav'st thou my letter to 
 Julia? 
 
 Speed. Ay, sir ; I, a lost mutton, gave your letter 
 to her, a laced nmtton ; and she, a laced mutton, 
 gave me. a lost mutton, nothing for my labour ! 
 
 Pro. Here 's too small a pasture for such a store of 
 muttons. 
 
 Speed. If the ground be overcharged, you were best 
 stick her. 
 
 Pro. Nay, in that you are astray j 'twere best 
 pound you. 
 
 Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me 
 for carrying your letter. 
 
 Pro Vou mistake; I mean the pound, a pinfold. 
 
 Speed. From a pound to a pin 1 fold it over and over, 
 -'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your 
 
 Pro, But what said she? did she nod } [lover. 
 
 [Speed nods. 
 
 Speed. I. 
 
 Pro, Nod, I; why, that's noddy. 
 
 Speed. You mistook, sir ; 1 say, she did nod: and 
 you ask me, if she did nod ; and I say, I. 
 
 Pro. And that set together, is — noddy. 
 
 Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it 
 together, take it for your pains. 
 
 Pro. No, no, you shall have it forbearing the letter. 
 
 Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear with 
 
 Pro, Why, sir, how do you bear with mel [you. 
 
 Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having 
 nothing but the word, noddy, for my pains. 
 
 Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit. 
 
 Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse. 
 
 Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: 
 What said she i 
 
 Speed' Open your purse, that the money, and the 
 matter, may be both at once delivered. 
 
 Pro. "Well, sir, here is for your pains : What said 
 she? 
 
 Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her. 
 
 Pro. Why? Could'st thou perceive so much from 
 her? 
 
 Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from 
 her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your 
 letter: And being so hard to me that brought your 
 mind, I fear, she '11 prove as hard to you in telling 
 her mind. Give her no token but stones; for she 's 
 as hard as steel. 
 
 Pro. What, said she nothing? 
 
 Speed. No, not so much as — take this for thy pai7is. 
 To testify your bounty, I thank you, you have tes- 
 
 tern'd me ; in requital whereof, henceforth carry your 
 letters yourself; and so, sir, I '11 commend you to 
 my master. 
 
 Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from wreck; 
 Which cannot perish, having thee aboard, 
 Being destined to a drier death on shore : — 
 I must go send some better messenger ; 
 I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines, 
 Receiving them from such a worthless pos*. 
 
 [Eieniit. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. Garden of Julia > Houte, 
 Enter Julia and Lucetta. 
 
 Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone, 
 W^ould'st thou then counsel me to fall in love ? 
 
 Luc. Ay, madam; so you stumble notunheedfully, 
 
 /)(/. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen, 
 That every day witli park encounter me, 
 In thy opinion, which is worthiest love? 
 
 Lite. Please you, repeat their names, I'll shew my 
 According to my shallow simple skill. [mind 
 
 Jul. Whatthink'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour? 
 
 Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and tine ; 
 But, were I you, he never should be mine. 
 
 JuL W^hat think'st thou of the rich Mercatio? 
 
 Iaic. Wi'Il, of his wealth ; but of himself, so, so, 
 
 Jul. What tliink'st thou of the gentle Proteus ? 
 
 Luc. Lord, lord ! to see what folly reigns in us ! 
 
 Ju I. How now ! what means this passion at his name ? 
 
 Luc. Pardon, dear madam ; 'tis a passing shame, 
 That I, unworthy body as 1 am. 
 Should censure .thus on lovely gentlemen. 
 
 Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest 1 
 
 L((c. Then thus,- of many goodl think him best. 
 
 JuL Your reason ? 
 
 J^ic. I have no other but a woman's reason ; 
 I think him so, because I think him so. 
 
 Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love on hira? 
 
 Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away. 
 
 Jul. Why, he of all the rest hath never mov'd me. 
 
 Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think, best loves ye. 
 
 JuL His little speaking shews his love but small. 
 
 Luc. Fire, that is closest kept, burns most of all. 
 
 JuL They do not love, that do not shew their love 
 
 7,1/ r. O, they love least, that let men know their love. 
 
 JuL 1 would, I knew his mind. 
 
 Lite. Peruse this paper, madam. 
 
 Jul. To Julia; — Say, from whom ? 
 
 Luc. That the contents will shew, 
 
 Jul. Say, say ; who gave it thee ? [Proteus : 
 
 Ltic. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I think, from 
 He would have given it you, but I, being in the way. 
 Did in your name receive it ; pardon the fault, I pray, 
 
 JuL Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! 
 Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines ? 
 To whisper and conspire against my youth ? 
 Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth. 
 And you an officer fit for the place. 
 Tliere, take ihe paper, see it be return'd ; 
 Or else return no more into my sight. 
 
 Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate 
 
 JuL Will you be gone ? 
 
 Luc, [asidf.] 'l"hat you may ruminate. [E,iif. 
 
 JuL And yet, 1 would, 1 had o'erlook'd the letter. 
 It were a shame to call her back again. 
 And pray her to a fault for which I chid her. 
 What fool is she, that knows I am a maid. 
 And would not force the letter to my view ? 
 Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that 
 Which they would have the proflTerer construe, Ay^ 
 Fie, fie ! how wayward is the foolish love, 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 47 
 
 rhat, like a testy babe will scratch the nurse, 
 ■\nd presently, all humbled, kiss the rod ! 
 -low churlishly 1 chid Lucetta hence, 
 A'hen willingly I would have had her here ! 
 ^ow angrilv I taught my brow to frown, 
 iVhen inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile ! 
 \iy penance is, to call Lucetta back, 
 Vnd ask remission for my folly past : — 
 'Vhat ho ' Lucetta ? 
 
 Re-enter LifCETTA, 
 
 Luc. What would your ladyship ? 
 
 Jul. Is it near dinner time I 
 
 Luc, I would it were ; 
 
 "hat you might kill your stqmach on your meat, 
 Lnd not upon your maid. 
 
 ,'"'. VVhat is 'I you took up 
 
 gingerly ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing. 
 
 J"i' _ Why didst thou stoop then t 
 
 Luc. To take a paper up that I let fall. 
 
 Jul. And is that paper nothing ? 
 
 Luc, ^ Nothing concerning me. 
 
 Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns. 
 
 Luc. Jladam, it will not lie where it concerns, 
 Inless it have a false interpreter. 
 
 Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme. 
 
 Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune; 
 rive me a note : your ladyship can set. 
 
 Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible : 
 lest sing it to the tune o( Light o'Loie. 
 
 Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune. 
 
 Jul. Heavy ? belike, it hath some burden then. 
 
 Luc. Ay ; and melodious were it, would you sing it. 
 
 Jul. And why not you ] 
 
 •^'"^- 1 cannot reach so high. 
 
 Jul. Let's see your song ; — How now, minion t 
 
 Luc. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out : 
 ind yet, methinks, I do not like this tune. 
 
 Jul, Vou do not? 
 
 Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp. 
 
 Jul. You, minion, are loo saucy. 
 
 Luc. Nay, now you are too flat, 
 ind mar the concord with too harsh a descant : 
 here wanteth but a mean to fill your song. 
 
 Jul. The mean is drou n'd with your unruly base. 
 
 Luc. Indeed. 1 bid tlie base for Proteus. 
 
 Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me. 
 tere is a coil with protestation '.—[Tears the letter. 
 io, get you gone ; and let the papers lie : 
 ;'ou would be fingering them, to anger me. 
 
 Luc. She makes it strange ; but she would be best 
 , , P'eas'd £„s,rf«. 
 
 be so anger d with another letter. [£., ,(. 
 
 Jut. Nay, would I were so anger 'd with the same I 
 ) hateful hands, to tear such loving words ! 
 njurious wasps ! to feed on such sweet honey, 
 ind kill the bees, that yield it, with your stints ! 
 '11 kiss each several paper for amends. " 
 
 ind, here is writ— im,( Julia .- — unkind .lulia ! 
 is in revenge of thy ingratitude, 
 
 throw thy name against the bruising stones, 
 'rampling contemptuously on thy disdain. 
 
 .ook, here is writ — love-umunded Proteus : 
 
 'oor wounded name ! my bosom, as a bed, 
 
 hall lodge thee, till thy wound be th'roughl'yheal'd; 
 
 ind thus I search it with a sovereign kiss. 
 
 lut twice, or thice, was Proteus written down : 
 
 !e calm, good wind, blow not a word away, 
 
 'M I have found each letter in the letter, 
 
 Except mine own name ; that some whirlwind bear 
 
 jnto a ragged, fearful, hanging rock 
 
 And throw it thence into the raging sea ! 
 Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, — 
 FiiorJ'orlorjt Proteus, /wssiojm/e Proteus, 
 To the sweet Julia ; that I '11 tear away ; 
 And yet I will not, sith so prettily 
 He couples it to his complaining names ; 
 Thus will I fold them one upon another ; 
 Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will. 
 Re-enter Lucetta. 
 
 Luc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your father stavs. 
 
 Jul. Well, let us go. 
 
 Luc.Whal, shall these papers lie like tell-tales here! 
 
 Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up. 
 _ Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them down : 
 1 et here they shall not lie, for catching cold. 
 
 Jul. I see you have a month's mind to them. 
 
 Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sishts you see : 
 I see things too, although you judge I wink. 
 
 Jul. Come, come, wilt please you go 1 lExetmt. 
 
 SCENE III. — The same. A room in Antonio's 
 
 House, 
 
 Enter Antonio and Panthino. 
 
 Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad talk was that. 
 Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister ! 
 
 Pail. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son. 
 
 Ant. Why, what of him ? 
 
 Pan. He wonder'd, that your lordship 
 
 Would suffer him to spend his youth at home ; 
 While other men, of slender reputation. 
 Put forth their sons to seek preferment out : 
 Some, to the wars, to try their fortune there ; 
 Some, to discover islands far away ; 
 Some, to the studious universities. 
 For any, or for all these exercises. 
 He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet : ' 
 
 And did request me, to importune you. 
 To let him spend his time no more at home. 
 Which would be great impeachment to his a^e. 
 In having known no travel in his youth. 
 
 Aiit. Nor need'st thou much importune me to that 
 Whereon this month I have been hammering. 
 I have consider'd well his loss of time ; 
 And how he cannot be a perfect man. 
 Not being try'd, and tutor'd in the world : 
 Experience is by industry achiev'd. 
 And perfected by the swift course of time : 
 Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him t 
 
 Pun. I think, your lordship is not ignorant. 
 How his companion, youthful Valentine, 
 Attends the emperor in his royal court. 
 
 Ant. I know it well. [thither: 
 
 Pun. 'Twere good, I tliink, your lordship sent him 
 There shall he practise tilts and tournaments. 
 Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen • 
 And be in eye of every exercise. 
 Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth. 
 
 Aut- I like thy counsel ; well hast thou advis'd : 
 And, that thou may'st perceive how well I like it. 
 The execution of it shall make known ; 
 Even with the speediest execution 
 I will dispatch him to the emperor's court. 
 
 Pdii.I'o morrow, may it please you, Don Alphonso, 
 With other gentlemen of good esteem. 
 Are journeying to salute the emperor. 
 And to commend their service to his will. 
 
 Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go: 
 And, in good time, — now will we break with him. 
 Enter PnoTEus. 
 
 Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life ! 
 Here is her hand, the agent of her heart ; 
 
48 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn : 
 O, that our fathers would a})plaud our loves, 
 To seal our happiness with their consents ! 
 
 heavenly Julia ! 
 
 Aitt. llovv now 1 what letter are you reading there ? 
 
 Pi-n. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or two 
 Of commendation sent from Valentine, 
 Deliver'd by a fiiend that came from him. 
 
 Aid, Lend me the letter ; let me see what news. 
 
 Pro. 'I'here is no news, my lord ; but that lie writes 
 How liappily he lives, how well-belov'd, 
 And daily graced by the emperor ; 
 Wishing me with him, partner of his fortune. 
 
 Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish 1 
 
 Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will, 
 And not depending on his friendly wish. 
 
 Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish : 
 Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed ; 
 For what I will, I will, and there an end. 
 
 1 am resolv'd, that thou shall spend some time 
 ^Vit[l Valentinus in the emperor's court ; 
 What maintenance he from his friends receives, 
 Like exhibition shalt thou have from me. 
 To-mor]Ow be in readiness to go : 
 
 Excuse it not, for 1 am peremptory. 
 
 Pro. My lord, 1 cannot be so soon provided ; 
 Please you, deliberate a day or two. 
 
 Ant. Look, what thou want'st, shall be sent after 
 No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. — [thee : 
 Come on, Panthino ; you shall be employ 'd 
 To hasten on his expedition. 
 
 [Eieunt Ant. and Pan. 
 
 Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of 
 burning ; 
 And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd: 
 I fear'd to shew my father .Tulia's letter. 
 Lest he should take exceptions to my love ; 
 And with the vantage of mine own excuse 
 Hath he excepted most against my love. 
 O, how this spring of love resembleth 
 
 The uncertain glory of an April day ; 
 Which now shews all the beauty of the sun, 
 
 And by and by a cloud takes all away ! 
 
 Re-enter Panthino. 
 
 Fan. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you ; 
 He is in haste, therefore, 1 pray you, go. 
 
 Pro. Why, this it is ! my heart accords thereto ; 
 And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [Eieunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE L— Milan. An Ajiartment in the 
 Uuke's Palace. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Speed. 
 
 Speed. Sir, your glove, 
 
 Val. Not mine ; my gloves are on. [one. 
 
 Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is but 
 
 Val. Ha! let me see: ay, give it me, it's mine: — 
 Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine ! 
 Ah Silvia! Silvia! 
 
 Speed. Wadam Silvia! madam Silvia ! 
 
 Val. How now, sirrah 1 
 
 Speed. She is not within hearing, sir. 
 
 Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her f 
 
 Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook. 
 
 Val. Well, you'll still be too forward. 
 
 Speed. And yetlwas lastchidden forbeing too slow. 
 
 Val. Go to, sir ; tell me, do you know madain Silvia ? 
 
 Speed. She that your worship loves ? 
 
 Val. Why, how know you that 1 am in love ? 
 
 Speed. Marry, by these special marks : First, you 
 have learned, like sir Proteus, to wreath your arms 
 like a male-content ; to relish a love-sonL:, like a 
 Robin-red-breast; to ivalk alone, like one that had 
 the pestilence ; to sigh, like a school boy that had 
 lost his A B C ; to weep, like a young ivench that 
 had buried her grandam ; to fast, like one that takes 
 diet ; to watch, like one that fears robbing ; to speak 
 puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. You were wont, 
 when you lauglied, to crow like acock; when you 
 walked, to walk like one of the lions ; wliun you 
 fasted, it was presently after dinner ; when you 
 looked sadly, it was forv.ant of money ; and now you 
 are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look 
 on you, I can hardly think you my master. 
 
 Val. Are all these things perceived in me ? 
 
 Speed. They are all perceued without you. 
 
 Val. Without me ? they cannot. 
 
 Speed. Without you! nay, that's certain, for, with- 
 out you were so simple, none else would : but you 
 are so without these follies, that these follies are 
 within you, and shine through you like the water in 
 an urinal ; that not an eye, that sees you, but is a 
 physician to comment on your malady. 
 
 f'u/. But tell me, dost thou kaow iny lady Silvia? 
 
 Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at 
 supper t 
 
 Val. Hast thou observed that? even she I mean. 
 
 Speed. Why, sir, I know her not. 
 
 Val. Dost thou know her bv my gazing on her, 
 and yet knowest iier not ? 
 
 Speed. Is she nut haid favoured, sir'! 
 
 Val. Not so fair, boy, as well favoured. 
 
 Speed. Sir, I know tiiat well enough. 
 
 Val. What dost thou know 1 
 
 Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well 
 favoured. 
 
 Vat. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her 
 favour infinite. 
 
 Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the 
 other out of all count. 
 
 Val. How painted ! and how out of count ? 
 
 Speed. Blarry, sir, so painted, to make her fair, 
 that no man counts of her beauty. 
 
 Val. How esteemest thou me? I account of her 
 beauty. 
 
 Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed. 
 
 Vat. How long hath she been deformed ? 
 
 Speed. Ever since you loved her. 
 
 Val. I have loved her ever since I saw her; and 
 still I see her beautiful. 
 
 Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her. 
 
 Val. Why? 
 
 Speed. Because love is blind. 0, that you had 
 mine eyes ; or your own eyes had the lights they 
 were wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for 
 going ungartered I 
 
 Val. \Vhat should I see then ? 
 
 Speed. 'Your own present folly, and her passing 
 deformity : for he, being in love, could not see to 
 gaiter his hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see 
 to put on your hose. 
 
 Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last 
 morning you could not see to wipe my shoes. 
 
 Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed : I 
 thank you, you swinged me for my love, whicli 
 makes me the bolder to chide you for yours. 
 
 Val. In conclusion, I stand affected to her. 
 
 Speed. I would you were set ; so, your affection 
 would cease. 
 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 49 
 
 Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some 
 lines to one she loves. 
 
 Speed. And have you f 
 
 Vat, I have. 
 
 Speed. Are they not lamely wrif! 
 
 Vnl. No, boy, but as well as I can do them ; — 
 Peace, here she comes. 
 
 Enter Silvia. 
 
 Speed. excellent motion 1 O exceeding puppet ! 
 now will he interpret to her. 
 
 Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-mor- 
 rows. 
 
 Speed. O, 'give you good even ! here's a million of 
 manners. [Aside. 
 
 SU. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thou- 
 sand. 
 
 Speed. He should give her interest, and she gives 
 it him. 
 
 Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter. 
 Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ; 
 Which I was much unwilling to proceed in, 
 But for my duty to your ladyship. [done. 
 
 SU. I thank you, gentle servant : 'tis very clerkly 
 
 Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off; 
 For, being ignorant to whom it goes, 
 I writ at random, very doubtfully. [pains 1 
 
 SU. Perchance you think too much of so much 
 
 Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will write. 
 Please you command, a thousand times as much : 
 And yet, — 
 
 SU. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel ; 
 And yet I will not name it : — and yet 1 care not; — 
 And yet take this again ; — and yet I thank you ; 
 Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more. 
 
 Speed. And yet you will ; and yet another yet. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Val. What means your ladyship ■; do you not like 
 
 SU. Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly writ : [it? 
 But since unwillingly, take them again ; 
 Nay, take them. 
 
 Val. Madam, they are for you. 
 
 SU. Ay, ay, you writ them, sir, at my request ; 
 But I wii I none of them ; they are for you : 
 I would have had them writ more movingly. 
 
 Vat. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another. 
 
 SU. And when it's writ, for my sake read it over : 
 And if it please you. so : if not, whv, so. 
 
 Val. If it please me, madam ! what then 7 
 
 SU. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour. 
 And so good morrow, servant. [Eiit Silvia. 
 
 Speed. jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible. 
 As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a 
 steeple ! [suitor. 
 
 My master sues to her ; and she hath taught her 
 He being her jiupil, to become her tutor. 
 O excellent device ! was there ever heard a better ? 
 That my master, being scribe, to himself should write 
 the letter 1 
 
 Val. How now, sirl what are you reasoning with 
 yourself t 
 
 Speed. Nay, I was rhyming ; 'tis you that have 
 the reason. 
 
 Vat. To do what 1 
 
 Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia. 
 
 Val. To whom 1 
 
 Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a 
 6gure. 
 
 Val. What figure? 
 
 Speed. By a letter, I should say. 
 
 Val. Why, she hath not writ to me ? 
 
 Speed. What needs she, when she hath made you 
 
 write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive thejest ? 
 
 Val. No, believe me. 
 
 Speed. No believing you indeed, sir : But did you 
 perceive her earnest ? 
 
 VtU. She gave me none, except an angry word. 
 
 Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter. 
 
 Vid. That's the letter 1 writ to her fiiend. 
 
 Speed. And that letter hath she deliver'd, and 
 there an end. 
 
 Val. I would, it were no worse. 
 
 Speed, I'll warrant you, 'tis as well : 
 
 For often you have writ to her ; and s/ie, in modesty. 
 Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply ; 
 Or fearing eke some messenger, that might her mind dis- 
 cover, [lover 
 
 Herself hath taught her love himself to write luUo her 
 All this I speak in print, for in print I found it. — 
 Why muse you, sir? 'tis dinner time. 
 
 Val. I have dined. 
 
 Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir ; though the cameleon 
 Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourish- 
 ed by my victuals, and would fain have meat ; O, be 
 not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Verona. A Soom in Julia's House, 
 Enter PnoTEUs and Julia. 
 Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia. 
 Jul. I must, where is no remedy. 
 Pro. When possibly I can, I will return. 
 Jut If you turn not, you will return the sooner ■ 
 Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake. 
 
 [Git'fi a ring. 
 Pro. Why then we'll make exchange ; here, take 
 
 you this. 
 Jul, And seal the bargain with a holy kiss. 
 Pi-o, Here is my hand for my true constancy ; 
 And when that hour o'er-slips me in the day, 
 Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake. 
 The next ensuing hour some fo^l mischance 
 Torment me for my love's forgetfulness ! 
 My father stays my coming ; answer not ; 
 The tide is now : nay, not thy tide of tears ; 
 That tide will stay me longer than 1 should : 
 
 [Exit Julia. 
 Julia, farewell. — What I gone without a word ? 
 Ay, so true love should do -.^it cannot speak ; 
 For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it. 
 Enter Panthixo. 
 Pan, Sir Proteus, you are staid for. 
 Pi-o, Go; I come, 1 come : — 
 Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE lU.—The same. A Street. 
 Enter Launce, leading a Dog. 
 Laun. Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done 
 weeping ; all the kind of the Launces have this very 
 fault : 1 have received my proportion, like the pro- 
 digious son, and am going with sir Proteus to the 
 Imperial's court. I think. Crab my dog be the 
 sourest-natured dog that lives : my mother weeping, 
 my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howl- 
 ing, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house 
 in a great perplexity, yet did ndt this crtiel-hearted 
 cur siied one tear ; he is a stone, a very pebble-stone, 
 and has no more pity in him than a dog ; a Jew 
 would have wept to have seen our parting ; why, my 
 grandara having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind 
 at my parting. Nay, I'll shew you the manner of it: 
 This shoe is my father ; — no, this left shoe is my 
 D 
 
50 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 father ;— no, no, this left shoe is my mother ; — nay, 
 that cannot he so neither : — yes, it is so, it is so ; it 
 hath the worser sole : This shoe, with the hole in it, 
 is my mother, and this my father : A vengeance on't! 
 there 'tis : now, sir, this staft' is my sister ; for, look 
 you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand; 
 this hat is Nan, our maid ; I am the dog : — no the 
 dog is himself, and I am the dog, — O, the dog is me, 
 and I am myself ; ay, so, so. Now come 1 to my 
 father ; Father, your hleasing ; now should not the 
 shoe speak a word for weeping ; now should I kiss my 
 father ; well, he weeps on : — now come I to my mo- 
 ther, (O, that she could speak now!) like a wood 
 woman ; — well, 1 kiss her ; — why, there 'tis ; here's 
 my mother's b-ealh up and down ; now come I to my 
 sister ; mark the moan she makes : now the dog all 
 this wliile sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word ; but 
 see how I lay the dust with my tears. 
 
 Tenter Panthino. 
 
 Pan, Launce, away, away, aboard ; thy master is 
 shipped, and thou art to post after with oars. W hat's 
 the matter? why weep'st thou, man ? Away, ass ; 
 you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer. 
 
 Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost ; for it 
 is the unkindest ty'd that ever man ty'd. 
 
 Pan. What's the unkindest tide 1 
 
 Laun, Why, he tliat's ty'd here ; Crab, my dog. 
 
 Pan. Tut man, 1 mean thou'lt lose the flood ; and, 
 in losing the flood, lose thy voyage ; and, in losing 
 thy voyage, lose thy master, and, in losing thy master, 
 lose thy service ; and, in losing thy service,— Why 
 dost thou stop my mouth ">. 
 
 Laun, For fear thou should' st lose thy tongue. 
 
 Pan, Where should I lose my tongue 1 
 
 Laun, In thy tale. 
 
 Pan, In thy tail? 
 
 Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the 
 master, and the service ? The tide ! Why, man, if the 
 river were dry, I am able to fill it with my tears ; if 
 the wind were down,^I could drive the boat with my 
 sighs. 
 
 Pan. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to call 
 thee. 
 
 Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest. 
 
 Pan. Wilt thou go ? 
 
 Laun. Well, 1 will go. [Eacunl. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Milan. An Ajmrtment in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. 
 Sil. Servant — 
 Val. Mistress? 
 
 Speed, Master, sir Thurio frowns on you. 
 Vat, Ay, boy, it's for love. 
 Speed. Not of you. 
 Val. Of my mistress then. 
 Speed. 'Twere good, you knock'd him, 
 Sil. Servant, you are sad. 
 Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so. 
 Thu, Seem you that you are not ? 
 Vat. Haply I do. 
 Thu, So do counterfeits. 
 Vat. So do you. 
 
 Thu. What seem I, that I am not 1 
 Val. Wise. 
 
 Thu, What instance of the contrary t 
 Val, Your folly. 
 
 Thu, And how quote you my folly 1 
 Val, I quote it in your jerkin. 
 Thu, Myjerkin is a doublet. 
 
 Vat. Well, then, I'll double your folly. 
 Tim, How? 
 
 Sit. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change 
 colour? 
 
 Val. Give him leave, madam ; he is a kind of 
 cameleon. 
 
 Thu, That hath more mind to feed on your blood, 
 than live in your ait. 
 Val, You have said, sir. 
 Thu, Ay, sir, and done too, for this time. 
 Val, I know it well, sir ; you always end ere you 
 begin. 
 
 Sil, A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and quickly 
 shot off. 
 
 Val, 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver. 
 Sit. Who is that, servant ? 
 
 Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire : 
 sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's 
 looks, and spends what he borrows kindly in your 
 company. 
 
 Thu, Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I 
 shall make your wit bankrupt. 
 
 Val, I know it well, sir : you have an exchequer 
 of words, and, I think, no otlier treasure to give your 
 followers; for it appears by their bare liveries, thai 
 they live by your bare words. 
 
 Sit, No more, gentlemen, no more ; here comes 
 my father. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset. 
 Sir Valentine, your lather's in good health : 
 What say you to a letter from your friends 
 Of much good news ? 
 
 Val. My lord, T will be thankful 
 
 To any happy messenger from thence. 
 
 Duke, Know you Don Antonio, your countryman? 
 
 Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman 
 To be of worth and worthy estimation, 
 And not without desert so well reputed. 
 
 Duke. Hath he not a son ? 
 
 Vat. Ay, my good lord ; a son, that well deserves 
 The honour and regard of such a father. 
 
 Duke, You know him well ? 
 
 Val, I knew him, as myself ; for from our infancy 
 We have convers'd, and spent our hours together : 
 And though myself have been an idle truant. 
 Omitting the sweet benefit of time, 
 To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ; 
 Yet hath sir Proteus, for that's his name. 
 Made use and fair advantage of his days ; 
 His years but young, but his experience old ; 
 His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe; 
 And, in a word, (for far behind his worth 
 Come all the praises that I now bestow,) 
 He is complete in feature, and in mind. 
 With all good grace to grace a gentleman. 
 
 Duke, Beshrew me, sir, but, if he makes this good, 
 -He is as worthy for an empress' love. 
 As meet to be an emperor's counsellor. 
 Well, sir ; this gentleman is come to me, 
 With commendation from great potentates ; 
 And here he means to spend his time a-while : 
 I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you. 
 
 Val. Should I have wished a thing, it had been he. 
 
 Dake, Welcome him then according to his worth 
 Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, sir Thurio : — 
 For Valentine, I need not 'cite him to it : 
 I'll send him hither to you presently. [Eiit Diirr^ 
 
 Vat. Tliis is the gentleman, I told your ladyship, 
 Had come along with me, but that his mistress 
 Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV, 
 
 51 
 
 Sil, Belike, that now she hath enfranchis'd them 
 Upon some other pawn for fealty. 
 
 VaL Nay. sure, I think she holds them prisoners 
 still. 
 
 SiL Nay, then he should be blind ; and being 
 How could he see his way to seek out you ? [blind, 
 
 Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes. 
 
 77/ii. They say, that love hath not an eye at all. 
 
 Val. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself ; 
 Upon a homely object love can wink. 
 
 Enter Proteus, 
 
 SiL Have done, have done ; here comes the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 VaL Welcome, dear Proteus ! — Mistress, I be- 
 seech you. 
 Confirm his welcome vnih some special favour. 
 
 Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hither, 
 If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from. 
 
 Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain him 
 To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship. 
 
 SiL Too low a mistress for so high a servant. 
 
 Pro. Not so, sweet lady ; but too mean a servant 
 To have a look of such a worthy mistress. 
 
 VaL Leave off discourse of disability : — 
 Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant. 
 
 pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else. 
 
 SiL And duty never yet did want his meed ; 
 Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress. 
 
 Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself. 
 
 SiL That you are welcome ? 
 
 Fro, No ; that you are worthless. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser, Madam, my lord your father would speak witli 
 you. 
 
 Sit. I'll wait upon his pleasure, [_Eiit Servant. 
 Come, sir Thurio, 
 Go with me ; — Once more, new servant, welcome : 
 I'll leave you to confer of home affairs ; 
 When you have done, we look to hear from you. 
 
 Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship. 
 
 [Kjennt Silvia, Thurio, and Speed. 
 
 VaL Now, tell me, how do all from whence you 
 came"! 
 
 Pro, Your friends are well, and have them much 
 commended. 
 
 rtW. And how do yours ? 
 
 Pro. I left them al! in health. 
 
 VaL How does your lady 1 and how thrives your 
 love? 
 
 Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you ; 
 I know, you joy not in a love-discourse. 
 
 VaL Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now : 
 I have done penance for contemning love ; 
 Whose high imperious thoughts have punish'd me 
 "With bitter fasts, with penitential groans. 
 With nightly tears, and daily lieart-sore sighs ; 
 For, in revenge of my contempt of love, 
 Love hath clias'd sleep from my enthralled eyes, 
 And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow. 
 O. gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord ; 
 And hath so humbled me, as, 1 confess, 
 There is no woe to his correction, 
 Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth ! 
 Kow, no discourse, except it be of love ; 
 Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep. 
 Upon the very naked name of love. 
 
 Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye : 
 Was this the idol that you worship so ? 
 
 VaL Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint ■* 
 
 Pro. No; but she is an eaithiy paragon. 
 
 VaL Call her divine. 
 
 pro. I will not flatter her. 
 
 Val, O, flatter me ; for love delights in praises. 
 
 Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter.pills ^ 
 And I must minister the like to you. 
 
 Val. Then speak the truth by her ; if not divine. 
 Yet let her be a principality. 
 Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth. 
 
 Pro. Except my mistress. 
 
 Vtil. Sweet, except not any ; 
 
 Except thou will except asfainst my love. 
 
 I'm. Have I not reason to prefer mine own 1 
 
 VaL And I will help thee to prefer her loo ; 
 She shall be dignified with this high honour, — 
 To bear my lady's train ; lest the base earth 
 Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss. 
 And, of so great a favour growing proud. 
 Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower, 
 And make rough winter everlastingly. 
 
 Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardi^m is this? 
 
 r«/. Pardon me, Proleus : all 1 can, is nothing 
 To her. whose worth makes other worthies nothing; 
 She is alone. 
 
 Pro, Then let her alone. 
 
 VaL Notfor the world; why, man. she is mine own. 
 And I as rich in having such a jewel, 
 As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, 
 The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 
 Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee. 
 Because thou seest me dote upon my love. 
 My foolish rival, that her father likes. 
 Only for his possessions are so huge. 
 Is gone with her along ; and I must after. 
 For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy. 
 
 Pro. But she loves you ? 
 
 VaL Ay, we are betroth'd 
 
 Nay, more, our marriage hour, 
 With all the cunning manner of our flight. 
 Detennin'd of : how I must cUmb her window ; 
 The ladder made of cords ; and all the means 
 Plotted ; and "greed on, for my happiness. 
 Good Proteus, go witli me to my chamber. 
 In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel. 
 
 Pro. Go on before ; I sliall inquire you forth : 
 I must unto the road, to disembark 
 Some necessaries that I needs must use ; 
 And then I'll presently attend you. 
 
 Val. Will you make haste? 
 
 Pro. 1 will— [Eiit Val. 
 
 Even as one heat another heat expels, 
 Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
 So the remembrance of my former love 
 Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
 Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise. 
 Her true perfection, or my false transgresMon, 
 That makes me reasonless, to reason thus '. 
 She's fair ; and so is Julia, that I love ; — 
 That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ; 
 Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire, 
 liears no impression of the thing it was. 
 Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold ; 
 And tliat I love him not, as I was wont : 
 O ! but I love his lady too, too much ; 
 And that's the reason I love him so little. 
 How shall I dote on her with more advice. 
 That thus without advice begin to love her ! 
 'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld. 
 And that hath dazzled my reason's light , 
 But when I look on her perfections, 
 There is no reason but I shall be blind. 
 If I can check my erring love, I will ; 
 If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. [Exi(. 
 
 D2 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 SCENE v.— The same. A Street. 
 
 Enter Speed and Launce. 
 
 Speed. LauQce ! by mine honesty, welcome to 
 Milan. 
 
 Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth ; for I 
 am not welcome. 1 reckon this always — that a man 
 is never undone, till lie be hanged •, nor never wel- 
 come to a place, till some certain shot be paid, and 
 the hostess say, welcome. 
 
 Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale-house 
 with you presently ; where, for one shot of five-pence, 
 thou shalt have five thousand welcomes. But, sirrah, 
 how did thy master part with madam .lulia? 
 
 Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they 
 parted very fairly in jest. 
 
 Speed. ]3ut shall she marry him t 
 Laun. No. 
 
 Speed. How then! shall he marry her ? 
 Laun. No, neither. 
 Speed. What, are they broken f 
 Laun. No, they aie both as whole as a fish. 
 Speed, Why then, how stands the matter with 
 them 1. 
 
 Laun. Marry, thus ; when it stands well with 
 him ; it stands well willi her. 
 
 Speed. What an ass art thou 1 I understand thee 
 not. 
 
 Laun. Whatablockartthou, that thou can'st nof! 
 My staff understands me. 
 Speed- What thou say'st 1 
 
 Laun. Ay, and what I do, too : look thee, I'll but 
 lean, and my staff understands me. 
 Speed. It stands under thee, indeed. 
 Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one. 
 Speed. But tell me true, will't be a match ? 
 Laun. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if he 
 say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say nothing, 
 it will. 
 
 Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will. 
 Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from rae, 
 but by a parable. 
 
 Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce, 
 how say'st thou, that my master is become a notable 
 lover 1 
 
 Laun, I never knew him otherwise. 
 Speed. Than how 1 
 
 Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him to be. 
 Speed. Why thou whoreson ass, thou mistakestme. 
 Laun. Why fool, I meant not thee, 1 meant thy 
 master. 
 
 Speed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover. 
 Laun. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he burn 
 himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to the ale- 
 house, so ; if not, thou art an Hebrew, a Jew, and 
 not worth the name of a Christian. 
 Speed. M iiy I 
 
 Laun. Because thou hast not so much charity in 
 thee, as to go to the ale with a Christian : Wilt thou 
 gol 
 
 Speed. At thy service. [Eaetuit. 
 
 SCEXE VI. 
 The same. — An Apartment in the Palace. 
 Enter Proteus. 
 Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ; 
 To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ; 
 And even that power, which yave me first my oath, 
 Provokes me to this threefold ])erjury. 
 Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear : 
 
 sweet-suggesting love, if thou hast sinn'd. 
 Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it. 
 At first 1 did adore a twinkling star, 
 
 But now 1 worship a celestial sun. 
 L'nheedful vows may heedfuUy be broken 
 And he wants wit, tliat wants resolved will 
 To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better,— 
 Fye, fye, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad, 
 Whose sovereignly so oft thou hast preferr'd 
 With twenty tliousand soul-confirming oaths. 
 
 1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ; 
 
 But there I leave to love, where I should love. 
 
 Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose : 
 
 If I keep them, I needs must lose myself ; 
 
 If I i-^se tiiem, thus find I by their loss, 
 
 For Valentine, myself : for Julia, Silvia. 
 
 I to myself am dearer than a friend : 
 
 For love is still more precious in itself; 
 
 And Silvia, witness heaven, tliat made her fair ! 
 
 Shews Julia but a swarthy Ethiope. 
 
 I will forget that Julia is alive, 
 
 Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead ; 
 
 And Valentine I'll hold an enemy, 
 
 Aiming at Silvia as a sweeter friend. 
 
 I cannot now prove constant to myself. 
 
 Without some treachery used to Valentine : — 
 
 This night, he meaneth with a corded ladder, 
 
 To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window ; 
 
 jMyself in counsel, his competitor : 
 
 Now presently I'll give her father notice 
 
 Of their disguising, and pretended flight ; 
 
 Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine , 
 
 For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter . 
 
 But, Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross, 
 
 By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding. 
 
 Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift. 
 
 As thou hast lent me wit to plot this drift I [Eiil. 
 
 SCENE VII. — Verona. A Poam in Julia's House. 
 Enter Julia and Lucetta. 
 
 Jul. Counsel, Lucetta ! gentle girl, assist me ! 
 And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee. — 
 Who art the table wherein all my thoughts 
 Are visibly character'd and engrav'd, — 
 To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean, 
 How, with my honour, I may undertake 
 A journey to my loving Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long. 
 
 Jul. A true-devoted pilgrim is not weary 
 To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps ; 
 Much less shall she, that hath love's wings, to fly ; 
 And when the flight is made to one so flear. 
 Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus. 
 
 Luc. Better forbear, till Proteus make return. 
 
 Jul. O, know'st thou not. his looks are my soul's 
 Pity the dearth that 1 have pined in, [food ? 
 
 By Ibnging for that food so long a time. 
 Didst thou but know the inly touch of love, 
 Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow. 
 As seek to quench the fire of love with words. 
 
 Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire , 
 But qualify the fire's extreme rage, 
 Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason. 
 
 Jul. The more tliou dam'st it up, the umre it Durns ; 
 The current, that with gentle murmur gliiles. 
 Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage; 
 But, when his fair course is not hindered. 
 He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones, 
 Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ; 
 And so liy many winding nooks he strays, 
 W ith willing sport, to the wild ocean 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 53 
 
 Then let me go, and hinder not my course : 
 
 I'll be as patient as a gentle stream, 
 
 And make a pastime of each weary step. 
 
 Till the last step have brought me to my love; 
 
 And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, 
 
 A blessed soul doth in Elysium. 
 
 Luc. But in what habit will you go along ? 
 Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent 
 The loose encounters of lascivious men : 
 Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds 
 As may beseem some well-reputed page. 
 
 Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair. 
 Jul. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken strings, 
 With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots: 
 To be fantastic, may become a youth 
 Of greater time than 1 shall shew to be. [breeches'! 
 Luc. What fashion, madam, shall I make yo]ir 
 Jul. That fits as well, as — " tell me, good my lord, 
 "What compass will you wear your farthingale V 
 Why, even that fashion thou best lik'st, Lucetta. 
 Luc. Vou must needs have them with a cod-piece, 
 
 madam. 
 Jul. Out, out, Lucetta! that will be ill-favour'd. 
 Luc. A round hose, madam, now's uot wortli a pin, 
 Unless you have a cod-piece to stick pins on. 
 
 Jul. Lucetta, as thou lov'st me, let me have 
 What thou think'st meet, and is most mannerly : 
 But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me. 
 For undertaking so unstaid a journey t 
 I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd. 
 
 Lttc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not. 
 JuL Nay, that I will not. 
 Luc* Then never dream of infamy, but go. 
 If Proteus like your journey, when you come. 
 No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone : 
 I fear me, he will scarce be pleas 'd withal. 
 
 JuL That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear: 
 A thousand oaths, an ocean of his tears, 
 And instances as infinite of love, 
 Warrant me welcome to my Proteus. 
 
 Luc. All these are servants to deceitful men. 
 Jul, Base men, that use them to so base efl'ect ! 
 But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth : 
 His words are bonds, his oatiis are oracles ; 
 His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ; 
 His tears, pure messengers sent from his heart ; 
 His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth. 
 Luc. Pray heaven, he proves so, when you come 
 to him ! [wrong, 
 
 Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that 
 To bear a hard opinion of his truth: 
 Only deserve my love, by loving him ; 
 And presently go with me to my chamber. 
 To take a note of what X stand in need of. 
 To furnish me upon my longing journey. 
 All that is mine I leave at thy dispose, 
 My goods, my lands, my reputation ; 
 Only, in lieu thereof, dispatch me hence : 
 Come, answer not, but to it presently ; 
 1 am impatient of my tarriance. [Ejennt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I, Milan— .4n Ante-room in the 
 
 Duke's Palace* 
 
 ^nter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus. 
 
 Du?ce. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I ^ray, awhile ; 
 
 We have some secrets to confer about, 
 
 [Erit Tnunio. 
 Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me 1 
 
 Pro. My gracious lord , that which I would discover. 
 The law of friendship bids me to con&eal : 
 But, when I call to mind your gracious favours 
 Done to me, undeserving as I am. 
 My duty pricks me on to utter that 
 Which else no worldly good should draw from me. 
 Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend, 
 This night intends to steal away your daughter j 
 Myself am one made privy to the plot. 
 I know, you have determin'd to bestow her 
 On Thurio, whom your genile daughter hates ; 
 And should she thus be stolen away from you, 
 It would be much vexation to your age. 
 Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose 
 To cross my friend in his intended drift, 
 Than, by concealing it. heap on your head 
 A pack of sorrows, which would press you down. 
 Being unprevented, to vour timeless grave, 
 
 Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care; 
 Which to requite, command me while I live. 
 This love of theirs myself have often seen. 
 Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep j 
 And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid 
 Sir Valentine her company, and my court : 
 But, fearing least my jealous aim might err. 
 And so, unworthily, disgrace the man, 
 (A rashness that 1 eve' yet have shunn'd,) 
 I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find 
 That whicli thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 
 And, that thou mayst perceive my fear of this. 
 Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested, 
 I nightly lodge her in an upper tower. 
 The key whereof myself have ever kept ; 
 And thence she cannot be convey 'd away. 
 
 Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean 
 How he her chamber- window will ascend. 
 And with a corded ladder fetch her down ; 
 For which the youthful lover now is gone. 
 And this way comes he with it presently ; 
 \\ here, if it please you, you may intercept him. 
 But, good my lord, do it so cunningly. 
 That my discovery be not aimed at ; 
 For love of you, not hate unto my friend. 
 Hath made me publisher of tliis pretence. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honour, she shall never know 
 That I had any light from thee of this. 
 
 Pro, Adieu, my lord ; sir Valentine is coming. 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast? 
 
 Vat. Please it your grace, there is a messenger 
 That stays to bear my letters to my friends, 
 And I am going to deliver them. 
 
 Duke. Be they of much import ? 
 
 Val. The tenor of them doth but signify 
 My health, and happy being at your court. 
 
 Duke. Nay, then no matter ; stay with me a while , 
 I am to break witli thee of some aliairs. 
 That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret. 
 'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought 
 To match my friend, sir 'i'hurio, to my daughter. 
 
 V^al. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure, the match 
 Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentleman 
 Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities 
 Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter : 
 Cannot your grace win her to fancy him I 
 
 Duke. No, trust me; she is peevish, sullen, forward, 
 Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty ; 
 Neither regarding that she is my child, 
 Nor fearing me as if I were her father : 
 And, may 1 say to thee, this pride of hers. 
 Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her , 
 
54 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 And, where I thouglit the remnant of mine age 
 Sliould have been cherisli'd by her child-like duty, 
 1 now am full resolved to take a wife. 
 And turn her out to who will take her in : 
 Then let her beauty be her wedding-dower ; 
 For me and my possessions she esteems not. 
 
 Val. What would your grace have me to do in this ? 
 
 Duke. There is a lady, sir, in ftlilan, here. 
 Whom I affect ; but she is nice, and coy, 
 And nought esteems my aged eloquence : 
 Now, therefore, would 1 have thee to my tutor, 
 ( For long agone 1 have forgot to court : 
 Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd) ; 
 How, and which way, I may bestow myself, 
 To be regarded in her sun-bright eye. 
 
 Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words ; 
 Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind, 
 More than quick words, do move a woman's mind, 
 
 Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her, 
 
 FiW. Awoman sometimes scorns what best contents 
 Send her another ; never give her o'er : [her : 
 
 For scorn at first makes after-love the more. 
 If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you, 
 But rather to beget more love in you : 
 If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ; 
 For why, the fools are mad, if left alone. 
 Take no repulse, whatever she doth say : 
 For, get (/(»« gone, she doth not mean, (nmy; 
 Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces ; 
 Tliougli ne'er so black, say they have angels' faces. 
 That man that hatli a tongue, I say, is no man. 
 If with his tongue he cannot win a woman. 
 
 Duke. But she, 1 mean, is promis'd by her friends 
 Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ; 
 And kept severely from resort of men, 
 That no man hath access by day to her. 
 
 Val. Why then 1 would resort to her by night. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept 
 Though no man hath recourse to her by night, [safe. 
 
 Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window? 
 
 Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground; 
 And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it 
 \Vithout apparent hazard of his life. 
 
 Val, Why tlien, a ladder, quaintly made of cords, 
 To cast up witli a pair of anchoring hooks, 
 Would serve to scale another Hero's tower. 
 So bold Leander would adventure it. 
 
 Duke. Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood, 
 Advise me where I may have such a ladder, [that. 
 
 Val. When would you use it 1 pray, sir, tell me 
 
 Duke. This very night ; for love is like a child. 
 That longs for every thing that he can come by. 
 
 Val. By seven o'clock 1 '11 get you such a ladder 
 
 Duke. But, hajk thee ; I will go to her alone ; 
 How shall 1 best convey the ladder thither? 
 
 Val, It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it 
 Under a cloak, that is of any length. 
 
 Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the turn. 
 
 Val, Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. Then let me see thy cloak : 
 I '11 get me one of such another length. 
 
 Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord. 
 
 Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak I — 
 I pray thee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. — 
 What letter is this same? What's here? — To Silvia? 
 And here an engine fit for my proceeding ! 
 I '11 be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads. 
 My thoughts do harbour uith niii Silvia nightly; 
 
 And slaves they are to me, that send mejlying : 
 O, could their master come and go as UghLly, 
 
 HimselJ would lodge, where senseless they are lying. 
 My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom rest them ; 
 
 While I, their king, that thither them impi^rtune. 
 Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blessed them* 
 
 Because muse If do want my servants* fortune : 
 I curse 7nyself, for they are sent by me. 
 That they should harbour where their lord should be. 
 What's here? 
 
 Silma, this night J trill enfronchiu thee: 
 Tis so ; and here 's the ladder for the purpose. — 
 Why, Phaeton, (for thou art Merops' son,) 
 Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, 
 And with thy daring folly burn the world ? 
 Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee ? 
 Go, base intruder! over-wcening slave! 
 Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ; 
 And think my patience, more tlian thy deserts. 
 Is privilege for thy departure hence : 
 I'.hank me for this, more than for all the favours. 
 Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee. 
 But if thou linger in my territories. 
 Longer than swiftest expedition 
 Will give thee time to leave our royal court. 
 By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love 
 I ever bore my daughter, or thyself. 
 Be gone, I will not hear thy vain excuse. 
 But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence. 
 
 [Exit DuKSfc. 
 
 Val. And why not death, rather than living tormeat? 
 To die, is to be banish'd from myself; 
 And Silvia is myself: banish'd from her 
 Is self from self: a deadly banishment ! 
 What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ? 
 What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ? 
 Unless it be to think that she is by, 
 And feed upon the shadow of perfection. 
 Except I be by Silvia in the night, 
 There is no music in the nightingale ; 
 Unless I look on Silvia in the day. 
 There is no day for me to look upon : 
 She is my essence ; and I leave to be. 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive. 
 I fly not death, to fly this deadly doom: 
 Tarry I here. I but attend on death ; 
 But, fly 1 hence, 1 fly away from life. 
 
 Enter Pkoteus and Launce. 
 
 Pro. Run, boy, run, and seek him out 
 
 Laiin. So-ho ! so-ho ! 
 
 Pro. What seest thou ? 
 
 Laun. Him we go to find: there's not a hair on *s 
 head, but 'tis a Valentine. 
 
 Pro Valentine 1 
 
 Val. No. 
 
 Pro. Who then? his spirit? 
 
 Val. Neither. 
 
 Pro. What then? 
 
 Val. Nothing. 
 
 Laun. Can nothing speak ? master, shall I strike I 
 
 Pro. Whom would'st thou strike ? 
 
 Lauu, Nothing- 
 
 Pro. Villain, forbear. 
 
 Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing : I pray you, — 
 Pro. Sirrah , 1 say , forbear : Friend Valentine, a word. 
 Val. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good news. 
 So much of bad already hath possess'd them. 
 
 Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine, 
 For they are harsh, untuneable, and bad. 
 
 VaL Is Silvia dead ? 
 
 Pro, No, Valentine. 
 
 Val, No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia ! — 
 Hath she forsworn me 1 
 
 Pro. No, Valentine. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 55 
 
 Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me ! — 
 
 What is your news ? Jkanish'd. 
 
 Luim. Sir, there 's a proclamation that you are 
 
 Pro. That thou art banish'd, 0, that's the news ; 
 
 From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend. 
 
 Val. O. I have fed upon this woe already, 
 And now excess of it will make me surfeit. 
 Doth Silvia know that 1 am banish'd ! 
 
 Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath oH'er'd to the doom, 
 (Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,) 
 A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears : 
 Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd ; 
 With them, upon her knees, her humble self; 
 \V ringing her hands, whose whiteness so became 
 As if but now they waxed pale for woe : [them. 
 
 But neither bended knees, pure hands held up. 
 Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears, 
 Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ; 
 But 'Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die. 
 Besides, her intercession chaf d him so. 
 When she for thy repeal was suppliant. 
 That to close prison he commanded her. 
 With many bitter threats of 'biding there, [speak'st, 
 Val. No more ; unless the next word that thou 
 Have some malignant power \ipon my life : 
 If s», I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear. 
 As ending anthem of my endless dolour. 
 
 Pnu Cease to lament for that thou can'sl not help. 
 And study help for that which thou lament'st. 
 Time is the nurse and breeder of all good. 
 Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love : 
 Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life. 
 Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, 
 .^nd manage it against desp,^iring thoughts. 
 Thy letters may he here, though thou art hence : 
 Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd 
 Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love. 
 The time now serves not to expostulate : 
 Come, I '11 convey thee through the city gate ; 
 And, ere I part with thee, confer at large 
 Of all th,at may concern thy love-affairs ; 
 As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself, 
 lle^ard thy danger, and along with me. 
 
 Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy. 
 Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate. 
 Pro. Go, sirrah, (ind him out. Come. Valentine. 
 Val. my dear Silvia, hajiless Valentine ! 
 
 [E-ieiint V .MA.STisv. and Pnoirus. 
 Laiiit. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet 1 have 
 the wit to think, my master is a kind of knave : but 
 that's all one, if he be but one knave. He lives not 
 now, that knows me to be in love: yet I am in love ; 
 but a ttam of horse shall not pluck that from me ; 
 Dor who 'tis 1 love, and yet 'tis a woman: but what 
 woman, 1 will not tell myself; and yet 'tis a milk- 
 maid ; yet 'tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips : 
 yet 'tis a maid, for she is her master's maid, and serves 
 for wages. She hath more qualities than a water- 
 spaniel, — which is much in a bare christian. Here 
 is the cat-log [Palitn^oiita pnper.] ol her conditions. 
 Imprimis, Hke can Jeteh and carnt. Why, a horse 
 can do no more ; nay, a horse cannot fetch, but only 
 carry ; therefore is she belter than a jade. Item, 
 &be can milk ; look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with 
 clean hands. 
 
 Enter Speed- 
 Specd. How now, signior Launce 1 what news with 
 your niastership 1 
 
 Lauii. With my master's ship? why it is at sea. 
 Speed. Well, your old vice still ; mistake the word : 
 What news then in your paper? 
 
 l.uun. 'J'he blackest news that ever thou heard'st. 
 
 Speed. Why, man, how black? 
 Laun. Why as black as ink. 
 Speed. Let me read them. 
 
 Lniin. Fye on thee ; jolt-head ; thou canst notread. 
 Speed, 'rhou liest, I can. 
 
 Lau II. I will try thee : Tell me this : Who begot thee ! 
 Speed. Marry, the son of my grandfather. 
 7,111111. (), illiterate loiterer ! it was the son of thy 
 grandmother : this proves that thou canst not read. 
 Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy papers. 
 T.auii. There; and St Nicholas be thy speed ! 
 Speed. Imprimis. She eau milk. 
 Laun. Ay, that she can. 
 Speed. Item, .S'lc brews ^001/ ale. 
 l.avn. And thereof comes the proverb, — Blessing 
 of your heart, you brew good ale. 
 Speed. Item, She can sew. 
 Laun, I'hat's as much as to say, can she so? 
 Speed. Item, Slie can knit. 
 
 Laun. What need a man care for a stock with a 
 wench, when she can knit him a stock. 
 Speed. She can wash and scour. 
 Laun. A special virtue ; for then she need not be 
 washed and scoured. 
 
 Speed. Item, She can spin. 
 
 Laun. Then may I set the world on wheels, when 
 she can spin for her living. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath many nameless virtues. 
 Laun. That's as much as to say bastard virtues ; 
 that, indeed, know not their fathers, and therefore 
 have no names. 
 
 Speed. Here follow her vices. 
 Laun. Close at the heels of her virtues. 
 Speed. Item, She is not to be kissed fasting, in re- 
 spect of her breath. 
 
 Laun. Well, that fault may be mended with a 
 breakfast . Read ou. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath a sweet mouth. 
 Laun. That makes amends for her sour breath. 
 Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep, [her talk. 
 Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in 
 Speed. Item, She is slino in vords. 
 Laun. O villain, that set this down among her 
 vices ! To be slow in words, is a woman's only vir- 
 tue : I pray thee, out with't; and place it for her 
 chief virtue. 
 
 Speed. Item, She is proud. 
 
 Laun. Out with that too ; it was Eve's legacy, 
 and cannot be ta'en from her. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath no teeth. [crusts. 
 
 Laun. I care not for that neither, because I love 
 S/teed. Item, She is curst. 
 
 Laun. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite. 
 Speed. She wilt often praise her liquor. 
 Laun. If her lirjuor be good, she shall : if she will 
 not, 1 will ; for good things should be praised. 
 Speed. Item, She is too liberal. 
 Laun. Of her tongue she cannot ; for that's writ 
 down she is slow of: of her purse she shall not; 
 for that I'll keep shut : now of another thing she 
 may ; and that I cannot help. Well, proceed. 
 
 Speed. Item, She hath more hair than uit, and more 
 faults than hairs, ami more wealth thanj'aults. 
 
 Laun. Stop there ; I'll have her : she was mine, 
 and not mine, twice or thrice in that last article: 
 Rehearse that once more. 
 
 Speed. Item, 6he hath more hair than u-it, — 
 Laiiii. More hair than wit, — it may be; I'll 
 prove it : The cover of the salt hides the salt, and 
 therefore it is more than the salt ; the hair that covers 
 the wit, is more than the wit ; foi the greater hides 
 the less. What's next. 
 
56 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Speed. — Ajid more f nulls than hairs, — 
 
 Laiin. That's monstrous : O, that that were out ! 
 
 Speed. — And more wealth than faults, 
 
 Lauii. Why, that word makes the faults gracious : 
 Well, I '11 have her: And if it be a match, as nothing 
 IS impossible, — 
 
 Speed. What then ? 
 
 Laun. Why, then will I tell thee, — that thy mas- 
 ter stays for thee at the north gate. 
 
 Speed. For me ? 
 
 Laun. For thee ? ay : who art thou ? he hath 
 staid for a better man than thee. 
 
 Speed. And must I go to him ? 
 
 Laun. Thou must run to him, f^ir thou hast staid 
 so long, that going will scarce serve the turn. 
 
 Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? 'pox of your 
 love letters ! [Exit. 
 
 Lauiu Now will he be swinged for reading my 
 letter ; An unmannerly slave, that will thrust him- 
 self Into secrets ! — I '11 after, to rejoice in the boy's 
 correction. [iVit. 
 
 SCENE II.— 'Ac same. A Room in the 
 Duke's Palace. 
 
 'Enter Duke and TnuRio ; Proteus behind, 
 
 Diiiie. SirThurio, fear not, but that she will loveyou. 
 Now Valentine is banish'd from lier sight. 
 
 Thu. Smce his exile she hatli despis'd me most, 
 Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me. 
 That I am desperate of obtaining her. 
 
 Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure 
 Trenched in ice ; which with an hour's heat 
 Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form. 
 A little time will melt her frozen thoughts. 
 And worthless ^'alen•ine shall be forgot. — 
 How now, sir Proteus 1 Is your countryman. 
 According to our proclamation, gone ? 
 
 Pro. Gone, my good lord. 
 
 Duke. My daughter takes his going gnevously. 
 
 Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief. 
 
 Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so. — 
 Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee, 
 (For thou hast shewn some sign of good desert, ) 
 Makes me the better to confer with thee. 
 
 Pro. Longer than I prove loyal to your grace, 
 Let me not live to look upon your grace. 
 
 Duke. Thou know'st, how willingly I would effect 
 The match between sir Thurio and my daughter- 
 Pro. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke. And also, 1 think, thou art not ignorant 
 How she opposes her against my will. 
 
 Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here. 
 
 Duke. Ay, and perversely she persevers so. 
 What might we do, to make the girl forget 
 The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio ? 
 
 Pro. The best way is, to slander Valentine 
 With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent ; 
 Three things that women highly hold in hate. 
 
 Duke. Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate. 
 
 Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it : 
 Therefore it must, with circumstance, be spoken 
 By one, whom she esteemeth as his friend. 
 
 Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him. 
 
 Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do : 
 'Tis an ill office for a gentleman ; 
 Especially, against his very friend. 
 
 Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage 
 Your slander never can endamage him ; [him. 
 
 Therefore the office is indifferent, 
 Being entreated to it by your friend. 
 
 Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it. 
 
 By aught that I can spe.ak in his dispraise, 
 She sha^ not long continue love to him. 
 But say, this weed her love from Valentine, 
 It follows not that she will love sir Thurio. 
 
 3'//». Therefore, as you unwind her love I'rom him, 
 Lest it should ravel, and be good to none. 
 You must provide to bottom it on me ; 
 Which must be done, by praising me as much 
 As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine. 
 
 l)nhe. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind; 
 Because we know, on Valentine's report. 
 You are already love's firm votary, 
 And cannot soon revolt and change your mind. 
 Upon this warrant shall you have access, 
 Where you with Silvia may confer at large ; 
 For slie is lumpish, heavy, melancholy. 
 And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you ; 
 ^^'here you may temper her, by. your persuasion. 
 To hate young Valentine, and love my friend. 
 
 Pro. As much as I can du, I will eff"ect ; — 
 But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough j 
 You must lay lime, to tangle her desires. 
 By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes 
 Should be full fraught with serviceable vows. 
 
 Duke. Ay, much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. 
 
 Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty 
 You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart : 
 \\'rite till your ink be dry ; and with your tears 
 IMoist it again ; and frame some feeling line. 
 That may discover such integrity : 
 For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews ; 
 Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones, 
 Blake tigers tame, and huge leviatlians 
 Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands. 
 After your dire lamenting elegies. 
 Visit by night your lady's chamber-window. 
 With some sweet concert: to their instruments 
 Tune a deploring dump ; the night's dead silence 
 Will well become such sweet complaining grievance. 
 This, or else nothing, will inherit her. 
 
 Duke. I'his discipline shews thou hast been in love. 
 
 Thu. .A.nd thy advice this night I'll put in practice : 
 Therefore, sweet Proteus, ray direction-giver, 
 Let us into the city presently 
 To sort some gentlemen well skill'd in music : 
 I have a sonnet that will serve the turn. 
 To give the onset to thy good advice. 
 
 Duke. About it, gentlemen. 
 
 Pro. We'll wait upon your grace, till after supper , 
 And afterward determine our proceedings. 
 
 Duke. Even now about it ; I will pardon you. 
 
 \_ExeunU 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Forest, near Mantua. 
 Enter certain Out-laws. 
 
 1 Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a passenger. 
 
 2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down with 'em. 
 
 Enter Valentine and Speed. 
 
 3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about 
 If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you. [you ; 
 
 Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains 
 That all the travellers do fear so much. 
 
 Val. My friends, — 
 
 1 Out. That's not so, sir ; we are your enemies. 
 
 ii Out. Peace; we'll hear him. 
 
 3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; 
 For he 's a proper man. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 57 
 
 Vttl. Then know, that \ have little wealth to lose ; 
 A man I am, crossed with adversity : 
 My riches are these poor habiliments. 
 Of which if you should here disfumish me. 
 You take the sum and substance that I have. 
 
 2 Out. Whither travel you I 
 Vul. To Verona. 
 
 1 Old. Whence came you 1 
 Val. From Jlilan. 
 
 3 Out. Have you long sojourn'd there ? 
 
 Val. Some sixteen montlis ; and longer might have 
 If crooked fortune had not thwarted me. [staid, 
 
 1 Out. What, were you banish"d thence 1 
 Val. I was. 
 
 2 Out. For ivhat offence 1 
 
 VaL For that which now tonnents me to rehearse : 
 I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ; 
 But yet 1 slew him manfully in fight, 
 Without false vantage, or base treachery. 
 
 1 Out. Why, ne'er repent it, if it were done so: 
 But were you banisird for so small a fault \ 
 
 Val, I was, and held me glad of such a doom. 
 
 1 Out. Have you the tongues ? 
 
 VaL My youthful travel therein made me happy ; 
 Or else 1 often had been miserable. 
 
 3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar, 
 This fellow were a king for our wild faction. 
 
 1 Out. We '11 have him ; sirs, a word. 
 
 Speed. Master, be one of them ; 
 
 It is an honourable kind of thievery. 
 
 Val. Peace, villain ! 
 
 i Out. Tel! us this : Have you any thing to take to 1 
 
 Val. Nothing, but my fortune. 
 
 3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen, 
 Such as the fury of ungovern'd youth 
 Thrust from the company of awful men : 
 Myself was from A'erona banish'd. 
 For practising to steal away a lady. 
 An heir, and near allied unto the duke. 
 
 2 Out. And I from Mantua, for a gentleman. 
 Whom, in my mood, I stabb'd unto the heart. 
 
 1 Out. And I, for such like petty crimes as these. 
 But to the purpose, — (for we cite our faults. 
 That they may hold excus'd our lawless lives,) 
 And, partly, seeing you are beautified 
 
 W ith goodly shape ; and by your own report 
 A linguist ; and a man of such perfection, 
 As we do in our quality much want ; — • 
 
 2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man. 
 Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you ; 
 
 Are you content to be our general 1 
 
 To make a virtue of necessity. 
 
 And live, as we do, in this wilderness 1 
 
 3 Out. What say'st thou ^ wilt thou be of our 
 Say, ay, and be the captain .of us all : [consort 1 
 We'll do thee homage, and be rul'd by thee. 
 Love thee as our commander, and our king. 
 
 1 Out. liut if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest. 
 
 2C'i;(. Thou shall not live to brag what we have offer'd. 
 
 Vul. I take your offer, and will live with you ; 
 Provided that you do no outratjes 
 On silly women, or poor passengers. 
 
 3 Out. Ko, we detest such vile base practices. 
 Come, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews, 
 And shew thee all the treasure we have got ; 
 V\^uch, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose. 
 
 \_Ejeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Jlilan. Court of the Palace. 
 Enter Pkoteus. 
 Pro. .Already have I been false to Valentine, 
 And now 1 must be as unjust to Thurio. 
 
 Under the colour of commending him, 
 I have access my own love to prefer ; 
 But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy. 
 To be corrupted with my woithless gifts. 
 When I protest true lovalty to her. 
 She twits me with my falsehood to ray friend ; 
 W'hen to her beauty 1 commend my vows. 
 She bids me think, how I have been forsworn 
 In breaking faith with .Ttilia whom I lov'd : 
 And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips. 
 The least whereof would quell a lover's hope. 
 Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love. 
 The more it grows, and fawneth on her still. 
 But here comes Thurio : now must we to her window. 
 And give some evening m.usic to her ear. 
 Enter Thi'rio and Musicians, 
 
 Thu. How now, sir Proteus 1 are you crept before 
 usl 
 
 Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio; for, you know, that love 
 Will creep in service where it cannot go. 
 
 Thu, Ay, but, I hope, sir, that\ou love not here. 
 
 Pro, Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence. 
 
 Thu, Whom! Silvia? 
 
 Pro, .\y, Silvia. — for your sake. 
 
 Thu. 1 thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen, 
 Let 's tune, and to it lustily awhile. 
 
 Enter Host, at a distance ; and Julta in boy's clothes. 
 
 Host. Now, my young guest ! methinks you 're 
 allycholly ; I pray you, why is it? 
 
 iliit. Marrj', mine host, because I cannot be merry. 
 
 Host. Come, we'll have you merry: I '11 bring you 
 wliere you shall hear music, and see the gentleman 
 that you ask'd for. 
 
 Jut. But shall I hear him speak? 
 
 Host, Ay, that you shall. 
 
 Jul. That will be music. [Bltisic plates. 
 
 Host. Hark! Hark I 
 
 Jul. Is he among these? 
 
 Host. Ay: but peace, let's hear 'em. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Who is Silvia 7 what is she^ 
 
 That all our swains commend her? 
 Holu, fair, hud wise is she, 
 
 The heacens such grace did lend ftrr. 
 That she mi^ht admired be. 
 Is she kind, as she is fair? 
 
 For heautu lives with kindness: 
 Love doth to her cues repair, 
 
 To help him of his blindness; 
 And, being help'd, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia let us sing. 
 That Silvia is excelling ; 
 5/(6 excels each mortal thuig. 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 Host. How now? are you sadder than you were 
 before ? 
 How do you, man? the music likes you not. 
 Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me not, 
 Host. Why, my pretty youth ! 
 Jul. He plays false, father. 
 Host. How ?" out of tune on the strings ? 
 Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he grieves my 
 verv heart-strings. 
 
 Hi'st. You have a quick ear. 
 Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf! it makes me have 
 a slow heart. 
 
 Host. 1 perceive, you delight not in music 
 Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so. 
 
58 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Host. Hark, what fine change is in the music ! 
 
 Jul. Ay ; that cliange is the spite. 
 
 H.isl. You would have them always play but one 
 
 thing! ^ - ,. 
 
 Jul. I would always have one play but one thing. 
 But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on, often 
 resort unto this gentlewoman ] 
 
 Hmt. 1 tell you what Launce, his man, told me, 
 he loved her out of all nick. 
 
 Jul. Where is Launce 1 
 
 Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which, to-morrow, 
 bv his master's command, he must carry for a present 
 to his lady. 
 
 Jul. Peace ! stand aside ! the company parts. 
 
 Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you ! 1 will so plead, 
 That you shall say, my cunning drift excels. 
 
 Thu. Where meet we? 
 
 Pro. At saint Gregory's well. 
 
 Tlia. Farewell. [Exeunt Tnunio and Musicians. 
 
 Silvia appears above, at her window. 
 Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship. 
 Sit. I thank you for your music, gentlemen : 
 Who is that, that spake ? 
 
 Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart s truth, 
 You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice. 
 Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it. 
 Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady, and your servant. 
 Sit. What is your will ! 
 
 p,.„. That I may compass yours. 
 
 Sil. ' You have your wish ; my will is even this, — 
 Tliat presently you hie you home to bed. 
 Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man 1 
 Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless, 
 To be seduced by thy flattery. 
 That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows ? 
 Return, return, and make thy love amends. 
 For me,— by this pale queen of night 1 swear, 
 I am so far' from granting thy request, ^ 
 That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit ; 
 And by and by intend to chide myself, 
 ■ Even for this time I spend in talking to tliee. 
 
 Pro. I grant, sweet love, that 1 did love a lady; 
 But she is dead. 
 
 Jul. 'Twere false, if I sliould speak it ; 
 For, I am sure, she is not buried. [Aside. 
 
 Sil. Say, that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend, 
 Survives ; to whom, thyself art witness, 
 1 am betrotli'd : And art thou not asham'd 
 To wrong him with thy importunacy ''■ 
 
 Pro. 1 likewise hear, that Valentine is dead. 
 Sil. And so, suppose, am I ; for in his grave 
 Assure thj'self, my love is buried. 
 
 Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth. 
 Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence ; 
 Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine. 
 
 Jul. He heard not that. [Aside. 
 
 Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdirate. 
 Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love, 
 The picture that is hanging in your chamber ; 
 To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep: 
 For, since the substance of your perfect self 
 Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ; 
 And to your shadow I will make true love. [it, 
 Jul. If'twere a substance, you would, sure, deceive 
 And make it but a shadow as I am. [.iside. 
 
 Sii. I am very loth to be your idol, sir ; 
 But, since your falsehood shall become you well 
 To worship shadows, and adore false shapes, 
 Send to me in the morning, and 1 '11 send it : 
 And so, good rest. , 
 
 Pro. As wretches have o er-night. 
 
 That wait for execution in the morn. 
 
 [Kxeuui PnoTEUs ; and Silvia, from above. 
 Jul. Host, will vou go? 
 Host. By my hallidom, I was fast asleep. 
 Jut. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus? 
 Host. i\larry, at myhouse: Trustme, I thmk, tis 
 almost day. . 
 
 Jut. Not so ; but it hath been the longest night 
 That e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. 
 
 [Eieunt. 
 SCENE III.— 77ie same. 
 Enter Eglahiouh. 
 Esl. This is the hour that madam Silvia 
 Entreated me to call, and know her mind; 
 There's some great matter she 'd employ me m. — 
 Madam, madam I 
 
 Silvia appears above, at her windoiv. 
 
 Sil. Who calls 1. 
 
 jTci, Your servant, and your friend ; 
 
 One''that attends your ladyship's command. 
 
 Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-morrow. 
 E?;. As many, worthy lady, to yourself. 
 According to your ladyship's impose, 
 I am thus early come to know what service 
 It is your pleasure to command me in. 
 
 Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman, 
 (Think not, I flatter, for, 1 swear, I do not,> 
 Valiant, wise, remorseful, well accomplish'd. 
 Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will 
 I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ; 
 Nor how my father would enforce me marry 
 \am Thurio, wliom my very soul abhorr'd. 
 Thyself hast loved ; and 1 have heard thee say. 
 No grief did ever come so near thy heart. 
 As when thy lady and thy true love died. 
 Upon whose grave thou vow'dst pure chastity. 
 Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine, 
 To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes abode ; 
 And, for the ways are dangerous to pass, 
 I do desire thy worthy company, 
 Upon whose faith and honour I repose. 
 Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour, 
 But think upon my grief, a lady's grief; 
 And on the justice of my flying hence. 
 To keep me from a most unholy match. 
 Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues. 
 I do desire thee, even from a heart 
 As full of sorrows as the sea of sands. 
 To bear me company, and go with me : 
 If not, to hide what I have said to thee, 
 That I may venture to depart alone. 
 
 E^l. Madam, I pity much your grievances ; 
 Whi'ch since 1 know they virtuously are plac'd, 
 I give consent to go along with you ; 
 Recking as little what betideth me 
 As much I wish all good befortune you. 
 When will you go ? _ 
 
 5,7. This evening coming. 
 
 Efl. Where shall I meet vou ? 
 sfi, .\i Friar Patrick's cell. 
 
 Where I intend holy confession. 
 
 EH. I will not fail your ladyship: 
 Good-morrow, gentle lady. 
 
 Sil. Good-morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [EieunU 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 
 Enter Launce with his dog. 
 
 When a man's servant sliall play the cur with him, 
 
 look you, it goes hard : one that 1 brought up of a 
 
 puppy ; one that I saved from drowning, when three 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 
 
 r)9 
 
 (r four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it ! I 
 lave taught him— evea as one would say precisely, 
 rhus 1 would teach a dog. I was sent to iielivor him. 
 ts a present to mistress Silvia, from my master ; and 
 came no sooner into the dining chajnber, but he steps 
 ue to her trencher, and steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis 
 I fouJ thing when a cur cannot keep himself in all 
 :ompanies ! I would have, as one should say, one that 
 akes upon him to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a 
 logat all things. If I had not had more wit than he, 
 take a fault upon me that he did, I think verily he 
 lad been hanged for't; sure as I live he had suffered 
 or't: you shall judge. He thrusts me himself into 
 he company of tlireeor four gentleman-like dogs, 
 inder the duke's table : he had not been there (bless 
 he mark) a pissing while ; but all the chamber smelt 
 lim. Out with the dog, says one; What cur is that ? 
 ays another ; Whip him out, says a third ; Hmig him 
 p, says the duke. I, having been acquainted with the 
 mell before, knew it was Crab; and goes me to the 
 sllow that whips the dogs; Friend, quoth l,youvieaii 
 :» whif> the dog ? Au, nnirru, do 1, quotli he. You do 
 im the more v^roiig, quoth I ; Uwas I did the thing you 
 'ot of. He makes me no more ado, but whips me out 
 f the chamber. How many masters would do this for 
 lieir servant ? Nay, I'll be sworn, I have sat in the 
 locks for puddings he hath stolen, otherwise he had 
 een executed : 1 have stood on the pillory for geese 
 e hath killed, otherwise he had suffered for't: thou 
 iiink'st not of this now ! — Nay, I remember the trick 
 ou sen'edme, wheni took my leave of madam Silvia; 
 id not I bid thee still mark me, and do as 1 do? When 
 id'st thou see me heave up my leg, and make water 
 gainst a gentlewoman's faithingale 1 didst thou ever 
 ee me do such a trick * 
 
 Enter Puotei'S and Julh. 
 
 Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like thee well, 
 Lnd will employ thee in some service presently. 
 Jul. In what you please ; — I will do what I can. 
 
 Pro. I hope, thou wilt. — How now, you whoreson 
 peasant ? [To Launce. 
 
 Yhere have you been these two days loitering t 
 
 Lann. Marrj', sir, I carried mistress Silvia the dog 
 'Ou bade me. 
 
 Pro, And what says she to my little jewel 1 
 
 Laun. Marry, she says, your dog was a cur; and 
 ells you. currish thanks is good enough for such a 
 
 Pro. liut she received my dog 1 [present. 
 
 Lauii. No, indeed, she did not: here have 1 brought 
 dm back again. 
 
 Pro. What, didst thou offer her this from me ? 
 
 Laun. Ay, sir; the other stjuirrel was stolen from 
 ne by the hangman's boys in tlie market-place : and 
 iien I offered her mine own ; who is a dog as big as 
 ;en of yours, and therefore the gift the greater. 
 
 Pro, Go. got thee hence, and find my dog again, 
 ^r ne'er return again into my sight. 
 fVway, I say: Slay'st thou to vex me here"? 
 A. slave, that, still an end, turns me to shame. 
 
 \_Exit Launce. 
 Sebastian, I have entertained thee, 
 I'artly. that 1 have need of such a youth, 
 i'hat can with some discretion do my business, 
 Kor 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt ; 
 Mut. chieriy. for thy face, and thy behaviour ; 
 ^Miich {li my augury deceive me not) 
 ^\ itness good bringing up. fortune, and truth: 
 I'herefore know thou, for this 1 entertain thee. 
 Cjo presently, and take this ring with thee. 
 Deliver it to madam Silvia : 
 She loved me well, deliver'd it to rae. 
 
 Jul. It seems, you loved lier not, to leave her token : 
 She's dead, belike. 
 
 Pro, Not so; I think, she lives. 
 
 Jul. Alas ! 
 
 Pro, Why dost thou cry, alas ! 
 
 Jul, I cannot choose but pity her? 
 
 Pro. Wherefore shouUl'st thou pity her? 
 
 Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well 
 As you do love your lady Silvia : 
 She dreams on him, that has forgot her love ; 
 Vou dote on her, that cares not for your love. 
 'Tis pity, love should be so contrary ; 
 And thinking on it makes me cry, alas ! 
 
 Pro, Well, give her that ring, and therewithal 
 This letter; — that's her chamber. — Tell my lady, 
 I claim the promise for hfr heavenly picture. 
 Your message done, hie home unto my chamber, 
 W^here thou shah find me sad and solitary. ^Eiit Pro. 
 
 Jul. How many women would do such a message'! 
 Alas, poor Proteus ! thou liast entertain'd 
 A fox, to be the shepherd of thy lambs : 
 Alas, poor fool ! why do 1 pity him 
 That with his very heart despiseth me? 
 Because he loves her. he despiseth me ; 
 Because I love him, 1 must pity him. 
 This ring I gave him, when he parted from me. 
 To bind him to remember my good will : 
 And now am I (unhappy messenger) 
 To plead for that, which I would not obtain , 
 To carry that which I would have refus'd ; 
 To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd, 
 I am my master's true confirmed love ; 
 But cannot be true servant to my master. 
 Unless I prove false traitor to myself. 
 Yet I will woo for him ; but yet so coldly. 
 As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed. 
 
 Enter Silvia, attended. 
 
 Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my mean 
 To bring me wliere to speak with madam Silvia. 
 
 Sil. What would you with her. if that 1 be she ? 
 
 Jul. If you be she, 1 do entreat your patience 
 To hear me speak the message 1 am sent on. 
 
 Hit. From whom ? 
 
 Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam. 
 
 Sil. O ! — he sends you for a picture ? 
 
 Jul. Ay, madam. 
 
 Sil. Ursula, bring my picture there. [Picture brought. 
 Go, give your master this : tell him from me. 
 One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget, 
 Would better fit his chamber than this shadow. 
 
 Jul. JMadam, please you peruse this letter. 
 
 Pardon me, madam ; 1 have unadvis'd 
 Deliver'd you a paper that I should not. 
 This is the letter to your ladyship. 
 
 Sil. 1 pray thee. let me look on that again. 
 
 Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me. 
 
 S,l. There, hold. 
 I will not look upon your master's lines : 
 I know, they are stuffd with protestations. 
 And full of new-found oaths ; which he will break. 
 As easily as I do tear his paper. 
 
 Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring. 
 
 Sil. The more shame for him that he sends it me ; 
 For 1 have heard him say a thousand times, 
 His Julia gave it him at his departure : 
 Though his false finger hath profan'd the ring, 
 Mine shall not do his Julia so much wrong. 
 
 Jul. She thanks you. 
 
 Sil. What say'sl'thou? 
 
 Jul, I thank you. madam, that you tender her- 
 Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much. 
 
60 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Sil. Dost thou know her? 
 
 Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself : 
 To think upon her woes, I do protest. 
 That I have wept an hundred several times. 
 
 Sil. Belike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her. 
 
 Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of 
 
 Sil. Is she not passintj fair? [sorrow. 
 
 Jut. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is : 
 When she did think my master lov'd her well, 
 She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ; 
 But since she did neglect her looking-glass. 
 And threw her sun-expelling mask away. 
 The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks. 
 And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face. 
 That now she is become as black as 1, 
 
 Sil. How tall was she? 
 
 Jul. About my stature : for, at Pentecost, 
 When all our pageants of delight were play'd. 
 Our youth got me to play the woman's part, 
 And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown; 
 Which served me as fit. by all men's judgment. 
 As if the garment had been made for me : 
 Therefore, I know she is about my height. 
 And, at that time, 1 made her weep a-good, 
 For I did play a lamentable part ; 
 Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning 
 For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight; 
 Which I so lively acted with my tears. 
 That my poor mistress, moved therewithal, 
 AVept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead. 
 If 1 in thought felt not her very sorrow ! 
 
 Sil. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth ! — 
 Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! — 
 I weep myself, to think upon thy words. 
 Here, youth, there is my purse ; I give thee this 
 For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her. 
 Farewell. [£,tii Siltia. 
 
 Jul. And she shall thank you for 't, if e'er you know 
 A virtuous gentlewoman, mild and beautiful, [her. 
 1 hope my master's suit will be but cold. 
 Since she respects my mistress' love so much. 
 Alas, how love can trifle with itself! 
 Here is her picture : Let me see ; 1 think. 
 If I had such a tire, this face of mine 
 Were full as lovely as is this of hers : 
 And yet the painter flatter'd her a little. 
 Unless I flatter with myself too much. 
 Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow : 
 If that be all the difference in his love, 
 I '11 get me such a colour'd periwig. 
 Her eyes are grey as glass ; and so are mine : 
 Ay, but her forehead 's low, and mine 's as high. 
 What should it be, that he respects in her. 
 But I can make respective in myself. 
 If this fond love were not a blinded god? 
 Come, shadow, come, and take this sliadow up. 
 For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form. 
 Thou shalt beworshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd ; 
 And, were there sense in his idolatry, 
 Wy substance should be statue in thy stead, 
 I 'II use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake. 
 That us'd me so ; or else, by .love, I vow, 
 I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes, 
 To make my master out of love with thee. [Jiiif. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. An Abbey. 
 Enter EGi.AMOvn. 
 "Egl. The sun begins to gild the western sky : 
 And now, it is aboxit the very hour 
 
 That Silvia, at Patrick's cell, should meet me. 
 She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours, 
 Unless it be lo come before their time: 
 So much they spur their expedition 
 
 Enter Silvia. 
 
 See whf.re she comes: Lady, a happy evening! 
 
 Sil. Amen, amen! go on, good Eglamour I 
 Out at the postern, by the abl)ey-wall ; 
 I fear, I am attended by some spies. 
 
 Egl. Fear not : the forest is not three leagues off • 
 If we recover that, we are sure enough. [^Eieunt, 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. An Apartment in the 
 Duke's Palace* 
 
 Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia. 
 
 Thu. Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit? 
 
 Pro^ O, sir, I find her milder than she was; 
 And yet she takes exceptions at your person. 
 
 Thu. What, that my leg is too long? 
 
 Pro. No ; that it is too little. 
 
 Thu. I '11 wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder. 
 
 Pro, But love will nut be spurr'd lo what it loaths. 
 
 Thu. What says she to my face? 
 
 Pro, She says it is a fair one 
 
 Thu. Nay, then the wanton lies ; myface is black. 
 
 Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old saying is. 
 Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes ; 
 
 Jul. 'Tis true, such pearls as put out ladies' eyes ; 
 For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside. 
 
 Thu. How likes she my discourse? 
 
 Pro. Ill, when you talk of war. 
 
 Thu. But well, when I discourse of love and peace? 
 
 Jul, But better, indeed, v^hen you hold your peace ? 
 
 rft«..\Vhat says she to my valour? 
 Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that. 
 Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice. 
 
 [Aside* 
 Thu. What says she to mv birth ? 
 Pro. That you are well deriv'd. 
 Jul. True ; from a gentleman to a fool. [Aside. 
 Thu, Considers she my possessions? 
 Pro. 0,ay ; and pities them. 
 Thu. Wherefore? 
 
 Jul. That such an ass should owe them. [Aside, 
 Pro. Thiit they are out by lease. 
 Jul. Here comes the duke. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. How now, sir Proteus? how now, Thurio? 
 Which of vou saw sir Eglamouf of late ? 
 
 Thu. Not I. 
 
 Pro. Nor I. 
 
 Duke. Saw you my daughter? 
 
 Pro. Neither, 
 
 Duke. Why, then she's fled unto that peasant Va- 
 And Eglamour is in her company. [lentine ; 
 
 'Tis true; for friar Laurence met them both, 
 As he in penance wander'd through the forest : 
 Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she ; 
 But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it : 
 Besides, she did intend confession 
 At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was not j 
 These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence. 
 Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse, 
 But mount you presently ; and meet with me 
 Upon the rising of the mountain-foot 
 That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled. 
 Dispatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [£iit. 
 
 Thu. Why this it is to be a peevish girl, 
 

 C,^|.«cii»ii„rp«.M,.iuiim«,a^-,f.||imi,; ,■,,:■.■,-.■?«,»« .;M,r,N.i,..iH,.i,>.,u.i.„,iy»'|.|,.-,.^..,^.|...ii..im»..iu 
 
 rj^aHii^mhiSaii 
 
ACT v.— SCENE IV, 
 
 61 
 
 hat flies her fortune.when it follows her : 
 '11 aftei ; more to be reveug'd on Eglamour, 
 han for the love of reckless Silvia. [Eiit. 
 
 Pro. And 1 will follow, more for Silvia's love, 
 lioii hate of Eglamour that goes with her. [Erit. 
 
 Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love, 
 han hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [£iit. 
 
 SCENE lU.— Frontiers iif Mantua. The Forest. 
 Enter Silvia, and Out-laws. 
 
 Out. Come, come ; 
 le patient, we must bring you to our captain. 
 
 &it. A thousand more mischances than this one 
 lave learn'd me how to brook tlus patiently. 
 
 2 Out. Come, bring her away. 
 
 1 Out. Wliere is the gentleman that was with her ? 
 
 3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run us, 
 ut Movses, and \ aleiius, follow him. 
 
 thou with her to the west end of the wood, 
 here is our captain : we '11 follow him that's tied, 
 he thicket is be=et, lie cannot 'scape. [cave ; 
 
 1 Out. Come, 1 must bring you to our captain's 
 ear not ; he bears an honourable mind, 
 nd will not use a woman lawlessly. 
 !>il. Valentine, this 1 endure for thee. [£.reu7it. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Another part of the Forest. 
 Enter Valentine. 
 Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
 his shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 better brook than flourisliiug peopled towns : 
 [ere can 1 sit alone, unseen of any, 
 .nd to the nightingale's complaining notes, 
 une my distresses, and record my woes. 
 
 1 thou that dost inhabit in my breast, 
 .eave not the mansion so long tenantless ; 
 est, growing ruinous, the building fall, 
 .nd leave no memory of what it was I 
 Lepaii me with thy presence. Silvia ; 
 
 hou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! 
 Vhat halloing, and what stir, is this to-day? 
 'hese are my mates, that make their wills their law, 
 lave some unhappy passeniier in chase : 
 hey love me well ; yet I have much to do, 
 'o keep them from uncivil outrages. 
 \ithdraw thee, Valentine ; who's this comes here 1 
 
 [^bteps aside. 
 
 Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia. 
 
 Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you. 
 Though you respect not aught your servant doth,) 
 "o hazard life, and rescue you from him 
 .'hatwou'd have forc'd your honour and your love. 
 Vouchsafe me, for my meed, but one fair look; 
 V smaller boon than this I cannot beg, 
 Vnd less than this, I am sure, you cannot give. 
 
 Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear! 
 .^ve, lend me patience to forbear a while. ^Aside. 
 
 Sil. O miserable, unhappy that I am ! 
 
 Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came; 
 3ut, by my coming, 1 have made you happy. 
 
 Sit. By thy approach thou mak'stme most unhappy. 
 
 Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your pre- 
 sence. [Aside. 
 
 Sit. Had I been seized by a hungry lion, 
 [ would have been a breakfast to the beast, 
 llather than have false Proteus rescue me. 
 3. heaven be judge, how I love Valentine, 
 IVhose life's as tender to me as my soul ; 
 ind lull as much, (for more there cannot be,) 
 t do detest false perjur'd Proteus : 
 
 Therefore be gone, solicit me no more. 
 
 Pro. What dangerous action, stood it ne.tt todeath. 
 Would I not undergo for one calm look 1 
 O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd, 
 VVIicn women cannot love, where they're belov'd. 
 
 Sit. ^Vhen Proteus cannot love where he 's belov'd. 
 Read over .lulia's heart, thy first best love. 
 For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith 
 Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths 
 Descended into perjury, to love me. 
 1 hou hast no faith loft now, unless thou had'st two. 
 And that 's far worse than none ; better have none 
 Than plural faith, which is too much by one: 
 Thou counterfeit to thy true friend ! 
 
 Pro. In love. 
 
 Who respects friend ? 
 
 Sil. All men but Proteus. 
 
 Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
 Can no way change you to a milder form, 
 1 '11 woo you like a soldier, at arms' end ; 
 And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you. 
 
 Sil. O heaven ! 
 
 Pro. I '11 force thee yield to my desire. 
 
 Val. Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch ; 
 Thou friend of an ill fashion ! 
 
 Pro. Valentine ! [love ; 
 
 Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or 
 ( For such is a friend now,) treacherous man ! 
 Thou hast beguil'd iny hopes ; nought but mine eye 
 Could have persuaded me : Now 1 dare not say, 
 I have one friend alive ; tnou would'st disprove me. 
 Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand 
 Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus, 
 I am sorry I must never trust thee more, 
 But count the world a stranger for thy sake. 
 The private wound is deepest. O time, most curst! 
 'Mongst all foes, tiiat a friend should be the worst. 
 
 Pro. JNIy shame and guilt confound me. — 
 Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrow 
 Be a sufficient ransom for ofi'ence, 
 I tender it here ; I do as truly suffer, 
 As e'er I did commit. 
 
 Val. Then I am paid ; 
 
 And once again I do receive thee honest : — 
 Who by repentance is not satisfied, 
 Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for tliese are pleased ; 
 By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd : — ■ 
 And, that my love may appear plain and free, 
 All that was mine in Silvia, I give thee. 
 
 Jul. O me, unhappy ! [Faints. 
 
 Pro. Look to tlie boy. [matter ? 
 
 Val. Why, boy ! why, wag I how now 1 what is the 
 Look up ; speak. 
 
 Jul. O good sir, my master charg'd me 
 
 To deliver a ring to madam Silvia; 
 Which out of my neglect was never done. 
 
 Pro. Where is that ring, boy ? 
 
 Jul. Here 'tis : this is it. [Giles a ring. 
 
 Pro. How ! let me see ; 
 Why this is the ring I gave to Julia. 
 
 Jul. O, cry you mercy, sir, 1 have mistook ; 
 This is the ring you sent to Silvia. [Slieus another ring. 
 
 Pro. But, how cam'st thou by this ring '. at my de- 
 I gave this unto Julia. fpait, 
 
 Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ; 
 And Julia herself hath brought it hither. 
 
 Pro. How I Julia! 
 
 Jul. Behold her that gave aim to all thy oaths. 
 And entertain'd them deeply in lier heart: 
 How oft hast thou with perjury cleft the rootl 
 O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush ! 
 Be thou ashamd, that I have took upon me 
 
G2 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 Such an immodest raiment ; if shame live 
 
 In a disguise of love: 
 
 It is the lesser blot, modesty finds, 
 
 Momen to change their shapes, liian men their minds. 
 
 Fro. Than men their minds 1 'tis true; O hea- 
 ven ! were man 
 But constant, he were perfect: that one error 
 Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all sins: 
 Inconstancy fails off, ere it begins: 
 \^'hat is in Silvia's face, but 1 may spy 
 More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye? 
 
 VaL Come, come, a hand from either: 
 Let me be blest to make this happy close ; 
 "J'were pity two such friends should be long foes. 
 
 Pro. Bearwitness, heaven, I have my wish for ever. 
 
 JuL And I have mine. 
 
 Enter Out-laws, with Duke and Tnunio. 
 
 Out. A prize, a prize, a prize! 
 
 VaL Forbear, I aay ; it is my lord the duke. 
 Your grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd, 
 Banished Valentine. 
 
 Duke. Sir Valentine ! 
 
 Thn. Yonder is Silvia ; and Silvia's mine. 
 
 Viil. Tiiurio, give back, or else embrace thy death j 
 Come not within the measure of my wrath; 
 Do not name Silvia thine; if once again, 
 Milan shall not behold thee. Here she stands, 
 'I'ake but possession of her with a touch ; — 
 I dare thee but to breathe upon mv love. — 
 
 Tfin. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I; 
 I hold him but a fool, that will endanger 
 His body for a girl that loves him not: 
 I claim her not, and therefore she is thine. 
 
 Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou, 
 To make such means for her as thou hast done, 
 
 And leave her on such slight conditions.—* 
 
 Now, by the honour of my ancestry, 
 
 I do applaud thy spirit, Valentine, 
 
 And think thee worthy of an emj)ress' love. 
 
 Know then, I here forget all former griefs, 
 
 Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again.— 
 
 Plead a new state in thy unrivall'd merit, 
 
 'i'o which I thus subscribe, — Sir Valentine, 
 
 Thou art a gentleman, and ivell deriv'd ; 
 
 Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her. 
 
 VaL I thank your grace; the gift hath made mfl 
 I now beseech you, for your daughter's sake, [happy. 
 To grant one boon that I sliall ask of you. 
 
 Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be. 
 
 VaL These banfth'J men, that I have kept withalj 
 Are men endued with worthy (jualities ; 
 Forgive them what they have committed here, 
 And let them be recall'd from their exile: 
 They are reform 'd, civil, full of good, 
 And fit for great employment, worthy lord, [thee; 
 
 Duke. Thou hast prevail'd ; I pardon them, and 
 Dispose of them, as thou know'st their deserts. 
 Come, let us go ; we will include all jars 
 Witii triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity. 
 
 VuL And, as we walk along, I dare be bold 
 With our discourse to make your grace to smile : 
 What think you of this page, my lord ? [blushes. 
 
 Duke. I think the boy hath grace in nim ; ht 
 
 VaL I warrant you, my lord ; more grace than boy, 
 
 Duke. What mean you by that saying? 
 
 Td/. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along. 
 That you will wonder, what hath fortuned. — 
 Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance, but to hear 
 The story of your loves discovered : 
 That done, our day of marriage shall be yours ; 
 One feast, one house, one mutual happiness. [Exeunt, 
 
 Tn tliis r-l^y there h a sfranpe mixtarc of knowledge and 
 itrnornnce, ol' care and neslifienc'e. 1 he versification is often 
 excellent, ami the allusioDS are learned and juat ; but the au- 
 thor conveys his heroes hy sea frntn one inland town to another 
 in the same country; he places the emperor at Milaji, and 
 sends his young men to attend hiai, hui never mentions him 
 more; he makes Proteus, alter an interview with Silvia, say 
 he has onlv seen her picture ; and if we may credit the old 
 copies, he has, by mistaking places, left his scenery inextri- 
 cable. The reason of all this confusion seems to be, that he 
 took his story from a novel, which he sometimes followed, and 
 sometimes forsook, sometimes remembered, and sometimes 
 forpot. 
 
 That this play is riphtly attributed to Shakspeare. T have 
 little doubt. If it be taken from him. to whom shall it be 
 given! this Qaestion may be asked of all the disputed plays* 
 
 exce()t TitJis Andrcmicus; and it will be fonnd more crediMe 
 that Shakspeare might sometimes sink below his highest fiiglits 
 than that any other should rise up to his lowest.— JuHnso.n. 
 Johnson's ceneral remarks on this play are just, except thaJ 
 part in which he arraigns the conduct ot' the poet, for making 
 Proteus say. that he had only seen the picture of Silvia, whei 
 it appears tbathehad had ajiersonal interview with her. 1 his 
 however, is not a blunder of ShaiiSpeare's, but a mistalce oi 
 .Johnson's, who considers the passawe alluded to in a mon 
 literal sense than the author intended it. Sir Proteus, it ij 
 true, had seen Silvia for a few moments ; but though he coulc 
 form from thence some idea of her person, he was still unai-. 
 qtiainted with her temper, manner, and liie qualities of bei 
 mind. He therefore considers himself as having .seen her pio 
 lure only.— ihe thought is just, and elegiiatly expressed. 
 
 M< Ma son. 
 
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 tBis play, which was pfr)balily written in the year Z600, wm 
 entered at StAtioiiers" liall, by John IJusby, Jan. lb. IfHJl.— 
 The first pcrlVci ami entiit copy was putilished in the folio 
 of J6C3.— Miere had li?en previously two mutilated quarto 
 editions pivon to the puljlic — one in tfai; year loO^; the other, 
 iGiy.— i a^iree with Mr. Koaden, in coii>id*Ttni,'theie lo have 
 heen printed from an inipertuci copy, surrvjuiiiouslv obtained 
 Crom -iome person in liie vuiploy ut the ihearre, or troui trau- 
 Acriptiuu during llit representalion ; anU hoc. as hB» hetn sup- 
 jiosed, troni the rough dr.tut^ht of an original play, whieh was 
 afterward revtwd niiil tHil«rt;ed by the author, — My reasons 
 for holding this opinion are, that the chasms which occur in 
 ihe dialogue, are such as would reiider ihc stnry of the play 
 almost unintelligible : ol this Mr. I'oatien quotes one instance, 
 in Aci 1. Sc. 4. where Dr. Caius says, " ^i^ Hugh send a 
 von," and imniediait-ly sends him a challenge ; in the fulio, 
 Mrs. Quickly had before told him that simple had come with 
 a message trom Parson Hugh; hut this pit-ce of information 
 heing omitted in the ftrsi quarto edition, the Doctor's anger 
 is rendeird uni»l«llii^ili'ie : — again, llw quailo contains niany 
 profane and tjross exitrtssious which are oiuutud in the fi>lio, 
 and which might be expetted to exist in a copy made during 
 represent at ion from the mouths of the players, who, we know 
 from ."shakspeare's own ccmolaJnt of them, were in the haljit 
 of uttering more of this kind of offensive matter than was set 
 down for them by the author ;—agjiii. had the copy been 
 fairly obtaiaeU. with the consent of the author, in l6ti'J, there 
 would have been ao reasou for ih« editor's repriuiint; the 
 
 faulty and imperfect play in iei9, as he would have aleg;ili» 
 mate claim lo ihe tinishcd M-S. 
 
 'I'he evenis of the jilay are supposed to take place betM-een thf> 
 first and second parts of Henry the Fourth.— Falst-'ifl" is still 
 in lavonr at cuuri.aiidthe compliment ofFordonhis uarhie 
 pyeparationi, must allude to the good service he had done at 
 .Shrewsbury.— Ihe ;id ventures ot Falstaff, in this play, bear 
 aome resemb'.ance to th? Lovers of Pisa, a story in Taritton'.t 
 ^eii's out of Puigatory. 
 
 The tradition re-peciing the origin of this inimitable comeijy 
 is, that (Out^tii t'liz.ibfth wax so well pleased with the adnu- 
 rable character of inlsiaff in The T^» Parts of Hetuy IP'. 
 that, as Mr. Howe informs us, she commanded JShakspeare lo 
 continue it tor one play more, and shew htm in love, i o this 
 command we owe 'J/<c Metry Huts of Windsor i which. Mr. 
 Gildon says, [}!t'm<(>kf on Shakspeare's I'lays, 8vo. l"lu,] he 
 was very well assured our author finished in a fortnight. He 
 quotas no authority. Ihe ciroi instance was first mtniioned 
 by Mr. Dennis. " I his comedy," says he, in his l-2pisilc 
 Iledicatory to VAc Comtcai iiuUanl fan alieration of the pre- 
 sent play, I70y, " waswrilten at her [Queen £liEabeth"s] 
 command, and hv her direction, and she was so eager to see 
 it acit'd. that she conimanded it to be finished in fovrteai 
 (/«!/j »• and was afterward, as tradition tells ns. very well 
 pleased at the represenlatiou." ] be information, it is pro 
 bable, came originally from Dryden, who. from his intimacy 
 with .Sir William Uavenaut, had an opportunity of learning 
 uiauy particulars concerning our author. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Sir John Falstaff, 
 
 Benton. 
 
 Shallow, a countrv justice. 
 
 ?LENDEn, cousin to Shallow. 
 
 ^Ir. Ford, Mr. Page, two gentlemen dwelling at 
 
 Windsor. 
 iViLLiAM Page, a bou, son to Mr. Page, 
 sir Hitch Evans, n Welch parson, 
 Jr. Caius, a French phifsician. 
 Host of the Garter Inn. 
 
 •iARDOLPH, Pistol, ^\->t,foiloivers of Falstaff, 
 ^oBiN, jw^ to Falstaff. 
 SIMPLE, sevmnt to Slender, 
 i^rcBY, servant to Dr. Caias. 
 
 \Irs. Ford. 
 
 Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mrs. Anne Page, htr daughter, in love with Fenton. 
 
 Mrs, QuiCKLV, servant to Dr. Caius. 
 
 Servants to Page, Ford, S^c, 
 
 SCENE. — Windsor ; and the parts adjacent* 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Windsor. Before Page's House. 
 
 Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, 
 and Sir Hl'ch Evans. 
 
 Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not ; I will make a 
 ?tar-chamber matter of it: if he were twenty sir John 
 Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, esquire. 
 
 Slen. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace, 
 md coram, 
 
 Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and Ciist-ahrum. 
 
 Slen. Ay, and ratolnnim too ; and a gentleman born, 
 naster parson ; who writes himself urmigen) ; in any 
 )ill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armigero. 
 
 Shal. Ay, that we do ; and have done any time 
 :hese three hundred years. 
 
 Slen. All his successors, gone before him, have 
 ione't J and all his ancestors, that come after him. 
 
 may : they may give the dozen white luces in their 
 coat. 
 
 Shal. It is an old coat. 
 
 Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old coat 
 well ; it agrees well, passant: it is a familiar beast 
 to man, and signifies — love. 
 
 Shiil. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish is an 
 old coat. 
 
 Slen. I may quarter, coz? 
 
 Shal. You may. by marrying. 
 
 Eva. It is marring, indeed, if he quarter it. 
 
 Shal. Not a whit. 
 
 Eva. Yes, py'r-lady ; if he has a quarter of your 
 coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in my 
 simple conjectures : but this is all one : If sir John 
 Falstaff have committed disparagements unto you, I 
 am of the church, and will be glad to do my benevo- 
 lence, to make atonements and compromises between 
 you. 
 
 Shal. The council shall hear it ; it is a riot. 
 
 Em. It is not meet the council hear a riot ; there 
 is no fear of Got in a riot: the council, look you, 
 shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear 
 a riot ; take your vizaments in that. 
 
 Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the 
 sword should end it. 
 
 Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and end 
 it : and there is also another device in my prain, 
 which, peradventure, prings goot discretions with it: 
 There is Anne Pag«, which is daughter to master 
 George Page, which is pretty virginity. 
 
 Sien. Mistress Anne Page ? She liiis brown hair, 
 and speaks small like a woman. 
 I Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, as just 
 ' as you will desire ; and seven hundred pounds of 
 monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire, upon 
 his death's bed, (Got deliver to a joyful resurrec- 
 tions I) give, when she is able to overtake seventeen 
 years old: it were a goot motion, if we leave our 
 pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage between 
 master Abraham, and mistress Anne Paee. 
 
 Shal. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred 
 pound 1 
 
 Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petle 
 i penny. 
 
64 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Shal. I know the young gentlewoman; she has 
 good gifts. 
 
 Eia. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilitic'!, is 
 good gifts. 
 
 Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page : Is 
 FalstafT tbere t 
 
 Eva. Shall I tell you a lie ? I do despise a liar, as 
 I do despise one that is false ; or, as 1 despise one 
 that is not trae. The knight, sir John, is there ; and, 
 I beseech you, be ruled by your well-w-illers, I will 
 peat the door [liioc/.s.] for master Page. What, boa ! 
 Got pless 3'our house here ! 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Page. \Vho 's there ? 
 
 Eva. Here is Got's plessing, and your friend, and 
 justice Shallow : and here young master Slender ; 
 that, peradvcntures, shall tell you another tale, if 
 matters grow to your likings. 
 
 Page. 1 am glad to see your worships well : I thank 
 you for my venison, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Master Page, 1 am glad to see you ; Much 
 good do it your good heart ! I wished your venison 
 better ; it was ill killed ; — How doth good mistress 
 Page f —and I love you always with my heart, la ; 
 with my heart. 
 
 Page. Sir, I thank you. 
 
 Shal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do. 
 
 Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender. 
 
 Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir ! 1 heard 
 say, he was out-run on Cotsale. 
 
 Page. It could not be judg'd, sir. 
 
 Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess. 
 
 SItal, That he will not ; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your 
 fault : — 'Tis a good dog. 
 
 Page. A cur, sir. 
 
 Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog : Can 
 there be more said 1 he is good, and fair. Is sir John 
 FalstafThere? 
 
 Page. Sir, he is within ; and I would I conid do a 
 good office between you, 
 
 Eva. It is spoke as a Christiaiis ought to speak. 
 
 Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page. 
 
 Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 
 
 ShaL If it beconfess'd, it is not redress'd ; is not 
 that so, master Page "? He hathwTong'd me ; indeed, 
 he hath ; — at a word he hath ; — believe me ; Robert 
 Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wTong'd. 
 
 Page. Here comes sir John. 
 
 Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nvm, 
 and Pistol. 
 
 Fal. Xow, master Shallow ; you '11 complain of me 
 to the king ? 
 
 Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my 
 deer, and broke open my lodge. 
 
 Fal. But not kiss'd your keeper's daughter ? 
 
 Slial. Tut, a pin I this shall be answer'd. 
 
 Fal. I will answer it straight ; — I have done all 
 this : — That is now answer'd. 
 
 Shal. The council shall know this. 
 
 Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in 
 counsel : you'll be laugh 'd at. 
 
 Era* Pauca verba, sir John, goot worts. 
 
 Fui. Good worts ! good cabbage.— Slender, I broke 
 your head ; What matter have you against me t 
 
 SUn. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head against 
 you ; and against your coney-catching rascals, Bar- 
 dolph, Xym, and Pistol. They carried me to the 
 tave.-n, and made me drunk, and afterwards picked 
 my pocket. 
 
 Bard. You Banbury cheese ! 
 
 Slen. Ay. it is no matter. 
 
 Pist. How now, Mephostophilns ? 
 
 Sten. Ay, it is no matter. 
 
 A't/m. Slice, I say ! pauca, pauca ; slice ! that's 
 my nnmour. 
 
 Slen. Where 's Simple, my man 1 — can you tell, 
 cousin ? 
 
 Eva. Peace •. I pray you ! Now let us understand : 
 There is three umpires in this matt*;r, as 1 under- 
 stand : that is, — master Pz§e,Jidelicet, master Page ; 
 and there is myself, Jidelicet, myself; and the tliree 
 party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter. 
 
 Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between them. 
 
 Eva. Ferry goot : I will make a prief of it in my 
 note-book ; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the 
 cause, with as great discreetly as we can. 
 
 Fal. Pistol,— 
 
 Pist. He hejirs with ears. 
 
 Eta. The tevU with his tam ! what phrase is this. 
 He hears with ear ? \\"hy. it is aHectations. 
 
 Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Slender's purse? 
 
 Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would 1 
 might never come in mine own great chamber again 
 else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two 
 Edward shovel-boards, that cost me two shilling and 
 two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves. 
 
 Fal. Is this true, Pistol ? 
 
 Era. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 
 
 Pist. Ha. thou mountain-foreigner ! — Sir John and 
 master mine, 
 I combat challenge of this latten bilbo : 
 Word of denial in thy labras here ; 
 Word of denial : froth and scum, thou liest. 
 
 Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he. 
 
 A'l/m. lie advis'd, sir, and pass good humours : I 
 will say, marrii, trap, with you, if you run the nut- 
 hook's humour on me: that is the ver^- note of it. 
 
 Slen. By this hat, then, he in the red face had it : 
 for though I cannot remember what I did when you 
 made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass, 
 
 Ful. What say you. Scarlet and John ? 
 
 Bard. \\h\, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman 
 had drunk himself out of his five sentences. 
 
 Era. It is his five senses : fie, what the ignorance is ! 
 
 Bard.. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, ca- 
 shier'd ; and so conclusions pass'd the careires. 
 
 Sle7i. Ay, you spake in Latin then too ; but 'tis no 
 matter : I '11 ne'er be drunk whilst I live again, but 
 in honest, civil, godly coropanv, for this trick: if I 
 be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have the fear 
 of God, and not with drunken knaves. 
 
 Eia. So Got 'udge me. that is a virtuous mind. 
 
 Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentlemen ; 
 you bear it. 
 
 Enter Miitreu Arrsz Pace with wine; ilistrea 
 Ford and Mistress P agz follov:ing. 
 
 Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in; we'll 
 drink within. [Exit Anne Pacl. 
 
 Slen. O heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page. 
 
 Page. How now, mistress Ford 1 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are very well 
 met : by your leave, good mistress. [kissing her. 
 
 Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : 
 
 Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner ; come, 
 gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkind- 
 ness. [Exeunt all but Shal. Slendeh, and Evans. 
 
 Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my 
 book of Songs and Sonnets here : — 
 
 Enter Simple. 
 
 How now. Simple ! Where have you been 1 I must 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 65 
 
 wall on mv5elf, must I ? You have not The Book of 
 RiJdIei about you, have you t 
 
 Stm. Book of BiildUi! why, did not you lend it 
 to Alice Shortcalte upon Allliallow-mas last, a fort- 
 night albre Michaelmas! 
 
 bhd. Come, coz ; come, coz; we stay for you. 
 A word with you, coz: marry, this, coz ; There is, 
 as 'twere, a tender, a kind of tender, made afar off by 
 sir Hugh here; — Do you understand me? 
 
 tn. Av, sir, you. shall find me reasonable ; if it 
 . I shail do that that is reason. 
 
 ^hiiL A'ay, but understand me. 
 
 Slot. So I do, sir. 
 
 Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender : I 
 will description the matter to you, if you be capa- 
 city of it. 
 
 Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow says ; 
 I pray you, pardon me ; he's a justice of peace in 
 his country, simple though I stand here. 
 
 Eia. But this is not the question ; the question 
 U concerning your marriage. 
 
 Shut. Ay, there's the point, sir. 
 
 JEia. JIarry, is it ; the very point of it ; to mis- 
 tress ,\nne Page. 
 
 Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon 
 any reasonable demands. 
 
 Eciin. But can you affection the 'oman'! Let us 
 command to know that of your moutli, or of your 
 lips ; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is 
 parcel of the mouth ; — Therefore, precisely, can you 
 carrj' your good will to the maid ? 
 
 Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her ? 
 
 SUit. I hope, sir, — I will do, as it shall become 
 one that would do reason. 
 
 Flo. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies, you must 
 speak possitable, if you can carry her your desires 
 towards her t 
 
 Shiil. That you must : Will you, upon good dowry, 
 marry her ] 
 
 Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your 
 request, cousin, in any reason. 
 
 Shot. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz; 
 what I do, is to pleasure you, coz : Can you love 
 the maid ! 
 
 Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but 
 if there be no great love in the beginning, yet hea- 
 ven may decrease it upon better acquaintance, when 
 we are married, and have more occasion to know one 
 another: I hope, upon familiarity will grow more 
 contempt : but if you say, mamj her, I will marry 
 her, that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely, 
 
 Errt. It is a fery discretion answer ; save, the 
 faul'is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ortis, according 
 to our meaning, resolutely ; — his meaning is good. 
 
 Shal. Ay, I think my cousin meant well. 
 
 Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la. 
 
 lie-entei- Anne P.age. 
 
 Shul. Here comes fair mistress Anne : — Would I 
 were young, for your sake, mistress Anne ! 
 _ Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my father de- 
 sires your worships' company. 
 
 Shul. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne. 
 
 JEtin. Gd's plessed will ! I will not be absence at 
 the grace. [Erciiiit Shallow and Sir H. Evans. 
 
 Anne. AVill 't please your worship to come in, sir? 
 
 Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am 
 very well. 
 
 Anne. The dinner attends you, sir. 
 
 Slen. I am not a-huugiy, I thank you, foisooth. 
 Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon 
 my cousin Shallow: [Ejit Simple.] A justice of 
 
 peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for a 
 man: — 1 keep but three men and a boy yet, till my 
 mother be dead ; But what though ! yet I live like 
 a poor gentleman born. 
 
 Anne. I may not go in without your worship: 
 they will not sit, till you come. 
 
 Slen. I'faith, I'll eat nothing; I thank you as 
 much as though I did. 
 
 Ajine. I pray you, sii*, walk in. 
 
 Slen, I had rather walk here, I thank you ; I 
 bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword 
 and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys for 
 a dish of stewed prunes ; and, by my troth, I cannot 
 abide the smell of hot meat since. \Vhy do your dogs 
 bark so ? be there bears i' the town. 
 
 Anne, I think there are, sir ; 1 heard them talked of. 
 
 Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon 
 quarrel at it, as any man in England: — You are 
 afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not? 
 
 Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 
 
 Slen. That 's meat and drink to me now : I have 
 seen Sackerson loose twenty times ; and have taken 
 him by the chain : but, I warrant you, the women 
 have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it pass'd : — but 
 women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ; they are very lil 
 favoured rough things. 
 
 Re-enter Page. 
 
 Pnf^e. Come, gentle master Slender, come ; we 
 stay for you. 
 
 Slen. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir. 
 
 Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose, sir ; 
 come, come. 
 
 Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 
 
 Page. Come on, sir. 
 
 iS(e«. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 
 
 Anne. Not I, sir: pray you, keep on. 
 
 Slen. Truly, I ^vill not go first; truly, la: I will 
 not do you that wrong. 
 
 Anne. I pray you, sir. 
 
 Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than troublesome ; 
 you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [-E.vetiHf. 
 
 SCENE n.—The same. 
 Entei- Sir Hugh Evans and Simple. 
 
 Era. Go your ways, and ask of Dr. Cains' house, 
 which is the way : and there dwells one mistress 
 Quickly, which is in the manner of his nurse, or his 
 diy nurse, or his cook, or his laundry, his washer, 
 and his wringer. 
 
 Simp. Well, sir. 
 
 Eva. Nay, it is petter yet : give her this letter ; 
 
 for it is a 'oman that altogether's acquaintance with 
 mistress Anne Page : and the letter is, to desire and 
 require her to solicit your master's desires to mistress 
 Anne Page : I pray you, begone ; I will make an 
 end of my dinner ; there 's pippins and cheese to come. 
 
 ^Kieunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— .4 Boom in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol, 
 and Robin. 
 
 Fal. Jline host of the Garter, — 
 
 Host. What says ray bully-rook ? Speak scholarly, 
 and wisely. 
 
 Ful. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of 
 my followers. 
 
 Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let them 
 wdg; trot, trot. 
 
 Fal. 1 sit at ten pounds a week. 
 E 
 
6G 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Host. Thou'rt an emperor, Cffisar, Keisar, and 
 Pheeiar. I will entertain Kardolph ; he shall draw, 
 he shall tap: said I well, bully Hector^ 
 
 Fal. Do so, good mine host. 
 
 Host, 1 have spoke ; let him follow : Let me see 
 thee froth, and lime : I am at a word ; follow. 
 
 I El it Host. 
 
 Fal. Bardolph follow him : a tapster is a good 
 trade : and an old cloak makes a new j erki n ; a withered 
 serving-man, afresh tapster : Go; adieu. 
 
 Bard. It is a life that I have desired : I will 
 thrive. [Eiit Bard. 
 
 Pist. base Gongarian mght ! wilt thou the 
 spigot wield 1 
 
 Nym. He was gotten in drink : Is not the humour 
 conceited 1 His mind is not heroic, and there's the 
 humour of it. 
 
 Fal. I am glad, I am so acquit of this tinder-bos ; 
 his thefts were too open ; his filching was like an 
 unskilful singer, he kept not time. 
 
 Ni/m. The good humour is, to steal at a minute's 
 rest. 
 
 Pist. Convey, the wise it call : Steal ! foh ; a fico 
 for the phrase ! 
 
 Fal. Well, sirs, I almost out at heels. 
 
 Pist. Why then, let kibes ensue. 
 
 Fal. Tliere is no remedy ; I must coney-catch ; 
 I must shift. 
 
 Pist. Young ravens must have food. 
 
 Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town ? 
 
 Pist. I ken the wight; he is of substance good. 
 
 Fal. My honest lads, 1 will tell you what I am 
 about. 
 
 Pist. Two yards and more. 
 
 Fal. No quips now, Pistol ; Indeed I am in the 
 waist two yards about : but I am now about no waste ; 
 I am about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love 
 to Ford's wife ; I spy entertainment in her ; she dis- 
 courses, she carves, she gives the leer of invitation : 
 I can construe the action of her familiar style ; and 
 tlie hardest voice of her behaviour, to be English 'd 
 rightly, is, I am sir Jolm Falstnff s. 
 
 Pist. He hath studied her well, and translated her 
 well ; out of honesty into English. 
 
 Nym. The anchor is deep : will that humour pass? 
 
 Fill. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of 
 her husband's purse ; she hath legions of angels. 
 
 Pist. As many devils entertain ; and, To her, boy, 
 say I. 
 
 Nym. The humour rises ; it is good : humour me 
 the angels. 
 
 Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her : and here 
 another to Page's wife ; who even now gave me good 
 eyes too, examined my parts with most judicious 
 eyliads : sometimes the beam of her view gilded my 
 foot, sometimes my portly belly. 
 
 Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 
 
 Nym. I thank thee for that humour. 
 
 FaL O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with 
 such a greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye 
 did seem to scorch me uplike aborning glass ! Here's 
 another letter to her : she bears the purse too ; she is 
 a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will be 
 cheater to them both, and they shall be exchequers 
 to me ; they shall be my East and West Indies, and 
 I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter 
 to mistress Page ; and thou this to mistress Ford •. 
 we will thrive, lads, we will thrive. 
 
 Pist. .Shall I sir Pandarus of Troy become. 
 And by my side wear steel 1 then, Lucifer take all ! 
 Num. 1 will run no base humour : here, take the 
 humour letter ; I will keep the 'haviour of reputation. 
 
 Fal. Hold, sirrah, [to Rob.] bear you these letters 
 tightly; 
 Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. — 
 Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hail-stones, go; 
 Trudge, plod, away, o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack! 
 Falstaff will learn the humour of this age, 
 French thrift, you rogues ; myself, and skirted page. 
 [Exeunt Falstaff and Robin. 
 
 Pist. Let vultures gripe thy guts ! for gourd, and 
 fullam liolds, M 
 
 And high and low beguile the rich and poor ; 
 Tester I 'II have in pouch, when thou shall lack. 
 Base Phrygian Turk ! 
 
 Nym. I have operations in my head, which be hu- 
 mours of revenge. 
 
 Pist. Wilt thou revenge ? 
 
 Ntim. By welkin, and her star ! 
 
 Pist. With wit, or steel ? 
 
 Num. With both the humours, I : 
 I will discuss the humour of this love to Page. 
 
 Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold, 
 How FalslafF, varlet vile. 
 His dove will prove, his gold will hold. 
 And his soft couch detile. 
 
 Nym. My humour shall not cool : I will incense 
 Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with 
 yellowness, for the revolt of mien is dangerous: that 
 IS my true humour. 
 
 Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents : I second 
 thee ; troop on. [Eieimt 
 
 SCENE IV.—A Room in Dr. Caius's Howe. 
 Enter Mrs. Quickly, Simplk, and Rugry. 
 
 Quick. What : John Rugby !— I pray thee, go to 
 the casement, and see if you can see my master, mas- 
 ter Doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i'faith, and find 
 any body in the house, here ^vill be an old abusing 
 of God's patience, and the king's English. 
 
 RuiT. I'll go watch. [Kiit RxrcBV. 
 
 Quick. Go; and we'll have a posset for'tsoonat 
 night, in faith, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. 
 An honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant 
 shall come in house withal . and, I warrant you, no 
 telltale, nor no breed-bate : his worst fault is, that 
 he is given to prayer ; he is something peevish that 
 way ; but nobody but has his fault ;— but let that 
 pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is 1 
 
 Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 
 
 Quick. And master Slender 's your master? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth. 
 
 Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, like 
 a glover's paring knife ? 
 
 Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face, 
 with a little yellow beard ; a Cain-coloured beard. 
 
 Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not ? 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth ; but he is as tall a man of his 
 hands, as any is between this and his head ; he hath 
 fought with a warrener. 
 
 Quick. How say you? — O, I should remember 
 him ; Does he not hold up his head, as it were ? and 
 strut in his gait ? 
 
 Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. 
 
 Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse 
 fortune! Tell master parson Evans. I will do what 
 I can for your master: Anne is a good girl, and I 
 wish — 
 
 Re-enter Rugby. 
 
 Ru^. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 
 
 Quick. We shall all be shent : Run in here, good 
 young man; go into this closet. [Sfiuts Sijipie in, 
 the closet.} He will not stay long, — What, John 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 67 
 
 Rugby! John, what John, I say!— Go, John, go 
 inquire for my master ; I doubt, he be not well, that 
 he comes not home : — attd down, down, adown^a, &c. 
 
 [^Sings. 
 
 Enter Doctor Caius. 
 
 Cciiis. Vat is you sing ? I do not like dese toys ; 
 Prav you, go and vetch me in my closet un boitier 
 terd ; a box, a green-a box ; Do intend vat I speak! 
 a green-a box. 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth, I'll fetch it you. I am glad 
 he went not in himself: if he had found the young 
 man. he would have been horn-mad. [Aside. 
 
 Caius. Fe, fe.Je, fe! nta foi, it fait fort chaud, 
 Je m^en vais a la ronr, — la g-rande ajfaire, 
 
 Qnick. Is it this, sir ? 
 
 Caius. Ohi/; mette le an mon pocket; Depeche, 
 quickly: — Verc is dat knave Rugbvl 
 
 Quick. What, John Kugby! John! 
 
 Ung. Here, sir. 
 
 Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack 
 Rugby : Come, take-a your rapier, and come after 
 my heel to de court. 
 
 Rug, *Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. 
 
 Ctiius. By my trot, 1 tarry too long ; Od's me ! 
 Quait fnufilicf here is some simples in my closet, 
 dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind. 
 
 Quick. .4.h me ! he'll find the young man there, 
 md be mad ! 
 
 Caius. diahle, diahle! vat is in my closet ■? — 
 Villany! lai-nm! \_ptiiling Simple out,^ Rugby, my 
 rapier. 
 
 Quick. Good master, be content. 
 
 Caiits. Verefore shall I be content-a ? 
 
 Quick. The young man is an honest man. 
 
 Caius. Vat shall de honest man do in my closet? 
 dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet. 
 
 Quick, I beseech you, be not so flegmalick ; hear 
 the truth of it : He came of an errand to me from 
 parson Hugh. 
 
 Caius. Veil. 
 
 Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to — 
 
 Quick. Peace, 1 pray you. 
 
 Caius. Peace-a your tongue : — Speak-a your tale. 
 
 Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your 
 maid, to speak a good word to Mrs. ."Vnne Page for 
 tny master, in the way of marriage. 
 
 Quick. This is all, indeed, la ; but I'll ne'er put 
 my finger in the fire, and need not. 
 
 Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you ? — Rugby, Iniiltcz me 
 some paper ; Tarry you a little-a while. [ Writes. 
 Quick. I am glad lie is so quiet : if he had been 
 thoroughly moved, you should have heard him so 
 loud, and so melancholy; — But notwithstanding, 
 man, I'll do your master what good I can : and the 
 very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my mas- 
 ter, — I may call him my master, look you, for I keep 
 his house ; and I wash, wring, brew, bake, scour, 
 dress meat and drink, make the beds, and do all my- 
 self:— 
 
 Sim. 'Tis a great charge, to come under one body's 
 hand. 
 
 Quick. Are you avis'd o'that t you shall find it a 
 great charge : and to be up early and down late ; — 
 but notwithstanding, (to tell you in your ear ; I 
 would have no words of it ;) my master himself is in 
 love with mistress Anne Page : but notwithstanding 
 that, — I know Anne's mind, — that's neither here nor 
 tliere. 
 
 Cuius. You Jack'nape ; give-a dis letter to sir 
 Hugh ; by gar, it is a shallenge ; I vill cut his troat 
 in de park ; and I vill teach a scurvy jack-a-nape 
 
 priest to meddle or make ; — you may be gone ; it is 
 not good you tarry here : — by gar, 1 vill cut all his 
 two stones ; by gar, he shall not have a stone to trow 
 at his dog. [jEj-i( Simi-le. 
 
 Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 
 
 Caius. It is nomatter-afordat: — do notyou tell-a 
 me dat 1 shall have Anne Page for myself? — by gai, 
 I vill kill de Jack Priest ; and I have appointed 
 mine host of de Jiirterre to measure our weapon ■ — • 
 by gar, I vill myself have Anne Page. 
 
 Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be 
 well : we must give folks leave to prate : What, the 
 good-jer ! 
 
 Caius. Rugby, come to de court vit me : — By gar, 
 if I have not Anne Page, T shall turn your head out 
 of my door : — Follow my heels, Rugby. 
 
 [Exeunt Caiits and Rvgby. 
 
 Quick. You shall have .\n fools-head of your own. 
 No, I know Anne's mind for that : never a woman 
 in Windsor knows more of Anne's mind, than I do : 
 uor can do more than I do with her, I thank heaven. 
 
 Fenl. [^Vithin.'^ Who's within there ? ho! 
 
 Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the house, 
 I pray you. 
 
 Enter Fenton. 
 
 Pent. How now, good woman ; how dost thou ? 
 
 Quick. The better, that it pleases your good wor- 
 ship to ask. 
 
 Fent. What news? how does pretty mistress .\nne ? 
 
 Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest, 
 and gentle ; and one that is your friend, I can tell 
 you that by the way ; I praise heaven for it. 
 
 Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou ? Shall I 
 not lose my suit ? 
 
 Quick, 'froth, sir, all is in his hands above: but 
 notwithstanding, master Fenton, I'll be swoin on a 
 book, she loves you ; — Have not your worship a wart 
 above your eye ? 
 
 Fent. Yes, marry, have I ; what of that? 
 
 Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale ; — good faith, 
 it is such another Nan ; — but, I detest, an honest 
 maid as ever broke bread ; We had an hour's talk of 
 that wart : — I shall never laugh but in that maid's 
 company! But, indeed, she is given too much to 
 allicholly, and musing : But for you — Well, go to. 
 
 Fent. \l'ell, I shall see her to-day ; Hold, there's 
 money for thee ; let me have thy voice in my behalf : 
 if thou seest her before me, commend me — 
 
 Quick. Will I ? i'faith, that we will ; and I will 
 tell your worship more of the wart, the next time we 
 have confidence ; and of other wooers. 
 
 Fent. Well, farewell ; I am in great haste now, 
 
 [Exit* 
 
 Quick. Farewell to your worship. — Truly, an ho- 
 nest gentleman ; but .'inne loves him not ; for I know 
 Anne's mind as well as another does : — Out upon't! 
 what have I forgot ? [ Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE 1.— Before Page's House. 
 
 Enter Mistress Page, with a Letter 
 
 Mrs. Page. What ! have I 'scap'd love-letters in 
 the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a sub- 
 ject for them ? Let me see : [Reads. 
 
 Ask me no reason tvhy I love yon ; for though love 
 use reason for his precisian, he admits him not for his 
 counsellor: You are not youngs no more am I; go to 
 E 2 
 
68 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 then, there's svmpathi) : you are merry, so am I ; Ha ! 
 Iia! then there's more sympathy : ynu love sack, and so 
 do I ; Would you desire better sympathy 1 Let it suf- 
 Jice thee, mistress Page, (at least, if the love of a sol- 
 dier can suffice, ) that I love thee. I will not say, pity 
 me. 'tis not a soldier-like phrase; but 1 say, love me. 
 By me. 
 
 Thine own true knight, 
 
 Ba day or night. 
 
 Or nuJt kind of light. 
 
 With all his might, 
 
 For thee to fight, John Falslaff. 
 
 What a Herod of Jewry is this ? —0 wicked, wicked 
 world ! — one that is well nigh worn to pieces with 
 age, to shew himself a young gallant ! What an un- 
 weighed behaviour hath this Flemish drunkard picked 
 (with the devil's name) out of my conversation, that 
 hedaresin this manner assay me 1 Why, he hath not 
 been thrice in my company"! — What should I say to 
 him ? — I was then frugal of my mirth : — heaven for- 
 give me ! — Why I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament 
 for the putting down of fat men. How shall I be re- 
 venged on him ">. for revenged I will be, as stue as 
 his guts are made of puddings. 
 
 Enter Mistress Vord. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was going 
 to your house ! 
 
 Mrs. Page- And trust me, I was coming to you. 
 You look very ill. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that ; I have to 
 shew to the contrary. 
 
 Mrs. Page, 'faith, but you do, in my mind. 
 Mrs. Ford. Well, I do, then ; yet, 1 say, I could 
 shew you to the contrary : O, mistress Page, give me 
 some counsel ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman ? 
 Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one trifling 
 respect, I could come to sucii honour ! 
 
 Jl-fi's. Page. Hang the trifle, woman ; take the ho- 
 nour : What is it! dispense with trifles ; — what 
 
 is it! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal 
 moment, or so, I could be knighted. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What] thou best ! — Sir Alice Ford ! 
 
 These knights will hack ; and so thou shouldst 
 
 not alter the article of thy gentry. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We burn day-liglit: — here, read, read ; 
 —perceive how I might be knighted. — I shall think 
 the worse of fat men, as long as 1 have an eye to 
 make difterence of men's liking : And yet he would 
 not swear ; praised women's modesty ; And gave 
 such orderly and well-behaved reproof to all uncome- 
 liness, that 1 would have sworn his disposition would 
 have gone to the truth of his words : but they do no 
 more adhere and keep place together than the hun- 
 dredth psalm to the tune of Green sleeves. What tem- 
 pest, I trow, threw this whale with so many tuns of 
 oil in his belly, ashore at Windsor? How shall 1 be 
 revenged on him ^ I think the best way were to en- 
 tertain him with hope, till the wicked fire of lust have 
 melted him in his own grease. — Did you ever hear 
 the like? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Letter for letter ; but that the name 
 of Page and Ford difl'ers ! — To thy great comfort in 
 this raystery of ill opinions, liere's the twin-brother 
 of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, I pro- 
 test, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a thousand 
 of these letters, writ with blank space for different 
 names, (sure more.) and these are of the second edi- 
 tion : He will priot them out of doubt ; for he cares 
 not what he puts into the press when he would put 
 
 us two. I had rather be a giantess, and lie under 
 mount Pelion. Well, I will lind you twenty lasci- 
 vious turtles, ere one chaste man. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. \\ hv this is the very same ; the very 
 hand, the very words : What doth he think of usl 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, 1 know not : It makes me almost 
 ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll enter- 
 tain myself like one that I am not acquainted witha! ; 
 for, sure, unless he know some strain in me, that I 
 know not myself, he would never have boarded me 
 in this fury. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Boarding, call you it ? I '11 be sure to 
 keep him above deck. 
 
 iUrs. Page. So will I ; if he come under my hatches, 
 I '11 never to sea again. Let's be revenged on him : 
 let's appoint him a meeting; give him a show of 
 comfort in his suit ; and lead him on with a fine baited 
 delav, till he hath pawn'd his horses to mine Host of 
 the Garter. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villany 
 against him, that may not sully the chariness of our 
 honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter ! it 
 would give eternal food to his jealousy. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and my 
 good man too ; he's as far from jealousy, as 1 am 
 from giving him cause ; and that, 1 hope, is an un- 
 measurable distance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. You are the happier woman. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against this 
 greasy knight : Come hither. [They retire. 
 
 Enter Fonn, Pistoi,, Page, and Nvm. 
 
 Ford. Well, 1 hope, it be not so. 
 Pist. Hope is a curtail dog in some affairs i 
 Sir John affects thy wife. 
 
 Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. 
 Pist. He wooes both high and low, both rich and 
 Both young and old, one with another. Ford ; [poor, 
 He loves the gallv-mawfry ; Ford, perpend. 
 Ford. Love my wife ? 
 
 Pisl. With liver burning hot : Prevent, or go thou. 
 Like sir Actajon he, with King-wood at thy heels: — 
 O, odious is the name ! 
 Ford. What name, sir 1 
 Pist. The horn, I say : Farewell. 
 Take heed ; have open eye ; for thieves do foot by 
 night : [sing. — 
 
 Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do 
 
 Away, sir corporal Nym. 
 
 Believe it. Page ; he speaks sense. [Eiit Pistol. 
 Ford. I will be patient ; I will find out this. 
 Nym, And this is true ; [to Page.] I like not the 
 humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some 
 humours : I should have borne the humoured letter 
 to her ; but I have a s^vord, and it shall bite upon my 
 necessity. He loves yourwile -, there's the short antt 
 the long. My name is corporal Nym ; I speak, and I 
 avouch, ''lis true . — my name is Nym, and Falstaif 
 loves your wife, — Adieu ! I love not the humour of 
 bread and cheese ; and there 's the humour of it. 
 Adieu. [Eiit Nym. 
 
 Page. The humour of it, cjuoth 'a ! here's a fellow 
 frights humour out of his wiis. 
 Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. 
 Page. 1 never heard such a dr.awling, aff"ecling rogue. 
 Ford. If-I do find it, well. 
 
 Page. I will not believe such a Catalan, though the 
 priests o' the town commended him for a true man. 
 Ford, 'Twas a good sensible fellow : Well. 
 Page. How now, Meg 1 
 Mrs. Page, Whither go you, George? — Haik you. 
 
ACT II— SCEXH II. 
 
 09 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank ^ why art thou 
 melancholy 1 
 
 Ford. I melancholy I I am not melancholy. — Get 
 you home, go. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. 'Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy 
 head now. — Will you go, Mistress Pager 
 
 Mrs. Fiige. Ha\e with you. — You'll come to din- 
 ner, George ? Look, who comes yonder: she shall be 
 our messenger to this paltry knight. 
 
 [Aside to Mrs. Ford. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her : she'll fit it. 
 
 Mrs. t^age. You are come to see my daughter Anne ? 
 
 Qulrh. Ay, forsooth ; And, 1 pray, how does good 
 mistress .\nae ''■ 
 
 Mrs. I'oge. Go in with us, and see ; we have an 
 aour's talk with you. 
 [^Exeitnt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, ajulMrs. Quickly. 
 
 Fage. How now, master Ford ? 
 
 Ford. You heard what this knave told me ; did you 
 aoil 
 
 Pdge Y'es ; And you heard wliat the other told me 1 
 
 Ford. Do you think there is tmth in them ? 
 
 Page. Hang 'em, slaves ; 1 do not think the knight 
 would oft'er it ; but these that accuse him in his intent 
 towards our wives, are a yoke of his discarded men : 
 tery rogues, now they be out of service. 
 
 Fo'-d. Were they his men t 
 
 Fage. Marry, were they. 
 
 Ford. I like it never the belter for that. — Does he 
 lie at the Garter ? 
 
 Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend 
 this voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose 
 to him ; and what he gets of her more than sharp 
 words, let it lie on my head. 
 
 Ford. I do not disdoubt my wife ; but I would be 
 loth to turn them together : A man may be too con- 
 fident ; I would have nothing lie on my head : 1 can- 
 not be thus satisfied. 
 
 Fuge. Look, where my ranting host of the Garter 
 comes : there is either liquor in his pate, or money 
 in his purse, when he looks so merrily. — How now, 
 mine host? 
 
 Enter Host and Shallow. 
 
 Host. How now, bully-rook ! thou 'rt a gentleman : 
 cavalero-justice, I say. 
 
 Shai. 1 follow, mine host, I follow. — Good even, 
 and twenty, good master Page ! JIaster Page, will 
 you go with us t we have sport in hand. 
 
 Host. Teli him, cavalero-justice ; tell nim, bully- 
 rook. 
 
 Sl:al. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, between sir 
 Hugh the Welch priest, and Caius the French doctor. 
 
 Ford. Good mine host o' the Garter, a word with 
 you. 
 
 Host. What say'st thou, bully-rook? 
 
 [Thef^ go aside. 
 
 Shot. Will you [((> Page.] go with us to behold it ! 
 My merry host hath had the measuring of their wea- 
 pons ; and, I think, he hath appointed them contrary 
 places : for, believe me, I hear, the parson is no jester. 
 Hark, I will tell you what our S])ort shall be. 
 
 Host. Hist thou no suit against my knight, my 
 guest-cavalier ? 
 
 Ford. None, I protest: but I'll give you a pottle of 
 burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell him, 
 my name is Brook ; only for a jest. 
 
 Host. My hand, bully: thou shall have egress and 
 regress ; said I well ? and thy name shall be Brook : 
 It IS a merry knight. — Will you go, cavalieres ? 
 
 Shal. Have with you, mine host. 
 
 Pttge. I have heard, the Frenchman iiath good skill 
 in his rapier. 
 
 Ulial. Tut, sir. I could have told you more: In these 
 times, you stand on distance, your passes, stoccadoes, 
 and I know not what : 'tis the heart, master I'age ; 
 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the time. v%ilh my 
 loiig sword, I would have made you four tall lellows 
 skip like rats. 
 
 Host. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we wag ? 
 
 Page. Have with you : — I had rather hear them 
 scold than fight. 
 
 [Exeunt Host, Shallow, and Page. 
 
 Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands so 
 firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put oft' my 
 opinion so easily : She was in his company at Patre's 
 house ; and, what they made there, I know not. 
 Well, I will look further into 't : and I have a disguise 
 to sound Falstaft'; If I find her honest, I lose not my 
 labour ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour well bestowed. 
 
 [Eiit. 
 
 SCEXE 11. — .4 Room in the Garter Inn 
 Enter Falstaff and Pistol. 
 
 Fal. I will not lend thee a penny. 
 
 Pist. Why, then the world's mine oyster, 
 AVhich I with sword will open. — ■ 
 I will retort the sura in equipage. 
 
 Fid. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 
 should lay my countenance to pawn : I have grated 
 upon my good friends for three reprieves for you and 
 your coach-fellow, Nym ; or else you had looked 
 through the grate, like a geminy of "baboons. I am 
 damned in hell, for swearing to gentlemen my friends, 
 you were good soldiers, and tall fellows ■ and when 
 mistress Kridgel lo»t the handle of her fan, I took 't 
 upon mine honour, thou hadst it not. [pence'. 
 
 Pist. Didst thou not share ! hadst tliou not fifteen 
 
 Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason • Think'st thou 
 I '11 endanger my soul gratis 1 At a word, hang no 
 more about me, I am no gibbet for you ; — go — A 
 short knife and a throng ; — to your manor of Pickt- 
 hatch, go. — Y'ou '11 not bear a letter for me. you 
 rogue ! — You stand upon your honour ! — Why, liiou ' 
 unconfinable baseness, it is as much as 1 can" do, to 
 keep the terras of my honour precise. I, I, I myself 
 sometimes, leaving the fear of heaven on the" left 
 hand, and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am 
 fain to shuiBe, to hedge, and to lurch ; and yet you, 
 rogue, will ensconce your rags, your cat-a-mounlain 
 looks, your red-lattice phrases, and your bold-beatincr 
 oaths, under the shelter of your honour ! Y'ou will not 
 do it, you 7 
 
 Pist. I do relent ; Whatnould'st thou more of man ? 
 
 Enter Robix. 
 Bob. Sir, here's a woman would speak with you. 
 Fal. Let her approach. 
 
 Enter Mistress Quickly. 
 
 Quick. Give your worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fal. Good-morrow, good wife. 
 
 Quick. Not so, au't please your worship. 
 
 Fat. Good maid, then. 
 
 Quick. I '11 be sworn ; as my mother was, the first 
 hour I was born. 
 
 Fiil. I do believe the swearer : W^hat with me ? 
 
 Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a word or 
 two? 
 
 Fal. Two thousand, fair woman : and I 'II vouch- 
 safe thee the hearing. 
 
 Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir ; — ! pray, 
 
70 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 cornea little nearer this ways : — I myself dwell with 
 master doctor Caius. 
 
 Fai. Well, on ; Mistress Ford, you say, 
 
 Quick, Your worship says very true ; 1 pray your 
 worship, come a little nearer this ways. 
 
 Ful. I warrant thee, nobody hears j — mine own 
 people, mine own people. 
 
 Quick. Are they so ! Heaven bless them, and make 
 them his servants ! 
 
 Fal. Well : Mistress Ford ;— what of her ? 
 
 Quick* Why, sir, she's a good creature. Lord, 
 lord ! your worship's a wanton : Well, heaven for- 
 give you, and all of us, I pray ! 
 
 Fal. iMistress Ford ; — come, mistress Ford, — 
 
 Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of it; 
 you have brought her into such a canaries, as 'tis 
 wonderful. The best courtier of them all, -when the 
 court lay at Windsor, could never have brought her 
 to such a canary. Yet there has been knights, and 
 lords, and gentlemen with their coaches ; 1 warrant 
 you, coach after coach, letter after letter, gift after 
 gift ; smelling so sweetly, (all musk,) and so rush- 
 ling, I warrant you, in silk and gold ; and in sucli 
 ailigant terms ; and in such wine and sugar of the 
 best, and the fairest, that would have won any wo- 
 man's heart ; and, I warrant you, they could never 
 get an eye-wink of her. — I had myself twenty angels 
 given me this morning ; but I defy all angels, (in 
 any such sort, as they say,) but in the way of ho- 
 nesty : — and, I warrant you, they could never get her 
 so much as sip on a cup with the proudest of them 
 all : and yet there has been earls, nay, which is more, 
 pensioners ; but, I warrant you, all is one with her. 
 
 Ful. Butwhat says she to mel be brief, my good 
 she Mercury. 
 
 Quick. Marry, she hath received your letter ; for 
 the which she thanks you a thousand times : and she 
 gives you to notify, that her husband will be absence 
 from his house between ten and eleven. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven ? 
 
 Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come and 
 see the picture, she says, that you wot of; — master 
 Ford, her husband, will be from home. Alas! the 
 sweet woman leads an ill life with him ; he 's a very 
 jealousy man: she leads a very frampold life with 
 him, good heart. 
 
 Fal. Ten and eleven . Woman, commend me to 
 her ; I will not fail her. 
 
 Quick. Why you say well : But I have another 
 messenger to your worship : Mistress Page hath her 
 hearty commendations to you too ; — and let me tell 
 you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest wife, 
 and one (I tell you) that will not miss you mornmg 
 nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be 
 'the other: and she bade me tell your worship, that 
 her husband is seldom from home ; but, she hopes, 
 there will come a time. I never knew a woman so 
 dote upon a man ; surely, I think you have charms, 
 la ; yes, in truth. 
 
 Fal, Not I, I assure thee ; setting the attraction 
 of my good parts aside, I have no other charms. 
 
 Quick. Blessing on your heart for't ! 
 
 Fal. But, 1 pray thee, tell me this : has Ford's 
 wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each other how 
 they love me ■* 
 
 Quick. That were a jest, indeed ! — they have not 
 so little grace. I hope : — that were a trick, indeed ! 
 But mistress Page would desire you to send her your 
 little page, of all loves ; her husband has a marvel- 
 lous infection to the little page: and, truly, master 
 Page is an honest man. Never a wife in Windsor 
 leads a better life than she does ; do what she will, 
 
 say what she will, take all, pay all, go to bed when 
 she list, rise when she list, all is as she will ; and. 
 truly, she deserves it : for if there be a kind woman 
 in Windsor, she is one. You must send her your 
 page ; no remedy. 
 
 Fal. Why, 1 will. 
 
 Quick. Nay, but do so then: and, look you, he 
 may come and go between you both ; and, in any 
 case, have a nay-word, that you may know one an- 
 other's mind, and the boy never need to understand 
 any thing ; for 'tis not good that children should 
 know any wickedness : old folks, you know, have 
 discretion, as they say, and know the world. 
 
 Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them both: 
 there's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go 
 
 along with this woman. This news distracts me ! 
 
 [E.ie«ut Quickly and Robin. 
 
 Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers : — 
 Clap on more sails ; pursue, up with your fights ; 
 Give fire ; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all. 
 
 [Erit Pistol. 
 
 Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack ? go thy ways ; I'll 
 make more of thy old body than I have done. Will 
 they yet look after thee? Wilt thou, after the ex- 
 pense of so much money, be now a gainer? Good 
 body, I thank thee : Let them say, 'tis grossly done; 
 so it be fairly done, no matter. 
 
 Enter BiVitDOLP?i. 
 
 Bard. Sir John, there's one master Brook below 
 would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with 
 you ; and hath sent your worship a morning's 
 draught of sack. 
 
 Fal. Brook, is his name? 
 
 Bard. Ay, sir. 
 
 Fal. Call him in; [Eiif Bardolph.] Such 
 Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such liquor. 
 Ah! ha! mistress Ford and mistress Page, have I 
 encompassed you ? go to ; via ! 
 
 Ue-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised. 
 
 Ford. Bless you, sir. 
 
 Fal, And you, sir: Would you speak with me? 
 
 Ford, 1 make bold, to press with so little prepara- 
 tion upon you. 
 
 Fal, You're welcome; What's your will ? Give 
 us leave, drawer. lExit BARooLpn, 
 
 Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent 
 much ; ray name is Brook. 
 
 Fal. Good master Brook, I desire more acquaint- 
 ance of you. 
 
 Ford, Good sir John, I sue for yours: not to 
 charge you ; for I must let you understand, I think 
 myself in better plight for a lender than you are : 
 the which hath something emboldened me to this 
 unseasoned intrusion : for they say, if money go be- 
 fore, all ways do lie open. 
 
 Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on. 
 
 Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here 
 troubles me : if you will help me to bear it, sir 
 John, take all, or hal-f, for easing me of the carriage. 
 
 Fal. Sir, I know not how 1 may deserve to be 
 your porter. 
 
 Ford. 1 will tell you, sir, if you will give me the 
 hearing. 
 
 Fal. Speak, good master Brook ; I shall be glad 
 to be your servant. 
 
 Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will be 
 
 brief with you, and you have been a man long 
 
 known to me, though I had never so good means, 
 as desire, to make myself acquainted with you. I 
 shall discover a thing to you, wheiein I must very 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 71 
 
 touch lay open mine own imperfection : but, good 
 sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as 
 you hear them uufolded. turn another into the re- 
 gister of vour own ; that I may pass with a reproof 
 the easier, sith you yourself know, how easy it is to 
 be such an offender. 
 
 Fai. Very well, sir ; proceed. 
 
 Ford, There is a gentlewoman in this town, her 
 husband's name is Ford. 
 
 Fal. Well. sir. 
 
 Ford. I have long loved her, and I protest to you, 
 bestowed much on her ; followed her with a doting- 
 observance ; engrossed opportunities to meet her ; 
 fee"d every slight occasion, that could but niggardly 
 give me siglit of her ; not only bought many pre- 
 sents to give her, but have given largely to many, to 
 know what she would have given; briefly, I have 
 pursued her, as love hath pursued me ; which hath 
 been on the \ving of all occasions. But whatsoever 
 I have merited, either in my mind, or in my means, 
 meed, I am sure, 1 have received none ; unless ex- 
 perience be a jewel ; that I have purchased at an 
 infinite rate ; and that hath taught me to say this : 
 
 Love like a sliadowjiies, when substance love pursues; 
 Pursuing that thatjiies, andjly'nt^ what pursues. 
 
 Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfac- 
 tion at her hands "i 
 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 Fal. Have you importuned her to such a purpose ? 
 
 Ford. Never. 
 
 FaL Of what quality was your love theni 
 
 Fwd. Like a fair house, built upon another man's 
 ground ; so that I have lost my edifice, by mistaking 
 the place where I erected it. 
 
 FaL To what purpose have you unfolded this to 
 me ? 
 
 Ford. When I have told you that, I have told you 
 all. Some say, that, though she appear honest to 
 me, yet, in other places, she enlargeth her mirth so 
 far, that there is shrewd construction made of her 
 Now, Sir John, here is the heart of my purpose ; 
 Yon are a gentleman of excellent breeding, admira- 
 ble discourse, of great admittance, authentic in your 
 place and person, generally allowed for your many 
 warlike, court-like, aud learned preparations, 
 
 Fal. 0, sir! 
 
 Foi-d. Believe it, for you know it : — There is 
 money; spend it, spend it ; spend more ; spend all 
 I have ; only give nie so much of your time in ex- 
 change of it. as to lay an amiable siege to the ho- 
 nesty of this Ford's wife ; use your art of wooing, 
 win her to consent to you ; if any man may, you 
 may as soon as any. 
 
 Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of 
 your affection, that 1 should win what you would 
 enjoy ? IMethinks, you prescribe to yourself very 
 preposterouslv. 
 
 Ford. O. understand my drift! she dwells so se- 
 curely on the excellency of her honour, that the 
 folly of my soul dares not present itself ; she is too 
 bright to be looked against. Now, could I come to 
 her with any detection in my hand, my desires had 
 instance and argument to commend themselves ; I 
 could drive her then from the ward of her purity, 
 ber reputation, her marriage vow, and a thousand 
 other her defences, which are now too strongly em- 
 battled against me : What say you to't, sir John ? 
 
 Fal. Master Brook. I will tirst make bold with 
 your money ; next, give me vour hand : and last, as 
 I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, enjoy 
 ford's wife. 
 
 Ford. good sir ! 
 
 Fal. Master Brook, 1 say you shall. 
 
 Ford. Want no money, sir John, you shall want 
 none. 
 
 Fal. AVant no mistress Ford. INIaster Brook, you 
 shall want none. I shall be with her, (I may tell 
 yo'h,) by her own appointment ; even as you came 
 in to me. her assistant, or go-between, parted from 
 me : I say, T shall be with her between ten and ele- 
 ven ; for at that time the jealous rascally knave, her 
 husband, will be forth. Come you to me at night ; 
 you shall know how I speed. 
 
 Ford. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do you 
 know Ford, sir 1 
 
 Fal. Hang him, poor cuckoldv knave ! I know 
 him not : — yet 1 wrong him to call him poor; they 
 say, the jealous wiltolly knave hath masses of mo- 
 ney ; for the which his wife seems to me well-fa- 
 voured. I will use her as the key of the cuckoldy 
 rogue's coffer ; and there's my harvest-home. 
 
 Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir ; that you 
 might avoid him, if you saw him. 
 
 Fal. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I 
 will stare him out of his wits ; 1 will awe him with 
 my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er the 
 cuckold's horns: master Brook, thou shall know, I 
 will predominate o'er the peasant, and thou shall lie 
 with his wife — Come to me soon at night; — Ford's 
 a knave, and I will aggravate his stile ; thou master 
 Brook, shall know him for a knave and cuckold : — 
 come to me soon at night. [EjIu 
 
 Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is this ! 
 — ]My heart is ready to crack with impatience. — - 
 Who says, this is improvident jealousy ? My wife 
 hath sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is 
 made. Would any man have thought this? — See 
 the hell of having a false woman ! niy bed shall be 
 abused, my coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn 
 at ; and I shall not only receive this villanous 
 wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable 
 terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Terms ! 
 
 names ! Araaimon sounds well ; Lucifer, well ; 
 
 Barbason, well ; yet they are devils' additions, the 
 names of fiends : but cuckold I wittol-cuckold, the 
 devil himself hath not such a name. Page is an ass, 
 a sea u re ass ! he will trust his wife, he will not be 
 jealous ; I will rather trust a Fleming with my 
 butter, parson Hugh the Welchman with my cheese, 
 an Irishman with my aqua-vitie bottle, or a thief to 
 walk mv ambling gelding, than my wife with her- 
 self : then she plots, then she ruminates, then she 
 devises : and what they think in their hearts they 
 may effect, they will break their hearts but they will 
 efiect. Heaven be praised for my jealousy! — Ele- 
 ven o'clock the hour ; — I will prevent this, detect 
 my wife, be revenged on Falstafl', and laugh at Page. 
 1 will about it ; better three hmirs too soon, than a 
 minute too late. Fie, fie, fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! 
 cuckold! . [^Exit, 
 
 SCENE IlL— Windsor Park. 
 
 Enter Caius atid Rcgby, 
 
 Caius. Jack Rugby ! 
 
 Ru^. Sir. 
 
 Caius. Vat is de clock. Jack ? 
 
 Rug. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh pro- 
 raised to meet. 
 
 Cuius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no 
 come ; he has pray his Pibie veil, dat he is no come: 
 by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if he be 
 come. 
 
3IERRY WIVES Of WINDSOR. 
 
 /^•-;-- Ke :s wise, sir; he kaenr, Tmr woisiiip I 
 so^f LiU hira, if be tame. | 
 
 Cfiu. Bt Tar, de henisg is bo dead, so as I Till 
 bill hi^i. T^[e jonr n|neT, Jack ; I nil tell von 
 bffir 1 Till kill Iiim. 
 
 B^. Alas, sir, I canaot feace. 
 
 Cma. YiUaiiT, take Tonr ra|iier. 
 
 Bug. Forbear ; here's caanpuiy. 
 
 ZmUT Host, Ssaixow, Slesoeb, atd F^cs. 
 
 Eoa. 'Bless thee. boUj Doctor. > 
 
 S'-jzL Save jou, master doctor Cains. I 
 
 Pczt. Xow, good laasta doctor ! | 
 
 Sj~i. Give TOO good-UHTOw, sir. | 
 
 Cjiui. Vaibe all jtm, one, tvo, tree. fosT.ame for?' 
 
 H,-^. To see tnee fight, to see thee fcin, to see 
 thee tnreise, to see thee here, to see titee there ,: to ' 
 Ke ihee pass thy panto, thy stock, th; reverse, thy i 
 drstanre, thy moaiast. Is he dead, my Ethiopian ? j 
 is he d^d,'iny Fiaocbco? ta,faiiiiy ! Wbatsaysj 
 Tsw JEscQ^zxBS? my Galen? mr heart of elder! 
 La! kbe de^ bully Stale! is lie dead! 
 
 Cma. 'Bj gar, he i> de coward Jack priest of the 
 TOild ; he B not show his ^ce. 
 
 Ba^. ThoB ait a Castiliaa king, Viioal ! Hector | 
 of Greece, my boj ! 
 
 Cnau. I pr ay yo n, bearvitaeg that me have stay ail 
 or seren, two. tree hosTS for him, and he is no come. 
 
 SkaL He is the wiser man. master doctor : Ik is 
 a carer of souls, and yon a carer of bodies ; if yos 
 ■hoold fight. yo« go against ti^ hair of your pro- 1 
 fr''iTi mi j ; is h not ttae, master Pa^ ! j 
 
 Page. Siaster Sfaallow, yoo have yonrself been a 
 great fighter, thoagfa now a laan of peace. | 
 
 SkaL BoMiBS, wasia Page, though I now bei 
 <M, and of the peace, if I see a sword oat, my fingo- , 
 itdies to make <me: thomgfa we are jastices. ami 
 doctors, and chnrcfamen, master Page, we hare some 
 salt of oor yootfa in as j we are the sons of women, 
 master Page. 
 
 Pagf. 'Ta trae, laaster Shallow. 
 
 5U. It will he &Bnd <o, master Page. Master 
 doctor Caios, I am come to fetch yon home. I ara 
 sworn of the peace; yoa have diewed yourself a 
 wise finseian, and sir Hugh hath shewa himself a 
 wise and patieat chnrchmaa: yoa mnst go with me, 
 master doctor. 
 
 BaO. PatdoB. guest jostice: — A word. monsieaT 
 Maefc-water. 
 
 Can. Mad:-Taler! vat is dat! 
 
 Hmt. Mack-water, in oar English tonzne, is Ta- 
 lo«r. baUy. 
 
 Cmu. Vif gar. then I have as muA mod^-rater 
 
 as de Fjtgl iihman : Scarry jack-dog priest! by 
 
 gar, me nD cat his ears. 
 
 Hmt. He will cla^>er-idaw diee tightly, belly. 
 
 CWzKs. C]anier-de.claw ! vat is dat ! 
 
 K«st. That IS, he will make thee a^^^^^ y, 
 
 Coaj. Br gar. me do look, he shall clapper-de- 
 daw Be ; &r. by gar. me rill have it. 
 
 Bmt. And I will provoke him to 't. or let him wag. 
 
 Cwa. Me tattk yoa for daL 
 
 Hsat. And nvneorer. bally. — Bot Sist. master 
 gacst, and master P^e. and eke cavaleto Slender, go 
 yoa &raa^ the town to Tmpaon. f^AsUe ta tkem. 
 
 Pmge, Sr Hngb is there, u he! 
 
 Hnt. He is there: see what htuBOnr he is in -. 
 and I win biicg die doctor ahonl by the fields : will 
 it do well! 
 
 SiiaL We will do it. 
 
 Page. SkaL and SUn. Adien, good master doctra. 
 l£iatmt Pacz, SaiMOW. md Slesdeb. 
 
 Caha. By gar. me vill kill de priest ; for he speak 
 for a jack-an-ape to Anne Pa^e- 
 
 HcK. Let bun die : bot, frst, sheath thy impa- 
 tience ; throw cold water on thy choler ; go ahoal 
 the fields with me thronjh Fr^^more ; I wiU bring 
 thee where mistress Anae Page is, at a farm-boase, 
 a feasting : and tbon shalt woo her : Cry'd game, 
 said I well ! 
 
 Coiiu- By gar. me tank too for dat : by gar. I love 
 yon ; and 1 ^hall procore-a you de good raest, de 
 eail. de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my patients. 
 
 Hart. For the which. I will be thy adversary to. 
 wards Anre Page : said I well ! 
 
 Cdiio. By ^ar. 'tis Eood ; veil said. 
 
 Hast, Let us wa? then. 
 
 Caiiu. Come at mv heels, Jack Rogbv. 'Lieuat, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE L — A Field near Frosmore. 
 Knter Sir HcGH Evavs and Simplz- 
 
 Eta. I pray you now, good master Slenders serr- 
 ing-man, aiid ftrend Simple by your name, which waT 
 have yoa looked for master Cams, who calls himself 
 Doctar ef Phhsie ? 
 
 Sii». Marry, sir. the city-ward, the park-vrard, 
 every way ; old Windsor way. and every way hot 
 the town way- 
 Era. I most fehanently desire yon, yoo will alsa 
 lock that way. 
 S'M. 1 will, sir. 
 
 Ecu. 'Pless my soo] '. how foil of cbolers I am, 
 and trempling of mind ! — I shall be glad, if he have 
 dec^ved me : — how melancholies I am '. — I will 
 knog his urinals about his kaave's costard, when I 
 have good opportunities for tiie 'oA — 'pless my sooL 
 
 [iingi. 
 To thalttne riten, ta wkate faUs 
 "MHMi^ui birds ting wtadrigait ; 
 There viii we make our pedt of rotei, 
 Amd a tkovjaud fragrant pones. 
 
 To Aaliine. 
 
 "Mercy on me I I hare a great disposition to cry. 
 yielcdious birds ting madrigaU : 
 
 Whe* aeltati» Pabylom, 
 
 Jjid a tkaaiOMd tagram fonet. 
 
 To tkeJioK 
 
 Sa. Yonder he b coming, this way, sir Hogfa. 
 Ecu. He's welcome : 
 
 To tkaUam rvcert, ta whaie faltt ^ 
 
 Heaven prosper the right ! — What weapons ;5 he ! 
 
 StMu No weapons, sir : There comes mv master, 
 master Shallow, and another gentleman from Fro^'- 
 more, over the stile, this way. 
 
 Eio. Pray yon, give me my gown ; or else keep 
 it in yonr arms. 
 
 Enter Pace, Shallow, and Slesseb. 
 
 Skal. How BOW, master parson! Good-morrow, 
 good sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and 
 a good stadent 6om his book, and it is wonderfiil. 
 
 Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page ! 
 
 Page. Save yon, good sir Hogfa ! 
 
 Ew. 'Pless yon frum his mercy sake, all of yon ! 
 
 M<i. What ! the sword and the word ! do yoa 
 study them both, master parson ? 
 
 Pagf. And vonthfol still, in your doublet aod 
 hose, this raw ttieamaiic day ! 
 
 Eta. There is reasons ancl causes for it 
 
ACT 1 1 r.— SCENE II. 
 
 Pige. We are eune to roa, to do a good 
 
 CisTer parsoa. 
 
 Ere, Ferv well : What b it? 
 
 Pi^. Yoadei is a most reveread gestleman, who 
 belie, having recejred wroiis by some persoa. is at 
 mo5t oils witii iiis own sra-rity and patience, tiiat 
 ever \x>u saw. 
 
 S'-'sL I liiTe lived toMscora years, aad npwaid ; 
 T never he aid a man of his place, gravity, una le am- 
 mg. so wide of his own xespect. 
 
 E-^ What is be? 
 
 P«;«. I tiunk von knowlmii ; master doctor Caiss, 
 the renowned French phystccan. 
 
 Eij. Coi'i will, and his passi<Hi of my heart! I 
 had as lief von wonld teU me of a mess of poiiidse. 
 
 Ptee. Why? 
 
 £ri. He has no more fcnowledse in Hibociates 
 end Galen, — and he is a knave besides ; a cowaidly 
 knave, a* vou would desires to be acqaaintedwiihal. 
 
 Putt, i warrant yoa. he °s titt man slKnld fig^ 
 with him. 
 
 Sim. 0, swee; Anne Page '. 
 
 Sfiai. It appears so. by ais weapons : — Keep tkem 
 slander : — here c<Knes doctor Cains. 
 
 Exttr Host, Cuts, and RrC3T. 
 
 P«»». Xay, good master paisoo, keep in yoa 
 weapon. 
 
 Sh^ So do yom, good master doctor. 
 
 Htt. Disarm tb^, and let them qaestion : let 
 tiiem keep tbdr liiri>s whole, and hack oar English. 
 
 CaitiS. I prayyoti, let-a me speak a woriyityoar 
 ear; V«efore'viU to« not meet a-mel 
 
 £r«. Piay you, nse yosr potiraice: In good time. 
 
 Cti>is. By gar, ytm are de coward, de Ja^ dog, 
 John ape. 
 
 Era. Prav vou. let cs not be laoshing'-.stOES to 
 other XDen's homours : I de^re yo« m &iendshzp. 
 ar-d I will oiie wav cr other make yon '""^g : — I 
 wii; kt.^i v-u: •.i--il5 i'r-out yoor knave's cogseomb, 
 for i:i.iii:i^ vou- rsettiiii* and appointmeatsL 
 
 Cmls. i}i£»U .' — Jack Rcgby. — mine Hrst de 
 Jarterrt. have I not stay for him, to kill him ! have 
 I not, at de jJace 1 did sppaiat ? 
 
 £ra. As 1 am 2 chriiuans sonl, now, look yoa, 
 this is lie place appMnted : I'll be judgment by 
 mine host oi the Gar*.er. 
 
 If.^. Pe^. 1 say. Giiallia and Ganl, Fretich 
 end Welch : sonl.cnser and body-csirer. 
 
 Caiu. Ay, dat is very jood' eiceilent! 
 
 Hew. Feace, I say : hear mine host cf the Gar- 
 ter. Ara 1 poUac ' aia I subtle ! am I a Machi- 
 Evel '. Sbiil 1 lose my doctor! do ; he gives me the 
 pc2c2s. and the motions. Shall 1 lose my parson ? 
 mv rr.e>* ' mv sir Hugh ? IK? ; be gives me the 
 f lOFtrbi iad the no-verbs. — Give me tiiy hand. 
 u_rre5-_-i- ; so : give me thy hand, celestial ; so. 
 
 Bovs o: art, 1 have deceived voa both ; I have 
 
 directed von to wrong places ; your hearts are 
 dightv. voar sidas are whole, and let bsrst sack be 
 tl:e issue. — Come, iay their swords to pawn : — 
 Follow me, lad of peace : follow, folicw. foUow. 
 
 ^ai. Trtist me, a mad host: — fellow, scsiksaea, 
 follow. 
 
 Siem. O. sweet Anae Page ! 
 
 [Eifi.vr Shauow. S-evdes, Face, *ad Host. 
 
 Cti^i. Ha 1 do T perceive dat ? have yMi make-* 
 de sot of as ? ha. ha ! 
 
 £rw. lliis is well ; he has made as his vloctii^. 
 sto;. — ^1 desire yoa. that we may be bteads ; and 
 Jet cs knoc our pniss tt^ther, a be iticagu on tkis 
 
 same scall . scurvy, ot^ing oo^oniae. tbe host of 
 tie Gartet 
 
 Casus. By gar, rit all bit heart : he {au m ise to 
 bring me vere is Anne Page : by gar, he deeene 
 me mo. 
 
 £ra- Well, I will snite his noddies : — Ptay yoa, 
 foUow. lExemmi 
 
 SCEXE n. — iir S:net ia Windsor. 
 Exier yiistrta Pag: aad B<»!X. 
 
 Jfcr. P-,-' ^''- ...^ -^nrway, BttJe gaOaat; 
 yoa werf ^er, bit now yon aieik 
 
 leader : ■ -ither, lead mine eyes, at 
 
 eye yonr — - . _T--i- 
 
 iSw. I 1- - ;■ tjrsooth. go before yoa like s 
 maji. tTi'z ^ like a dwarf. 
 
 M's. ? . are a aaaering boy ; now, I 
 
 see, yo- - - ;er. 
 
 Hater ! 
 
 :osi>. 
 
 r.Ti. Well met. mistrespage: Whither ro voa? 
 Mn. Pt^r. Traly , sir, to see rotrr wife ; Is ^e at 
 home! 
 
 Ftrd. Ay ; acd as idle as she say haog toruk^ 
 for waat oi company ; I thiak, if yunr hostauis 
 wete dead, yon two wonld marry. 
 
 Jin. Pa^ Be sBie of that, — tsooEbsfatisiiands. 
 i FW^ Wjiere had yoa this pretty weath»-coc^ ? 
 j Vrs. Pmge. I cannot teU what the cit-ke::s hs 
 same b my hzsoand had h?>" of: What do yos call 
 voTir knight's najne. sirrah ! 
 i?i>e. Sr Join Falsas. 
 Feri. Sir John FalstafT! 
 
 JSn. Pk^e. He, he ; I caa aefa- hot oa's name. 
 — Tiere is snch a leagne b ua t m i my ^ood lan 
 and he '- — Is yoar wife at heme, iadeed ! 
 Fi'rd. Indeed, she is. 
 
 3S.-S. P«»r. By yoor leave, sir : — I am aci. £11 1 
 
 ' see her. [Eiemai Jfrs. Pagx &k3 Ruin. 
 
 Fcrc. Has I'age any brains ! hath he any eyes ? 
 
 : hath he aiiy .hiT'ki-ng ! S:ire, liiey sleep ; be haa 
 
 I BO nse cf thfTn. Why, this boy will cany a lei^ 
 
 twenty siles. as easy le a rsmwm ^11 shoot pKct- 
 
 , blank twelve score. He paeces-oat his wife's ia- 
 
 ! dination ; he ^ire her folly aiodon aad advantire : 
 
 and I50W she "s g'iag to my wife, asd Falstas' s i-.-iv 
 
 with her. .\ ^i^ may heti this show^ ^^ in t^ 
 
 wind 1 — acd Fa'.staa" "s boy with her! — Good plots I 
 
 — they are liiid : asd o:ir levohed wives share dara- 
 
 cation together. Well ; I will take bim, Ib^ tor- 
 
 . r^ire my wife. phK^ the limi >» »<id veil ei raodestv 
 
 iraai the so seeming miscess Page, £va^ Page 
 
 himself for a secvie aad wiliid Actcaa T aad a 
 
 tiiese violent proceeiangs aD my aeighboats shall 
 
 cry »au [CJkx sTriisTj The dockgivs ase my 
 
 coe. aad my assonnce bids me seaick ; there 1 shall 
 
 £nd Falstas : I siiall be ra&a- ptused far t^s. rfc^^i 
 
 stocked : for it is as pi^iiTe as the earth is £im. 
 
 tiiai Falstaf is Acre : I win go. 
 
 J T xt irr Pagx, Shaujow. SixsKia, Host, Sir Hrca 
 
 EtaSS, CaITS, OBtl KcGET. 
 
 Skc^ Psgr. Jlc Well met, "i^tpr FonL 
 FrrJ. Tmst me. a gaod kaot : I have good cbeei 
 at heme ; and, I pray yoa, all go with me. 
 Si*L I most eactse'anWlf , master ftti. 
 Siem. And so mast I. sir : we have appomed to 
 diae wi& ansliess Anne, and I wocid aec break with 
 I ha- far more swaey thaa 111 ^lakct. 
 ] SkmL We have iingered abtwt a match betweea 
 Aaae Page wad my coasia Siesder, and this day we 
 shall haie ear aaswer. 
 
74 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Slen I hope I have your good will, father Page. 
 
 Page. You have, luaster Slender ; I stand wholly 
 for you : — but my wife, master doctor, is for you 
 altogether. 
 
 Cuius. Ay. by gar ; and the maid is love a-me ; 
 my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 
 
 Host. What say you to young master Fenton'^ he 
 capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes 
 verses, he speaks holyday, he smells April and May : 
 he will carry 't, he will carry 't ; 'tis in his buttons; 
 he will carry 't. , 
 
 Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The 
 gentleman is of no having : he kept company with 
 uie wild Prince and Poins ; he is of too high a re- 
 gion, he knows too much. No, he shall not knit a 
 knot in his fortunes with the finger of my substance ; 
 if he take her, let him take her simj)ly ; the wealth 
 I have waits on my consent, and niy consent goes 
 not that way. 
 
 Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go 
 home witli me to dinner : besides your cheer, you 
 shall have sport ; I will shew you a monster. — blas- 
 ter doctor, you shall go ; — so shall you, master 
 Page ; and you, sir Hugh. 
 
 HhaL Well, fare you well : — we shall have the 
 freer wooing at master Page's. 
 
 \_Ei€iait Shallow and Slender. 
 
 Caius. Go home, John Rugby ; I come anon. 
 
 [Exit Rugby. 
 
 Host. Farewell, my hearts : I will to my honest 
 knight FalstafF, and drink canary with him. 
 
 [Etit Host. 
 
 Ford. [Aside.'] I think I shall drink in pipe- 
 wine first with him; I'll make him dance. — Will 
 you go, gentles 1 
 
 All. Have with you, to see this monster. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCF.NE III. — A lioom in Ford's House. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Fonn and Mrs. Pace. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What. John ! what, Robert ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly : is the buck-basket — 
 
 Jlirs. Ford. I warrant : — What, Robin, I say. 
 
 Enter Servants, with a basket* 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge ; we must 
 be brief. 
 
 Mrs. Fard. IMarry, asl told you before, John, and 
 Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew-house ; and 
 when I suddenly call you, come forth, and (without 
 any pause, or staggering,) take this basket on your 
 shoulders : that done, trudge with it in all haste, 
 and carry it among the whitsters in Datchet mead, 
 and there empty it in the muddy ditch, close by the 
 Thames side. 
 
 Mrs. Page, You will do if! 
 
 Mis. Ford. I have told them over and over ; they 
 lack no direction : Be gone, and come when you 
 are called. [-Eneiidt Servants. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. 
 
 Enter Robin. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas musketl whatnews 
 with youl 
 
 Rob. My master, sir John, is come in at your back- 
 door, mistress Ford ; and requests your company. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a- lent, have you been 
 true to us1 
 
 i?.i>6. Ay, I'll be sworn: My master knows not 
 of your being here ; and hath threatened to put me 
 
 into everlasting liberty, if I fell you of it; for, he 
 swears, he'll turn me away. 
 
 HJi-s. Page. Tliou 'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of 
 thine shall be a tailor to thet-, and shall make thee 
 a new doublet and hose. — I '11 go hide me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Do so : — Go tell thy master, I am 
 alone. Mistress Page, remember you your cue. 
 
 [Eiit RoBiy. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act it, hiss 
 me. [Exit Mrs. Paci.. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Go to then ; we'll use this unwhole- 
 some humidity, this gross watery pumpion ; — we'll 
 teach him to know turtles from jays. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fat. Have 1 caught thee, my hmvenly jewel? Why, 
 now let me die, for 1 .have lived long enough ; this 
 is the period of my ambition ; O this blessed hour '. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. O sweet sir John ! 
 
 Fat. Mrs. Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate, mis- 
 tress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish : I would 
 thy husband were dead ; I 'II speak it before the best 
 lord, 1 would inake thee my lady. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John ! alas ! I should 
 be a pitiful lady. 
 
 Fal. Let the court of France sliew me such an- 
 other; I see how thine eye would emulate the dia- 
 mond : Thou hast the right arched bent of the brow, 
 that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any 
 tire of Venetian admittance. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows 
 become nothing else ; nor that well neither. 
 
 Ful. Thou art a traitor to say so : thou would'st 
 make an absolute courtier; and the firm fi.vture of 
 thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait, 
 in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert, 
 if fortune thy foe were not; nature is thy friend: 
 Come, thou can'st not hide it. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there's no such thing in me. 
 
 Fal. What made me love thee t let that persuade , 
 thee, there's something extraordinary in thee. Come, 
 I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and that, like a 
 many of these lisping haw-thorn buds, that come like 
 women in men's apparel, and smell like Buckler's- 
 bury in simple-time; 1 cannot: but Hove thee ; none 
 but thee ; and thou deservest it. 
 
 Mrs Ford. Do not betray me, sir ; I fear, you love 
 mistress Page. 
 
 Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I Iwe to walk by 
 the Counter-gate ; which is as hateful to me as the 
 reek of a lime-kiln. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Weil, heaven knows, how I love you ; 
 and you shall one day find it. 
 
 Fal. Keep in that mind ; I 'II deserve it. 
 
 iUrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do ; or 
 else I could not be in that mind. 
 
 Hob. [within,] Mistress Ford, mistress Ford ? 
 here 's mistress Page at the door, sweating, and blow- 
 ing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak with 
 you presently. 
 
 Fal. She shall not see me ; I will ensconce me 
 behind the arras. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so : she's a very tattling 
 woman. — [Falstaff hides himself. 
 
 Enter Mistress Pace and Robin. 
 W^hat 's the matter ? how now ? 
 
 JUrs. Page. O, mistress Ford, what have you done ? 
 You 're sham'd, you are overthrown, you are undone 
 for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What 's the matter, good mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs, Page, well-a-day, mistress Ford! having 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 75 
 
 an honest man to your husband, to give him such 
 cause of suspicion ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Wiiat cause of suspicion? 
 
 Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion 1 — Out upon 
 you ! how am I mistook in you 1 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, alas ! what's the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, woman, 
 with all the officers in Windsor, to search for a gen- 
 tleman, that, he says, is here now in the house, by 
 your consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence : 
 You are undone. 
 
 Mrs. Ford, Speak louder. — f.4side.] — 'Tis not so, 
 I hope. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you 
 have such a man here ; but 'tis most certain your 
 husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels, to 
 search for such a one. I come before to tell you : 
 If you know yourself cleai", why I am glad of it : 
 but if you have a friend here, convey, convey him 
 out. Be not amazed ; call all your senses to you ; 
 defend your reputation, or bid farewell to your good 
 life for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What shall I do? — There is a gentle- 
 man, my dear friend ; and I fear not mine own shame, 
 so mucii as his peril : I had rather than a thousand 
 pound, he wer« out of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had rather y 
 and uou had rather ; your husband 's here at hand, ■ 
 bethink you of some conveyance : in the house youi 
 cannot hide him. — O, how have you deceived me ! — 
 Look, here is a basket ; if he be of any reasonable 
 Rtature, he may creep in here ; and throw foul linen 
 upon him, as if it were going to bucking: Or, it is 
 w^hiting time, send him by your two men to Datchet 
 mead. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He 's too big to go in there : What 
 shall I do ? 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff, 
 
 Fal. Lot me see't, let me see't! O let me see't! 
 I'll in, I '11 in; follow your friend's counsel ; — I'll in. 
 
 Mrs. Page. What! Sir John Falstaff! Are these 
 your letters, knight? 
 
 Fal. I love thee, and none but thee ; help me 
 away : let me creep in here ; I'll never — • 
 [//e goes nito the basket ; theu cover him with foul liiieti. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy : Call 
 your men, mistress Ford : — You dissembling knight ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What John, Robert, John! [Exit 
 Robin. Re-enter Servants.] Go take up these 
 clothes here, quickly ; where 's the cowl-staff? look, 
 how you drurable ; carry them to the laundress in 
 Datchet mead ; quickly, come. 
 
 Enter Foro, Page, Cails, and Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect without 
 cause, why then make sport at me, then let me be 
 your jest; 1 deserve it. — How now? whither bear 
 you this ? 
 
 Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. \\'hy. what have you to do whither they 
 bear it? You were best meddle with btJck -washing. 
 
 Ford. Buck ! 1 would I could wash myself of the 
 buck ! Buck, buck, buck ! Ay, buck ; I warrant you, 
 buck ; and of the season too ; it shall appear. [Exeunt 
 Servants with the basket.] Gentlemen, 1 have dreamed 
 to-night ; I '11 tell you my dream. Here, here, here 
 be my keys : ascend my chambers, search, seek, find 
 out : I '11 warrant we '11 unkennel the fox : — Let me 
 stop this way first * — so, now uncape. 
 
 Page. Good master Ford be contented : you wrong 
 yourself too much. 
 
 Ford. True, master Page. — Up, gentlemen; you 
 shall see sport anon : follow me. gentlemen, [Ej/t. 
 
 Em. This is fery fantastical iiumours and jea- 
 lousies. 
 
 Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France : it is 
 not jealous in France. 
 
 Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen ; see the issue 
 of his search. [Exeunt Evans, PAC^and Caxis. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in this ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better, 
 that my husband is deceived, or Sir John- 
 
 Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your 
 husband asked what was m the basket ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I am half afraid he will have need of 
 washing ; so throwing him into the water will do hiin 
 a benefit. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ' I would 
 all of the same strain were in the same distress. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I think my husband hath some special 
 suspicion of Falstaff's being here ; for 1 never saw 
 him so gross in his jealousy till now. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that : And we 
 will yet have more tricks with Falstaff: bis dissolute 
 disease will scarce obey this medicine. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion, mis- 
 tress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing into 
 the water ; and give him another hope, to betray him 
 to another punishment? 
 
 Mrs. Page. We'll do it ; let him be sent for to- 
 morrow eight o'clock, to have amends. 
 
 Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, ajid Sir Hugh Evans. 
 
 Ford. I cannot find him : may be the knave bragg- 
 ed of that he could not compass. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heard you that? [Aside to Mrs. F. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. [Aside,] Ay. ay, peace : — You use 
 me well, master Ford, do you? 
 
 Ford. A-y, I do so. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your 
 thoughts ! 
 
 Ford. Amen. 
 
 Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, mas- 
 ter Ford. 
 
 Ford. Av, ay; I must bear it. 
 
 Era. If there be any pody in the house, and in the 
 chambers, and in the coffers, and in the presses, 
 heaven forgive my sins at the day of judgment ! 
 
 Cains. By gar, nor I too ; dere is no bodies. 
 
 Page. Fie, fie. master Ford ! are you not ashamed ? 
 What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination ? 
 I would not have your distemper in this kind, for the 
 wealth of Windsor Castle. 
 
 Ford. 'Tis my fault, master Page : I suffer for it. 
 
 Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience : your wife 
 is as honest a 'omans, as I will desires among five 
 thousand, and five hundred too. 
 
 Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman. 
 
 Ford. Well ; — I promised you a dinner : — Come, 
 come, walk in the park ; I pray you, pardon me; I 
 will hereafter make known to you, why I have done 
 this. — Come, wife ; — come, mistress Page ; I pray 
 you, pardon me ; pray heartily, pardon me. 
 
 Page. Let's go in. gentlemen ; but, trust me, we'll 
 mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morning to 
 my house to breakfast; after, we'll a birding toge- 
 ther; 1 have a fine hawk for the bush: Shall it be so? 
 
 Ford, Any thing. 
 
 Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the 
 company. 
 
 Cuius. If there be one or two, I shall make-a de 
 turd. 
 
 Eva. In your teeth : for shame. 
 
76 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Ford. Pray jou go. master Page. 
 
 Etd. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow on 
 the lousy knave, m_ine host. 
 
 ruins. Dat is good ; by gar, vit al! ray heart. 
 
 Eta, A lousy knave ; "to have his gibes and his 
 mockeries. [Kieunt. 
 
 SCENaiV.— .•! Bnom in Page's House. 
 Enter Fenton and Mistress Anne Page. 
 
 Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ; 
 Therefore no more turn me to him, sweet Nan. 
 
 Anne. Alas ! how then 1 
 
 f'>«f. Vi'liy, thou must be thyself. 
 
 He doth object, I am too great of birth j 
 And that, my state being gall'd with my expence, 
 I seek to heal it only by his wealth : 
 
 Besides these, otiier bars he lays before me, 
 
 IMy riots past, my wild societies ; 
 And tells me, 'lis a thing impossible 
 I should love thee, but as a property. 
 
 Anne, May be, he tells you true. 
 
 Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time to come ! 
 Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth 
 "Was the first motive tliat I woo'd thee, Anne ; 
 Yet, wooing thee, 1 found thee of more value 
 Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags ; 
 And 'tis the very riches of thyself 
 That now I aim at. 
 
 Anne. Gentle master Fenton, 
 
 Yet seek my father's love ; still seek it, sir : 
 If opportunity and humblest suit 
 Cannot attain it, why then. — Hark you hither. 
 
 [Theif converse apart. 
 
 Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Shul. Break their talk, mistress Quickly ; my kins- 
 man shall speak for himself. 
 
 ,Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't : slid, 'tis but 
 venturing, 
 
 Slutl. Be not dismay'd. 
 
 Slen. No. she shall not dismay me: I care not for 
 that, — but that I am afeaid. 
 
 Quick. Hark ye; master Slender would speak a 
 word with you. 
 
 Anne. I come to him — This is my father's choice. 
 O, what a world of vile ill-favoured faults 
 Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Quick. And how does good master Fenton f Pray 
 you, a word with you. 
 
 Shal. She's coming ; to her, coz. boy, thou 
 hadst a father ! 
 
 Slen. I had a father, -mistress Anne ; — my uncle 
 can tell you good jests of him: — Pray you, uncle, 
 tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole two 
 geese out of a pen, good uncle. 
 
 Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 
 
 Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman 
 in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Stiut. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman. 
 
 Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail, under 
 the degree of a 'squire. 
 
 Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty pounds 
 jointure. 
 
 Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for him- 
 self. 
 
 Shnl. Blarry. I thank you for it ; I thank you for 
 that good comfort. She calls you coz : I'll leave you. 
 
 Anne. Now, master Slender. 
 
 Slen. Now. good mistress Anne. 
 
 Atine. What is your will • 
 
 Slen. My will"! 'od'sheartlings, that's a pretty jest, 
 
 indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank heaven; 
 I am not such a sickly creature, I give heaven praise. 
 
 Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you 
 with me ? 
 
 Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or 
 nothing with you: Y'our father, and my uncle, have 
 made motions ; if it be my luck, so : if not, happy 
 man be his dole ! They can tell you how things go, 
 better than I can : You may ask your father ; here 
 he comes. 
 
 Enter-iPAG^ and Mistress Pace. 
 
 Page. Now, master Slender : — Love him, daugh- 
 ter Anne. — • 
 Why, how now ! what does master Fenton here 1 
 You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house : 
 I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of. 
 
 Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to my 
 child. 
 
 Page. She is no match for you. 
 
 Fent. Sir, will you hear me ! 
 
 Page. No, good master Fenton. 
 
 Come, master Shallow ; come, son Slender ; in : — 
 Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton. 
 [Eieuiit Page, Shallow, and Slender. 
 
 Quick, Speak to mistress Page. [daughter, 
 
 Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your 
 In such a righteous fashion as I do, 
 Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners, 
 I must advance the colours of my love, 
 And not retire : Let me have your good will. 
 
 Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond' fool. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a better 
 husband. 
 
 Quick. That's my master, master doctor. 
 
 Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth, 
 And bowl'd to death with turnips. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself : Good 
 master Fenton, 
 I will not be your friend, nor enemy : 
 My daughter will I question how she loves you, 
 And as 1 find her, so am I afl'ecled ; 
 Till then, farewell, sir : — She must needs go in ; 
 Her father will be angry. ^ 
 
 [£jeif?i( Mrs. Page and Anne. 
 
 Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress ; farewell, Nan. 
 
 Quick. This is my doing now ; — Nay. said I, will 
 you cast away your child on a fool, and a physician? 
 Look on master Fenton : — this is my doing. 
 
 Fent. I thank thee ; and I pray thee, once to-night 
 Give my sweet Nan this ring : There's for thy pains. 
 
 [ExU. 
 
 Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune ! A 
 kind heart he hath : a woman would run through fire 
 and water for such a kind heart. But yet, 1 would 
 my master had mistress Anne ; or I would master 
 Slender had her ; or. in sooth, I would master Fen- 
 ton had her : I will do what I can for them all three ; 
 for so I have promised, and I'll be as good as my 
 word ; but speciously for master Fenton. AVell, I 
 must of another errand to sir John Falstaff from my 
 two mistresses ; What a beast am 1 to slack it ? 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE v.— A Poom in the Garter Inn. 
 Ejiter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
 Fid. Bardolph, I say, — 
 Bard. Here, sir. 
 
 Ful. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast in't. 
 [Eait Bard.] HaVe I lived to be carried in a basket, 
 like a barrow of butcher's oft'al ; and to be thrown 
 
ACT III. -SCENE V. 
 
 77 
 
 into the Thames'! Well, if I be served such anollier 
 trick, I'll have my brains ta'enout, andbutter'il, and 
 give them to a dog for a new year's gift. The rogues 
 sliglited me into the river with as little remorse as 
 they would have drown'd a bitch's blind puppies, 
 fifteen i' the litter : and you may know by my size, 
 that I have a kind of alacrity in sinking ; if the bot- 
 tom were as deep as hell, 1 should down. 1 had 
 been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and 
 shallow ; a death that I abhor ; for the water swells 
 a man ; and what a thing should I have been, when 
 I had been swelled! I should have been a mountain 
 of mummy. 
 
 Re-enter Bardolph, with the wine. 
 
 Bard. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with 
 you. 
 
 Fal. Come, let me pour m some sack to the 
 Thames water ; for my belly 's as cold as if I had 
 swallowed snow-balls for pills to cool the reins. Call 
 her in. 
 
 Bard. Come in, woman. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Quick, By your leave ; I cry you mercy : Give 
 your worship good-morrow. 
 
 Fat, Take away these chalices : Go, brew me a 
 bottle of sack finely. 
 
 Bard. With eggs, sir? 
 
 Fal. Simple of itself ; I'll no pullet-sperm in my 
 brewage. — ^Exit Bardolph.] — How now? 
 
 Quicli. Marry, sir, 1 come to your worship from 
 mistress Ford. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford enough : I 
 was thrown into tlie ford : I have my belly full of ford. 
 
 Quick, Alas the day! good heart, that was not her 
 fault • she does so take on with her men ; they mis- 
 took their erection. 
 
 Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish wo- 
 man's promise. 
 
 Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would 
 yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes this 
 morning a birding ; she desires you once more to 
 come to her between eight and nine ; I must carry 
 her ivord quickly : she'll make you amends, I war- 
 rant you. 
 
 Fal. Well, I will visit her : Tell her so ; and bid 
 her think what a man is : let her consider his frailty, 
 and then judge of my merit. 
 
 Quick. I will tell her. 
 
 Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou? 
 
 Quick, Eight and nine, sir. 
 
 Fal. Well, be gone : I will not miss her. 
 
 Quick, Peace be with you, sir. [£rit. 
 
 Fal. I marvel, I hear not of master Brook; he sent 
 me word to stay within ; I like his money well. O 
 here he comes. 
 
 Enter Ford, 
 
 Ford. Bless you, sir! 
 
 Fal. Now, master Brook ? you come to know what 
 hath passed between me ind Ford's wife. 
 
 Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business. 
 
 Fat. Master Brook, I will not lie to you ; I was 
 at her house the hour she appointed me. 
 
 Ford. And how sped you, sir ? 
 
 Fat. Very ill- favouredly, master Brook. 
 
 Ford. How so, sir ? Did she change her deter- 
 mination ? 
 
 Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cornuto 
 her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a continual 
 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the instant of our 
 encounter, after we had embraced, kissed, protested. 
 
 and, as it were, spoke the prologue of our comedy ; 
 and at his heels a rabble of his companions, thitlier 
 provoked and instigated by his distemper, and for- 
 sooth, to search his house for his wife's love. 
 Ford. ^Vhat, while you were there ? 
 Fal. While 1 was there. 
 
 Ford. .And did he search for you and could not 
 find you ? 
 
 Fal. You shall hear. .\s good luck would have 
 it, comes in one mistress Page ; gives intelligence of 
 Ford's approach ; and, by her invention and Ford's 
 wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a buck- 
 basket. 
 
 Ford, A buck-basket ! 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket : rammed me in 
 with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul stockings, 
 and greasy napkins ; that, master Brook, there w"as 
 the rankest compound of villauous smell, that ever 
 offended nostril. 
 
 Ford. And how long lay you there ? 
 Fal. Nay, you shall heai, master Brook, what I 
 have suffered to bring this woman to evil for your 
 good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple 
 of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth by their 
 mistress, to carry me in the name of foul clothes to 
 Datchet-lane : they took me on their shoulders ; met 
 the jealous knave their master in the door ; who asked 
 them once or twice what they had in their ba^^ket : I 
 quaked for fear, lest the lunatic knave would have 
 searched it; but fate, ordaining he should be a cuck- 
 old, held his hand. ^\'elI : on went he for a search, 
 and away went I for foul clothes. But mark the 
 sequel, master Brook; I suffered the pangs of three 
 several deaths : first an intolerable fright, to he de- 
 tected with a jealous rotten bell-wether: next, to be 
 compassed, like a good bilbo, in the circumference 
 of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head : and then, to 
 be stopped in, like a strong distillation, with stinking 
 clothes that fretted in their own grease : think of that, 
 — a man of my kidney, — think of that ; that am as 
 subject to heat, as butter ; a man of continual dis- 
 solution and thaw ; it was a miracle, to 'scape sufib- 
 cation. And in the height of this bath, when 1 was 
 more than half stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, 
 to be thrown into the Thames, ind cooled, glowing 
 hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; tliink of that, 
 hissing hot, — think of that, master Brook. 
 Ford, In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for my 
 sake you have suffered all this. My suit then is 
 desperate; you'll undertake her no more. 
 
 Fal, Master Brook, 1 will be thrown into Etna, 
 as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her thus. 
 Her husband is this morning gone a birding: i have 
 received from her another embassy of meeting ; 'twixt 
 eight and nine is the hour, master Brook. 
 Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. 
 Fal. Is it ? I will then address me to my appoint- 
 ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and 
 yon shall know how 1 speed ; and the conclusion 
 shall be crowned with your enjoying her; Adieu. 
 You shall have her, master Brook ; master Brook, you 
 shall cuckold Ford. [Exit. 
 
 Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream ? 
 do I sleep ? Master Ford, awake ; awake, master 
 Ford ; there's a hole made in your best coat, master 
 Ford. This 'tis to be married ! this 'tis to have linen, 
 and buck-baskets ! — Well, I will proclaim myself 
 what I am : I will now take the lecher; he is at my 
 house : he cannot 'scape me ; 'tis impossible he 
 should ; he cannot creep into a half-pennv purse, nor 
 into a pepper-box ; but, lest the devil that guides 
 him should aid him, I will search impossible places. 
 
70 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR, 
 
 Tliougli wliat I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I 
 would nut, shall not make me tame : if I have horns 
 to make one mad, let the proverb go with me, I'll 
 be horn mad. lExit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Street. 
 Filter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Quickly, and William. 
 
 Mrs. fuge. Is he at master Ford's already, Ihiak'st 
 thoul ^ 
 
 Qiiifh. Sure he is by this ; or will be presently i 
 but truly he is very courageous mad, about his 
 throwing into the water. Mistress Ford desires you 
 to come suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I'll be with her by and by ; I'll but 
 bring my young man here to school ; Look, where 
 his master comes ; 'tis a playing day, I see. 
 
 Enter Sir Hiicn Evans. 
 How now, sir High 1 no school to-day ^ 
 
 Eva. No ; master Slender is let the boys leave to 
 play. 
 
 Quick. Blessing of his heart ! 
 
 Mrs. Page. Sir Hugh, my husband says, my son 
 profits nothing in tlie world at his book ; I pray you, 
 ask him some questions in his accidence. 
 
 Efa. Come hither, William ; hold up your head ; 
 come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come on, sirrah ; hold up your head; 
 answer your master, be not afraid. 
 
 /tia. William, how many numbers is in nouns? 
 
 llilL Two. 
 
 Qaick. Truly, I thought there had 'been one num- 
 ber more ; because they say, od's nouns. 
 
 Eva. Peace your tattlings. What is fair, Wil- 
 liam ? 
 
 Will. Pidcher. 
 
 Quick. Poulcats '. there are fairer things than 
 poulcats, sure. 
 
 Eca. You are a very simplicity 'oman ; I pray 
 you, peace. WhsX is lapis, William ? 
 
 Will. A stone. 
 
 P I a. And what is a stone, William ? 
 
 IVitl. A pebble. 
 
 Eva. No, It is lajiis; I pray you remember in 
 your prain. 
 
 II ill. Lapis. 
 
 Era. That is good, William. What is he, Wil- 
 liam, that does lend articles? 
 
 n ill. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun ; and 
 be thus declined, Singulariter, iwminativo, hie, hicc, 
 hoc. 
 
 Eva, Nnminativo, hig, hag, hog; — pray you, 
 mark ; genitivo, hujus : Well, what is your aceusa- 
 live case 1 
 
 Will. Acnisativo, hijic, 
 
 Eoa. I pray you, have your remembrance, child; 
 Accusativo, liiug, hang, hog. 
 
 Quick. Hang hog is Latin for bacon, I warrant 
 you. 
 
 Eira. Leave your prabbles, 'oman. What is the 
 focative case, William? 
 
 Will. O — vocativo, O. 
 
 Eva. Remember, William, focative is caret. 
 
 Qaick. And that's a good root. 
 
 Era. 'Oman, forbear. 
 
 Mrs. Pu^e. Peace. 
 
 Eva. What is your genitive case, plural, William; 
 Will, Genitive case ? 
 
 Em. Ay. 
 
 Will. Genitive, — horum, haritm, horum. 
 
 Quick. 'Vengeance of Jennii's case ! fie on her ! 
 — never name her child, if she be a whore. 
 
 Eva. For shame, 'oman. 
 
 Quick. You do ill to teach the child such words: 
 he teaches him to hick and to hack, which they '11 do 
 fast enough of themselves, and to call horum . — fie 
 upon you ! 
 
 Eva. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast thou no un- 
 derstandings for thy cases, and the numbers of the 
 genders ? Thou art as foolish christian creatures as 
 I would desires. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace. 
 
 Eva. Shew me now, William, some declensions 
 of your pronouns. 
 
 U'ilt. Forsooth, I have forgot. 
 
 Eva. It is ki, ha, cud ; if you forget your kies, 
 your ktES, and your cods, you must be preeches. Go 
 your ways, and play, go. 
 
 Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I thought 
 he was. 
 
 Eva. He is a good sprag memory. Farewell, 
 mistress Page. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Adieu, good sir Hugh. [Exit Sir 
 Hi'GH.] Get you home, boy. — Come, we stay too 
 long. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Ford's Howe, 
 Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Ford. 
 
 Fal. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up 
 my sufferance : I see, you are obsequious in your 
 love, and I profess requital to a hair's breadth ; not 
 only, mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but 
 in all the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony 
 of it. But are you sure of your husband now ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet Sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Page. [Within.] What hoa, gossip Ford ! 
 what hoa ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John. 
 
 [Exit Falstaff. 
 Enter Mrs. Pace. 
 
 Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart ? who 's at home 
 beside yourself? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Indeed ? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. No, certainly ; — speak louder. [Aside, 
 
 Mrs, Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody 
 here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in his 
 old lunes again : he so takes on yonder with my 
 husband ; so rails against all married mankind ; so 
 curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion so- 
 ever ; and so buffets himself on the forehead, cry- 
 ing Peer-out, peer-out ! that any madness, I ever yet 
 beheld, seemed but lameness, civility, and patience, 
 to this his distemper he is in now : 1 am glad tlie 
 fat kniglit is not here. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Of none but him ; and swears, he 
 was carried out, the last time he searched for him, 
 in a basket : protests to my husband, he is now here ; 
 and hath drawn him and the rest of their company 
 from their sport, to make another experiment of his 
 suspicion ; but I am glad the knight is not here ; 
 now he shall see his own foolery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ? 
 
 Mrs. Page, Hard by ; at street end ; he will be 
 here anon. 
 
 Mrs, Ford. I am undone ! — the knight is here. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 79 
 
 Mrs. Pags. Why then you are utterly ashamed, 
 end he's but a dead man. What a woman are you 1 
 — Away with him, away with him ; better shame 
 than murder. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go 1 how should 
 I bestow him ! Sliall I put him into the basket 
 again 1 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. No, I'll come no more i'the basket: May I 
 not go out ei"e he come 1 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's brothers 
 watch the door with pistols, that none shall issue 
 out ; otherwise you might slip away ere he came. 
 But what make you here 1 
 
 Fal. What shall I do? — I'll creep up into the 
 chimney. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. There they always used to discharge 
 their birding pieces ; Creep into the kiln-hole. 
 
 Fal. Where is it 1 
 
 Mrs. Ford. He wilt seek there, on my word. Nei- 
 ther press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but he 
 hath an abstract for the remembrance of such places, 
 and goes to them by his note : There is no hiding 
 you in the house. 
 
 Fat. I '11 go out then. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own semblance, 
 you die, sir .lohn. Unless you go out disguised, — 
 
 Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him : 
 
 Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There is 
 no woman's gown big enough for him ; otherwise, he 
 might put on a hat, a muftler, and a kerchief, and so 
 escape. 
 
 ; J'ul. Good hearts, devise something: any extre- 
 mity, rather than a mischief. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of 
 Brentford, has a gown above. 
 
 Mrs. Page. On my w'orcl, it will serve him ; she's 
 as big as he is ; and there 's her tlirum'd hat, and 
 her muffler too : Run up, sir .Tohn. 
 
 Jllrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir .Tohn : mistress Page, 
 and I, will look some linen for your head. 
 
 Mrs, Page. Quick, quick ; we '11 come dress you 
 straight : put on the gown the while. 
 
 [Eiit Falstaff. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I would, my husband would meet him 
 
 in this shape : he cannot abide the old woman of 
 
 Brentford ; he swears, she's a witch ; forbade her 
 
 my house, and hath threatened to beat her. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy husband's 
 cudgel • and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards ! 
 
 Mrs. Fm-d. But is my husband coming 1 
 Mrs. Page. Ay, in good sadness, is he ; and he 
 talks of the basket too, howsoever he hath had in- 
 telligence. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We'll try that ; for I '11 appoint my 
 men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the 
 door with it, as they did last time. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently : let's 
 go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I '11 first direct my men, what they 
 shall do with the basket. Go up, I '11 bring linen for 
 him straight. [Erit. 
 
 Mrs. Page Hang him, dishonest varlet ' we can- 
 not misuse him enough. 
 
 We 'II leave a proof, by that which we will do. 
 
 Wives may be merry, and yet honest too : 
 
 We do not act, tliat often jest and laugh ; 
 
 "Tis old but true. Still swine eat alt the draff . [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two Servants. 
 Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on your 
 
 shoulders ; your master is hard at door ; if he 
 bid you set it down, obey him : quickly, dispatch. 
 
 [tjit. 
 
 1 Sen. Come, come, take it up. 
 
 2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the kniglit 
 again. 
 
 1 Serv. I hope not ; I had as lief bear so much 
 lead. 
 
 Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Ca:us, and 
 Sir Hi'GH Evans. 
 
 Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have 
 you any way then to uufool me again t — Set down 
 
 the basket, villain : — Somebody call my wife : 
 
 You, youth in a basket, come out here! — O, you 
 panderly rascals! there's a knot, a ging, a pack, a 
 conspiracy against me : Now shall the devil be 
 shamed. What ! wife, I say! come, come forth ; be- 
 hold what honest clothes you send forth to bleaching. 
 
 Page. Why, this passes ! Master Ford, you are not 
 to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned. 
 
 Kwi. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a mad 
 dog I 
 
 Shal. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; in- 
 deed. 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ford. 
 
 Ford. So say I too, sir. — Come hither, mistress 
 Ford ; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest 
 wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool 
 to her husband ! — 1 suspect without cause, mistress, 
 doH 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you 
 suspect me in any dishonesty. 
 
 For<l. Well said, brazen-face ; hold it out. 
 
 Come forth, sirrah 
 
 [Palls the clothes out of the bashet. 
 
 Page. This passes ! 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Are you not ashamed 1 let the clotlies 
 alone. 
 
 Ford. I shall find you anon. 
 
 Em. 'Tis unreasonable ! Will you take up your 
 wife's clothes 1 Come away. 
 
 Ford. Empty the basket, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why, — 
 
 Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one 
 conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket : 
 Why may not he be there asrain 1 In my house I am 
 sure he is : ray intelligence is true ; my jealousy is 
 reasonable : Pluck me out all the linen. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die a 
 flea's death. 
 
 Page. Here's no man. 
 
 Shal. By my fidelity, this is not well, mastei 
 Ford ; this wrongs you. 
 
 Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not follow 
 the imaginations of your own heart : this is jea- 
 lousies. 
 
 Ford. Well, he's not here, I seek for. 
 
 Page. No. nor no where else, but in your brain. 
 
 Ford. Help to search my house this one time: if 
 I find not what I seek, shew no colour for my extre- 
 mity, let me for ever be your table-sport ; let tliem 
 say of me. As jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow 
 walnut for his wife's leman. Satisfy me once more ; 
 once more search with me. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What boa, mistress Page ! come you. 
 and the old woman, down ; my husband will come 
 into the chamber. 
 
 Ford. Old woman ! What old woman's that? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of Brentford. 
 
 Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean ! 
 
80 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Have I not forbid her my house 1 She ccines of 
 errands, does she ? We are simple men ; we do not 
 know what's brought to pass under the profession of 
 fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells, by 
 the figure, and such daubery as this is ; beyond our 
 
 element: we know nothing. Come down, you 
 
 witch, you hag you ; come down, I say. 
 
 Mrs. Ford, Nay, good, sweet husband ; — good 
 gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman. 
 
 Entei- Falstaff in women s clothes, led by Mrs. Page. 
 
 Mis. Page. Come, mother Prat, come, give me your 
 hand. 
 
 Ford. I'll prat her: Out of my door, you 
 
 witch, [bents kim.] you rag, you baggage, you pole- 
 cat, you ronyon! out! out! I'll conjure you, I'll 
 fortune-tell you, [Kiit Falstaff. 
 
 Airs. Page. Are you not ashamed ? I tliink, you 
 have killed the poor woman. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it ; — 'Tis a goodly 
 credit for you. 
 
 Ford. Hang her, witch I 
 
 Eva. By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a witch 
 indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a great peard ; 
 I spy a great peard under her muffler. 
 
 Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen ! I beseech you, 
 follow ; see but the issue ot" my jealousy ; if I cry out 
 tlius upon no trail, never trust me when I open again. 
 
 Page. Let's obey his humour a little further: 
 Come, gentlemen. 
 
 [F.xeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans 
 
 Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not; he 
 beat him most unpitifuUy, methought. 
 
 Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed, and 
 hung o'er the altar ; it iiatli done meritorious service. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. What think you? ilay we, with the 
 warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good 
 conscience, pursue him with any further revenge ? 
 
 Mrs. Page* The spirit of wantonness is, sure, scared 
 out of him ; if the devil have him not in fee-simple, 
 with fine and recovery, he will never, I think, in the 
 way of waste, attempt us again. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we have 
 served him? 
 
 Mrs. Page, Yes, by all means ; if it be but to scrape 
 the figures out of your husband's brains. If they 
 can find in their hearts, the poor unvirtuous fat knight 
 shall be any further afflicted, we two will still be the 
 ministers. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant, they'll have him publicly 
 shamed ; and, methinks. there would be no period to 
 the jest, should he not be publicly shamed. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then, shape 
 it : I would not have things cool. [Eieuut. 
 
 SCENE III.— J Room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Host and Bardolfh. 
 
 Bard. Sir, the Gennans desire to have three of 
 your horses : the duke himself will be to-morrow at 
 court, and they are going to meet him. 
 
 Host. What duke should that be, comes so secretly! 
 I hear not of him in the court : Let me speak with the 
 gentlemen ; they speak English ] 
 
 Bard. Ay, sir ; I'll call them to you. 
 
 Host. They shall have my horses ; but I '11 make 
 them pay, I '11 sauce them : they have had my houses 
 a week at command ; I have turned away my other 
 guests : they must come off; I'll sauce them : Come. 
 
 [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE I'V A Uoom in Ford's House. 
 
 Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and 
 Sir Hugh Evans, 
 
 Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman as 
 ever I did look upon. 
 
 Page. And did he send you both these letters ^t an 
 instant 1 
 
 Mrs. Page. Within a quarter of an hour. 
 
 Ford. Pardon me, wife : Henceforth do what thou 
 I rather will suspect the sun with cold, [wilt ; 
 
 Than thee with wantonness : now doth thy honour 
 In him that was of late an heretic, [stand. 
 
 As firm as faith. 
 
 Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well ; no more 
 
 Be not as Extreme in submission. 
 As in offence ; 
 
 But let our plot go forward : let our wives 
 Yet once again, to make us public sport, 
 -Vppolnt a meeting with this old fat fellow. 
 Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it. 
 
 Ford. There is no better way than that they spoke 
 of. 
 
 Page. How ! to send him word they'll meet him ia 
 the park at midnight ; fie, fie ; he'll never come. 
 
 Eva. You say. he has been thrown into the rivers ; 
 and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oman ; 
 methinks, there should be terrors in him, that he 
 should not come ; methinks, his flesh is punished, 
 he shall have no desires. 
 
 Page. So think I too. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when he 
 And let us two devise to bring him thither, [comes, 
 
 Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Heme 
 the hunter, 
 Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest. 
 Doth all the winter time, at still midnight. 
 Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns ; 
 And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle ; 
 And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chaia 
 In a most hideous and dreadful manner : 
 You have heard of such a spirit ; and well you know. 
 The superstitious idle-headed eld 
 Received, and did deliver to our age, 
 This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth. 
 
 Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear 
 In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak: 
 But w hat of this 1 
 
 Mrs. Ford, fllarry, this is our device ; 
 That FalstafI' at that oak shall meet with us, 
 Disguised like Heme, with huge horns on his head. 
 
 Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come. 
 And in this shape : When you have brought him 
 
 thither, 
 What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ? 
 
 Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon 
 and thus : 
 Nan Page my daughter, and my little son. 
 And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress 
 Like urchins, ouphes, and fairies, green and wliite. 
 With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads. 
 And rattles in their hands ; upon a sudden. 
 As Falstaff, she, and I, are newly met. 
 Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once 
 With some diffused song ; upon their sight, 
 M'e two in great amazedness will fiy : 
 Then let them all encircle him about. 
 And fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight ; 
 And ask him, why, that hour of fairy revel. 
 In their so sacred paths he dares to tread. 
 In shape profane. 
 Mrs. Ford And till he tell the truth. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE V. 
 
 01 
 
 Let the supposed fairies pinch him sounj, 
 And burn him with their tapers. 
 
 Mrs. Fuge. The truth being known, 
 
 We '11 all present ourselves ; dis-horn the spirit, 
 And mock him home to Windsor. 
 
 Ford. The children must 
 
 Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't. 
 
 Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours ; 
 and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the 
 knight with my taber. 
 
 ,Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go buy them 
 vizards. 
 
 Mrs. Page. My Nan shall he the queen of all the 
 Finely attired in a robe of white. [fairies. 
 
 Page, 'i nat silk will I go buy ; — and in that time 
 Shall master Slender steal mv Nan away, [Aside. 
 
 And mairy her at Eton. Go, send to i'alstaff 
 
 straight. 
 
 Fnrd. Nay, I'll to him again, in name of Brook j 
 He'll tell me all his purpose : Sure, he'll come. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fear not you that : Go, get us properties. 
 And tricking for our fairies. 
 
 Eva. Let us about it ; It is admirable pleasures, 
 and fery honest knaveries. 
 
 [Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford, 
 Send quickly to sir John, to know his mind. 
 
 [E.I it Mrs. Ford. 
 I'll to the doctor ; he hath my good will. 
 And none but he, to marry witli Nan Page. 
 Thai Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
 And he my husband best of all affects : 
 The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
 Potent at court; he, none but he, shall have her. 
 Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her. 
 
 [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE v.— A Room in the Garter Inn. 
 
 Enter Host and Simple. 
 
 Hast. What would'st thou have, boor 1 what, thick- 
 skin ? speak, breathe, discuss ; brief, short, quick, 
 snap. 
 
 Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John 
 Falstuff from master .Slender. 
 
 Host. There's his chamber, his house, his castle, 
 his standing-bed, and Iruckle-bed ; 'tis painted about 
 with the story of the prodigal, fresh and new : Go, 
 knock and call ; he'll speak like an Anthrofophagi- 
 nian unto thee : Knock, I say. 
 
 Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone up 
 into his chamber ; I'll be so bold as stay, sir, till she 
 come down ; I come to speak with her, indeed. 
 
 Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be 
 robbed: I'll call. — Bully knight ! Bully sir John! 
 speak from thy lungs military : Art thou there? it is 
 thine host, thine Ephesian, calls. 
 
 Fat. [ahoie.^ How now, mine host? 
 
 Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar tarries the com- 
 ing down of thy fat woman -, Let her descend, bully, 
 let her descend ; my chambers are honourable? Fye : 
 privacy ? fye ! 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman, even 
 now with me ; but she's gone. 
 
 Siui. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of 
 Brentford 1 
 
 Fat. .-Vy, marry, was it, muscle-shell ; What would 
 you with her 1 
 
 Siyn. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to 
 her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir, 
 whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain, 
 Lad the chain, or no. 
 
 Fal. I spake with the old woman about it. 
 
 Sim. And what says she, I pray, sir 1 
 
 Fal. !\Iarry, she says, that the very same man, that 
 beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened him 
 of it. 
 
 Sim. I would, I could have spoken with the woman 
 herself ; I had other things to have spoken with her 
 too, from him. 
 
 Fal. What are they ? let us know. 
 
 Host. Ay, come ; quick. 
 
 Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. 
 
 Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest. 
 
 Sim. Why, sir, they are nothmg but about mis- 
 tress Anne Page ; to know if it were my master's 
 fortune to have her, or no. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. 
 
 Sim. What, sir \ 
 
 Fal. To have her, — or no ; Go ; say, the woman 
 told me so. 
 
 Sim. May I be so bold to s,-iy so, sir? 
 
 Fal. Ay, sir Tike ; who more bold ? 
 
 Sim. I thank your worship : I shall make my mas- 
 ter glad with these tidings. [F.iit Si-mple. 
 
 Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly, sir John : 
 Was there a wise woman with thee ? 
 
 Fal. Ay, that there was, mine host ; one that hath 
 taught me more wit than ever I learned before in mv 
 life : and I paid nothing for it neither, but was paid 
 for my learning. 
 
 Enter Bardoi.ph, 
 
 Bard. Out, alas, sir! cozenage! meer cozenage ! 
 
 Host. Where be my horses ? speak well of them, 
 varletto. 
 
 Bard. Run away with the cozeners: for so soon as 
 I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from behind 
 one of them, in a slough of mire ; and set spurs, and 
 away, like three German devils, three Doctor Faus- 
 tuses. 
 
 Host. They are gone but to meet the duke, villain : 
 do not say, they be fled ; Germans are honest men. 
 
 Enter Sir Hcch Evaxs. 
 
 Eva. Where is mine hosf! 
 
 Host. What is the matter, sir? 
 
 Eva. Have a care of your entertainments : there 
 is a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there 
 is three couzin germaus, that has cozened all the 
 hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook, 
 of horses and money. I tell you for good-will, look 
 you : you are wise, and full of gibes and vloutinc^- 
 stogs ; and 'tis not convenient you should be cozened ; 
 Fare you well. [Eiit. 
 
 Enter Dr. Caius. 
 
 Cains. Vere is mine Host de Jarterre? 
 Host. Here, master doctor, in perple.\ity, and 
 doubtful dilemma. 
 
 Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat : But it is tell-a 
 me, dat you make grand preparation for a duke de 
 Jarmany : by my trot, dere is no duke, dat de court 
 is know to come : I tell you for good vill: adieu. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Host. Hue and cry, villain, go : — assistme, knight ; 
 I am undone : fly, run, hue and cry, villain ! I am 
 undone ! [Exeunt Host and Bardolph. 
 
 Fal. I would, all the world might be cozened ; for 
 I have been cozened, and beaten too. If it should 
 ! come to the ear of the court, how I have been trans- 
 formed, and how my transformation hath been washed 
 and cudgelled, they would melt me out of my fat, 
 i drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's boots with me ; 
 ; I warrant, they would whip me with their fine wits, 
 F 
 
82 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 till I were as crest-fallen as a dried pear. I never 
 prospered since I foreswore myself at primero* Well, 
 if my wind wpre but long enough lo say my prayers, 
 I would repent. — 
 
 Enter Mistress Quickly, 
 
 Now ! whence come you 1 
 
 Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 
 
 Fat. The devil take one party, and his dam the 
 other, ?nd so they shall be both bestowed ! I have 
 suffered more for their sakes, more, than the villain- 
 ous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to bear. 
 
 Quick. And have they not suffered 1 Yes, I war- 
 rant ; speciously one of them ; mistress Ford, good 
 heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot see 
 a white spot about her. 
 
 Fat. What tell'st thou me of black and blue? 
 I was beaten myself into all the colours of the rain- 
 bow ; and I was like to be apprehended for the witch 
 of Brentford ; but that my admirable dexterity of 
 wit, my counterfeiting the action of an old woman, 
 deliver'd me, the knave constable had set me 1' the 
 stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witch. 
 
 Quick, Sir, let me speak with you in your cham- 
 ber : you shall hear how things go : and, 1 warrant, 
 to your content. Here is a letter will say somewhat. 
 Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you together ! 
 Sure, one of you does not serve heaven well, that 
 you are so crossed. 
 
 Fal. Come up into my chamber. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — Another room in the Garter Inn. 
 Enter Fenton and Host. 
 
 Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mind is 
 heavy, I will give over all. [pose, 
 
 Fent. Yet hear me speak : Assist me in my pur- 
 And, as I am a gentleman, ] '11 give thee 
 A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss. 
 
 Host. I will hear you, master Fenton J and I will, 
 at the least, keep your counsel. 
 
 Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you 
 With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; 
 Who, mutually, hath answer'd my affection 
 (So far forth as herself might be her chooser,) 
 Even to my wish : I have a letter from her 
 Of such contents as you will wonder at ; 
 The mirth wliereof so larded with my matter, 
 That neither, singly, can be manifested, 
 Without the show of both ; — wherein fat Falstaff 
 Hatii a great scene : the image of tiie jest 
 
 [Shelling the letter. 
 ril shew you here at large. Hark, good mine host : 
 To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one, 
 Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen : 
 The purpose why, is here ; in which disguise, 
 While other jests are something rank on foot. 
 Her father hath commanded her to slip 
 Away with Slender, and with him at Eton 
 Immediately to marry : she hath consented : 
 Now, sir. 
 
 Her mother, even strong against that match, 
 And firm for Dr. Caius, hath appointed 
 That he shall likewise shuffle her away. 
 While other sports are tasking of their minds, 
 And at the deanery, where a priest attends, 
 Straight marry her : to this her mother's plot 
 She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath 
 Wade promise to the doctor;— Now thus it rests; 
 Her father means she shall be all in white ; 
 And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
 To take her by the hand, and bid her go. 
 
 She shall go with him : her mother hath intendedt 
 The better to denote her to the doctor, 
 (For they must all be masked and vizarded,) 
 That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrob'd, 
 With ribands pendant, flaring 'bout her head ; 
 And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe, 
 To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token. 
 The maid hath given consent to go with him. 
 
 Hoit. Which means she to deceived father or 
 mother? 
 
 Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me : 
 And here it rests, — that you'll procure the vicar 
 To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one, 
 And, in tlie lawful name of marrying, 
 To give our hearts united ceremony. 
 
 Host. Well, husband your device ; I '11 to the vicar; 
 Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest. 
 
 Fent. So shall I ever more be bound to thee ; 
 Besides, 1 '11 makft a present recompense. \_EieunU 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in the Gavter Inn. 
 Enter Fvvlstaff and Mrs. Quickly. 
 
 Fal. Pr'ythee, no more prattling: — go. ^I 'II 
 
 liold : Tliis is the third time ; I hope, good luck lies 
 in odd numbers. Away, go ; thoy say there is di- 
 vinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance, or 
 death. — Away. 
 
 Quick. I'll provide you a chain : and I'll do what 
 I can to get you a pair of horns. 
 
 F(tL Away, I say; time wears: hold up your 
 head, and mince. {Eiit Mvs. Qi-iciay. 
 
 Enter Ford. 
 How now, master Brook ! iWaster Brook, the matter 
 will be known to-night, or never. Be you in the 
 Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and you shall 
 see wonders. 
 
 Ford. Went you not to lier yesterday, sir, as yoa 
 told me you had appointed ? 
 
 Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as yon see, like 
 a poor old man : but 1 came from her, master Brook, 
 like a poor old woman. That same knave. Ford her 
 husband, hath the finest mad devil of jealousy in him, 
 master Brook, that ever governed frenzy. I will tell 
 you. — He beat me grievously, in the shape of a 
 woman ; for in the shape of man, master Brook, I 
 fear not Goliath with a weaver's Iream ; because I 
 know also, life is a shuttle. I am in haste ; go along 
 with me ; I'll tell you all, master Brook. Since I 
 pluck'd geese, play'd truant, and whipp'd top, I 
 knew not what it was to be beaten, till lately. Fol- 
 low me : I'll tell you strange things of this knave 
 Ford : on whom to-night I will be revenged, and I 
 will deliver his wife into your hand. — Follow : 
 Strange things in hand, master Brook ! follow. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II Windsor Park. 
 
 Enter Pace, Suallow, and Slender. 
 Page. Come, come; we'll couch i' the castle- 
 ditch, till we see the light of our fairies. — Remem- 
 ber, son Slender, my daughter. 
 
 Slen. Ay, forsooth ; 1 have spoke with her, and 
 we have a nay-word, how to know one another. I 
 come to her in white, and cry, mum ; she cries bud- 
 get ; and by that we know one another. 
 
 Shal. That's good too ; but what needs either your 
 mum, other budget? the white will decipher herwel'. 
 enough. — It hath struck ten o'clock. 
 
ACT V.--SCENE V. 
 
 83 
 
 Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits will 
 become it well. Heaven, prosper our sport! No 
 man means evil but the devil, and we shall know him 
 by his horns. Let's away j follow me. [£.rei<Ki. 
 
 SCENE in.—The Street in Windsor. 
 Enter Mrs. Page, Afrs. Ford, and Dr. Caius. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Master Doctor, my daughter is in green . 
 when you see your time, take her by the hand, away 
 with her to the deanery, and despatch it quickly ; 
 Go before into the park ; we two must go together. 
 
 Caius. I know vat I have to do ; Adieu. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [FMt Caius. 
 
 My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse 
 of Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying 
 rav daughter: but 'tis no matter ; better a littlechid- 
 ing, than a great deal of heart-break. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop of 
 fairies X and the Welch devil, Hugh t 
 
 Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard by 
 Heme's oak, with obscured lights ; which, at the 
 very instant of FalstafTs and our meeting, they will 
 at once display to the night. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him. 
 
 Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be mocked ; 
 if he be amazed, he will every way be mocked. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. We '11 betray him finely. [lechery, 
 
 BXrs. Page. Against such lewdsters, and their 
 Tliose thatbetray tliem do no treacliery. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on ; to the oak, to 
 the oak! [Ejemit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Windsor Park. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies. 
 
 Em. Trib, trib, fairies; come; and remember your 
 
 parts ; be pold, I pray you ; follow me into the pit ; 
 
 and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I pid you ; 
 
 Come, come ; trib, trib, [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another part of the Park. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, disgikised with a backus head on. 
 
 Fal. The Windsor bell hath struck twelve ; tlie 
 minute draws on : Now, the hot-blooded gods assist 
 me : — Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy 
 Europa ; love set on thy horns. — O, powerful love ! 
 that, in some respects, makes a beast a man ; in 
 some other, a man a beast. — You were also, Jupiter, 
 a swan, for the love of Leda : — 0, omnipotent love ! 
 how near the god drew to the complexion of a goose t 
 —A fault done first in the form of a beast ; — Jove, 
 a beastly fault ! and then another fault in the sem- 
 blance of a fowl ; think on't, Jove ; a foul fault — 
 When gods have hot backs, what shall poor men dol 
 For me, I am here a Windsor stag ; and the fattest, 
 I think, i' the forest : send me a cool rut-lime, Jove, 
 or who can blame me to piss my tallow! Who comes 
 here 1 my doe t 
 
 Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Pace. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir Jolm T art thou there, my deer 1 
 my male deer"! 
 
 Fal. My doe with the black scut 1— Let the sky 
 rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune of Green 
 Sleeves ; liail kissing-conifits, and snow eringoes ; 
 let there come a tempest of provocation, I will shel- 
 ter m* here. [Embracing her. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, sweet- 
 heart. 
 
 F^d. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch : 
 
 I will keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the 
 fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath youi 
 husbands. Am I a woodman ? ha! Speak I like 
 Heme the hunter? — Why, now is Cupid a child of 
 conscience ; he makes restitution. As I am a true 
 spirit, welcome ! [A'^oife within, 
 
 Mrs. Page. .\las I what noise ? 
 
 Mrs. Font. Heaven forgive our sins ! 
 
 Fal. What should this'be? 
 
 Mrs. Ford. ) . 
 Mrs. Page. \ -^"'^ 
 
 ay, away. [They run off. 
 
 Fid. I think, the devil will not have me damned, 
 lest the oil that is in me should set hell on fire; he 
 would never else cross rae thus. 
 
 Enter Sir Hugh Evans, lihe a satyr ; Mrs. Quickly, 
 and Pistol ; Annf. Pace, as the Fairy Queen, 
 attended by her brother and others, dressed like 
 fairies, with waien tapers on their heads. 
 Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, 
 Vou moon- shine revellers, and shades of nii^ht, 
 You orphan-heirs of fi.xed destiny. 
 Attend your clhce, and your quality. 
 Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes. 
 
 Pist. Elves, list your names ; silence, you airy toys. 
 Cricket, to Windsor chimnies shalt thou leap : 
 Where fires thou find'st unrak'd, and hearths unswept. 
 There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 
 Our radiant queen hates sluts and slutiery. 
 
 Fat. They are fairies ; he, that speaks to them, shall 
 die ; 
 I'll wink and couch : no man their works must eye. 
 [Lies down upon hisfwe, 
 Eva. Where's Pede ? — Go you, and where you find 
 a maid. 
 That, ere she sleep, l^as thrice her prayers said. 
 Raise up the organs of her fantasy, 
 Sleep she as sound as careless infancy ; 
 But those as sleep, and think not on tlieir sins. 
 Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and 
 shins. 
 Quick. About, about ; 
 Search Windsor-castle, elves, within and out : 
 Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred room ; 
 That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
 In state as wholesome, as in slate 'tis fit ; 
 Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
 The several chairs of order look vou scour 
 With juice of balm, and every precious flower . 
 Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest. 
 With loyal blazon, evermore be blest ! 
 And nightly, meadow-fairies, look, you sinty. 
 Like to the Garter's compass, in a rino- : 
 'I'he e.\pressure that it bears, green let it be, 
 More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
 And, Hony soit qui mal y pense, write. 
 In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and while : 
 Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroiderj', ') 
 
 Buckled below fair knight-hood's bending knee ; > 
 Fairies use flowers for their charactery. j 
 
 Away ; disperse : But, till 'tis one o'clock. 
 Our dance of custom, round about the oak 
 Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 
 
 Em. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves in 
 order set : 
 And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be. 
 To guide our measure round about the tree. 
 But, stay : I smell a man of middle earth. 
 
 Fal. Heaven defend me from that Welch fairy I 
 lest he transform me to a piece of cheese ! 
 
 Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even in thy 
 birth. 
 
84 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 
 Quich With trial -fire touch me his finger-end 
 If he be chaste, the flame will back descend, 
 And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 
 It is the Hesh of a corrupted heart. 
 
 Pist. A trial, come. 
 
 Eva. Come, will this wood take firel 
 
 [They burn him with their tapers. 
 
 Fal. Oh, oh, oh ! 
 
 Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire ! 
 About him, fairies ; sing' a scornful rhyme ; 
 And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 
 
 Eva. It is right ; indeed he is full of lecheries and 
 iniquity. 
 
 SONG. — Fye on sinful fantasy f 
 Fye on lust and luxury! 
 L-ust is but a bloody fire, 
 Kindled with tuichaste desire. 
 Fed in heart ; whose fianies aspire, 
 As thoughts do blow them, hi}<;her and higher. 
 Pinch him, fairies, mutuaUij ; 
 Pinch hint for his viilainxt ; 
 Pxnch him, and burn him, and turn him about. 
 Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine be out. 
 
 During this song, the fairies pinch FalstafF. Doctor 
 Caius comes one way, and steals away a fairy in 
 green ; Slender another way, and takes o£' a fairy 
 in white; and Fenton comes^ and steals away Mrs. 
 Anne Page. A noise of hunting is made within. 
 All the fairies run away. Falstaff pulls ojf' hi^ 
 buck's head, and rises. 
 
 Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford. 
 They lay hold on him. 
 
 Page. Nay, do not fly : I think, we have watch 'd 
 you now : « 
 
 Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn ? 
 
 Mrs. I'age. I pray you, come ; hold up the jest no 
 higher : — 
 Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives 1 
 See you thei^e, husband ? do not these fair yokes 
 Become the forest better than the town ! 
 
 Ford. Now, sir, wlio's a cuckold now? — Master 
 Brook, Falstaff 's a knave, a cuckoldy knave ; here 
 are his horns, master Brook : And, master Brook, he 
 hath enjoved nothing of Ford's but his buck-basket, 
 his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money; which 
 must be paid to master Brook ; his horses are arrested 
 for it, master Brook. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck; we 
 could never meet. } will never take you for my love 
 again, but 1 will always count you my deer. 
 
 Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass. 
 
 Ford. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are extant. 
 
 Fal. And these are not fairies? I was thi'ee or four 
 times in the thought, they were not fairies : and yet 
 the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise of my 
 powers, drove the grossness of the foppery into a re- 
 ceived belief, in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and 
 reason, that they were fairies See now, how wit may 
 be made a Jack-a- lent, when 'tis upon ill employment. 
 
 Eva. Sir John Falstart", ^erve Got, and leave your 
 desires, and fairies will not pinse you. 
 
 Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh. 
 
 Eva And leave you your jealousies too, I pray you. 
 
 Ford. 1 will never mistrust my wife again, till 
 thou art able to woo her m good English. 
 
 Fat, Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried it. 
 that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er-reaching 
 as this? Am I ridden with a Welch goat loo ? Shall 
 I have a coxcomb of frize ? 'Tis time 1 were choaked 
 with a piece of toasted cheese. 
 
 Eva. Seese is not good to give putter ; your pelly 
 is all putttu". 
 
 Fal. Seese and putter ! have I lived to stand at the 
 taunt of one that makes fritters of Knglish ? This is 
 enough to be the decay of lust and late-walking, 
 through the realm. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though 
 we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by the 
 head and shoulders, and have given ourselves with- 
 out scruple to hell, that ever the devil could have 
 made you our delight ? 
 
 Ford. What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of flax? 
 
 Mrs. Page. A puffed man ? 
 
 Pnge. Old, cold, withered, and of intolerable 
 entrails 1 
 
 Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan? 
 
 Page. And as poor as Job ? 
 
 Ford. And as wicked as his wife? 
 
 Eva. And given to fornications, and to taverns, and 
 sack, and wine, and metheglins. and to driukings, and 
 swearings, and starings, pribbles and prabbles ? 
 
 Fal. W^ell, I am your theme : you have the start 
 of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the 
 Welch flannel : ignorance itself is a plummet o'er 
 me ; use me as you will. 
 
 Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to 
 one master Brook, that you have cozened of money, 
 to whom you should have been a pander : over and 
 above that you have suflered, I think, to repay that 
 money will be a biting affliction. 
 
 Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make 
 amends : 
 Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends. 
 
 Ford. Well, here's my hand ; all's forgiven at last. 
 
 Page. Yet be cheerful, knight: thou shall eat a 
 posset to night at my house ; where I will desire thee 
 to laugh at my wife, that now laughs at thee : Tell 
 her, master Slender hath married her daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that : if Anne Page be 
 my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius' wife 
 
 {^Aside. 
 Enter Slender. 
 
 Slen. Whoo, ho ! ho ! father Page ! 
 
 Page. Son ! how now ? how now, son ? have you 
 despatched ? 
 
 Slen. Despatched ! — I'll make the best in Gloces- 
 tershire know on-t •, would I were hanged, la, else. 
 
 Page. Of what, son t 
 
 Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress Anne 
 Page, and she's a great lubberly boy ; If it had not 
 been i' the church, 1 would have swinged him, or he 
 should have swinged me. If I did not think it had 
 been Anne Page, would I might never stir, and 'tis 
 a post-master's boy. 
 
 Page.' Upon my life then you took the wrong. 
 
 Slen. What need you tell me that ? I think so, when 
 I took a boy for a girl : If I had been married to 
 him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would not 
 have had him. 
 
 Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I 
 tell you, how you should know my daughter by her 
 garments ? 
 
 Slen. I went to her in white, and cry*d mum, and 
 she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed ; and 
 yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy. 
 
 Eva. Jeshu ! master Slender, cannot you see but 
 marry boys ? 
 
 Page. O, I am vexed at heart -. What shall I do? 
 
 Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry: I knew of 
 your purpose ; turned my daughter into green ; and, 
 indeed, she is now with the doctor at the deaner^s 
 and there married. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 85 
 
 Enter Caius. 
 
 Caiiis, Vere is mistress Paget By gar, I am 
 cozened ; I ha' married un gtnyon, a boy ; un pa'i- 
 san, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar, I 
 am cozened. 
 
 Mrs. Page. Why, did you not take her in green t 
 
 Cuius. Ay, be gar, and 'tis a boy : be gar, I'll raise 
 all Windsor. [Exit Caius. 
 
 Ford. This is strange: Who hath got the right 
 Anne ^ 
 
 Page. My heart misgives me : Here comes master 
 Fenton. 
 
 Enter Fenton and Axne Page. 
 
 How now, master Fenton 1 
 
 Anne. Pardon, good father ! good my mother, 
 pardon ! 
 
 Page- Now, mistress? how chance you went not 
 with master Slender ? 
 
 Airs. Page. Why went you not with master doctor, 
 maid? 
 
 Pent. You do amaze her: Hear the truth of it. 
 You would have married her most shamefully, 
 \\'liere there was no proportion held in love. 
 The truth is, she and I, long since contracted. 
 Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us. 
 
 The offence is holy, that she hath committed : 
 
 And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
 
 Of disobedience, or unduteous title ; 
 
 Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
 
 A thousand irreligious cursed hours. 
 
 Which forced marriage would have brought upon her. 
 
 Fard. Stand not amaz'd: here is no remedy: — 
 In love, the heavens themselves do guide the state , 
 IMoney buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 
 
 Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special 
 stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced. 
 
 Page, Well, what remedy? Fenton, heaven give 
 thee joy ! 
 What cannot be eschew'd, must be embrac'd. 
 
 Fa[. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer are 
 chas'd. 
 
 Eva. I will dance and eat plums at your weddins. 
 > Mrs, Page. ^^^eU, I will muse no further : — Master 
 
 Fenton, 
 Heaven give vou many, many merry days I 
 Good husband, let us eveiy one go home. 
 And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire : 
 Sir John and all. 
 
 Ford. Let it be so — Sir John, 
 To master Brook you yet shall hold your word : 
 For he, to-night, shall lie with mistress Ford. 
 
 [Eseunt, 
 
 Of this play there is a tradition preserved by Mr. Rowe, that I 
 it was written at the cooimand of queeD Elizabeth, who was so 
 deli^'hied wiiU the i;iiaiacter of Falslaff, that she wished it to I 
 be diffused through more plays; but su5i)ectirjt; that it luipht , 
 pall by coiilinued uuilonuity, directed the poet to diversify his 
 maooer, by shewing' hini in love. No task is harder than that 
 of writing to the ideas of another. Shakspeare knew what the 
 qu€fri, if the story he true, seems not lo have known — th.it by 
 tiny real passion of tenderness, tbe selfish craft, the careless 
 jollity, and the lazy luxurj' of Taistaff must have suffered so 
 Eiu( h abatement, that little of his former cast would have re- 
 mained. I'albtaif could not love, but by ceasing to he Fal.staff. 
 He could only counterfeit love, aiid his jirofessioiis could be 
 prompted, ijnt by the hope of plpasure, but of money. Thus the 
 poet approached as near as he could to the work enjoined him ; 
 yet havinw', perhaps, in the fornn^r plays, completed his ovrn 
 idea, seems not lo have been able to tjivc Falstaff all his former 
 pover of entenaiDiuuiL 
 
 This comedy is remarkable for the variety and number of the 
 personag^es. who exhibit more characters appropriated and dis- 
 criminated, thmi perhaps can be found in auy oiherplay. 
 
 Whether Shakspeare was the first that jiroduceu upon the 
 English stage the eftect of language distorted and depraved by 
 provincial or foreign pronunciation. I cannot certainly decide. 
 this mode of forming ridiculous characters can confer praise 
 only on him who originally discovered it, for it requires not 
 much of eiihcT wit or judgment: its success rnuht be derived 
 almost wholly from the player, but its power in a skilful mouth, 
 even he that despises it, is unable to resist. 
 
 l he conduct of this drama is deficient ; the action begins and 
 ends often, before the conclusion, •nd the different pans might 
 change places without inconvenience ; but its general power, 
 that power by which all works of genms shall fin.illy be tried, 
 is such, that perhaps it never yeJ had reader or spectator who 
 did not think il too soon at the end.— JoUNSON. 
 
TWELFTH NIGHT 
 
 OE, 
 
 WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 Theue is no edition of this play earlier thnn the first folio in 
 162.3.— Mr. Malone supposes, that it was prodaced in the 
 year 1(K17 ; but there is ao evidence either to snpport, or re- 
 luie soch a supposition, Mr. Chalmers conceives that it was 
 written in 161.1.— if auy probaMe conjecture respecting its 
 date may be derived from the merits of the work, I should 
 have little hesilaiion in ranking this among our author's 
 latest productions. It is marked hj* the ease and certainty of an 
 experienced hand. There is nothing superfluous. I-Lvery 
 passage tends to the tffect designed. No part could be ab- 
 stracted without material injury to the beauty of the whole. 
 The serious portion of the comedy may have been tukfu from 
 the seventh history of the fourth volume of lielleforest's 
 Hisioires Tragifjues. The comic scenes and characters ap 
 
 pear to have been entirely Sbakspeare's own.-; — The cocn* 
 mentators have discovered that Ben lonson designed to ridi- 
 cule Twelfth Kig/it,\n llicry Man out of his Humour. — Mitis 
 says in Act .3. of that play, " The argument of this comedy 
 might have been of some other nature, as of a Duke to be in 
 love with a Couuiess, and this Countess to be in love with 
 the Duke's son, and the son in love with the lady's waiting- 
 maid : some such cross wooing, with a clown to their serving- 
 man, t5cc."— Where Mr.-Steevens found the point of this pas- 
 sage, I am unable to say— in Tmtlfth Si^ht there is no Coun- 
 tess in love with a Duke's son, nor any Duke's son iu love 
 wiih a waiting-maid.—" What is niore to the purpose," says 
 Mr. Gifford," Ben Jonson's play was written at Itast a dozen 
 years before T-xelfth tiight appeared." 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Orsino, Duk& o/IUyria. 
 
 Sebastian, o young gentleman, brother to "\ iola. 
 
 Antonio, a sea captain, friend to Sebastian. 
 
 A sea captain, friend to Viola. 
 
 Valentine, Curio, gentlemen attending on the Duke. 
 
 Sir Toby Belch, uncle o/' Olivia. 
 
 Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 
 
 Malvolio, steward to Olivia. 
 
 Fabian, CIowji, servants to Olivia. 
 
 Olivia, a rich Countess. 
 Viola, in love with the Duke. 
 Maria, Olivia's woman. 
 
 Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, 
 and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENfl, — A City in Illyria ; and the Sea-coast 
 near it. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter Duke» Curio, Lords ; Musicians attending. 
 
 Duke. If music be the food of love, play on. 
 Give me excess of it ; that, surfeiting. 
 
 The appetite may sicken, and so die. 
 
 That strain again ; — it had a dying fall : 
 
 O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 
 Stealing, and giving odour. — Enough ; no more ; 
 
 'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before. 
 
 O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou ! 
 
 That, notwithstanding thy capacity 
 
 Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there. 
 
 Of what validity and pitch soever. 
 
 But falls into abatement and low price. 
 
 Even in a minute ! so full of shapes is fancy, 
 
 That it alone is high-fantastical. 
 
 Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord? 
 
 Duke. ' What, Curio I 
 
 Cur. J he hart. 
 
 Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that 1 have : 
 O when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
 Jlethought, she purg'd the air of pestilence ; 
 
 That instant was I tum'd into a hart ; 
 
 And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, [her? 
 
 E'er since pursue me. — How now ? what news from 
 
 Enter Valentine. 
 
 Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted, 
 But from her handmaid do return this answer : 
 The element itself, till seven years' lieaL, 
 Shall not behold her face at ample view; 
 But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk. 
 And water once a day her chamber round 
 With eye-offending brine r all this, to season 
 A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh. 
 And lasting, in her sad remembrance. 
 
 Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame. 
 To pay this debt of love but to a brother. 
 How will she love, when the rich, golden shaft. 
 Hath kill'd the flock of all aflTections else 
 That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart. 
 These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd, 
 (Her sweet perfections,) with one self king !— 
 Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ; 
 Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers, 
 
 \_ExeuHt. 
 
 SCENE II — The Sea-coast. 
 Enter Viola, Captain, ami Sailors. 
 
 Via. What country, friends, is this 1 
 
 Cap. Illyria, lady. 
 
 Via. And what should I do in Illyria 1 
 My brother lie is in Elysium. [sailors ? 
 
 Perchance, lie is not drown'd . — What think you. 
 
 Cap, It is perchance, that you yourself were saved* 
 
 Via. my poor brother ! and so, perchance, miy 
 he be. [chance, 
 
 Cap. True, madam : and, to comfort you witb 
 Assure yourself, after our ship did split. 
 When you, and that poor number saved with you, 
 Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, 
 Most provident in peril, bind himself 
 (Courage and hope both teaching him the practice) 
 To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea ; 
 Where, like Arion on the dolpliin's back, 
 I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves. 
 So long as I could see. 
 
 Via. For saying so, there's gold : 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 87 
 
 Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 
 \Vhereto Ihy speech serves for authority. 
 The like of him. Know'st thou this country? 
 
 Cap, Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and born. 
 Not three hours' travel from this very place. 
 
 Via. "Who governs here t 
 
 Cap. A noble duke, in nature, 
 
 As in his name. 
 
 Via. What is his name 1 
 
 Cap. Orsino. 
 
 Via. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him : 
 He was a bachelor then. 
 
 Cap. And so is now, 
 
 Or was so very late : for but a month 
 Ago I went from hence ; and then 'twas fresh 
 In munnur, (as, you know, what great ones do, 
 The less will prattle of,) that he did seek 
 Tlie love of fair Olivia. 
 
 n<i. AV hat's she'! 
 
 Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
 Tliat died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving her 
 In the protection of his son, her brother. 
 Who shortly also died: for whose dear love, 
 I'hey say, she hath abjured the company 
 And sight of men. 
 
 I'"». O, that I served that lady : 
 
 And might not be delivered to the world. 
 Till I had made mine own occasion mellow, 
 "What my estate is. 
 
 Cap. That were hard to compass ; 
 
 Because she will admit no kind of suit. 
 No, not the duke^s. 
 
 Via. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain ; 
 And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
 Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
 I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits 
 Witli tills thy fair and outward character. 
 I pray thee, and I '11 pay thee bounteously. 
 Conceal me what I am ; and be my aid 
 For such disguise as, haply, shall become 
 The form of my intent. I '11 serve this duke ; 
 Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him, 
 It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing, 
 And speak to him in many sorts of music, 
 That will allow me very worth his service. 
 AA hat else may hap, to time I will commit ; 
 Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 
 
 Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll be ; 
 When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not see ! 
 
 Via. I thank thee : Lead me on. [£ieiiH(. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Room in Olivia's House. 
 Enter Sir Tody Belch, ajid Maria. 
 
 .Sir To. AVhat a plague means my niece, to take 
 tlie death of her brother thusl 1 am sure, care's an 
 enemy to life. 
 
 ilnr. By my troth, sir Toby, you must come in 
 earlier o' nights ; your cousin, my lady, takes great 
 exceptions to your ill hours. 
 
 Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. 
 
 Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within 
 the modest limits of order. 
 
 Sir To. Confine ? I 'II conhne myself no finer than 
 I am : these clothes are good enou^ii to drink in. 
 end so be these boots too ; an they be not, let them 
 hang themselves in their own straps. 
 
 Mar. rhat quaffing and drinking will undo you: 
 I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and of a fool- 
 ish knight, that you brought in one night here, to be 
 luiT wooer. 
 
 ■Sir To. Who? Sir .\ndrew .Ague cheek 1 
 
 l\Iar. Ay, he. 
 
 Sir To. He 's as tall a man as any's in lUyria. 
 
 Mar. What's that to the purpose 1 
 
 Sir To. A\'hy he has three thousand ducats a year. 
 
 Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these 
 ducats ; he's a very fool, and a prodigal. 
 
 ■Sir To, Fye, that you '11 say so ! he plays o' the 
 viol-de-gambo, and speaks three or four languages 
 word for word without book, and hath all the good 
 gifts of nature. 
 
 Mar. He hath, indeed, — almost natural : for, be- 
 sides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller ; and, 
 but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay the 
 gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among the 
 prudent, he would quickly have the gilt of a grave. 
 
 Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and 
 substractors, that say so of him. Who are they ? 
 
 Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly 
 in your company. 
 
 Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece ; I'll 
 drink to her, as long as there is a passage in ray 
 throat, and drink in lllyria; He 's a coward, and a 
 coystril, that will not drink to my niece, till his 
 brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. What, 
 wench ? Castiliano-volto ; for here comes Sir .An- 
 drew Ague-face. 
 
 Enter Sir Andrew Acue-cheek. 
 
 Sir And Sir Toby Belch ! how now, sir Toby 
 
 Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew 1 [Belch I 
 
 Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. 
 
 Mar And you too, sir. 
 
 Sir To. .\ccost, sir Andrew, accost. 
 
 Sir And. What's that"! 
 
 Sir To, lly niece's chamber-maid. 
 
 Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Mar. My name is Blary, sir. 
 
 Sir .ind. Good mistress Mary Accost, 
 
 Sir To. Vou mistake, knight : accost, is, front 
 her, board her, woo her, assail her. 
 
 Sir And. By my troth, I would not undertake her 
 in this company. Is that the meaning of accost ? 
 
 lilar. Fare you well, gentlemen. 
 
 Sir To, An thou let ])art so. Sir Andrew, 'would 
 thou might'st never draw sword again. 
 
 Sij' And, An you part so, mistress, I would I 
 might never draw sword again. Fair lady, do you 
 think you have fools in hand 1 
 
 Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, but you shall have; and here's 
 my hand. 
 
 Mtir. Now, sir, thought is free : I pray you, bring 
 your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink. 
 
 Sir .'ind. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your 
 metaphor? 
 
 Mar. It's dry, sir. 
 
 Sir And. Why, 1 think so ; I am not such an ass. 
 but 1 can keep my hand dry. But what's your jest ! 
 
 Mar. A dry jest, sir. 
 
 Sir And. .ire you full of them ? 
 
 Mar. Ay, sir; 1 have them at my fingers' ends: 
 marry, now I let go your hand, I am barren. 
 
 [Eiit Maria. 
 Sii- To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary : 
 When did I see thee so put down ? 
 
 Sir .-lad. Never in your life, 1 think , unless you 
 see canary put me down : Methinks sometimes 1 have 
 no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man 
 has ; but I am a great ealer of beef, and, 1 believe, 
 that does harm to my wit. 
 Sir To. No question. 
 
S8 
 
 TWELFTH-XIGHT: Oil, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 followed the arti ! 
 
 Sir To. Then hadtt thou had an excellent bead of 
 hair. 
 
 *r /)»i/i. VVhy.wonU that have mended my hair? 
 
 fiir To. Past <^ueiilion ; for thou iiee»t it will not 
 curl by nature. 
 
 Sir And. But it become* me well enonirh, doet't 
 not ' 
 
 '''o. Sure, my noble lord, 
 
 If «he be «o HizjvlintnA to her sorrow 
 Aj it is ipolce, »hc r^evcr will admit me. 
 
 l)ukr,. lie clainoroiis, and leap all civil bound*, 
 Rather than make unprofited return. 
 
 Vio. Say, J do speak with her, my lord : What then 1 
 
 iJuke, (), then unfold the passion of my love 
 Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith • 
 
 .V.r To. Excellent ; it hangs like flax onadi.laff; lit shall Ueoroe (bee well to act 'my woen 
 and I how; to t«: a housewife uke thee between her IShe will att. •■ • - ■ ■' 
 
 legs, and spin it off. 
 
 Sir Aral, 'faith, I'll home to-morrow, >ir Toby : 
 your niece will not be «een ; or, if she be, it'* four 
 
 nd it better in thy youth, 
 I ban in a nuncio of more erave aspect. 
 Vio. I think not no, my ford. 
 J'''"''*- Dear la/1, believe it -, 
 
 to one she'll none of me ; tl>e count him»«lf, here , For they .hall yet belie thy happy v.- 
 bard by, wooes Iter l-ii.. _■' .. ■' . .'...»'.'.'.•. 
 
 Sir To. .< 
 
 J »ial «ay, thoo art a man ; Uiaria's lip 
 
 *<r /<,. .Sl« II none o the count ; .he'll not match h not more smorrth, and rubious ; thy small pipe 
 above her degre-;, neither in e.tale, years, nor wit ; I I, a. the maiden', organ, .brill, and »ound, ^ 
 have heard her .wear it. fut, there', life in't, man. A r,d all is wn.blative a woman'. parL 
 
 r,. - . ,,,, • ---—-•■——•,••■".* —J i™ jTr-iMMKni**; a. woman » parL 
 
 _ Sir And. I II sta;,' a month longer. I am a fellow I know, thy constellation is rii-hi apt 
 *'- strangest mind i' the world; I delight in " ■■ ■<■ ■ - - * - »" 
 
 o' thi 
 
 mavjues and levels M/rnetimtTi altr(gether. 
 
 Sir To. Art thou gowJ at tliese kitk-thaw., knight 1! 
 
 Sir And. A. any man in Illyiia, whatsoever he !«;, 
 under the degree of my betters ; and yet I will not 
 
 comyarf. with an old man. 
 Sir To, What is thy excellenc 
 Sir Awl. 'Kaith, I can cut i 
 
 Hence in agalliard,knigbt1 
 cut a cap«r. 
 
 .Vir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. 
 
 Sir Aiul. And, I think, 1 have the back-trick, .im- 
 ply as stron/ a* any man in Illyria. 
 
 Sir To. Vvhcrefore are the^e things hid ? where- 
 fore have these gifts acuriain before thern? arc they 
 like \t> take du.t, like mistress Mall's picture i. why 
 do.t thou not go to church in a vM'aiA, and come 
 borne in a corantr.? .My very walk should be a jig; 
 I would not so much a. make water, but in a .ink- 
 »-im;e. What dost thou m(«in ? is it a world u, hide 
 virtues in '< 1 did Ihink, by the excellent constitution 
 of thy leg, it wai formed under the ilar of a galllard. 
 
 Sir Ami. Ay, 'tis strong, anil it d<H;« indi/ferent 
 well in a flainC'Coloured stock, ("hall we set about 
 Mirne revel. ! 
 
 Sir To. What .hall we do else? were we not born 
 onder 'i'auru. 7 
 
 *'r ^'"'. Tauru. ? that", side, and heart. 
 
 Sir To. No, sir ; it is legs and thigh.. Let me 
 .ee thee caper : ha ! higher : ha, ha !— excellent ! 
 
 [ Kieunl, 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Uottm in the Duke'. I'oloct. 
 KnUr Vn.yvn^T., and Vioi,* in man'i «((ir«. 
 
 Vo/. If the Duke continue these favour, towards 
 vou, fJesario, you arc like to be much a/lvanced ; he 
 bath known you but three days, and already you are 
 no .tranger. 
 
 Vio. You cither fear bis hnrnour, or my negligence, 
 that you call in (|ue»tirm the continuance of hi. love : 
 Is he inconstant, sir, in hi* favour.? 
 
 Val. No, believe mc. 
 
 I'.nler Dckk, Cuifio, and Aumilanti. 
 
 VIn. I thank you. Here come, the count. 
 DnUe. Who saw f'csario, ho '( 
 Vio. On your aitenilaiicc, rny lord ; here. 
 Ihjke. Stand you awhile aloof, — Ce.ario, 
 
 For this alfair : — Some four, or five', attend lilm ; 
 
 ■All, if yon will ; for I myM;lf am best, 
 
 \V fatn lea-t in company : — I'rosper well in this. 
 
 And thou shalt live a. freely a. thy lord, 
 
 I o call hi. fortune, thine. 
 
 '''"• I'll do my best. 
 
 To woo your la/ly : yrt, [AiiJe.] a barful .trife . 
 \Vhoe'er 1 woo, mywlf would be hi. wife, [fieun/. 
 
 SCENE \.—A Room in Olivia'. Ifoute. 
 Enter .Marm and Clown. 
 
 Alar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast l«en, or 
 I will not open my lip., so wirie as a liristle may enter, 
 in way of thy excuse ■- my lady will hang thee for 
 thy abs<:nce. 
 
 Ck. U-t fier hang roe : he, that U Well banged in 
 this world, nee<l. to fear no colour.. 
 
 Mar. .Make that good. 
 
 Cto. He shall see none to fcai. 
 
 Mar. A good lenl«n an.wet: I can tell thee where 
 that .ayinK wa. born, of, I fear no colour.. 
 
 t'/o. Where, good mistress Mary ? 
 
 i*f«r. In the wars ; and that may you be bold lo 
 .ay in your foolery. 
 
 Clo. Well, God give them wisdom, that have it; 
 and those that are fools, l.,i them use their talent.. 
 
 Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being .o lonv 
 : or, to be turned away ; is not that a. good 
 mging to you ? 
 
 absent : 
 
 a* a 
 
 Cbi. ilariy a gowl hanging prevent, a bad mat- 
 riaee ; and, for turning away, let summer bear it ouU 
 
 Mar. Vou are resolute llien ! 
 
 Clo. Not .0 neitlMir ; but J am rcolved on two 
 point*. 
 
 Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold , or, 
 if both break, your ga^kins fall. 
 
 C7o. Apt, in good fallh ; very ai.t I Well, go thy 
 way ; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wertaa 
 *'"y a I"ece of Kve'. Ilesh a* any in Illyria. 
 
 Mar. I'eiice, you rogue, no more o' that ; here 
 cohie. rny la<ly : make your excuM wiwly, you were 
 '•*»'• [/iiit. 
 
 Enter Oi.ivu and M/ii,voT,IO. 
 
 Ch. Wit; and 't be thy will, put me into good 
 fooling ! Tli/,se win, that think they have ibw!, do 
 very oft prove fools; and 1, that am .ure I la..k thee, 
 
ACT I.— SCENE V, 
 
 39 
 
 ni»T pass for t «-ise man : For what says Quinapa- 
 
 lus ! Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit God 
 
 bless ihe<, lady ! 
 
 Oil. Take tKe fool away. 
 
 C/o. Do you not hear, fellows ! Take ,iway the ladv. 
 
 Oli. Go to. you're a vlry iVk'I : I'll nomoreof yoii ; 
 besides, you grow dishonest. 
 
 Ch, Two taults, madonna, that drink a: 
 counsel "ill ame 
 
 is the fool not dr)- ; liid the dishonest man mend him 
 
 self: if he nieud. he is no U>n«r dishonest ; if he ! with brains, for her« he comes, one of thv'kin, has a 
 cannot, let the botcher mend him : .\ny Ihiiig that's 1 most weak ;ii.i fmitrr. 
 mended, is but patohevl: virtue, that transgresses. 
 
 OH. Who of my people hold him in delay 1 
 Jfitr. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 
 Oli. Fetch him oif. I pray rou ; he speaks nothing 
 butmadman; F\-e on hnii ? ffjit Maria.] Goyou, 
 Maholio : if it "be a suit from the count. I am "sick 
 or not at home : what you will, to dismiss it. [fUt: 
 Malvolio.J Now vou see. sir, how your fool.ug 
 ilts, madonna, that drink ai)A. gviod grows old. and people dislike it. 
 end : for gi\ e the dry fv>ol driak. then j ~ Cio. 'I'hou hast spoke for us. madonna, as if thy 
 ' ' ■" '' eldest son should be a fool : whose skull .Jo\e craiii 
 
 is but p,itohed with sin ; and sin. that amends, is but 
 p;Uched with virtue : If that tliis simple syllogism 
 will serve, so ; if it will not. What remetly ! .\s thei« 
 is no u lie cuckold but cahunity . so beauty's a Kower : 
 — the lady bade lake away the fool ; therefore, 1 sav 
 again, take her away. 
 
 Oil. Sir. 1 bade liiem take away Ton. 
 
 Cio. Misprision in the highest degree! — Ladv. 
 CucitiiHS H,>N ^^u-if Mi>H(icAi.m ; that's as much as to 
 say. 1 wear not motley in my brain. Good madonna, 
 give me leave to prove you a fool. 
 
 Oli. Can you do it ! 
 
 Cio. Dexteriously. good madonna. 
 
 Oti. Make your prxH»f. 
 
 CIa 1 must catechise you for it, madoana ; Good 
 my mouse of virtue, auswer me. 
 
 Oli. Well, sir, for wajit of otitet idleness, I 'U 
 'bide your proof. 
 
 Cio. GoihI madonna, why mourn'st thou ! 
 
 Oil. Gootl fool, for my brother's death. 
 
 Cio. I think, his soiil is in hell, madonna. 
 
 Oli. 1 know his soul is in heaven, fool, 
 
 Cio. The more fool you. madonna, to mourn for 
 your bri)ther's soul being ia heaven. — Take away the 
 fool, gemlemen. 
 
 0,1. \\ liat think you of this fool, Malvolio ! doth 
 ho not mend ! 
 
 Mill. Ves : aitd shall do. till the pangs of death 
 shake him : Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth ever 
 make tl>e better fool". 
 
 Cio. God send you. sir. a speedy inlitmity. tor the 
 better iucwasing your folly ! S-ir Toby w ill be sworn, 
 thai I am no fox ; but he will not pass his word lor 
 Iwo-pence thai you are no fool. 
 
 Oil. How say you to that. Malvolio ! 
 
 Mot. 1 marvel vour ladyship takes delight in such 
 a barren rascal ; I saw huu put down the other dav 
 with an orvlinaiy fool, that has uo more brain than 
 a stone. Look you now, he's out of his cuarvl al- 
 ready ; unless you laugh and minister occasion to 
 liim, lie is gaggwi. 1 pmtest. I tale these wise men. 
 that cmw so at these set kind of fools, no better than 
 tbe fools' tanies. 
 
 0/i. I), you arv sick of self-love. Malvolio, and 
 taste « iih a distemy>eix'd apjK'iite. To be j;onei\>us, 
 guiltless, and of fiee disposdiion. is lo lake tliose 
 tilings for biixl bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets: 
 riiere is no slander iu an alloweil fool, though he do 
 uoihiug but rail ; nor no railing in a known discreet 
 man. though he do nothing but rvpnne. 
 
 t"li>. Now Men-urv endue thee wiih leasing, for 
 thou speakest well of fiwls ! 
 
 R*.*i:{ci' Makia. 
 
 ilar. JItJam, there is at the gate a young gentle- 
 man, much desiivs to siHuk with you. 
 
 Oli. Frvim the count Onsino. is it I 
 
 .Miir. 1 Lnow not, luadam ; 'tis a fair young man, 
 and well atumdcd. 
 
 £nl*r .Sir Toar Bklcu. 
 
 Oil. By mine honour, half drunk. — What is he •( 
 the gale, cousin ? 
 
 J>ir To. A gentleman. 
 
 Oli. .4 ^ntlemau ! What g«ntleman ! 
 
 Sir To. Tis a gentleman here — A plague o' these 
 pickle-herrings * — How now, sot! 
 
 Cto. Good Sir Tobv, 
 
 on. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early 
 by this lethargy ? 
 
 Sir 7"o. Lechery! I defy lecherx- : There's one at 
 the gate. 
 
 Oli. Ay. marry ; what is he ! 
 
 Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will. I car« 
 not : give me laith. say I. Well, it's all one. [Ej:{. 
 
 0/i. What's a drtinken man like, fool ! 
 
 C/o, Like a drown 'd man. a fool, and a madman: 
 one draught above heat makes him a fool ; the se- 
 cond luads him ; and a ihirvl drowns him. 
 
 0(1. Go thou and set>k the coroner, and let him sit 
 o' my cot ; for he "s in the third degree of drink, he 's 
 drowtt'd: go. loi<k at^er him. 
 
 Cio. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the fool 
 shall look to the madman. [fjit Clown. 
 
 Ktf-eiilfr Mai.voi.io. 
 
 MM. Madam, \-oikl vouug fellow swvars he will 
 speak with you. 1 told liim you were sick ; he ^akes 
 on him to understand so much, and therefore comes 
 to speak with you : 1 told him \mu were asleep ; he 
 seems to have a fore-knowledge of th:it loo. and 
 therefore comes t<i speak with you. W hat is to b« 
 said to him, huly I he's fortified agsinst any denial. 
 
 Oil, Tell him. he shall not speak with me. 
 
 .Iliii. He has lieen told so ; and he says, he 'II 
 stand at your door like a sherift's post, and tw the 
 supporter of a Wnch. but he 11 si>eak with you. 
 
 ()(i. What kind of man is he '. 
 
 M.il. W hy. of mauk:ml. 
 
 (>(i. W hat manner of man f 
 
 .U.i/. Of very ill imanuer; ha 'II speak with tou, 
 will you, or no. 
 
 Oti. Of what personage, and y^ars, is he ! 
 
 .Mil. Not yet old enough for a man, nor voung 
 enough for a boy ; as a squash is Iwfore 'tis a f>eas- 
 ewl. or a ciHiliiig when 'tis almost an apple ; 'tis 
 with him e'en standing water, between boy and man. 
 He is very «-vll-favouit\l. and he S|>eaks \-erv shrew- 
 ishly : one would think his mother's milk were 
 scarce out of hiiu. 
 
 t>li. Let him apprvvich: Call in my gentlewmium. 
 
 Mitl. Gentlew-oman. my lady calls." ( fait. 
 
 Kt-fHttr ManiA. 
 Oli. Give me mv veil : come throw it o'er my t'ai'e • 
 We'll once more "hear Orsino's embassy. 
 l'i«t*r Viola. 
 
 rto. The honourable ladv of the house, which is 
 shel 
 
90 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 Oil. Speak to me, I shall answer for her : Your 
 wilM 
 
 I'll). Jlost radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable 
 beauty, — I pray you, tell ine, if this be the lady of 
 the house, for I never saw her : I would be loath to 
 cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is excel- 
 lently well penu'd, I have talien great pains to con 
 it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn ; I am 
 very comptible, even to the least sinister usage. 
 
 Oli. Whence came you, sir ■• 
 
 Vio. I can say little more than I have studied, 
 and that question 's out of my part. Good gentle 
 one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady 
 of the house, that I may proceed in my speech. 
 
 Oli. Are you a comedian ? 
 
 Vio. No, my profound heart: and yet, by the 
 very fangs of malice, I swear I am not that 1 play. 
 Are you the lady of the house "! 
 
 Oli. If I do not usurp myself, I am. 
 
 Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp 
 yourself ; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours 
 to reserve. But this is from my commission : I will 
 on with my speech in your praise, and then shew 
 you tlie heart of my message. 
 
 0//. Come to what is important in't: I forgive 
 you the praise. 
 
 Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis 
 poetical. 
 
 OH. It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray you, 
 keep it in. I heard you were saucy at my gates ; 
 and allowed your approach, rather to wonder at you 
 than to hear you. If you be not mad, be gone ; if 
 you liave reason be brief : 'tis not that tune of moon 
 with me, to make one in so skipping a dialogue. 
 
 Mur. Will you hoist sail, sir ^ here lies your way. 
 
 Vio. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here a little 
 longer. — Some molliiicatioa for your giant, sweet 
 lady. 
 
 Oli. Tell me your mind. 
 
 Vio. I am a messenger. 
 
 Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de- 
 liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak 
 your office. 
 
 Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no 
 overture of war, no taxation of homage ; I iiold the 
 olive in my hand : my words are as full of peace as 
 matter. 
 
 Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you 1 what 
 would you t 
 
 Vio. The rudeness that hath appeared in me, have 
 I learn'd from my entertainment. What I am, and 
 what I would, are as secret as maidenhead : to your 
 ears, divinity ; to any other's, profanation. 
 
 Oli. Give us the place alone : we will hear this 
 divinity. [Exit Maria. J Now, sir, what is your 
 text^ 
 
 Vio, Most sweet lady, 
 
 Oli. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be 
 said of it. Where lies your text ? 
 
 Vw. In Orsino's bosom. 
 
 OU. In his bosom ? In what chapter of his bosom ? 
 
 Vio, To answer by the method, in the first of his 
 heart. 
 
 Oli. 0, I have read it ; it is heresy. Have you no 
 more to say^ 
 
 Kir). Good madam, let me see your face. 
 
 Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to 
 negotiate with my face 1 you are now out of your 
 text : but we will draw the curtain, and shew you 
 the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was 
 this present : Is't not well done 1 lUrivciling. 
 
 Vie. Excellently done, if God did all. 
 
 Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wmd and 
 weather. 
 
 Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white 
 Nature's own sweet and cunning liand laid on : 
 Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive. 
 If you will lead these graces to the grave. 
 And leave the world no copy. 
 
 Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will 
 give out divers schedules of my beauty: It shall be 
 inventoried ; and everyparticle. and utensil, labelled 
 to my will : as, item, two lips indifferent red ; item, 
 two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, 
 one chin, and so forth. Were you sent hither to 
 'praise me 1 
 
 Vio. I see you what you are : you are too proud ; 
 But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 
 My lord and master loves you ; O, such love 
 Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd 
 The nonpareil of beauty ! 
 
 Oli. How does he love me ? 
 
 Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears, 
 With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire. 
 
 Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot love 
 Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, [him : 
 Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth ; 
 In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant. 
 And, in dimension, and the shape of nature, 
 A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; 
 He might have took his answer long ago. 
 
 Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame. 
 With such a suffering, such a deadly life. 
 In your denial I would find no sense, 
 I would not understand it. 
 
 Oli. Why, what would you ? 
 
 Vio. ^lake me a willow cabin at your gate, 
 And call upon my soul within the house j 
 Write loyal cantons of contemned love. 
 And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
 Holla your name to the reverberate hills, 
 And make the babbling gossip of the air 
 Cry out, Olivia ! 0, you should not rest 
 Between the elements of air and earth. 
 But you should pity me. [age ? 
 
 Oli. You might do much : What is your parent- 
 
 Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
 I am a gentleman. 
 
 Oli. Get you to your lord ; 
 
 I cannot love him : let him send no more ; 
 Unless, perchance, you come to me again. 
 To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well ; 
 I thank you for your pains : spend this for me. 
 
 Vio, I am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your purse j 
 My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
 Love makes his heart of flint, that you shall love ; 
 And let your fervour, like my master's, be 
 Plac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty, [Eiit, 
 
 Oli. What is your parentage 1 
 Above mil fortu/tes, yet »?y state is well; 
 
 1 am a gcntleotan. 1 '11 be sworn thou art ; 
 
 Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit. 
 Do give thee five-fold blazon : — Not too fast : — 
 
 soft! soft! 
 Unless the master were the man. — How now 1 
 Even so quickly may one catch the plague 1 
 Methinks, I feel this youth's perfections. 
 With an invisible and subtle stealth, 
 To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. — 
 What, ho, Malvolio ! — 
 
 lie-enter Malvolio. 
 
 Mot. Here, madam, at your service. 
 
 Oli, Run after that same peevish messenger. 
 
ACT II. -SCENE III. 
 
 91 
 
 The county's man : he left this ring behind him. 
 Would 1, or not ; tell him, I 'II none of it. 
 Desire liim not to flatter with his lord, 
 rCor hold him up with hopes ; I ain not for him : 
 If that the youth will come this way to-morrow, 
 I '11 give him reasons for 't. Hie thee, jMalvolio. 
 
 Mul. Madam, I will. [Eiit. 
 
 Oli. I do I know not what : and fear to find 
 Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
 Fate, shew thy force : Ourselves we do not owe ; 
 What is decreed, must be ; and be this so ! \_Exit, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE l.~The sea-coast. 
 Enter Antonio and Sebastian, 
 
 Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not, 
 tliat 1 go with you 1 
 
 Seb, By your patience, no : my stars shine darkly 
 over me ; the malignancy of my fate might, perhaps, 
 distemper yours ; therefore I sliall crave of you your 
 leave, that I may bear my evils alone : It were a bad 
 recompense for your love, to lay any of them on you. 
 
 Ant. Let me yet know of you, whitiier you are 
 bound. 
 
 Seb. No, 'sooth sir ; my determinate voyage is 
 mere extravagancy. But 1 perceive in you so excel- 
 lent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort from 
 me what 1 am willing to keep in ; therefore it charges 
 me in manners the rather to express myself. Vou 
 must know of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebas- 
 tian, which I called Rodorigo ; my father was that 
 Sebastian of JMessaline, whom I know, you have 
 heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a sister, 
 both born in an hour. If the heavens had been 
 pleased, 'would we had so ended ! but you, sir, al- 
 tered that ; for, some hour before you took me from 
 the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned. 
 
 An\ Alas, the day! 
 
 Seh. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re- 
 sembled rae, was yet of many accounted beautiful; 
 but, though I could not, with such estimable won- 
 der, overfar believe that, yet thus far 1 will boldly 
 publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not 
 but call fair ; she is drown'd already, sir, with salt 
 water, though I seem to drown her remembrance 
 again with more. 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment. 
 
 Seb. O good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 
 
 Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let 
 me be your servant. 
 
 Seh. If you will not undo what you have done, 
 that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire it 
 not. fare ye well at once: my bosom is full of 
 kindness ; and 1 am yet so near the manners of my 
 mother, that upon the least occasion more, mine 
 eyes will tell tales of me. 1 am bound to the count 
 Orsino's court : farewell. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee ! 
 I have many enemies in Orsino's court, 
 Else would I very shortly see thee there: 
 But, come what may, 1 do adore thee so, 
 That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Street. 
 EiUer Viola ; "M ai.voi.io foUowhig. 
 
 Mai. Were not you even now with the countess 
 Olivia ! 
 
 Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I have 
 since arrived but hither. 
 
 Mai, She returns this ring to you, sir; you might 
 have saved me my pains, to have taken it away your- 
 self. She adds moreover, that you should put your 
 lord into a desperate assurance she will none of him ; 
 And one thing more ; that you be never so hardy to 
 come again in his affairs, unless it be to report yoar 
 lord's taking of this. Receive it so. 
 
 I'in. She took the ring of me : I'll none of it. 
 
 Mul. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her; and 
 her will is, it should be so returned: if it be worth 
 stooping for, there it lies in your eye ; if not, be it 
 his that finds it. [Exit, 
 
 Via. 1 left no ring with her : What means this lady 1 
 Fortune forbid, iny outside have not charm'd her ! 
 She made good view of me ; indeed, so much, 
 That, sure, methought, her eyes had lost her tongue, 
 For she did speak in starts distractedly. 
 She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her passion 
 Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
 None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none. 
 I am the man ; — If it be so, (as 'tis,) 
 Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
 Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness. 
 Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 
 How easy is it, for the proper-false 
 In women's waxen hearts to set their forms ! 
 Alas, our frailty 'S the cause, not we ; 
 For, such as we are made of, such we be. 
 How will this fadgel My master loves her dearly : 
 And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
 And she, mistaken, seems to dote on rae : 
 Wliat will become of this! As I am man. 
 My stale is desperate for my master's love ; 
 As I am woman, now alas the day! 
 What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe? 
 time, thou must entangle this, not I j 
 It is too hard a knot for me to untie, [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Tohy Belch and Sir 
 Anduew Acue-cheek. 
 
 Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew : not to be a-bed 
 after midnight, is to be up betimes ; and diluculo 
 surgere, thou know'st, 
 
 Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I 
 know, to be up late, is to be up late. 
 
 Sir To. A false conclusion ; 1 hate it as an unfilled 
 can ; To be up after midnight, and to go to bed then 
 is early : so that, to go to bed after midnight, is to 
 go to bed betimes. Do not our lives consist of tlie 
 four elements 1 
 
 Sir And. 'Faith so they say; but, I think, it rather 
 consists of eating and drinking. 
 
 Sir To. Thou art a scholar ; let us therefore eat and 
 drink, — Marian, 1 say ! — A stoop of wine ! 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Sir And. Here comes the fool, i'faith. 
 
 Clo. How now, my hearts? Did you never seethe 
 picture of we three I 
 
 Sir To. Welcome ass. Now let's have a catch. 
 
 Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 
 breast. I had rather than forty shillings 1 had such 
 a leg ; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the fool iias. 
 In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night, 
 when thou spokest of Pigrogromifiis, of the Vapians 
 passing the equinoctial of Queubus ; 'twas very good, 
 i'faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman : Hadsl it? 
 
 Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity ; for Malvolio's 
 
92 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 nose is no wliipstock : My lady has a white hand, and | coziers' catches without inv mitigation or remorse of 
 the Jlynnidons are no bottle-ale houses. 
 
 Sir Alicia Excellent ! \\'hy, this is the best fooling, 
 when all is done. Now, a song. 
 
 Sir To. Come on ; there is sixpence for you : let's 
 have a song. 
 
 Sir And. There's a testril of me too : if one knight 
 give a 
 
 Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of 
 good life t 
 
 Sir To. A love-song, a love-song. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, ay ; 1 care not for good life. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Clo, mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
 Of stay and hear ; your true tove's coming, 
 
 That can sing both high and Low: 
 Trip no further pretty sweeting ; 
 Journeys end in lovers* meeting. 
 Every icise man's so?i doth h:ow. 
 
 Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith. 
 Sir To. Good, good. 
 
 Clo. Wliat is love ? 'tis not hereafter ; 
 
 Present mirth luith present laughter ; 
 
 What's to come, is still unsure: 
 Jn delay there lies no plentu ; 
 Then come kisr. me, sweet-and~twenty 
 i'outh's a stujf' will not endure. 
 
 Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight 
 
 Sir To. A contagious breath. 
 
 Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith. 
 
 Sir To, To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in conta- 
 gion. But shall we make the welkin dance indeed ? 
 Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch, that will 
 draw three souls out of one weaver 1 shall we do that ! 
 
 Sir And. An you love me, let's do't ; I am dog at 
 a catch. 
 
 Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well. 
 
 Sir And. Most certa'u; let our catch be. Thou 
 hnave, 
 
 Clo, Hold thyj peace, thou hnave, knig+it \ I shall 
 be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight. 
 
 Sir And. 'Tis not the first time 1 have constrain'd 
 one to call me knave. Begin, fool ; it begins. Hold 
 thy peace. 
 
 Clo. 1 shall never begin, if I hold my peace. 
 
 Sir And. Good, i'faith ! Come, begin. 
 
 l_They sing a catch. 
 
 Enter MAniA, 
 
 Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here ! If 
 my lady have not called up her steward IMalvolio, 
 and bid him turn you out of doors, never trust me. 
 
 Sir To. Jly lady's a Catalan, we are politicians ; 
 Rlalvolio's a Peg-a- Ramsay, and Three merry men be 
 u-e. Am not I consanguineous ? am not I of her blood? 
 Tilly-valley, lady ! There dwelt a man in Babylon, 
 lady, lady ! [S'nging. 
 
 Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling. 
 
 Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be dis- 
 posed, and so do I too ; he does it with a better grace, 
 but I do it more natural. 
 
 Sir To. 0, the ticelfih day of December, — 
 
 [Singing. 
 
 Mar. For the love o'God, peace. 
 
 Enter JIalvolio. 
 
 Mat. My masters, are you mad ? or what are you 1 
 Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble 
 like tinkers at this time of night 1 Do ye make an 
 alehouse of my lady's house, that ye scjueak out youi 
 
 voice f Is there no respect of place, persons, nor time, 
 in you f 
 
 Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
 Sneck up ! 
 
 Mil. Sir Toby. I must be round with you. My 
 lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours yon 
 as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your disorders. 
 If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanors, 
 you are welcome to the house ; if not, an it would 
 please you to take leave of her, she is very willing 
 to bid you farewell. 
 
 Sir To, Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs be 
 gone. 
 
 Mar, Nay, good sir Toby. 
 Clo, His eyes do shew his days are almost done, 
 Mai. Is't even so 1 
 Sir To. But I will never die. 
 Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 
 Mai. This is much credit to you. 
 Sir To. Shall I bid him go? [Singin", 
 
 Clo. }\'bat an if you do? 
 Sir To, Shall I bid him go, and spare not? 
 Clo, no, no, no, no, you dare not. 
 Sir To, Out o'time? sir, ye lie. — Art any more 
 than a steward ? Dost thou think, because thou art 
 virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ? 
 
 Clo, Yes, by Saint Anne ; and ginger shall be hot 
 i' the mouth too. 
 
 Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right. — Go, sir, rub your 
 chain with crums : — A stoop of wine, Maria ! 
 
 Mai. Mistress Mary, if yo\i priz'd my lady's favour 
 
 at any thing more than contempt, you would not give 
 
 means for this uncivil rule ; she shall know of it, by 
 
 this hand. [Ejit. 
 
 Mar. Go shake your ears. 
 
 Sir .ind. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when a 
 man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field; and then 
 to break promise with him, and make a fool of him. 
 
 Sir To. Do't knight ; I'll write thee a challenge ; or 
 I'll deliver thy indignation to him by word of mouth. 
 Mar, Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night ; since 
 the youth of the count's was to-day with my lady, she 
 is much out of quiet. For monsieur ftlalvolio, let 
 me alone with him ; if I do not gull him into a nay- 
 word, and make him a common recreation, do not 
 think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed : I 
 know, I can do it. 
 
 5;i' To, Possess us, possess us ; tell us something 
 of him. 
 
 Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. 
 Sir And, 0, if I thought that, I'd beat him like a 
 dog. 
 
 Sir To. What, for being a Puritan 1 thy exquisite 
 reason, dear knight 1 
 
 Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I 
 have reason good enough. 
 
 Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing 
 constantly but a time pleaser ; an atl'ection'd ass, that 
 cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths • 
 the best persuaded of himself, so crammed, as he 
 thinks, with excellencies, that it is his ground of faith, 
 that all, that look on him, love him ; and on that vice 
 in him will my revenge find notable cause to work. 
 Sir To. What wilt thou do 1 
 
 Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles, 
 of love ; wherein, by the colour of his beard, the 
 shape of his leg. the manner of his gait, the expres- 
 sure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall 
 find himself most feelingly personated ; I can write 
 very like my lady, your niece; on a forgotten matter 
 we can hardly make distinction of our hands. 
 
ACT IL— SCENE IV. 
 
 93 
 
 Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a dence. 
 
 Sir And. 1 have 't in my nose too. 
 
 Sir Ti>. He shall think, by the letters that thou wilt 
 drop, that they come from my niece, and tiiat she is 
 in love with him. 
 
 Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour. 
 
 Sir To. And your horse now would make him an 
 ass. 
 
 Mar. Ass, I doubt not. 
 
 Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable. 
 
 Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you : I know, my 
 physic will work with him. I will plant you two, and 
 let the fool make a third, where he shall find the let- 
 ter ; observe his construction of it. For this night, to 
 bed, and dream on tile event. Farewell. [Eiit. 
 
 Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea. 
 
 Sir And. Before nie, she's a good wench. 
 
 Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that 
 adores me ; What o' that ? 
 
 Sir A nd. I was adored once too. . 
 
 Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. — Thou hadst need 
 send for more money. 
 
 Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a 
 foul way out. 
 
 Sir To. Send for money, knight ; if thou hast her 
 not i' the end, call me Cut. 
 
 Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it how 
 you will. 
 
 Sir To. Come, come ; I 'U go burn some sack, 'tis 
 too late to go to bed now: come, knight; come, 
 knight, l^Eietutt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— -■! Room in the Duke's Palace. 
 Enter DuKEy Viol*, Curio, and others. 
 
 Duhe. Give me some music : — Now, good morrow, 
 
 friends : 
 
 Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song. 
 That old and antique song we heard last night ; 
 JNIethought, it did relieve my passion much ; 
 More than light airs and recollected terras, 
 
 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times : 
 
 Come, but one verse. 
 
 Cnr. He is not here, so please your lordship, that 
 should sing it. 
 
 Duke. \\ho was it ? 
 
 Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord ; a fool, that the 
 lady Olivia's father took much delight in : he is about 
 the house. 
 
 Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 
 [-E'.vit Ciinio. — Miaic, 
 Come hither, boy ; If ever thou shah love. 
 In the sweet pangs of it, remember nie : 
 For, such as I am, all true lovers are ; 
 Unstaid and skittish in all motions else. 
 Save, in the constant image of the creature 
 That is belov'd. — How dost thou like this tune ? 
 
 Vio. It gives a very echo to the seat 
 Where Love is thron'd. 
 
 Duhe. Thou dost speak masterly : 
 My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye 
 Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves ; 
 Hath it not, boy ? 
 
 Vio. A little, by your favour. 
 
 Duke. What kind of woman is't 1 
 
 Vio. Of your complexion. 
 
 Duht. She is not worth thee then. What years, 
 
 Vio. About your years, my lord. [i'faith ? 
 
 Duhe. Too old, by heaven ; Let still the woman 
 An elder than herself; so wears she to him, [take 
 So sways she level in her husband's heart. 
 For, boy, however we do praise ourselves, 
 
 Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm. 
 
 More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn. 
 
 Than women's are. 
 
 Vio. I think it well, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself. 
 Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: 
 For women are as roses ; whose fair flower. 
 Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour. 
 
 Vio, And so tliey are : alas, that they are so ; 
 To die, even when tliey to perfection grow ! 
 
 Re-enter CuRio and Clown. 
 
 Dake. O fellow, come, the song we had last 
 Mark it, Cesario ; it is old and plain : night :— 
 
 The spinsters and the knitters in the sun. 
 And the free maids, that weave their thread with 
 Do use to chaunt it ; it is silly sooth , [bones, 
 
 And dallies with the innocence of love, 
 Like the old age. 
 
 Cto. Are you ready, sir? 
 
 Duke. Ay ; pr'ythee sing. [Jirusic 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ch. Come awav, come ait-ai/, death. 
 And in sad cijpress let me be luui ; 
 
 Fill aicail.Jly away, breath ; 
 I am slain by a fair cruet maid. 
 My shroud if white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 0, prepare it ; 
 My part of death no one so true 
 Did share it> 
 
 Not afiower, not a flower sweet, 
 On my black cojjin let there be strown ; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 My poor ct}rpse, where my bones shall be thrown. 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save. 
 
 Lay me, U. where 
 Sad true lover never find my gi'ave, 
 'To weep there. 
 
 Duke. There's for thy pains. 
 
 C/ri. No pains, sir ; 1 take pleasure in singing, sir. 
 
 Duke. I 'U pay thy pleasure then. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 
 time or another. 
 
 Duke. I give thee now leave to leave me. 
 
 Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee ; and 
 the tailor make thy doublet of changeable tafl'ata, for 
 thy mind is a very opal !■ — I would have men of such 
 constancy put to sea, that their business might be 
 every thing, and their intent every where; for that's 
 it, that always makes a good voyage of nothing. — 
 Farewell. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Duiie. Let all the rest give place. 
 
 [Exeunt Cuuio and attendants. 
 Once more, Cesario, 
 Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty : 
 Tell her, my love, more noble than the world. 
 Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; 
 The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her. 
 Tell her, 1 hold as giddily as fortune ; 
 But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems, 
 That nature pranks her in, attracts my soul. 
 
 Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir ? 
 
 Duke. I cannot be so answer 'd. 
 
 Vio. 'Sooth, but you must. 
 
 Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is. 
 Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
 As you have for Olivia : you cannot love her ; 
 You tell her so ; Must she not then be answer 'd ? 
 
 Duke. There is no woman's sides, 
 Can bide the beating of so strong a passiou 
 
94 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 As love (loth give my heart : no woman's heart 
 So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention. 
 Alas, their love may be called appetite, — 
 No motion of the liver, but the palate, — 
 That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; 
 But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
 And can digest as much : malie no compare 
 Between that love a woman can bear me, 
 And that 1 owe Olivia. 
 
 Vin. Ay, but I know, — 
 
 Duke. What dost thou know ? 
 
 Vio. Too well what love women to men may owe : 
 In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 
 My father had a daughter lov'd a man. 
 As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 
 I should your lordship. 
 
 Dnke. And what's her history t 
 
 Vin, A blank, my lord : She never told her love, 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud. 
 Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought ; 
 And, with a green and yellow melancholy, 
 She sat like patience on a monument. 
 Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed? 
 We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed. 
 Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove 
 Much in our vows, but little in our love. 
 
 Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy ? 
 
 Vifl. T am all the daughters of my father's liouse. 
 And all the brothers too ; — and yet I know not. — 
 Sir, shall I to this lady 1 
 
 Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 
 
 To her in haste ; give her this jewel •, say, 
 My love can give no place, bide no denay. . [E.ieu7j(. 
 
 SCENE v.— Olivia's Garden. 
 
 Enter Sir ToBY Belch, Sir Andiiew Aoue-ciieeii, 
 and Fabian. 
 
 Sir To, Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. 
 
 Fah, Nay, I'll come ; if I lose a scruple of this 
 sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy. 
 
 Sir To, Would'st thou not be glad to have the nig- 
 gardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable 
 shame 1 
 
 Fidi. I would exult, man : you know, he brought 
 me out of favour with my lady, about a. bear-beating 
 here. 
 
 Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again ; 
 and we will fool him black and blue : — Shall we not, 
 sir Andrew ? 
 
 Sir And, An we do not, it is pity of our lives. 
 
 Enter Maria. 
 
 Sir To. Here comes the little villain : — How now, 
 my metal of India 1 
 
 Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree; Mal- 
 volio's coming down tliis \^alk ; he has been yonder 
 i' the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow, 
 this half hour: observe him, for the love of mockery ; 
 for, I know, this latter will make a contemplative 
 ideot of him. Close, in the name of jesting ! [The 
 men hide tliemselies.'] Lie thou there ; [t/n-ou'S down 
 a letter] for here comes the trout that must be caught 
 with tickling. [Eiit Maria. 
 
 Enter Malvolio. 
 
 Jiliil. 'Tis but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria 
 once told me, she did affect me : and I have heard 
 herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it 
 should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses 
 me with a more exalted respect, than any one else 
 that follows her. What should I think on 't ? 
 
 Sir Tt>. Here 's an over-weening rogue ! 
 
 Fah. O, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare turkey- 
 cock of him ; how he jets under his advanced plumes' 
 
 Sir .ind. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue: — 
 
 iSir To. Peace, I say. 
 
 Mai. To be count Malvolio ; — 
 
 Sir To, Ah, rogue ! 
 
 Sir And. Pistol him, pistol hira. 
 
 Sir To. Peace, peace ! 
 
 Mai. There is example for't; the lady of the 
 strachy married tlie yeoman of the wardrobe. 
 
 Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel! 
 
 Fah. O, peace! now he's deeply in ; look, liow 
 imagination blows him. 
 
 Mai. Having been three months married to her, 
 sitting in my state, — 
 
 Sir To. 0. for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eyef 
 
 Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched 
 velvet gown ; having come from a day-bed, where I 
 left Olivia sleeping. 
 
 Sir To. Fire and brimstone I 
 
 Fah, O, peace, peace. 
 
 Mai. And then to have the humour of state : and 
 after a demure travel of regard — telling them, I know 
 mj' place, as I would they should do theirs, — to ask 
 for my kinsman Toby : 
 
 Sir To. Bolts and shackles ! 
 
 Fab. O, peace, peace, peace ! now, now. 
 
 Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, 
 make out for him : I frown the while ; and, perchance, 
 wind up my watch, or play with some rich jeweU 
 Toby approaches ; court'sies there to me : 
 
 Sir To. Shall this fellow live ? 
 
 Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with 
 cars, yet peace. 
 
 Mai. I extend my hand to him thus, quenching 
 my familiar smile with an austere regard of control : 
 
 Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blowo' the 
 lips then 1 
 
 Mai, Saying, Cousin Tohy , mii fortnnea having cast 
 me on your niece, giveme this -prerogaiive of speech : — 
 
 Sir To. What, what? 
 
 Mai. You must amend your drunkenness. 
 
 Sir To. Out, scab ! 
 
 Fab, Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our 
 plot. 
 
 Mai. Besides, you waste the treasure of yottr time 
 ivith a foolish knight. 
 
 Sir And. That's me, I warrant you. 
 
 Mai. One Sir .indrew : 
 
 Sir And. I knew, 'twas I ; for many do call me fool. 
 
 Mai. What employment have we herel 
 
 [Taking up the letter, 
 
 Fah. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 
 
 Sir To. O, peace ! and the spirit of humours inti- 
 mate reading aloud to him ! 
 
 Mat, By my life, this is my lady's hand : these 
 be her very C's, her U's, and her T's ; and thus 
 makes she her great P's. It is, in contempt of ques ■ 
 tion. her hand. 
 
 Sir And. Her C's, her tf's.andher T's: Whythat? 
 
 Mai. [reads.] To the unknown beloved, this, and mif 
 good wishes : her very phrases ! — By your leave, wax. 
 — Soft ! — and the impressure her Lucrece, with which 
 she uses to seal : 'tis ray lady: To whom sliould 
 tills be 1 
 
 Fab This wins him, liver and all. 
 
 Mai, [reads.] Jore knows, I love: 
 But who ? 
 Lips do not move. 
 No man mttst knoio, 
 Ko man must know. — What follows ">. the numbers 
 
L ^f^z:::i:^^^^ ^^:: ^M).. -i^y--'f'.~~~..~:iiit>«.'.. ,^,.^^..,,t^„.,u^,,.,^^, .,,.^~,^ g ^,. , .um.^u,,,,lUA{ ^l^^,^^.un,,llKi:il^L ^v^^^^ 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 9.> 
 
 Eltered ' — Ko man must know: — If this should be 
 tbee, Malvolio? 
 
 Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! 
 
 Mat. I mail coutmnnd. where I adore : 
 
 Jiut silence, like a Lucrece knife. 
 With bloodless stroke mu heart doth gore ; 
 M, O, A, I, doth sway mt/ life. 
 
 Fah. A fustian riddle ! 
 
 Sir To. Excellent wenchdsay I. 
 
 Mnl. M, O, A, I, doth swaii my life — Nay, but 
 first, let me see, — let me see,— let me see. 
 
 Fall. What a dish of poison has she dressed him ! 
 
 Si?- To. And with what wing the staonyel checks 
 at it! 
 
 Mai. I may command where I adore. Why, she 
 may command me : I serve her, she is my lady. 
 Why. this is evident to any formal capacity. There 
 is no obstruction in this ; — And the end, — What 
 should that alphabetical position portend ? if I could 
 make that resemble something ia me, — Softly l- — 
 M, 0, A, I.— 
 
 Sir To. O, ay ! make up that : — he is now at a 
 cold scent. 
 
 Fab. Sowter will cry upon 't, for all this, though 
 it be as rank as a fox. 
 
 Hal. U, — Malvolio ; — M, — why, that begins my 
 Dame. 
 
 Fah. Did not I say he would work it out? the cur 
 is excellent at faults. 
 
 Mai. M, — But then there is no consonancy in the 
 sequel ; that suffers under probation : A should fol- 
 low, but does. 
 
 Fah. And shall end, I hope. 
 
 .Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him 
 cry, 0. 
 
 MaL And then I comes behind. 
 
 Fah. Ay, an you had an eye behind you, you 
 might see more detraction at your heels, than fortunes 
 before you. 
 
 Mai. M, 0, A, I ; — This simulation is not as the 
 fonner : — and yet to crush this a little, it would bow 
 to me, for every one of these letters are in my ivame. 
 Soft ; here follows prose. — If this fall into thy hand, 
 revolve. In mu stars I ara above thee ; but be not 
 afraid of gi-eatness : Some are born great, some achieve 
 ereatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. 
 Thy fates op€7t their hands ; let thy blood and spii-it 
 embrace them. And, to inure thyself to what thou art 
 like to be, cast thy humble slough, and appear fresh. 
 Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants : let 
 thy tongue tang arguments of state ; put tht/self into 
 the trick of singularity : She thus advises thee, that 
 aighs for thee. Remember who commended thu yellow 
 stockings ; and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered : 
 I say, remember. Go to ; thou art made, if thou de- 
 sirest to be so; if not, let me see thee a steward still, the 
 fellow of' servants, and not worthy to touch fortune's 
 fingers. Farewell. Shethatwouldalterserviceswiththee, 
 The fortunate unhappu. 
 Day-light and champiau discovers not more : this 
 is open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors, 
 I will baffie Sir Toby, I will wash oft" gross acquaint- 
 ance, I will be point-de-vice, the very man. I do 
 not now fool myself, to let imagination jade rae ; for 
 every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. 
 She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she 
 did praise my leg being cross-gartered ; and in this 
 she manifests herself to my love, and, with a kind of 
 injunction, drives me to these habits of her liking. 
 I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, 
 stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even 
 with the swiftness of putting on, Jove, and my stars 
 
 be praised I — Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst 
 not choose hat know who I am. If thou entei'lainest 
 my love, let it appear in thy srniliyig ; thy S7nilfs he 
 come thee well : therefore in my presence still smile, 
 dear viy sweet, I prylhee. Jove, I thank thee. — I 
 will smile : I will do every thing that thou wilt have 
 me. [Fxit. 
 
 Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a 
 pension of tliousands to be paid from the Sophy. 
 
 Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device : 
 
 Sir And. So could I too. 
 
 Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but 
 such another jest. 
 
 Fnter RIaria. 
 
 Sir And. Nor I neither. 
 
 Fah. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 
 
 Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck ? 
 
 Sir And. Or o' mine either ? 
 
 Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, and 
 become thy bond-slave ? 
 
 Sir And. I'faith, or I either? 
 
 Sir Tu. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, 
 that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run 
 mad. 
 
 Mar. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon him ? 
 
 Sir To. Like aqua-vits with a midwife. 
 
 Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, 
 mark his first approach before my lady : he will come 
 to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she ab- 
 hors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she <ietests ; and 
 he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuit- 
 able to her disposition, being addicted to a melan- 
 choly as she is, that it cannol but turn him into a 
 notable contempt; if you will see it, follow me. 
 
 Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excellent 
 devil of wit ! 
 
 Sir And. I 'U make one too. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Olivia's Garden. 
 
 Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor. 
 
 Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music : Dost thou 
 live by thy tabor ? 
 
 Clo, No, sir, I live by tlie church. 
 
 Vio. Art thou a churchman ! 
 
 Clo, No such matter, sir ; I do live by the church ; 
 for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand 
 by the church. 
 
 Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies by a beggar, 
 if a beggar dwell near him ; or the church stands by 
 thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church. 
 
 Clo. You have said, sir. — To see this age ! — A 
 sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit ; How 
 quickly the wrong side may be turned outward ! 
 
 Vio. Nay, that s certain ; they that dally nicely 
 with words, may quickly make them wanton. 
 
 Clo. I would therefore, my sister had had no name, 
 sir. 
 
 Vio. Why, man? 
 
 Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word; and to dal'y 
 with that word, might make my sister wanton : But, 
 indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraceJ 
 them. 
 
 Vio. Thy reason, man ? 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
 words ; and words are grown so false, I am loatli to 
 prove reason with them. 
 
96 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest 
 for nothing. 
 
 Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for 'something : but in 
 my conscience, sir, I do not care for you ; if that be 
 to care for nothing, sir, 1 woulfl it would malie you 
 invisible. 
 
 Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool ! 
 
 Clo. No, indeed, sir; the lady Olivia has no folly: 
 she will keep no fool, sir, till she be married ; and 
 fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to her- 
 rings, the husband's the bigger ; I am, indeed, not 
 her fool, but her corrupter of words. 
 
 Vio. I saw tliee late at the count Orsino's. 
 
 Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like the 
 sun ; it shines every where. I would be sorry, sir, 
 Dut the fool should be as oft with your master, as with 
 my mistress : I think, 1 saw your wisdom there. 
 
 Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more with 
 thee. Hold, there's expenses for thee. 
 
 Clo. Now Jove, in liis next commodity of hair, 
 send thee a beard ! 
 
 Vio. By my troth, I '11 tell thee ; I am almost sick 
 for one ; though 1 would not have it grow on my chin. 
 Is thy lady within ? 
 
 Clo. Would not a pair of these have bred, sir ? 
 
 Vio. Yes, being kept together, and put to use. 
 
 Clo. I would play lord Pandarus of Phrygia, sir, 
 to bring a Cressida to this Troilus. 
 
 Vio. I understand you, sir ; 'tis well begg'd. 
 
 Clo. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, begging 
 but a beggar: Cressida was a beggar. ]\Iy lady is 
 within, sir. I will construe to them whence you 
 come ; who you are, and what you would, are out of 
 ray welkin : I might say, element ; but the word is 
 over-worn. [Erit. 
 
 Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool; 
 And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit : 
 He must observe their mood on whom he jests, 
 The quality of persons, and the time; 
 Nor, like the haggard, check at every feather 
 That comes before his eye. This is a practice, 
 As full of labour as a wise man's art ; 
 For folly, that he wisely shews, is fit ; 
 Hut wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew 
 Ague-cheek, 
 
 Sir To. Save you, gentlemen. 
 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir And, Dieu. vous garde, monsieur, 
 
 Vio, Et vous aussi ; voire serviteur. 
 
 Sir And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am yours. 
 
 Sir To. Will you encounter the house 1 my niece 
 Is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her. 
 
 Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir : I mean, she is 
 the list of my voyage. 
 
 •Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion. 
 
 Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than I 
 tinderstand what you mean by bidding me taste my 
 legs. 
 
 Sir To. I mean to go, sir, to enter. 
 
 I'io. I will answer you with gait and entrance : 
 But we are prevented. 
 
 Entei- 0livt.\ and Maria. 
 Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain 
 odours on you ! 
 
 Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier ! Rain 
 odours I well. 
 
 Vio, My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your 
 own most pregnant and vouclvsafed ear. 
 
 Sir And. Odours, ■pregnant, and vouchsafed : — I '11 
 get 'em , all three all ready. 
 
 Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave mi. 
 my hearing. 
 
 [Eieiint Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and MAKii. 
 Give me your hand, sir. 
 
 Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service. 
 
 Oli. What is your name? 
 
 Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess. 
 
 Oli. My servant, sk ! 'Twas never merry world. 
 Since lowly feigning "as call'd compliment : 
 You are servant to the count Orsino, youth. 
 _ Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours ; 
 Your servant's servant is your servant, madam. 
 
 Oli. For him, I think not on him : for his tiioughts. 
 Would they were blanks, rather than tilled with me ' 
 
 Vio. i\ladam, I come lo whet your gentle thoughts 
 On his behalf: — 
 
 Oli. O, by your leave, I pray you ; 
 
 I bade you never speak again of him : 
 But, would you undertake another suit, 
 I had rather hear you to solicit that, 
 Than music 'from the spheres. 
 
 Vio. Dear lady, 
 
 Oli. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send 
 After the last enchantment you did here, 
 A ring in chase of you ; so did I abuse 
 Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you : 
 Under your hard construction must I sit. 
 To force that on you, in a shameful cunning. 
 Which you knew none of yours : What might vou 
 Have you not set mine honour at the stake, [think ? 
 And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts 
 That tyrannous heart can think 1 To one of your re- 
 Enough is shewn ; a Cyprus, not a bosom, [ceiving 
 Hides my poor heart : So let me hear you speak. 
 
 Vio. 1 pity you. 
 
 OH. Tliat's a degree to love. 
 
 Vio. No, not a grise ; for 'tis a vulgar proof, 
 That very oft we pity enemies. 
 
 Oli. Why, then, melhinks, 'tis time to smile again, 
 
 world, how apt the poor are to be proud I 
 If one should be a prey, how much the better 
 
 To fall before the lion, than the wolf ? [Clock strikes. 
 The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. — • 
 Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you : 
 And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest, 
 Your wife is like to reap a proper man : 
 There lies your way, due west. 
 
 Vio. Then westward-hoe : 
 
 Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship [ 
 You 'U nothing, madam, to my lord by me ? 
 
 Oli. Stay: 
 
 1 pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me. 
 
 Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are. 
 
 Oli. If I think so, 1 think the same of you. 
 
 Vio, Then think you right ; I am not what I am. 
 
 Oli, I would you were as I would have you be 1 
 
 Vio, Would it be better, madam, than I am, 
 I wish it might ; for now I am your fool. 
 
 Oli, 0, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
 In the contempt and anger of his lip ! 
 A murd'rous guilt shews not itself more soon 
 Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon. 
 Cesario, by the roses of the spring. 
 By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing, 
 I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride. 
 Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide. 
 Do not extort thy reasons from this clause. 
 For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause : 
 But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter : 
 Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better. 
 
 Vio, By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 
 I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 97 
 
 And that no woman has ; nor never none 
 Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
 And so adieu, good madam ; never more 
 Will I my master's tears to you deplore. [move 
 
 on. Yet come again : for thou, perhaps, may'st 
 That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 
 
 [£iCKnf. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, 
 and Fabian. 
 
 Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer. 
 
 Sir To, Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason. 
 
 Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir An- 
 drew. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours 
 to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed 
 upon me ; I saw't i' the orchard. 
 
 Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy? tell 
 me that. 
 
 Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 
 
 Fab. I'his was a great argument of love in her 
 toward you. 
 
 Sir And. 'Slight ! will you make an ass o' me ? 
 
 Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths 
 of judgment and reason. 
 
 Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men, since 
 before Noah was a sailor. 
 
 Fab. She did shew favour to the youth in your 
 sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor- 
 mouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brimstone 
 in your liver : You should then have accosted her ; 
 and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, 
 ^ou should ha\e banged the youth into dumbness. 
 This was looked for at your hand, and this was 
 baulked : the double gilt of this opportunity you 
 let time wash off, and you are now sailed into the 
 north of my lady's opinion ; n here you will hang like 
 an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do re- 
 deem it by some laudable attempt, either of valour, 
 or policy. 
 
 Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with va- 
 lour: for policy I hate ; I had as lief be a Brovvnist, 
 as a politician. 
 
 Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon the 
 basis of valour. Challenge me the count's youth to 
 tight with him ; hurt him in eleven places ; my niece 
 shall take note of it : and assure thyself, there is no 
 love-broker in the woild can more prevail in man's 
 commendation with women, than report of valour. 
 
 Fab. There is no way but this, sir Andrew. 
 
 Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge 
 to him 1 
 
 Sir To, Go, write it in a martial hand ; be curst 
 and brief ; it is no matter how witty, so it be eloquent 
 and full of invention ; taunt him with the licence of 
 ink : if thou thon'st him some thrice, it shall not be 
 amiss ; and as many lies as will lie in thy sheet of 
 paper, although the sheet were big enough for the 
 bed of Ware in England, set 'em down ; go about it. 
 Let there be gall enough in thy ink ; though thou 
 write with a goose-pen, no matter : About it : 
 
 Sir And. Where shall I find you 1 
 
 Sir To. We'll call thee at the cubiculo: Go. 
 
 [£ii( Sir Andrew. 
 
 Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, sir Toby. 
 
 Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad ; some two 
 thousand strong, or so. 
 
 Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him : but 
 you '11 not deliver it. 
 
 Sir To. Never trust me then ; and by all means 
 
 stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen and 
 wainropes cannot hail them together. For Andrew, 
 if he were opened, and you find so much blood in his 
 liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I '11 eat the rest 
 of the anatomy. 
 
 Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his 
 visage no great presage of cruelty. 
 
 Enter jMahia. 
 
 Sir To. Look where the youngest wren of nine 
 comes. 
 
 Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh your- 
 selves into stitches, follow me : von' gull Malvolio 
 is turned heathen, a verv renegado ; for there is no 
 Christian, that means to be saved by believing rightly, 
 can ever believe such impossible passages of gross- 
 ness. He's in yellow stockings. 
 
 Sir To. ,\nd cross-gartered ? 
 
 Mar. Most villanously ; like a pedant that keeps 
 a school i' the church. — I have dog'^ed him, like his 
 murderer : He does obey every point of the letter 
 that I dropped to betray him. He does smile his 
 face into more lines than are in the new map, with 
 the augmentation of the Indies : you have not seen 
 such a thing as 'tis ; I can hardly forbear hurling 
 things at him. I know my lady will strike him ; if 
 she do, he'll smile, and tak't for a great favour. 
 
 Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 
 
 [Eieunf. 
 SCENE III.— .4 Street. 
 Enter Antonio and Sebastian, 
 
 Seb. I would not by my will have troubled you ; 
 But, since you make your pleasure of your pains, 
 I will no further chide you. 
 
 Ant. I could not stay behind you ; my desire, 
 More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth ; 
 And not all love to see vou, (though so much. 
 As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,) 
 But jealousy what might befall your travel. 
 Being skilless in these parts ; which to a stranger, 
 Unguided, and unfriended, often prove 
 Rough and unhospitable : My willing love, 
 The rather by these arguments of fear. 
 Set forth in your pursuit. 
 
 Seb. My kind Antonio, 
 
 I can no other answer make, but thanks. 
 And thanks, and ever thanks : Often good turns 
 Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay ; 
 But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm, 
 Y'ou should find better dealing. What's to do 1 
 Shall we go see the reliques of this town? ['ng. 
 
 Ant. To-morrow, sir ; best, first, go see your lodg- 
 
 Seh, I am not weary, and 'tis long to night ; 
 I pray you let us satisfy our eyes 
 With the memorials, and the things of fame, 
 That do renown this city. 
 
 Ant. 'Would, you'd pardon me ; 
 
 I do not without danger walk these streets : 
 Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his gallies, 
 I did some service ; of such note, indeed. 
 That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answcr'd. 
 
 Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people. 
 
 Ant. The ofl'ence is not of such a bloody nature ; 
 Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel. 
 Might well have given us bloody argument. 
 It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
 What we took from them ; which, for traffick's sake, 
 Most of our city did : only myself stood out : 
 For which, if 1 be lapsed in this place, 
 I shall pay dear. 
 
 Seb, Do not then walk too open. 
 
98 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my purse ; 
 In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
 Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet, [ledge, 
 Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your know- 
 VVith viewing of the town ; there shall you have me. 
 
 Seb. Why I your purse ! 
 
 Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy 
 Tou have desire to purchase ; and your store, 
 I tliink, is not for idle markets, sir. 
 
 Seh. I '11 be your purse-bearer, and leave you for 
 An hour. 
 
 Ant. To the Elephant. — 
 
 Seb, I do remember. 
 
 l^Excunt. 
 
 SCENE IV Olivia's Garden. 
 
 Enter OuviA and Maria. 
 
 OU. I have sent after him. He says he '11 come ; 
 How shall I feast him ? what bestow on iiim 1 
 For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd or bor- 
 
 I speak too loud. [row'd. 
 
 Where is Malvolio ? — he is sad, and civil. 
 
 And suits well for a servant with my fortunes ; — 
 
 Where is Malvolio ] 
 
 Mar. He 's coming, madam ; 
 
 But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd. 
 
 Oti. Why, what's the matter 1 does he ravel 
 
 Mar. No, madam, 
 
 He does nothing but smile : your ladyship 
 Were best have guard about you, if he come ; 
 For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits. 
 
 Oti. Go call him hither. — I'm as mad as he, I 
 
 If sad and merry madness equal be. — 
 
 Enter Malvolio. 
 
 How now, Malvolio ? 
 
 Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. [Smiles fantascicalli/. 
 
 OH. Smil'st thou "! 
 I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 
 
 Mai. Sad, lady ^ I could be sad: This does make 
 some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gartering ; 
 But what of that, if it please the eye of one, it is 
 with me as the very true sonnet is : Vlease one, and 
 ple^ise all. 
 
 OH. Why, how dost thou man ? what is the mat- 
 ter with thee ! 
 
 Mat. Not black in my mind, though yellow in my 
 legs : It did come to his hands, and commands shall 
 be executed. I think, we do know the sweet Roman 
 hand. 
 
 OU. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio 1 
 
 Mai, To bed ? ay, sweet-heart ; and I '11 come to 
 thee. 
 
 OH. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou smile so, 
 and kiss thy hand so oft I 
 
 Mar. How do you, Malvolio? 
 
 Mai. At your request ! Ves ; Nightingales an- 
 swer daws. 
 
 Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold- 
 ness before my lady ] 
 
 Mai, Be not afraid of greatne.^s : — 'twas well writ. 
 
 OH. What meanest thou by that, IMalvolio 1 
 
 Mat. Some are bom great, — 
 
 Oti. Ha? 
 
 Mat. Some achieve greatness, — 
 
 OH. What say'st thou? 
 
 Mai. And some iiave greatness tlirust upon thein. 
 
 on. Heaven restore thee ! 
 
 Mai. Remember, who commended thy yellow stocii' 
 ings ; — 
 
 OH. Thy yellow stockings f 
 
 Mai. And wished to see thee crosS'gartered, 
 OH. Cross-gartered ? 
 
 Mai, Go to : thon art made, if thou, desirest to be 
 so;— 
 
 OH. Am I made? 
 
 Mat. It' not, let me see thee a servant still, 
 
 oti. Why, tliis is very midsummer madness. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the count 
 Orsino's is returned ; I could hardly entreat hiin 
 back : he attends your ladyship's pleasure. 
 
 on. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good 
 Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my 
 cousin Toby ? Let some of my people have a special 
 care of him ; I would not have him miscarry for the 
 half of my dowry. lEieunt Oi.iviA and Maria. 
 
 Mai. Oh, ho ! do you come near me now ? no 
 worse man than sir Toby to look to me ? This con* 
 curs directly with the letter : she sends him on pur- 
 pose, that I may appear stubborn to him ; for she 
 incites me to tliat in the letter. Cast thy humble 
 slough, says she ; — be opposite with a icinsinan, surly 
 with servants, — let thy tongue tang with arguments of 
 
 state, — put thyself into the tricit of singularity ; 
 
 and consequently, sets down the manner how ; as, a 
 sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, in the 
 habit of some sir of note, and so forth. I have limed 
 her ; but it is Jove's doing, and Jove make me thank- 
 ful ! And, when she went away now, Let this fellow 
 be iooiied to : Fellow ! not Malvolio, nor after my 
 degree, but fellow. Why, every tiling adheres toge- 
 ther ; that no dram of a scruple, no scruple of a 
 scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe cir- 
 cumstance, — What can be said ! Nothing, that can 
 be, can come between me and the full prospect of 
 my hopes. Well, Jove, not 1, is the doer of this, and 
 he is to be thanked. 
 
 Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch and Fabian. 
 
 Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity ? 
 If all the devils in hell be drawn in little, and Legion 
 himself possessed him, yet I '11 speak to hira. 
 
 Fab. Here he is, here he is :— How is 't with you, 
 sir ? how is 't with you, man ? 
 
 Mai. Go off; I discard you; let me enjoy my 
 private ; go off. 
 
 Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within him ! 
 did not I tell you ? — Sir Toby, my lady prays you to 
 have a care of him. 
 
 Mai. Ah, ah ! does she so? 
 
 Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we must deal 
 gently with him ; let me alone. How do you, I\Ial- 
 volio ! how is't with you? What, man 1 defy the 
 devil : consider, he's an enemy to mankind. 
 
 Mai. Do you know what you say ? 
 
 Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how he 
 takes it at heart ! Pray God, he be not bewitched ' 
 
 Fab. Carry his water to the wise woman. 
 
 Mar. Marry, and it shall be done to-morrow morn- 
 ing, if I live. iNIy lady would not lose him for more 
 than I '11 say. 
 
 Mai. How now, mistress ? 
 
 Mar. O lord ! 
 
 Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold thy peace ; this is not the 
 way : Do you not see, you move him ? let ine alone 
 with him. 
 
 Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the 
 fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 
 
 Sir To. \Vhy, how now, my bawcock? how do8t 
 thou, chuck ? 
 
 Mai. Sir? 
 
ACT III. -SCENE IV. 
 
 99 
 
 Sir To, Ay, BiUtiy, come with me. ^ What man ! 
 Vis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Sataa: 
 Hang him, foul collier! 
 
 Miir. Gel him to say his prayers j good sir Toby, 
 get him to pray. 
 
 Mai. ;^Iy prayers, minx ? 
 
 Mai\ No, I vvanant you, he will not hear of gt)d- 
 iiness. 
 
 Mai, Go, hang yourselves all ! you are idle shal- 
 low things : I am not of your element ; you shall 
 know more hereafter. [Ei/£. 
 
 Sir To. Is't possible! 
 
 Fab, If this were played upon a stage now, I 
 could condemn it as an improbable fiction. 
 
 Sir To, His very genius hath taken the infection 
 of the device, man. 
 
 Mar, Nay, pursue him nov? ; lest the device take 
 air, and' taint. 
 
 Fab. AVliy, we shall make him mad, indeed. 
 
 Mar. The house will be the quieter. 
 
 Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room, 
 and bound. Jly niece is already in the belief that 
 he is mad ; we may carry it thus, for our pleasure, 
 and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of 
 bi-eath, prompt us to have mercy on him : at which 
 time, we will bring the device to the bar, and crown 
 thee for a finder of raadmea. But see, but see. 
 
 Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. 
 
 Fah, More matter for a May morning. 
 
 Sir And. Here's tlie challensje, read it; I war- 
 rant tliere's vinegar and pepper m't. 
 
 Fah, Is't so sawcy 1 
 
 Sir And. Ay, is U, I warrant him : do but read. 
 
 Sir To, Give me. [I'eads ] Voiith^ ivhutsoever tkotc 
 art, thou art but a scurvy JeiUiw. 
 
 Fab. Good, and valiant. 
 
 Sir Tn. Wonder no(, nor admire not in thtjmind, why 
 J do cfill thee so^J'or 1 will skew thee no reason J'orH. 
 
 Fab. A good note : that keeps you from the blow 
 of the law. 
 
 Sir To. Thou cmncst to the lady Olivia, and iti my 
 sight she vses thee kindlv: hut thou liest in thy throat, 
 that is uflt the matter I challenge thee far. 
 
 Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less. 
 
 Sir To. } will way-Jay thee giving home ; where if 
 it be thy chance to hill tnc, 
 
 Fab. Good. 
 
 Sir To. Thou hiflest me like a rogue and a viUain, 
 
 Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the law : 
 Good. 
 
 Sir To. Fare thee well ; And God have mercu upon 
 one of our souls! He may have mercy upon mine; but 
 my hope is better, and so took to thyself. Thu friend, 
 as thou usest kim^ and thy sworn enemy, 
 
 AXDREW AcUE-CHEEn. 
 
 Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs can- 
 not : I'll give't him. 
 
 Mar. You may have very fit occasion for 't ; he is 
 now in some commerce with my lady, and will by 
 and by depart. 
 
 Sir To. Go, sir Andrew ; scout me for him at the 
 corner of t!ie orchard, like a bum-bailiff: so soon 
 as ever thou seest him, draw ; and, as thou drawest, 
 swear horrible ; for it comes to pass oft, that a ter- 
 rible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged 
 off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof 
 itself would have earned him. Away. 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let rae alone for swearing. [Ei/C. 
 
 Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter : for the 
 behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to 
 be of good capacity and breeding j his employment 
 
 uorc 
 
 between his lord and my niece confirms no less ; 
 therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant, 
 will breed no terror ia the youth, he will find it 
 comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his 
 challenge by word of mouth ; set upon Ague-cheek 
 a notable report of valour ; and drive the gentleman, 
 (as, I know his youth will aptly receive it,) into a 
 most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury, and im- 
 petuosity. This will so fright them both, that they 
 will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices. 
 
 Eutf^r Ot.ivia and Viola, 
 
 Fah. Here he comes with youi* niece : give them 
 way, till he take leave, and presently after him. 
 
 Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some hor- 
 rid message for a challenge. 
 
 [Ereunt Sir Tony, Fabian, and Maria. 
 
 OK. I ha\ e said too much unto a heart of stone, 
 And laid my honour too unchary out : 
 There's something in me, that reproves my fault ; 
 But such a headstrong potent fault it is. 
 That it but mocks reproof, [bears, 
 
 Via. With the same 'liaWour that your passion 
 Go on my master's griefs. 
 
 Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture ; 
 Refuse it not, it liath no tongue to vex you : 
 And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow. 
 What shall you ask of me, tliat I'll deny ; 
 That honour, sav'd, may upon asking give 1 [master. 
 
 Vi,>. Xothing but this, your true love for my 
 
 Oti. How witli mine honour may 1 give him that 
 Which I have given to you ? 
 
 Vio. I will acquit you. 
 
 Oti. Well, come again to-morrow : Fare thee well ; 
 A fiend, like thee, might bear my soul to hell. [JJiit. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Tooy Belch and Fabian. 
 
 Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 
 
 Vio. And you, sir. 
 
 Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't ; 
 of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him, 
 I know not ; but thy intercepter. full of despight, 
 bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard 
 end : dismount thy tuck, be yare in thy preparation, 
 for thy aFisailant is quick, skilful, and deadly. 
 
 Vio. You mistake, sir ; I am sure, no man hath 
 any quarrel to me ; my remembrance is very free and 
 clear from any image of oiTence done to any man. 
 
 Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you : 
 therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake 
 you to your guard ; for your opposite hath in him 
 what youth, strength, skill, and wrath, can furnish 
 man withal. 
 
 Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he 1 
 
 Sir To, He is knight, dubbed with unbacked ra- 
 pier, and on carpet consideration ; but he is a devil 
 in private brawl ; souls and bodies hath he divorced 
 three ; and his incensement at this moment is so im- 
 placable, that satisfaction can be none but by pangs 
 of death and sepulchre : hob, nob, is his word ; 
 give't, or take't. 
 
 Vio. I will return again into the house, and desire 
 some conduct of tlie lady. I am no fighter. I have 
 heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels pur- 
 posely on others, to taste their valour : belike, this 
 is a man of that quirk. 
 
 Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives itself out 
 of a very competent injury ; therefore, get you on, 
 and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the 
 house, unless you undertake that with me, which 
 with as much safety you might answer him : there- 
 fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked ; for med- 
 Gi 
 
100 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT : OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 die you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron 
 about you. 
 
 rill. I'his is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech you, 
 do me tills courteous office, as to know of the knight 
 what my oHence to him is ; it is something of my 
 negligence, notlilng of ray purpose. 
 
 Sir To. 1 will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you by 
 this gentleman till my return. [Exit Sir Tody. 
 
 rill. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter } 
 
 Fab. I know, the knight is incensed against you, 
 even to a moral arbitrement ; but nothing of the cir- 
 cumstance more. 
 
 Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he? 
 
 Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read 
 him by his form, as you are like to find him in the 
 proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most 
 skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could 
 possibly have found in any part of Illyria : Will you 
 walk towards him ? I will make your peace with 
 him, if I can. 
 
 Vw. I shall be much bound to you for 't : I am 
 one, that would rather go with sir priest, than sir 
 knight : I care not who knows so much of my mettle. 
 
 [Eieiuit. 
 
 Re-enter Sir Tonv, with Sir Anorew. 
 
 Sir To. Why, man, he 's a very devil ; I have not 
 seen such a virago. I had a pass with hiin, rapier, 
 scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in, 
 with such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable; and 
 on the answer, he pays you as surely as your feet hit 
 the groimd they step on : They say, he has been 
 fencer to the Sophy. 
 
 Sir And. Pox on 't, I'll not meddle with him. 
 
 Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified : Fa- 
 bian can scarce hold him yonder. 
 
 Sir And. Plague on't ; an I thought he had been 
 valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him 
 damned ere I 'd have challenged him. Let him let 
 the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, gray 
 Capllet. 
 
 Sir To. I'll make the motion : Stand here, make 
 a good show on't ; this shall end without the perdi- 
 tion of souls : Marry I'll ride your horse as well as 
 I ride you. \_Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Fabian mid ViotA. 
 I have his horse [to Fab.] to take up the quarrel ; 
 I have persuaded him the youth's a devil. 
 
 Fab. He is as horribly conceited of hlra ; and 
 pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels. 
 
 Sir To. There's no remedy, sir; he will fight with 
 you for his oath's sake : marry, he hath better be- 
 thought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now 
 scarce to be \\orth talking off: therefore draw, for 
 the supportance of his vow ; he protests, he will not 
 hurt you. 
 
 Vio. Pray God defend me ! A little thing would 
 make me tell them how much I lack of a man. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 
 
 Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy; 
 the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one 
 bout with you ; lie cannot by the duello avoid it ; 
 but he has promised me, as he Is a gentleman and 
 a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on: to't. 
 
 Sir And. Pray God, he keep his oath. [Draws. 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 rio. I do assure you 'tis against my will. [Draws. 
 
 Ant. Put up your sword ; — If this young gentle- 
 Have done ofl'ence, I take the fault on me ; [man 
 It you oti'end him, I for him defy you. [Drawing. 
 
 Sir To. You, sirl why what are you? 
 
 Ant, One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more 
 Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 
 
 Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for 
 you. [Draws, 
 
 Enter two Officers. 
 
 Fab. O good sir Toby, hold ; here come the 
 officers. 
 
 Sir To. I'll be with you anon. [To Antonio, 
 
 Vio. Pray, sir, put up your sword, if you please. 
 [To Sir Andrew. 
 
 Sir And. Marry, will I, sir; — and, for that I 
 promised you, I'll be as good as my word ; He will 
 bear you easily, and reins well, 
 
 1 Ojf. This is the man ; do thy oiiice. 
 
 'i OJ'. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit 
 Of count Orsino. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake me, sir ; 
 
 1 Off. No, sir, no jot ; I know your favour well. 
 Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. — 
 Take him away ; he knows, I know him well. 
 
 .int. I must obey. — This comes with seeking you ; 
 But there 's no remedy ; I shall answer it. 
 What will you do ? Now my necessity 
 Slakes me to ask you for my purse : It grieves me 
 Much more for what I cannot do for you, 
 Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd ; 
 But be of comfort. 
 
 2 Off. Come, sir, away. 
 
 Ant. I must intreat of you some of that money. 
 
 Vio. What money, sir ? 
 For the fair kindness you have shew'd me here. 
 And, part, being prompted by your present trouble. 
 Out of my lean and low ability 
 I'll lend you something: my having is not much ; 
 I'll make division of my present with you : 
 Hold, there is half my coffer. 
 
 Ant. Will you deny me now ^ 
 
 Is 't possible, that my deserts to you 
 Can lack persuasion ! Do not tempt my misery, 
 Lest that it make me so unsound a man. 
 As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
 That I have done for you. 
 
 Vio. I know of none ; 
 
 Nor know I you by voice, or any feature : 
 I hate ingratitude more in a man. 
 Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, 
 Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption 
 Inhabits our frail blood. 
 
 Ant. heavens themselves ! 
 
 2 0^'. Come, sir, I pray you go. [see here. 
 
 Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that you 
 I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death ; 
 
 Rellev'd him with such sanctity of love, 
 
 And to his image, w'hich iiiethought did promise 
 Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 
 
 1 Ojf'. What's that to us ? The time goes by ; away. 
 
 Ant. But, 0. how vile an idol proves this god ! — 
 Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. — ■ 
 In nature there's no blemish, but the mind ; 
 None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind : 
 Virtue is beauty ; but the beauteous-evil 
 Are empty trunks, o'erflourished by the devil. 
 
 1 Off. The man grows mad ; away with him. 
 Come, come, sir. 
 
 Ant. Lead me on. [Exemit Officers iyi(?i Antonio, 
 
 Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passion fly. 
 That he believes himself ; so do not I. 
 Prove true, imagination, 0, prove true. 
 That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you I 
 
 Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fabian, 
 we'll whisper o'er a couple or two of most sage saws. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 101 
 
 Vie. He named Sebastian ; I my brother kuow 
 Yet living in my glass ; even such, and so, 
 In favour was my brother ; and he went 
 Still in this fashion, colour, ornament. 
 For him I imitate : O, if it prove. 
 Tempests are kind, andsaltwaves fresh in love. [Eiit. 
 
 Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more a 
 coward than a hare : his dishonesty appears in leaving 
 liis friend here in necessity, and denying him ; and 
 for his cowardship, ask Fabian. 
 
 FaO< A coward, a most devout coward, religious 
 in it. 
 
 Sir Anil. 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him. 
 
 Sir To. Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw thy 
 sword. 
 
 Sir And. An I do not. — [Exit. 
 
 Fab. Come, let's see the event. 
 
 Sir To. I dare lay any money, 'twill be nothmg 
 yet. [_Eieu7it. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I The Street before Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Sebastian' and Clown. 
 
 Clo. Will you make me believe, that I am not 
 sent for you. 
 
 Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow; 
 Let me be clear of thee. 
 
 Clo. Well held out, i'faith ! No, I do not know 
 you ; nor 1 am not sent to you by my lady, to bid 
 you come speak with her ; nor your name is not 
 master Cesario ; nor this is not my nose neither.' — 
 Nothing, that is so, is so. 
 
 Stb. I pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else : 
 Thou know'st not me. 
 
 Clo. Vent my folly ! he has heard that word of 
 some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent 
 my folly ! I am afraid this great lubber, the world, 
 will prove a cockney. — I pr'ythee now, ungird thy 
 strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady ; 
 Shall I vent to her, that thou art coming 1 
 
 Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me; 
 There 's money for thee ; if you tarry longer, 
 I shall give worse payment. 
 
 Clo. I5y my troth, thou hast an open hand : — 
 These wise men, that give fools money, get themselves 
 a good report after fourteen years' purchase. 
 
 Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 
 
 Sit And. Now, sir, have I met you again? there's 
 for you. l^Striking Sebastian. 
 
 Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there : 
 Are all the people mad! [Beating Sir Andiiew. 
 
 Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er 
 the house. 
 
 C/o. This will I tell my lady straight : I would 
 not be in some of your coats for two-pence. 
 
 [Eiit Clown. 
 
 Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. [Holding Sebastian. 
 
 Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way 
 to work with him ; I'll have an action of battery 
 against him, if there be any law in lUyria : though 
 I struck him first, yet it 's no matter for that. 
 
 Seb. Let go thy hand. 
 
 Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, 
 my young soldier, put up your iron : you are well 
 fieshed ; come on. 
 
 Seb. 1 will be free from thee. What wouldst thou 
 now 1 
 
 If thou dat'st tempt me further, draw thy sword. 
 
 [Draws. 
 
 Sir To. What, what 1 Nay, then I must have an 
 
 ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. [Draus. 
 
 Enter Olivia. 
 
 Oli. Hold, Toby, on thy life, I chargethee, hold. 
 
 Sir To. Madam ! 
 
 OH. Will it be ever thus ? Vngracious wretch. 
 Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves. 
 Where manners ne'er were preach'd ! out of my sight ! 
 
 Be not oflended, dear Cesai'io ! 
 
 Rudesbv, be gone ! — I pr'ythee, gentle friend, 
 
 [Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian* 
 Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
 In this uncivil and unjust extent 
 Against thy peace. Go with me to my house; 
 And hear thou there how manv fruitless pranks 
 This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby 
 May'st smile at this ; thou shah not choose but go ; 
 Do not deny : Beshrew his soul for me. 
 He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 
 
 Seb. \\'hat relisii is in this"? how runs the stream 1 
 Or I am mad, or else this is a dream : — 
 Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep ; 
 If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep ! 
 
 Oli. Nay, come, I pr'ythee : 'Would thou'dst be 
 
 Seb. Jladain, I will. [rul'd by me 1 
 
 Oli. O, say so, and so be ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Olivia's House. 
 Enter Maria and Clown. 
 Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and this 
 beard ; make him believe thou art sir Topas the cu- 
 rate ; do it quickly : I'll call sir Toby the while. 
 
 [Exit Maria. 
 Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble 
 myself in't ; and I would 1 were the first that ever 
 dissembled in such a gown. I am not fat enough 
 to become the function well : nor lean enough to be 
 thought a good student : but to be said, an honest 
 man, and a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to 
 say, a careful man, and a great scholar. The com- 
 petitors enter. 
 
 Enter Sir Toby Belch oTid Maria. 
 
 Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson. 
 
 Clo. Bonos dies, sir Toby : for as the old hermit 
 of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily 
 said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that is, is: 
 so I, being master parson, am master parson : For 
 what is that, but that 1 and is, but isl 
 
 Sir To. To him, sir Topas. 
 
 Clo. What, hoa, I say, — Peace in this prison ! 
 
 Sir To. The knave counterfeits well ; a good 
 knave. 
 
 Mai. [in an inner chamber,^ Who calls there ! 
 
 Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit 
 Malvolio the lunatic. 
 
 Mnl. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go to 
 my lady. 
 
 Clo, Out, hyperbolical fiend! how vexest thou this 
 man 1 talkest thou nothing but of ladies 1 
 
 Sir To. Well said, master parson. 
 
 Mat. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged : 
 good sir Topas, do not think I am mad ; tbey have 
 laid me here in hideous darkness. 
 
 Clo. Fye, thou dishonest Sathan! I call thee by the 
 irost modest tenns ; for I am one of those gentle 
 ones, that will use the devil himself ivith courtesy : 
 Say'st thou, that house is dark! 
 
 Mai. As hell, sir Topas. 
 
102 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL. 
 
 Clo* Why, it hath bay-windows, transparent as 
 barricadoes, and the clear stories towards the south- 
 north are as lustrous as ebony ; and yet complainest 
 thou of obstruction"? 
 
 Mai I am not mad, sirTopas; I say to you, this 
 house is dark. 
 
 C/i». Madman, thou errest : I say, there is no dark- 
 ness, but ignorance ; in which thou art more puzzled, 
 than the Egyptians in tlieir fog. 
 
 Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance, 
 though ignorance were as dark as hell ; and I say, 
 there was never man thus abused : I am no more 
 mad than you are j make the trial of it in any con- 
 stant question. 
 
 Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, concern- 
 ing wild-fowl 1 
 
 Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply 
 inhabit a bird. 
 
 Clo. What thinkest thou of his opinion? 
 
 MaL I think nobly of the soul, and no way ap- 
 prove his opinion. 
 
 Clo. Fare thee well : Remain thou still in daik- 
 ness : thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere 
 I will allow of thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock, 
 lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam. fare 
 thee well. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, — 
 
 Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas! 
 
 Ch. Nay, I am for all waters. 
 
 Mar. Thou might'st have done this without thy 
 beard, and gown ; he sees thee not. 
 
 Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring 
 me word how thou findest him : I would, we were 
 well rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently 
 delivered, I would he were ; for I am now so far in 
 offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with any 
 safety this sport to the upshot. Corae by and by to 
 my chamber. \^Exeitnt Sir Touv and IVL\hia. 
 
 Clo. Heu Robin, jolly Robin, 
 
 Tell me how thy lady does, ["S'^^iw^. 
 
 Mai. Fool.— 
 
 Clo. My lady is unhindy perdy. 
 
 Mai. Fool 
 
 Cio. Alas, why is she so? 
 
 Mai. Fool, 1 say ; — 
 
 Clo. She loves another — Who calls, ha"? 
 
 Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well at 
 my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and 
 paper ; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thank- 
 ful to thee for 't. 
 
 Clo. Master Malvolio ! 
 
 Mai. Ay, good fool. 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits ? 
 
 MaL Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
 abused: I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art. 
 
 Clo. But as well 1 then you are mad, indeed, if 
 y«u be no better in your wits than a fool. 
 
 MaL They have here propertied me ; keep me in 
 darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all 
 they can to face me out of my wits, 
 
 Clo. Advise you what you say ; the minister is 
 here. — Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the heavens re- 
 store ! endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy vain 
 bibble babble. 
 
 Mai. Sir Topas, 
 
 Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. — 
 Who, I, sir1 not I, sir. God b'wi'you, good sir 
 Topas. — Marry, amen. — I will, sir, I will. 
 
 MaL FoOw, fool, fool, I say, — 
 
 Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir^ I 
 ani shent for speaking to you. 
 
 MaL Good fool, help me to some light, and some 
 paper ; 1 tell thee, 1 am as well in my wits as any 
 man in lllyria. 
 
 Clo. W ell-a-day, — that you were, sir ! 
 
 MaL By this hand, 1 am; Good fool, some ink, 
 paper, and ligiit, and convey what I will set down 
 to my lady ; it shall advantage thee more than ever 
 the bearing of letter did. 
 
 Clo. 1 will help you to't. But tell me true, are 
 you not mad indeed 1 or do you but ccmnterfeit ? 
 
 Mai. Believe me, I am not ; 1 tell thee true. 
 
 Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see 
 his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink. 
 
 MaL Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree ; 
 1 pr'ythee, be gone. 
 
 Clo. I am gone, sir^ 
 
 And anon, sir, 
 ril be with you agaitt^ 
 In a trice, 
 Like to the old vice. 
 Your need to sustain; 
 
 Who with daggei' of lath. 
 In his rage and his wrath. 
 
 Cries, ah, ha! to the devil: 
 Like a mad lad, 
 Pare thy nails, dad, 
 
 Adieu, goodman drivel. [£xjt 
 
 SCENE III— Olivia's Garden. 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 Seb. This is the air ; that is tlie glorious sun^ 
 This pearl she gave me, 1 do feel't, and see'l : 
 And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus, 
 Yet 'tis not madness. Where 's Antonio then? 
 I could not find him at the Elephant : 
 Yet there he was ; and there I found this credit^ 
 That he did range the town to seek me out. 
 His counsel now might do me golden service : 
 For though my soul disputes well with my sense. 
 That this may be some error, but no madness. 
 Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 
 So far exceed all instance, all discourse, 
 That I am ready to mistrust mine eyes, 
 Andwi-angte with my reason, that persuades me 
 To any other trust, but that I am mad, 
 Or else the lady's mad ; yet, if 'twere so. 
 She could notsway her house, command her followers. 
 Take, and give back affairs, and their despatch, 
 With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing. 
 As, I perceive, she does : there's something in't. 
 That is deceivable. But here comes the lady. 
 Enter Olivia and a Priest. 
 
 Oli. Blame not this haste of mine: If you meaa 
 Now go with me, and with this holy man, [well. 
 Into the chantry by : there, before him, 
 And underneath that consecrated roof, 
 Plight me the full assurance of your faith ; 
 That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
 May live at peace : He shall conceal it, 
 Whiles you are willing it shall come to note ; 
 What time we will our celebration keep 
 According to my birth. — What do you say"? 
 
 Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you ; 
 And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
 
 Oli. Then lead the way, good father j — And hea- 
 vens so shine. 
 That they may fairly note this act of nune \ [Exeunt. 
 
ACT V.~SCENE I. 
 
 103 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE l,~~The Street before Olivia's House. 
 
 Enter Clown and Fabian, 
 
 Fah, Now, as thou lov'st me, let me see his letter. 
 Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another request. 
 Fab. Any thing. 
 
 Clo, Do not desire to see this letter. 
 Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense, 
 desire my dog again. 
 
 Enter Duke, Viola, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends? 
 
 Clo. Ay, sir ; we are some of her trappings. 
 
 Duke. 1 know tliee well ; How dost thou, my good 
 fellow } 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the 
 worse for my friends. 
 
 Duke. Just the contrary ; the better for thy friends. 
 
 Clo. No, sir, the worse. 
 
 Duke. How can that be 1 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass 
 of me ; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass : so 
 that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of my- 
 self ; and by mv friends I am abused; so that, con- 
 clusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make 
 your two athrmatives, why, then the worse for my 
 friends, and the better for my foes. 
 
 Duke. Why, this is excellent. 
 
 Clo, By my troth, sir, no j though it please you to 
 be one of ray friends. 
 
 Duke, Thou shalt not be the worse for me ; there's 
 gold. 
 
 Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I 
 would you could make it another. 
 
 Duhe. O, you give me ill counsel. 
 
 Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this 
 once, and let your fiesh and blood obey it. 
 
 Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a 
 double dealer ; there's another. 
 
 Clo. Pr(mi7,5rcuH(/o, (ertio, is a good play ; and the 
 old saying is, the third pays for all : the triplex^ sir, 
 is a good tripping measure ; or the bells of St. Ben- 
 net, sir, may put you in mind ; One, two, three. 
 
 Duke. Vou can fool no more money out of rae at 
 this throw : if you will let your lady know, 1 am here 
 to speak with her, and bring her along with you, it 
 may awake my bounty further. 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty, till I come 
 again. I go, sir ; but I would not have you to think, 
 that mv desire of having is the sin of covetousness: 
 but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a nap. 1 will 
 awake it anon. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Officers. 
 
 Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me. 
 
 Duke. That face of his 1 do remember well ; 
 Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd 
 As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war : 
 A bawbling vessel was he captain of. 
 For shallow diaught. and bulk, unprizable; 
 "With which such scathful grapple did he make 
 "With the most noble bottom of our fleet, 
 That ver)' envy, and the tongue of loss, 
 Cry'd fame and honour on him. — What's the matter 1 
 
 1 Ojf'. Orsino, this is that Antonio. 
 That took the Phoenix, and her fraught, from Candy ; 
 And this is he, that did the Tiger board. 
 When your young nephew Titus lost his leg: 
 Here in the streets, desperate of shame, and state, 
 In private brabble did we apprehend hlin. 
 
 Vio. He did me kindness, sir ; drew on my side j 
 But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me, 
 1 know not what 'twas, but distraction. 
 
 Duke. Notable pirate! thou salt-water thief ! 
 What foolish boldness brought thee to tlieir mercies, 
 \\ hom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear, 
 Hasi made thine enemies? 
 
 ^nt. Orsino, noble sir. 
 
 Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me ; 
 Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate. 
 Though, I confess, on base and ground enough, 
 Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither : 
 That most ingrateful boy there, by your side. 
 From the rude sta's enrag'd and foamy mouth 
 Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was : 
 His life 1 gave him, and did thereto add 
 My love, without retention, or restraint, 
 All his in dedication: for his sake, 
 Did I expose myself, pure for his love. 
 Into the danger of this adverse town ; 
 Drew to defend him, when he was beset ; 
 Where being apprehended, his false cunning, 
 (Not meaning to partake with me in danger,) 
 Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, 
 And grew a twenty-years-removed thing. 
 While one would wink ; denied me mine own purse, 
 Which I had recommended to his use 
 Not half an hour before. 
 
 Vio. How can this be 1 
 
 Duke. When came he to this town ] 
 
 Ant. To-day, my lord ; and for three months before, 
 (No interim, not a minute's vacancy,) 
 Both day and night did we keep company. 
 
 Enter Olivia and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Here comes the countess; now heaven walks 
 
 on earth. • 
 
 But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness : 
 Three months this youth hath tended upon me; 
 But more of that anon. Take him aside. 
 
 Oli. Whatwouldmy lord, but that he may not have. 
 Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? — 
 Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
 
 Vh. Madam? 
 
 Duke. Gracious Olivia, 
 
 OIL What do you say, Cesario? Good my 
 
 lord, 
 
 Vio, My lord would speak, my duty hushes me. 
 
 Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord. 
 It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear. 
 As howling after music. 
 
 Duke. Still so cruel ? 
 
 Oli. Still so constant, lord. 
 
 Duke. What! to perverseness? you uncivil lady, 
 To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
 My soul the faithfuU'st otferings hath breath'd out. 
 That e'er devotion tender'd I What shall I do \ 
 
 Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall be- 
 come him 
 
 Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it, 
 Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death. 
 Kill what I love ; a savage jealousy. 
 That sometime savours nobly 1 — But hear me this: 
 Since you to nonregardance cast my faith. 
 And that I partly know the instrument 
 That screws nie from my true place in your favour. 
 Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still ; 
 But this your minion, whom, I know, you love, 
 And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender dearly, 
 Him will 1 tear out of that cruel eye. 
 Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. — 
 Come, boy, with me ; ray thoughts are ripe in mischief : 
 
104 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT: OR, WHAT YOU WILL 
 
 I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, 
 
 To spite a raven's heart within a dove. {Guinf^, 
 
 Vw. And I, most inciind, apt, and willingly, 
 To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 
 
 It'oUowing. 
 
 Oli. Where goes Ccsario'i 
 
 Vio. After him I love. 
 
 More than I love these eyes, more than my life, 
 More, by all mores, than e'er 1 shall love wife : 
 If I do feign, you witnesses above. 
 Punish my life, for tainting of my love '. 
 
 Oli. Ah me, detested ! how am I beguil'd ! 
 
 Via. Who does beguileyou 1 whodocsdoyou wrong? 
 
 0/i. Hast thou forgot thyself 1 Is it so long? — 
 Call forth the holy father. [Kiit un Attendant. 
 
 JJiilie. Come away. \To Viola. 
 
 OIL Whither, my lord? Ceiario, nu<band, May. 
 
 JJulie. Husband? 
 
 Oli. Ay, husl>and, can he that deny 1 
 
 Duke. Her husbanu, sirrah 1 
 
 Vio, No, my lord, not I. 
 
 Oli. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear. 
 That makes thee strangle thy propriety : 
 Fear not, Cesario, lake thy lurtunes up; 
 Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art 
 As great as that thou fear'sl. — O, welcome, father ! 
 
 lU-cnter Attendant and I'ricst. 
 Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
 Here to unfold (though lately we intended 
 To keep in darkness, what occasion now 
 Keveals before 'tis ri[M;,J what thou dost know. 
 Hath newly pant between this youth and me. 
 
 J'riett. A contract o( eternal bond of love, 
 Confirm'd by mutual joiinler of your hands, 
 Attested by the holy close of lips, 
 Strengthen'd by inlerchangement of your rings ; 
 And all the ceremony of this cornpict 
 Seal'd in my function, by my testimony : 
 Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave, 
 J have travellwl but two hours. 
 
 Duke. (), thou dissembliujj cub! what wilt thou be. 
 When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ! 
 Or will not else thy craft so rpiickly grow. 
 That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? 
 Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet. 
 Where thou and I henceforth may never meet. 
 
 Viij. My lord, I do protest, — 
 
 Oli. 0, do not swear; 
 
 Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear. 
 
 Tenter .'iir Anohkw AcuK-ciiitK, withhii head bnihc. 
 
 Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon ; send 
 one presently to sir Toby. 
 
 Oli. What's the matter? 
 
 .Sir And. He has bioke rny head acrosn, and \\:y< 
 given sir Toby a bloody coxf;omb too : for the love of 
 God, your helj); 1 haid rather than forty pound, 1 
 were at home. 
 
 OH. Who has done this, sir Andrew ? 
 
 Sir And. 'i'he count's gentleman, one Cesario: wc 
 took him for a coward, but he's the very devil incar- 
 dinat/;. 
 
 Dake. My gentleman, Cesario? 
 
 .Sir And. Od's lifelings, here he is : — You broke 
 my head for nothing ; and that that I did, 1 was set 
 on to do't by sir Toijy. 
 
 Vio. Why do you sjieak to me? T never hurt you : 
 You drew your sword upon me, without cause ; 
 liut I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 
 
 Sir Alul. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have 
 hurtme ; I think, you set nothiog byahlooilycoxcoiiib. 
 
 J'.nier Sir Tocv liri.cii, drunk, led hii t/ie Clown. 
 
 Here comes sir Toby halting, you shall hear more; 
 hut if he harl not been in drink, he would have 
 tickled you othergates than he did. 
 
 Duke. How now, gentleman ? how is't with you ? 
 
 Sir To. That 's all one ; he ba.s hurl nic, and there's 
 the end on't Sot, did'st see Dick surgeon, sot? 
 
 Cto. O he's drunk, sir 'I'oby, an hour agone; his 
 eyes were set at eight i'lhe morning. 
 
 Sir To. Then he's a rogue. After a passy-measure, 
 or a pavin, I hale a drunken rogue. 
 
 Oli. Away with him : Who iiatli made this havoc 
 with thcin ? 
 
 .Sir And. I 'II help you, sir Toby, because we'll be 
 dressed together. 
 
 Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a cox- 
 comb, and a knave ? a thin-faced knave, a gull ? 
 
 Oli. Get hiiu to hti, and let his hurt be look'd to. 
 [^Eteunt Clown, Sir Tonv, and Sir Anurew. 
 
 ICnler .Subastian. 
 
 Sf:h. 1 am sorry, madam, I have hurl your kins- 
 liut, haii it been the brother of my blood, [man ; 
 
 I must have done no less, with wit, and safety. 
 You throw a strani^e regard ujjon me, and 
 
 |{y that 1 do perceive il hath offended you ; 
 }'ardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
 We made each other but so late ago. 
 
 Duhc. One face, one voice, one habit, and two 
 .\ natural perspective, that is, and is not. [persons ; 
 
 Seh. Antonio, O my dear Antonio ! 
 How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me. 
 Since 1 have lost thee. 
 
 Ant. Sebastian are you ? 
 
 Seh. Fear'sl thou that, Antonio t 
 
 Ant. How have you made division of yourself? — 
 An apple, cleft in two, is uot more twin 
 'I ban tticsc two creatures. Which is Sebastian ? 
 
 Oli. Most wonderful I 
 
 Seh. Do I stand there ? I never had a brother : 
 Nor can there be that deity in my nature, 
 i)f here and cvtry where. I had a sister. 
 Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd :—' 
 Of charity, what kin are you to ine ? f 7'" Viola. 
 What countryman? what name? what parentage? 
 
 Vio. Of .Mcssaline : Scbaklian v/ai my father ; 
 Such a .Sebastian was my brother too, 
 So went he suited to his watery tomb : 
 ]f sjiirits can assume both form and suit 
 You come to fright us. 
 
 Seh. A spirit I am, indeed : 
 
 Itut am in that dimension grossly clad. 
 Which from the womb 1 did participate. 
 \\ eie you a woman, as the rest goes even, 
 I shoiilrl Kiy tears let fall U])on your cheek, 
 And say — i'hricc welcome, drowrted Viola < 
 
 Vio. My father had a mole ujion his brow. 
 
 .Srh. And so hail mine. 
 
 Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth 
 Had numbcr'd tliin<:en years. 
 
 ■Sell. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
 He finished, indeed, his mortal act, 
 'lliat day that made rny sister thirteen years. 
 Vio. if nothing lets to make us happy both 
 Hut this my masculine iisurp'd attire, 
 J^o not embrace me, til! each eirciiinstance 
 Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump, 
 'I'hal 1 am Viola: which to confirm, 
 1 'II bring you to a captain in this town. 
 Where lie iny maiden weeds; by whose gentle help 
 
 I I was prcserv'd, to serve this noble count ; 
 
ACT V.—SCENE I. 
 
 lOo 
 
 All the occurrcnco of my fortune since 
 Hath been between this lady ant) this lord. 
 
 Seh. So comes it, lady, )"ou have been mistook: 
 
 [7'i) Olivia. 
 }Uit nature to her bias drew in that. 
 You would have been coiilracted to a maid; 
 Nor are vo» therein, by my life, doceiv'd. 
 You are Ix'troth'd botli to a maid and n\an. 
 
 Diikf. lie not amaz'd ; right noble is bis blood. — 
 If ibis be so, as yet the glass -seems true, 
 1 shall have share in this most happv wreck : 
 Hoy, thou hast said to n>e a thousand times, [To Vio. 
 'I'liou never should'st love woman like to me. 
 
 I'lii. And all those sayings will I over-swear ; 
 -And all those swearings keep as true in soul, 
 As doth that orbed continent tlie tiro 
 1'hat severs day from night. 
 
 Dukf, Give me thy hand ; 
 
 And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds. 
 
 I'lii. The captain, thai ilid brins; me tirst on shore, 
 llalh my maid s garments : he ui>on some action. 
 Is now in durance : at Maholio's suit. 
 A gt>nth'nian. and follower of my lady's. 
 
 Oil. He shall enlarge him: — Ketch Malvolio 
 .\nd yet, alas, now 1 remember me, [hither : — 
 
 They say, poor gentleman, he's much disti'acU 
 
 flf-cnter Clown, >r!th <i letter, 
 
 A most extracting frenry of mine own 
 
 From mv rt'meuibi-ance clearly banish 'd his. — 
 
 How does he. sirrah ? 
 
 Clo. Trulv . madam , he holds llehcbubat the stave's 
 end, as well as a man in his case may do : he has hci"e 
 w rit a letter to yovi, 1 should have given it to you to- 
 dav morning ; bvit as a madman's episllcs are no gos- 
 pels, so it skills not much, when tliey are delivered. 
 
 on. Open it, and read it. 
 
 CVn. look llien 10 be well edified, when the fool 
 delivei'sthe madman: — My f/f<t /.<ird, imuiam, — 
 
 Oti. How now ! art thou mad 1 
 
 Cto. No madam, 1 do but read madness : an your 
 ladvship will have it as it ought to be, you must 
 allow n>,r. 
 
 Oil. Pr'ythce, read i'tliy right wits. 
 
 ("/.'. So 1 do, madonna ; but to tfad his right wits, 
 is to read thus : therefore iwrpcnd, my princess, and 
 give car. 
 
 Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To F.tmAN. 
 
 Ftib, [reads.] By the Lord, madam, yoii wrong mt^ 
 o»d the world shall know it : though vou have put me 
 into darkncis, and given your drunken ctmsin rate over 
 me, ftet htiM I the henefit of mv senses as well as vour 
 ladtiship, I have uour own letter that induced me to 
 the sfmblanct! I put on ; with tha tvhieh 1 donht not but 
 to do myself much right, or you much shame. Think 
 of me as you pUase. J leave my duty a little unthaught 
 cj\ and speak out of my injury. 
 
 The madlii-ustd Malvolio. 
 
 Oli. Did he write tliis 1 
 
 Cla. Ay. madam. 
 
 ]~)uke. This savours not much of distraction. 
 
 Oti. See him delivered, Fabiau ; brin^ liim hither. 
 
 [_K.iit Fahian. 
 IMy lord, so pleiise you, these things further thought 
 •J'o think mc as well a slsier as a wife, [on. 
 
 One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you. 
 Here at my house, and at my proper cost. 
 
 Duke. Madam, 1 am most apt to embrace your 
 offer. — [service done nim. 
 
 Your master quits you ; [To Vioi.a.] and, for your 
 Po much Hgalust the mettle of your sex, 
 £u fur beneatli your soft oud tender breeding, 
 
 .\nd since you call'd me master for so long. 
 Here is my hand ; you shall from tliis time be 
 Your master's mistress. 
 <-"i. A sister? — you are she. 
 
 Re-ti>ter Fabian, with Malvolio* 
 
 Duke. Is this tlie madman 1 
 
 Oli. Ay, my loiil, this same : 
 
 How now, Malvolio 1 
 
 -^f"'. Aladam, you have done nie wrong. 
 
 Notorious wrong. 
 
 <■"'• Havel, JIalvoliol f . 
 
 Mill. Lady, you ha\ e. Pray yon, peruse t" t letter: 
 You must not now deny it is "your hand. 
 Write from it. if you can. in hand, or phrase ; 
 Or s.ay, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention : ' 
 \ou can say none of this : \\ell. grant it then, 
 .\nd tell me. in the modesty of honour. 
 Why you have given me such clear lights of favour; 
 liade me come smiling, and cross-gartered to you. 
 I'o put on yellow stockings, and to frown 
 Ipon sir Tobv, and the lighter people : 
 -Vnd. acting tiiis in an obedient hope, 
 W by h.ave von suO'er'd me to be imprison'd. 
 Kept in a dark house, visited by tlie priest, 
 -■Vnd made the most notorious geek, and unll. 
 That e'er invenlion pUiy'd on ! tell mc why. 
 
 Oli, .4las, IMalvolio, this is not my writing. 
 Though, 1 confess, much like ilio character: 
 lUil, out of question, 'tis Maria's hand. 
 .\nd now 1 do bolhink me. it was she 
 .First told me, thou wast mad ; thou cam'st in smiling. 
 And in such forms which here wore presuppos'd 
 Upon thoc in the Idler. Pr'ythce. be content: 
 This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee: 
 Uut. when we know the grounds and authors of it, 
 Tluni shall be both the p^aintilf and the judge 
 Of thine own cause. 
 
 I'ab. Good madam, hear me spctk ; 
 
 -\nd let no quarrel, nor no brawl to coma. 
 Taint the condition of this present hour. 
 Which 1 ha\e wonder'd at. In hope it shall not. 
 Most freely I confess, mvself. and Toby, 
 Set this device against Malvolio here, 
 I'pon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
 ^\ e hail conceived against him : Maria Avrit 
 The letter, at sir Toby's great importance ; 
 In recompense wheri'of, he hath married her. 
 How with a sportful malice it was follow'd, 
 Mav rather pluck on laughter than revenge ; 
 If tliat the injuries be justly wcigh'd. 
 That have on both sides past. 
 
 (Vi. .-Mas, poor fool ! how have they baffled thee! 
 
 i'to. \\ by, some are horn great, some achievt great. 
 ness, and some have gre^itncss thrown upon them, 1 was 
 one, sir, in this interlude ; one sir Topas, sir ; but 
 that's all one : — Hi/ the l.ord,fihd, I am not mad : — 
 Put do you remember ? ill<icl<ii)i, why Uiugh you at 
 such a barren rascal? an you smile not, he's gagg'd : 
 .\nd thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. 
 
 Mai, I'll bo revenged on the whole pack of vou. 
 
 (liril. 
 
 Oli, He hath been most notoriously abus'd. 
 
 Ihike. Purs\ie him, and enlivat him to a peace : — 
 lie bath not told us of the captain yet ; 
 Wheii that is know n and golden time convents, 
 .\ solemn combination shall be mado 
 Of our dear souls — Mean lime, sweet sister. 
 We will not part iVoin hence. — t'esario, come ; 
 For so you shall be. wlnle you are a man; 
 Put, when in oilier habits vou are seen, 
 Orsino's misu-ess, and his ftacy's queen. [Ej-cmrt 
 
106 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 do. When that J ivai and a little tinu hou, 
 With heu, ho, the uind and the ruin^ 
 Ajoolhh thing was but a toif, 
 Fo7- the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when f came to man's estate, 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 ^Gainst knave and thiej men shut their gate, 
 For the rain it raineth every day, 
 
 BiUwhen I came, alas ! to wive. 
 
 With hey, ho, the wmd and the rain, 
 
 By swaggering could I never thrive, 
 For the rai7i it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came unto my bed. 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 With tois-pots still had drunken head. 
 For the rain it raineth every day, 
 
 A great while ago the world begun, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 But that's all one, our play is done, 
 
 And we'll strive to please you every daii. 
 
 [Exit 
 
 This play is in the graver part elegant and easy, and in some | comic ; he is betrayed to ridicule merely by his pride. The 
 of the lighter scenes exiimsitely humorous. Ague-cheek is I marriage of Olivia, and the sucfecding perplexity, though well 
 drawn with great propriety, but his character is, in a great i enough contrived to divert on the stage, wHiits credibility, mid 
 measure, that of ontural fatuity, and is therefore not the fails to i)ro(luce the proper instruction r*^quired in the drama 
 proper prey of a satirist. The soliloquy of Malvolio is truly as it exhibits no just picture of life.— Johnson. 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 This play was not printed till 1623.— Jlr. M alone supposes it to j 
 have bten written in Itio:!. 
 
 The plot is found in Cintliio's Novels. Decade. Novel 5 —But 
 fehakspearetook the subject of his drama from an old play call- 
 ed Promos and Cassandra, written by George Whetstone, and 
 published in 1578.— 
 
 A hint, like a seed, is more or less nrolitic, according to the 
 qualities of the soil od which it is thrown. The story, which 
 
 in the hands of Whetstone produced little more than barren 
 insipidity, under the culture of >>haksueare became fertile of 
 enieriainmeDt. 1 he curious reader will find that the old play 
 of Piojnos aiidCasiandia, exhibits an almost complete embryo 
 of AJeasure /or Meaiure ; yet the hints oii which it is formed 
 are so slight, that it is nearly as impassible to detect them, 
 as it is to point out iu the acorn the future ramilicaiious of 
 the oak.— Malone. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 VicF.NTio, Duke of Vienna. 
 
 Anollo, lord deputy in the Duke's absence, 
 
 EscALUS, an ancient lord, joined ivith Angelo in the 
 
 deputation, 
 Ci.AUDio, a youn^ gentleman. 
 Li'Cio, a fantastic. 
 Two other like gentlemen. 
 V.innii'S, a gentleman, servn)it to the Duke. 
 Provost. 
 
 Thomas, Peter, two friars. 
 A Justice. 
 
 Ei.now, a simple constable. 
 Froth, a foolish gentleman. 
 Clown, servant to Mrs, Over-done. 
 AsHonsoN, an eiecutioner. 
 Barnardine, a dissolute prisoner, 
 
 Isabella, sister to Ciaudio. 
 Mariana, betrothed to Angelo. 
 Juliet, beloved by Claudio. 
 Francisca, a nun. 
 Mistress Over-done, o hatvd. 
 
 Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, Officers, and other 
 Attendants. 
 
 SCENE,— Vienna. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace, 
 Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. Escalus, — 
 
 Escal. My lord. 
 
 Duke. Of government the properties to unfold. 
 Would seem in me to affect speech and discourse ; 
 Since I am put to know, that your own science 
 
 Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
 I\Iy strength can give you : Then no more remains 
 But that to your sufticiency, as your worth is able. 
 And let them work. The nature of our people. 
 Our city's institutions, and the terms 
 For common justice, you are as pregnant in. 
 As art and practice hath enriched any 
 That we remember : There is our commission. 
 From which we would not have you warp. — CaU 
 I say, bid come before us Angelo. — [hitheij 
 
 [Eiit an Attendant. 
 What figure of us think you he will bear? 
 For you must know, we have with special soul 
 Elected him our absence to supply ; 
 Lent him our terror, drest liim with our love; 
 And given his deputation all the organs 
 Of our own power : What think you of it? 
 
 Escal. If any in Vienna be of worth 
 To undergo such ample grace and honoui. 
 It is lord Angelo. 
 
 Enter Anoelo. 
 
 Duke. Look, where he comes. 
 
 Ang, Always obedient to your grace's will, 
 I come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Duke. Angelo, 
 
 There is a kind of character in thy life. 
 That, to the observer, doth thy history 
 Fully unfold : Thyself and thy belongings 
 Are not thine own so proper, as to waste 
 Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. 
 Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do; 
 Not light them for tliemselves : for if our virtues 
 Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
 As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely tbuch'di, 
 But to fine issues : nor nature never lends 
 The smallest scruple of her excellence. 
 But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
 Herself the glory of a creditor, 
 Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speoch 
 
ACT I.— SCENE II. 
 
 107 
 
 To one that can my part in him advertise ; 
 
 Hold therefore, Angelo ; 
 
 In our remove, be thou at full ourself : 
 
 Mortality and mercy in Vienna 
 
 Live in thy tongue and heart: Old Escalus, 
 
 Though first in question, is thy secondary : 
 
 lake thy commission. 
 
 An^. Now, good my lord, 
 
 Let there be some more test made of my metal. 
 Before so noble and so great a figure 
 Be stamp'd upon it. 
 
 Duke. No more evasion : 
 
 We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice 
 Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honours. 
 Our haste from hence is of so quick condition, 
 That it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd 
 Matters of needful value. We shall write to you. 
 As time and our concemings shall imp6rtune, 
 How it goes with us; and do look to know 
 What doth befall you here. So, fare you well: 
 To the hopeful execution do 1 leave you 
 Of your commissions. 
 
 Aug. Yet, give leave, my lord, 
 
 That we may bring you something on the way. 
 
 Duke. JMy haste may not admit it ; 
 Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do 
 With any scruple: your scope is as mine own : 
 So to enforce, or qualify the laws 
 As to your soul seems good. Give me your hand ; 
 rU privily away: I love the people, 
 But do not like to stage me to their eyes : 
 Though it do well, I do not relish well 
 Their loud applause, and aves vehement : 
 Nor do I think the man of safe discretion, 
 Tiiat does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 
 
 Aug. The heavens give safety to your purposes ! 
 
 Escai. Lead forth, andj)ring you back in happiness, 
 
 Duke. I thank you: Fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 Escal. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave 
 To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me 
 To look into the bottom of my place : 
 A power 1 have ; but of what strength and nature 
 I am not yet instructed. 
 
 Aug. 'T-s so with me: — Let us withdraw together, 
 And we may soon our satisfaction have 
 Touching that point. 
 
 EscaL I'll wait upon your honour. 
 
 [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Street. 
 
 ♦ Enter Lucio and two Gentlemen. 
 
 Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come not 
 to composition with the king of Hungary, why, then 
 all the dukes fall upon the king. 
 
 1 Geut. Heaven grant us its peace, but not the 
 king of Hungary's! 
 
 'i Gent. Amen. 
 
 Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious 
 pirate, that went to sea with the ten commandments, 
 but <icraped one out oi" the table. 
 
 i! Gent. Thou shalt not steal? 
 
 Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 
 
 1 Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to command 
 tJie captain and all the rest from their functions ; 
 tliey put forth to steal : There's not a soldier of us 
 all. that, in the thanksgiving before meat, doth relish 
 the petition well that prays for peace. 
 
 S Gent. I never heard any soldier dislike it. 
 Lucio. I believe thee ; for, 1 think, thou never 
 wast where grace was said. 
 
 2 Gent. No? a dozen times at least. 
 1 dent* Whatl in metre ^ 
 
 Lucio. In any proportion, or in any language. 
 
 1 Gent. I think, or in any religion, 
 
 Lucio. Ay! why not? Grace is grace, despite of all 
 controversy : As for example; Thou thyself art a 
 wicked villain, despite of all grace. 
 
 1 Gent. Well, there went but a pair of sheers be- 
 tween us. 
 
 Lucio. I grant; as there may between the lists and 
 the velvet : Tliou art the list. 
 
 1 Gent. And tliou the velvet : thou art good velvet; 
 thou art a three-pii'd piece, 1 warrant thee : 1 had as 
 lief be a list of an I-^nglish kersey, as be pil'd as thou 
 art pil'd, for a French velvet. Do 1 speak feelingly 
 now ? 
 
 Lucio. I think thou dost; and, indeed, with most 
 painful feelmg of thy speech : I will, out of thine 
 own confession, learn to begin tliy health ; but whilst 
 I live, forget to drink after thee. 
 
 1 Gent. I think, I have done myself wroug ; have 
 I not? 
 
 SJ Gent. Yes, that thou hast ; whether thou art 
 tainted, or free. 
 
 Lurio. Behold, behold, where madam Mitigation 
 comes ! I have purchased as many diseases under 
 lier roof, as come to — 
 
 2 Gent. To what, I pray 1 
 
 1 Gent. Judge. 
 
 2 Gent. To tiiree thousand dollars a year. 
 1 Gent. Ay, and more. 
 
 Lucio. A French crown more. 
 
 1 Gent* Thou art always figuring diseases in me : 
 but thou art full of error ; I am sound. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, not as one would say, healthy; but 
 so sound, as things that are hollow: thy bones are 
 hollow : impiety has made a feast of thee. 
 
 Enter Bawd. 
 
 ] Gent. How now? Which of your hips has the 
 most profound sciatica? 
 
 Baud. Well, well ; there's one yonder arrested, and 
 carried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all. 
 
 1 Gent. Who's that, I pray thee ? 
 
 Baud. ]\larry, sir, that's Claudio, signior Claudio. 
 
 1 Gent. Claudio to prison! 'tis not so. 
 
 Bawd. Nay, but I know, 'tis so : I saw him arrest- 
 ed ; saw him carried away ; and, which is moie, with- 
 in these three days his head's to be f hopped ofT. 
 
 Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would not have 
 it so : Art thou sure of this? 
 
 Baud. I am too sure of it: and it is for getting 
 madam Julietta with child. 
 
 Lncio. Believe me, this may be: he promised to 
 meet me two hours since ; and he was ever precise 
 in promise-keeping. 
 
 ^2 Gent, Besides, you know, it draws something 
 near to the speech we had to such a purpose. 
 
 1 Gent. Butmost of all, agreeing with the procla- 
 mation. 
 
 Lucio. Away ; let's go learn the truth of it. 
 
 [Eieunt Lvcio and Gentlemen. 
 
 Bawd. Thus, what with the war, what with the 
 sweat, what with the gallows, and what with poverty, 
 1 am custom-shrunk. How now ? what's the news 
 with you ? 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo, Yonder man is carried to prison, 
 
 Biiwd. Well ; what has he done ? 
 
 Clo. A woman. 
 
 Bawd. But what's his offence ? 
 
 Clo. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. 
 
 Bawd. What, is there a maia with child by him ? 
 
 Clo. No ; but there's a woman with maid by him ; 
 
108 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 You have not heard of the proclamation, have you? 
 
 Bawd. What proclamation, man? 
 
 do. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be 
 pluck'd down. 
 
 Baud. And what shall become of those in the city ? 
 
 Clo. They shall stand for seed : they had goue 
 down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. 
 
 Bawd. But shall all our houses of resort iu the 
 suburbs be puU'd down ? 
 
 Clo. To the ground, mistress. 
 
 Bawd. Why, here 's a change, indeed, in the com- 
 monwealth ! What shall become of me 1 
 
 Cln. Come ; fear not you ; good counsellors lack 
 no clients: though you change your place, you need 
 not change your trade ; I '11 be your tapster still. 
 Courage ; there will be pity taken on you : you that 
 have worn your eyes almost out in the service, you 
 will be considered. 
 
 Baud. What's to do here, Thomas Tapster? Let's 
 withdraw. 
 
 Clo. Here comes signior Claudlo, led by the pro- 
 vost to prison : and there 's madam Juliet. [Kieunt., 
 
 SCENE III.— r/ie same. 
 
 Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers ; 
 Lrcio and tivo Gentlemen. 
 
 Claud. Fellow, why dost thou shew me thus to the 
 Bear me to prison where I am committed, [world I 
 
 Pro. I do it not in evil disposition, 
 But from lord Angelo by special charge. 
 
 Claud. Thus can the demi-god, Authority, 
 Make us pay down for our offence by weight. — 
 The words of heaven ; — on whom it will, it will ; 
 On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just. 
 
 Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio ? whence comes 
 this restraint 1 
 
 Claud. From loo much liberty, my Lucio, liberty: 
 As surfeit is the father of much fast, 
 So every scope by the immoderate use, 
 Turns to restraint: Our natures do pursue, 
 (Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,) 
 A thirsty evil, and when we drink, we die. 
 
 Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest, 
 I would send for certain of my creditors : And yet, 
 to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of 
 freedom, as the morality of imprisonment. — What's 
 thy offence. Claudio ? 
 
 Claud. What, but to speak of would offend again. 
 
 Lticio. What is it? murder? 
 
 Claud. No. 
 
 Lucio. Lechery? 
 
 Claud. Call it so. 
 
 Prov. Away, sir; you must go. 
 
 Claud. One word, good friend: — Lucio, a word 
 with you. [Takes him aside. 
 
 Lucio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good. — 
 Is lechery so look'd after? 
 
 Claud. Thus stands it with rae : — Upon a truecon- 
 I got possession of Julietta's bed ; [triict, 
 
 You know the lady ; she is fast my wife, 
 Save that we do the denunciation lack 
 Of outward order : this we came not to. 
 Only for propagation of a dower 
 Remaining in the coffer of her friends ; 
 From whom we thought it meet to hide our love. 
 Till time had made them for us. But it chances. 
 The stealth of our most mutual entertainment. 
 With characters too gross, is writ on Juliet. 
 
 Lucio. With child, perhaps? 
 
 Claud. Unhappily, even so. 
 And the new deputy now for the duke, — 
 Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness j 
 
 Or whether that the body public be 
 
 A horse whereon the governor doth ride, 
 
 Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 
 
 He can command, lets it straight feel the spur ; 
 
 Whether the tyranny be in his place, 
 
 Or in his eminence that fills it up, 
 
 1 stagger in: — But this new governor 
 
 AwaJves me all the enroll'd penalties. 
 
 Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall 
 
 So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round, 
 
 And none of them been worn ; and, for a name, 
 
 Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 
 
 Freshly on me : — 'tis surely, for a name. 
 
 Lucio. I warrant, it is; and thy head stands so 
 tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be 
 in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and ap- 
 peal to him. 
 
 Claud. 1 have done so, but he's not to be found. 
 I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service ; 
 This day my sister should the cloister enter. 
 And there receive her approbation : 
 Acquaint her with the danger of my state ; 
 Implore her in my voice, that she make friends 
 To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him ; 
 I have great hope in that: for in her youth 
 There is a prone aud speechless dialect. 
 Such as moves men ; beside, she hath prosperous art 
 When she will play with reason aud discourse. 
 And well she can persuade. 
 
 Lucio. I pray, she may: as well for the encou- . 
 ragement of the like, which el&e would stand under 
 grievous imposition •, as for the enjoying of thy life, 
 who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost 
 at a game of tick-tack. I Tl to her. 
 
 Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 
 
 Lucio, Within two hours, 
 
 Claud. Come, officer, away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Mmastei-y, 
 Enter Duke and Friar Thomas. 
 
 Duke. No ; holy father ; throw away that thought ; 
 Believe not that the dribbling dart of love 
 Can pierce a complete bosom : why I desire thee 
 To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose 
 More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends 
 Of burning youth. 
 
 Fri. ^lay your grace speak of it? 
 
 Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you 
 How 1 have ever lov'd the life removed ; 
 And held in idle price to haunt as'^emblies, 
 AVhere youth, and costs, and witless bravery keej^. 
 I have deliver'd to lord Angelo 
 (A man of stricture, and firm abstinence,) 
 My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
 And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ; 
 For so I have strew'd it in the common ear. 
 And so it is receiv'd: Now, pious sir, 
 You will demand of me, why 1 do tiiis 1 
 
 Fri. Gladly, my lord. 
 
 Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting laws, 
 (The needful bits and curbs for head-strong steeds,) 
 Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep j 
 Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, 
 That goes not out to prey : Now, as fond fathers 
 Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch. 
 Only to stick it in their children's sight. 
 For terror, not to use \ in time the rod 
 Becomes more raock'd, than fear'd : so our decrees. 
 Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
 And liberty plucks justice by the nose, 
 The baby beats the nurse, and t^uite athwart 
 Goes all decorum. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 109 
 
 Fii. It rested in your grace 
 
 To unloose this tied-up justice, when you pleas'd : 
 And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd. 
 Than in lord Angelo. 
 
 Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : 
 
 Sith 'twas my fault to give the people scope, 
 'Twould be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
 For what I bid them do ; For we bid this be done, 
 ■When evil deeds have their pennissive pass. 
 And not tlie punishment. Therefore, indeed, my 
 I have on Angelo impos'd the office; [father, 
 
 Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home. 
 And yet my nature never in the sight. 
 To do it slander : And to behold his sway, 
 I will, as 'twere a brother of your order, 
 Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ythee, 
 Supply me with the habit, and instruct me 
 How 1 may formally in person bear me 
 Like a true friar. iNIore reasons for this action. 
 At our more leisure shall 1 render you ; 
 Only, this one : — Lord Angelo is precise ; 
 Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 
 That his blood Hows, or that his appetite 
 Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see, 
 If power change purpose, what our seemers be. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE v.— A Numiery. 
 Enter Isabella and Fbancisca. 
 
 Jsab, And have you nuns no further privileges t 
 
 Frun. Are not these large enough \ 
 
 Isab. Yes, truly; I speak not as desiring more ; 
 But rather wishing a more strict restraint 
 Upon the sister-hood, the votarists of saint Clare. 
 
 Lucio, Ho! Peace be in this place ! [Within. 
 
 Isab. Who 's that which calls ! 
 
 Fran. It is a man's voice : Gentle Isabella, 
 Turn you the key, and know his business of him j 
 You may, I may not ; you are yet unsworn : 
 When you have vow'd, you must not speak with men. 
 But in the presence of the prioress : 
 Then, if you speak, you must not shew your face : 
 Or, if you shew your face, you must not speak. 
 He calls again ; I pray you answer him. 
 
 [Exit Francisca. 
 
 hub. Peace and prosperity ! Who is't that calls : 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Lucio, Hail, virgin, if you be ; as those cheek-roses 
 Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead me, 
 As bring me to the sight of Isabella, 
 A novice of this place, and the fair sister 
 To her unhappy brothei Claudio ? 
 
 Isab. Why her unhappy brother ? let me ask ; 
 The rather, for I now must make you know 
 I am that Isabella, and his sister. [you : 
 
 Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets 
 Not to be weary with you, he 's in prison. 
 
 hab. Woe me! For what] 
 
 Lucio. For that, which if myself might be hisjudge, 
 He should receive his punishment in thanks : 
 He hath got his friend with child. 
 
 Isab. Sir, make me not your story. 
 
 Lucio. It is true. 
 
 I would not — though 'tis my familiar sin 
 AVilh maids to seem the lapsing, and to jest. 
 Tongue far from heart, — play with all virgins so: 
 I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted ; 
 By your renouncement, an immortal spirit ; 
 And to be talk'd with in sincerity. 
 As with a saint. 
 
 hub. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me. 
 
 Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth, 'tis thus : 
 
 Y'our brother and his lover have embrac'd : 
 As those that feed grow full; as blossonung time. 
 That from the seedness the bare fallow brings 
 To teeming foison ; even so her plenteous womb 
 Expresseth his full tilth and husbandrj-. 
 
 Isab. Some one with child by him? — My cousin 
 
 Lucio. Is she your cousin? [Juliet? 
 
 Isah. Adoptedly ; as school-maids change their 
 By vain thought apt affection. [names, 
 
 Luc.ci. She it is. 
 
 hab. O, let him marry her ! 
 
 Lucio. This is the point. 
 
 The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 
 Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 
 In hand, and hope of action : but we do learn 
 By those that know the very nerves of slate, 
 His givings out were of an infinite distance 
 From his true-meant design. Upon his place, 
 And with full line of his authority. 
 Governs lord .\ngelo ; a man, whose blood 
 Is very snow-brotli ; one who never feels 
 The wanton stings and motions of the sense ; 
 But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 
 With profits of the mind, study and fast. 
 He (to give fear to use and liberty. 
 Which have, for long, run by the hideous law, 
 As mice by lions,) hath pick'd out an act. 
 Under whose heavy sense your brotlier's life 
 Falls into forfeit: he arrests liim on it; 
 And follows close the rigour of the statute 
 To make him an example ; all hope is gone. 
 Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
 To soften Angelo : And that 's my pith 
 Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother. 
 
 hub. Doth he so seek his life? 
 
 Lucio. Has censur'd him 
 
 Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
 A warrant for his execution. 
 
 Isub. Alas! what poor ability's in me 
 To do him good? 
 
 Lucio. Assay the power you have. 
 
 hab. My power ! Alas ! I doubt, — 
 
 Lucio. Our doubts are traitors. 
 
 And make us lose the good we oft might win. 
 By fearing to attempt: Go to lord .\ngelo. 
 And let iiim learn to know, when maidens sue, 
 jMen give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel. 
 All their petitions are as freely theirs 
 As they themselves would owe them. 
 
 hab. I'll see what I can do. 
 
 Lucio. But, speedily 
 
 hab. I will about it straight ; 
 No longer staying but to give tlie mother 
 Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you : 
 Commend me to my brother : soon at night 
 I '11 send him certain word of my success. 
 
 Lucio. I take my leave of you. 
 
 hab. Good sir, adieu. [EieimS 
 
 ACT IL 
 
 SCENE I.— .1 Hall in Angelo's House. 
 
 Enter Angelo, Escalus, a Justice, Provost, 
 Officers, and other Attendants. 
 
 Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of tiie law 
 Setting it up to fear the birds of prey. 
 And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
 Their perch, and not their terror. 
 
 Escal. Ay, but yet 
 
 Let us be keen, and rather cut a little. 
 
110 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Than fall, anil bruise todealh: Alas! this gentleman, 
 
 Whom I would save, had a most noble father. 
 
 Let but your honour know, 
 
 ( Whom I believe to be most strait in virtve.) 
 
 That, in the working of your own affections. 
 
 Had time coher'd with place, or ]dace with wishing, 
 
 Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
 
 Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose. 
 
 Whether you had not sometime in your life 
 
 Krr'd in this point which now you censure him, 
 
 And puU'd the law upon you. 
 
 Aiif^. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
 Anotiier thing to fall. I not deny, 
 The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, 
 May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two 
 Guiltier than him they try: What's open made to 
 Tliat justice seizes. What know the laws, [justice, 
 J'hat thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very pregnant. 
 The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it. 
 Because we see it ; but what vse do not see, 
 ^Ve tread upon, and never think of it. 
 You may not so extenuate his offence. 
 For I have had such faults ; but rather tell me, 
 When I, that censure him, do so offend. 
 Let mine own judgment pattern out my death. 
 And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die. 
 
 Kscal. Be it as your wisdom will. 
 
 Aug. Where is the provost 7 
 
 Prov. Here, if it like your honour. 
 
 Ang. See that Claudio, 
 
 Be executed by nine to-morrow morning: 
 Bring him his confessor, let him be prepar'd ; 
 For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. 
 
 \_Exit Provost. 
 
 Escal. Well, heaven forgive him ! and forgive us 
 Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : [all I 
 
 Some run from brakes of vice, and answer none ; 
 And some condemned for a fault alone. 
 
 Enter Elbow, FnoTH, Clown, Officers, ^c. 
 
 Eth. Come, bring them away: if these be good 
 people in a common- weal, that do nothing but use 
 their abuses in common houses, I know no law ; bring 
 them away. 
 
 Aug. How now, sir! What's your name? and 
 what 's the matter 1 
 
 Elb. If it please your honour, I am the poor duke's 
 constable, and my name is Elbow ; I do lean upon 
 justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good 
 honour two notorious benefactors. 
 
 Aug. Benefactors'! Well; what benefactors are 
 they! are they not malefactors ? 
 
 Elb. If it please your honour, I know not well 
 what they are : but precise villains they are, that I 
 am sure of ; and void of all profanation in the world, 
 that good Christians ought to have. 
 
 Escal. This comes off well ; here 's a wise officer. 
 
 Ang. Goto: What quality are they of ! Elbow is 
 your name'! Why dost thou not speak. Elbow] 
 
 Cln. He cannot, sir; he's out at elbow. 
 
 Ang. What are you, sir 1 
 
 Elb. He, sir! a tapster, sir; parcel- bawd ; one 
 that serves a bad woman ; whose house, sir, was, as 
 they say, pluck'd down in the suburbs ; and now 
 she professes a hot-house, which, I think, is a very 
 ill house too. 
 
 Escal. How know you thatl 
 
 Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before heaven 
 and your honour, — 
 
 Escal. How! thy wife? 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir ; whom, I thank heaven, is an honest 
 woman, — 
 
 Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore ? 
 
 Elb. I say, sir, I will detest myself also, as weH 
 as she, that this house, if it be not a bawd's house, 
 it is pity of her life, for it is a naughty house. 
 
 EscuL How dost thou know tiiat, constable? 
 
 Elb. I\Iarry, sir, by my wife ; who. if she had been 
 a woman cardinally given, might have been accused 
 in fornication, adultery, and all uncleanliness there. 
 
 Escal. By the woman's means ^ 
 
 Elb. Ay, sir, by mistress Overdone's means : but 
 as she spit in his face, so she dehed him. 
 
 Cln. Sir, if it please your honour, this is not so. 
 
 Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, thou ho- 
 nourable man, prove it. 
 
 Escal. Do you hear how he misplaces ? 
 
 [To AxGELO, 
 
 Clo. Sir, she came in great with child ; and long- 
 ing (saving your honour's reverence,) for stew'd 
 prunes ; sir, we had but two in the house, which at 
 tliat very distant time stood, as it were, in a fruit- 
 dish, a dish of some three-pence; your honours have 
 seen such dishes ; they are not China dishes, but 
 very good dishes. 
 
 Escal. Go to, go to ; no matter for the dish, sir. 
 . Cln. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you are therein 
 in the right : but, to the point : As I say, this mis- 
 tress Elbow, being, as I say, with child, and being 
 great belly'd, and longing, as 1 said, for prunes ; and 
 having but two in the dish, as I said, master Froth 
 here, this very man, having eaten the rest, as I said, 
 and, as I say, paying for tiiem very honestly ; — for, 
 as you know, master Froth, I could not give you 
 three-pence again. 
 
 Frotb. No, indeed. 
 
 Clo. Very well: you being then, if you be remem- 
 ber'd, cracking the stones of the aforesaid prunes. 
 
 Froth. Ay, so I did, indeed. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well : I telling you then, if yon 
 be remcmber'd, that such a one, and such a one, were 
 past cure of the thing you wot of, unless they kept 
 very good diet, as I told you. 
 
 Froth. All this is ti^ue. 
 
 Clo. Why, veiy well then. 
 
 Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool : to the pur- 
 pose. — What was done to Elbow's wife, that he fiath 
 cause to complain of? Come we to what was done 
 to her. 
 
 Clo. Sir, your honour cannot come to that yet. 
 
 Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 
 
 Clo. Sir, but you shall come to it. by your honour's 
 leave: And, I beseech you, look into master Froth 
 here, sir ; a man of fourscore pound a pear ; whose 
 father died at Hallowmas: — Was't not at Hallow- 
 mas, master Froth ? 
 
 Froth. All-hallownd eve. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well ; I hope here be truths: He, 
 sir, sitting, as 1 say, in a lowtr chair, sir; — 'twas in 
 the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed, you have a de- 
 light to sit : Have you not ! 
 
 Froth. I have so; because it is an open room, and 
 good for winter. 
 
 Clo. Why, very well then ;— I hope here be truths. 
 
 Ang. This will last out a night in Russia, 
 When nights are longest there : I '11 take my leave, 
 And leave you the hearing of the cause ; 
 Hoping you '11 find good cause to whip them all. 
 
 Escal. 1 think no less: Good morrow to your lord- 
 ship. [Exit Anoelo. 
 Now, sir, come on : Whatwasdone to Elbow's wife, 
 once more ? 
 
 Clo. Once, sir? there was nothing done to her 
 once. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 Ill 
 
 El&i I beseech you, sir, ask Ijim what this man 
 dill to iriy wife. 
 
 Clo. I beseech your honour, ask me. 
 
 Escal. Well, sir: what did this gentleman to her 1 
 
 Ch, I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman's 
 face ; — Good master Froth, look upon his honour ; 'lis 
 lor a good purpose : Doth your honour mark his face ] 
 
 Escul. Ay, sir, very well. 
 
 Clo. Nay, I beseecli you mark it well. 
 
 Escal. Well. I do so. 
 
 Via. Doth your honour see any harm in his face T 
 
 Escal. Why, no. 
 
 Clo. I '11 be suppos'd upon a book, his face is the 
 worst thing about him : Good then ; if his face be 
 tlie worst thing about him, how could master Froth 
 do the constable's wife any haim 1 1 would know that 
 of your honour. 
 
 Eicat. He's in the ri;rht : Constable, what say 
 you to it ? 
 
 Eth. First, an it like you, the house is a respected 
 house; next, this is a respected fellow ; and his mis- 
 tress is a respected woman. 
 
 Clo. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected 
 woman than any of us all. 
 
 E!-b. Varlet, thou liest ; thou liest, wicked varlet : 
 the time is yet to come, that she was ever respected, 
 with man, woman, or child. 
 
 Clo. Sir, she was respected with him before he 
 married with her. 
 
 I-^cal, Which is the wiser here? Justice, or Ini- 
 quity } — Is this true ! 
 
 i,76. Othouoaitift'! thou varlet! thou wicked 
 Hannibal ! I respected with her, before I was mar- 
 tied to her ? If ever I was respected with her, or she 
 with me, let not your worship think me the poor 
 duke's officer : — Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, 
 or I '11 have mine action of batterj' on thee. 
 
 Escal. If he took you a box o' th' ear, you might 
 have your action of slander too. 
 
 Elh. Marry, I thank your good worship for it : 
 What is't your worship's pleasure I should do witli 
 this wicked caitiff? 
 
 Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences 
 in him, that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, 
 let him continue in his courses, till thou know'st 
 what they are. 
 
 Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it : — Thou 
 seest, thou wicked varlet now, what's come upon 
 thee ; thou art to continue now, thou varlet ; thou 
 art to continue. 
 
 Escal. Where were you born friend 1 [To FnoxH. 
 
 Froth, Here in \''ienna, sir. 
 
 Escal, Are you of fourscore pounds a year ? 
 
 Froth, Yes, and 't please you, sir. 
 
 Escal, So, — What trade are you of, sir i. 
 
 [To the Clown. 
 
 Clo. A tapster ; a poor widow's tapster. 
 
 Escal. Your mistress's name ! 
 
 Clo, Mistress Over-done-. 
 
 Escal. Hath she had any more than one husband t 
 
 Clo, Nine, sir ; Over-done by the last. 
 
 Escal. Nine ! — Come hither to me, master Froth. 
 Master Froth, I wo\iM not have you acquainted with 
 tapsters : they will draw you, master Froth, and you 
 will hang them : Get you gone, and let me hear no 
 more of you. 
 
 Froth. I thank your worship; For mine own part, 
 I never come into any room in a taphouse, but I am 
 drawn in. 
 
 Escal. Well ; no more of it, master Froth : fare- 
 well. [Exit Froth.] — Come you hither to me, mas- 
 ter tapster ; what 's your name, master tapster 1 
 
 Clo, Pompey. 
 
 Escal. What else 1 
 
 Clo. Bum, sir. 
 
 Escal. 'Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing 
 about you ; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are 
 Pompey the great. Pompey, you are partly a baw<i, 
 Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapstei. 
 Are you not] come, tell me true ; it shall be the 
 better for you. 
 
 Clo. Truly, sir, 1 am a poor fellow, that would live. 
 
 Escal. How would you live, Pompey? by being a 
 bawd ? What do you think of the trade, Pompey ? 
 is it a lawful trade ! 
 
 Cli>. If the law would allow it, sir. 
 
 Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pompey : 
 nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna. 
 
 Clo. Does your worship mean to geld and spay all 
 the youth in "the city? 
 
 Escal, No, Pompey. 
 ■ Clo. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to't 
 then : If your worship will take order for the drabs 
 and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds. 
 
 Escal. There are pretty orders beginning, I can 
 tell you : It is but heading and hanging. 
 
 Clo. If you head and hang all that offend that 
 way but for ten year together, you'll be glad to give 
 out a commission for more heads. If this law iiold 
 in Vienna ten year, I'll rent the fairest house in it, 
 after three pence a bay : If you live to see this come 
 to pass, say, Pompey told you so. 
 
 Escal. Thank you, good Pompey: and, in re- 
 quital of your propliecy, hark you, — I advise you, 
 let me not find you before me again upon any com- 
 plaint whatsoever, no, not for dwelling where you 
 do : if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, 
 and prove a shrewd Caesar to you ; in plain dealing, 
 Pompey, I shall have you whipt : so for this time, 
 Pompey, fare you well. 
 
 Clo. I thank your worship for your good counsel ; 
 but I shall follow it, as the flesh and fortune shall 
 better determine. 
 
 Whip me? No, no ; let carman whip his jade ; 
 The valiant heart's not whipt out of his trade. [Eiit. 
 
 Escat. Come hither to me, master Elbow ; come 
 hither, master Constable. How long have you been 
 in this place of constable? 
 
 Elb. Seven year and a half, sir. 
 
 Escal, I thought, by your readiness in the office, 
 you had continued in it some time : You say, seven 
 years together ? 
 
 Elb. And a half, sir. 
 
 Escal. Alas ! it hath been great pains to you '. 
 They do you wrong to put you so oft upon 't ; Are 
 there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it ? 
 
 Elh. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters : 
 as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for 
 them ; I do it for some piece of money, and ^o 
 through with all. 
 
 Escal. Look you, bring me in the names of some 
 six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish. 
 
 Elb. To your worship's house, sir ? 
 
 Escal. To my house : Fare you well. [Eiit El- 
 Dow.] What 's o'clock, think you ? 
 
 Just, Eleven, sir. 
 
 Escal, I pray you home to dinner with me. 
 
 Just, I humbly thank you. 
 
 Escal, It grieves me for the death of Claudia ; i 
 But there's no remedy. 
 
 Just. Lord Angelo is severe. 
 
 Escal. It is but needful : 
 
 Mercy is not itself, that oft looks so ; 
 Pardon is still the nurse of second woe : 
 
112 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 But yet, — Poor Claudio ! — There's no remeily. 
 Come, sir. [K.rcu?i(. 
 
 SCENE 11. — Another Room in the'same. 
 Enter Provost and a Servant. 
 
 Serv. He 's hearing of a cause ; he will come 
 I'll tell him of you. [straight. 
 
 Prott. Pray you do. [Exit Servant.] I '11 know 
 His pleasure ; may be, he will relent: Alas, 
 He hath but as offended in a dream ! 
 All sects, all ages, smack of this vice ; and he 
 To die for it ! — 
 
 Eriter Anoelo. 
 
 Ang. Now, what 's the matter, provost ? 
 
 Prm. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-morrow 1 
 
 Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea ? hadst thou not 
 Why dost thou ask again I [order? 
 
 I'rov. Lest I might be too rash : 
 
 Under your good correction, I have seen. 
 When, after execution, judgment hath 
 Repented o'er his doom. 
 
 Ang. Go to ; let that be mine : 
 
 Do you your office, or give up your place, 
 Aud you shall well be spar'd. 
 
 Prov. I crave your honour's pardon. — 
 
 What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet ? 
 She 's very near her hour. 
 
 Ang. Dispose of her 
 
 To some more fitter place ; and that with speed. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Here is the sister of the man coudemn'd. 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Arig. Hath he a sister? 
 
 Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid, 
 And to be shortly of a sisterhood, 
 If not already. 
 
 Ang. Well, let her be admitted. [Exit Servant. 
 See you, the fornicatress be remov'd ; 
 Let her have needful, but not lavish means ; 
 There shall be order for it. 
 
 Enter Lucio and Isabella. 
 
 Prov. Save your honour ! [Ojfermg to retire. 
 
 Ang. Stay a little while. — [To Isab.] You are 
 welcome : What 's your will ? 
 
 Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, 
 Please but your honour hear me. 
 
 Ang. Well; what 's your suit ? 
 
 hah. There is a vice, that most I do abhor, 
 And most desire should meet the blow of justice ; 
 For which I would not plead, but that I must ; 
 For which I must not plead, but that I am 
 At war, 'twixt will, and will not. 
 
 Avg. Well; the matter? 
 
 Isab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die : 
 I do beseech you, let it be his fault. 
 And not my brother. 
 
 Prov. Heaven give thee moving graces ! 
 
 Ang. Condemn the fault, and not the actor of it 1 
 Why, every fault 's condemn'd, ere it be done : 
 Mine was the very cipher of a function. 
 To find the faults, whose fine stands in record. 
 And let go by the actor. 
 
 Isab. just, but severe law ! 
 
 1 had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honour ! 
 
 [Retiring. 
 
 Lucio. [Td Isab.] Give't not o'er so; to him 
 again, intreat him ; 
 Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown ; 
 You are too cold : if you should need a pin. 
 
 You could not with more tame a tongue desire it ; 
 To him, I say. 
 
 Isab. JIust he needs die? 
 
 Ang. Maiden, no remedy. 
 
 Isab. Yes ; I do think that you miglit pardon hini. 
 And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy. 
 
 Ang. I will not do't. 
 
 Isab. But can you, if you would ? 
 
 Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do. 
 
 Isab. But might you do 't, and do the world no 
 wrong. 
 If so your heart were touch'd with that remorse 
 As mine is to him? 
 
 Ang. He's sentenc'd; 'tis too late. 
 
 Lucio. You are too cold. [To Isabella. 
 
 Isab. Too late ? why, no ; I, that do speak a word. 
 May call it back again : Well, believe this. 
 No ceremony that to great ones 'longs. 
 Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword. 
 The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe. 
 Become them with one half so good a grace. 
 As mercy does. If he had been as you. 
 And you as he, you would have slipt like him ; 
 But he, like you, would not have been so stern. 
 
 Ang. Pray you, begone. 
 
 Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency. 
 And you were Isabel ? should it then be thus? 
 No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge, 
 And what a prisoner. 
 
 Lncio. Ay, touch him : there's the vein. [Aside. 
 
 Ang. Your brother is a forfeit of the law. 
 And you but waste your words. 
 
 Isab. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; 
 And He that might the vantage best have took. 
 Found out the remedy : How would you be. 
 If he, which is the top of judgment, should 
 But judge you as you are ? O, think on that ; 
 And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
 Like man new made. 
 
 Ajig, Be you content, fair maid ; 
 
 It is the law, not I, condemns your brother ; 
 Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son. 
 It should be thus with him ; — he must die to-morrow. 
 
 Isab. To-morrow? 0, that's sudden I Spare him, 
 spare him : 
 He's not prepar'd for death ! Even for our kitchens 
 We kill the fowl of season ; shall we serve heaven 
 With less respect than we- do minister [you : 
 
 To our gross selves ? Good, good my lord, bethink 
 Who is it that hath died for this offence ? 
 There's many have committed it. 
 
 Lucio. Ay, well said. 
 
 Ang. The law hath not been dead, though it hath 
 Those many had not dar'd to do that evil, [slept : 
 If the first man that did the edict infringe, 
 Had answer'd for his deed : now, 'tis awake ; 
 Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet. 
 Looks in a glass, that shews what future evils, 
 (Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd. 
 And so in progress to be hatch'd and born,) 
 Are now to have no successive degrees. 
 But, where they live, to end. 
 Isab. Yet shew some pity. 
 
 Ang. I shew it most of all, when I shew justice ; 
 For then I pity those I do not know. 
 Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall ; 
 And do him right, that, answering one foul wrong, 
 Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 
 Your brother dies to-morrow ; be content. 
 
 Isab. So you must be the first, that gives this sen- 
 And he, that suffers : 0, it is excellent [tence; 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 To hive a giant's strength ; but it is tj-rannous 
 To use it like a giant. 
 
 Lucio. That 's well said. 
 
 Isab. Could great men thunder 
 As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, 
 For everj' pelting, petty officer 
 Would use his heaven for thunder : nothino- but 
 
 Jlerciful heaven ! [thunder. 
 
 Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
 Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, 
 Tlian the soft myrtle ;— But man, ])roud man I 
 Drest in a little brief authority ; 
 Most ignorant of what he' s most assur'd, 
 His glassy essence.— like an angry ape, 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven. 
 As make the angels weep ; who, with our spleens. 
 Would all themselves laugh mortal. 
 
 Lucio. O, to him, to him, wench : he will relent ; 
 He 's coming, I perceive 't. 
 
 P>'ov- ^ Pray heaven, she win him ! 
 
 Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself : 
 Great men may jest with saints: 'tis wit in them ; 
 But, in the less, foul profanation. 
 
 Lucio. Thou 'rt in the right, girl ; more o' that. 
 Isab. That in the captain 's but a choleric word, 
 Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 
 Lucio. Art advis'd o' that 7 more on 't. 
 Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me? 
 Isab. Because authority, though it err like others, 
 Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself, 
 Tliat skins the vice o' the top : Go to your bosom ; 
 Knock there ; and ask your heart, what it doth know 
 That 's like my brother's fault : if it confess 
 A natural guiltiness, such as is his, 
 Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 
 Against my brother's life. 
 ■■i"g- [aside.] She speaks, and 'tis 
 
 Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Fare 
 
 Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back. [you well. 
 
 Ang. I will bethink me :— Come again to-morro\y. 
 Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you: Good my lord 
 .^n^. How! bribe me? [turnback! 
 
 Isab. Ay, with such gifts, that heaven shall share 
 Lucio. You had marr'd all else. [with you. 
 
 hab. Not with fond shekels of the tested gold, 
 Or stones, whose rates are either rich, or poor, 
 As fancy values them : but with true prayers, 
 That shall be up at heaven, and enter there, 
 Ere sun-rise : prayers from preserved souls. 
 From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate 
 To nothing temporal. 
 
 ■^"g- Well : come to me 
 
 To-morrow. 
 
 Lucio. Go to ; it is well ; away. [Aside to Isabel. 
 
 Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe ! 
 , ^^'S- Amen : for I 
 
 Am that way going to temptation, [Aside. 
 
 Vi here prayers cross. 
 
 ^^"^- At what hour to-morrow 
 
 Shall I attend your lordship 1 
 
 ^"S- At any time 'fore noon. 
 
 Isab. Save your honour ! 
 
 [Eieunt Lucio, Isabella, and Provost. 
 , -^"S- Prom thee ; even from thy virtue ! — 
 
 W hat's this ? what's this ? Is this her fault, or mine 1 
 The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most ? Ha ! 
 Not she ; nor doth she tempt : but it is I, 
 That lying by the violet, in the sun. 
 Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower. 
 Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be. 
 That modesty may more betray our sense [enough, 
 Ihan woman's lightness? Having waste ground 
 
 113 
 
 Shall we desire to raie the sanctuary, 
 And pitch our evils there ? O, fy, iy, fy I 
 What dost thou ? or what art thou, Angelo ? 
 Dost thou desire her foully, for those thiol's 
 That make her good ? O, 'let her brother ifve : 
 Thieves for their robbery have authority. 
 When judges steal themselves. What I do I love her, 
 That I desire to hear her speak again. 
 And feast upon her eyes ? What is 't I dream on ? 
 O cunning enemv, that to catch a saint. 
 With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dano-erous 
 Is that temptation, that doth goad us on " 
 To sin in loving virtue : nevel- could the strumpet, 
 \Vith all her double vigour, art, and nature. 
 Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
 Subdues me quite ; — Ever till now. 
 When men were fond, I smil'd and wonder'd how. 
 
 [Exit. 
 SCENE III. — A Tloom in a Prison. 
 Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost. 
 Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so, I think you are. 
 Prov. I am the provost: What's your w'lll, good 
 
 friar ? 
 Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order, 
 I come to visit the afflicted spirits 
 Here in the prison : do me the common right 
 To let me see them ; and to make me know 
 The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
 To them accordingly. 
 Prav. I would do more than that if more were needful. 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine, 
 Who falling in the flames of her own youth. 
 Hath blister'd her report : She is with child': 
 And he that got it, sentenc'd : a young man 
 More fit to do another such off'ence. 
 Than die for this. 
 Duke.- When must he die ? 
 
 Proti. As I do think, to-morrow. — 
 I have provided for you ; stay a while, [To Juliet. 
 And you shall be conducted. 
 
 Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry? 
 Juliet. I do ; and bear the shame most patiently. 
 Duke. I '11 teach you how you shall arraign your 
 And try your penitence, if it be sound, [conscience. 
 Or hollowly put on. 
 Juliet. I'll gladly learn. 
 
 Duke. Love you the man that wrono-'d vou ? 
 Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong 'd him. 
 Duke. So then, it seems, your most ofi"enceful act 
 was mutually committed ? 
 
 Juliet. Mutually. 
 
 Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his. 
 Juliet. I do con less it, and repent it, father. 
 Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : but lest you do 
 repent, 
 
 As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, 
 
 Which sorrowis always toward ourselves, nothea'ven • 
 Shewing, we 'd not spare heaven, as we love it. 
 But as we stand in fear, — 
 
 Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil ; 
 And take the shame with joy. 
 . Ouke. There rest. 
 
 Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow. 
 
 And I am going with instruction to him 
 
 Grace go with you ! Benedicite ! [Exit. 
 
 Juliet. Must die to-morrow! O, injurious love. 
 That respites me a life, whose very comfort 
 Is still a dying horror ! 
 
 Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt. 
 
 a 
 
114 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room in Angelo's Ilou$e. 
 
 Enter Angelo. 
 
 An^. When I would pray and think, I think and pray 
 To several subjects ; heaven hath my empty words: 
 Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, 
 Anchors on Isabel : Heaven in my mouth. 
 As if I did but only chew his name ; 
 And in ray heart, the strong and swelling evil 
 Of my conception : The state whereon I studied. 
 Is like a good thing, being often read. 
 Grown fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity. 
 Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride, 
 Could I, with boot, change for an idle plume, 
 Which the air beats for vane. O place ! O form ! 
 How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit. 
 Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls 
 To thy false seeming 1 Blood, thou still art blood : 
 Let's write good angel on the devil's horn, 
 'Tis not the devil's crest. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 How now, who's there'! 
 
 Serv. One Isabel, a sister. 
 
 Desires access to you. 
 
 Aug. Teach her the way. [Eiit Serv, 
 
 O heavens ! 
 
 Why does my blood thus muster to my heart : 
 Making both it unable for itself, 
 And dispossessing all the other parts 
 Of necessary fitness ? 
 
 So play tlie foolish throngs with one that swoons ; 
 Come all to help him, and so stop the air 
 By which he should revive : and even so 
 The general, subject to a well-wisb'd king. 
 Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness 
 Croud to his presence, where their untaught love 
 Must needs appear ofTence. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 How now, fair maid t 
 hab. I am come to know your pleasure. 
 
 Ang. That you might know it, would much better 
 please me, 
 Than to demand %vhat 'tis. Your brother cannot live. 
 hab. Even so ! — Heaven keep your honour ! 
 
 [^Retiring. 
 Ang. Yet may he live awhile ; and it may be. 
 As long as you, or I : yet he must die. 
 Jsab. Under your sentence 1 
 Ang. Yea. 
 
 hab. When, I beseech you t that in his reprieve. 
 Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted. 
 That his soul sicken not. 
 
 Aug. Hi ! Fye, these filthy vices ! It were as good 
 To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen 
 A man already made, as to remit 
 Their sawcy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image, 
 In stamps that are forbid : 'tis all as easy 
 Falsely to take away a life true made. 
 As to put mettle in restrained means, 
 To niake a false one. 
 
 hab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth. 
 Ang. Say you so ? then I shall pose you quickly. 
 Which had you rather. That the most just law 
 Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him, 
 Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness, 
 As she that he hath stain'd 1 
 
 Isab, Sir, believe this, 
 
 I had rather give my body than my soul. 
 
 Ang. I talk not of your soul ; Our compell'd sins 
 Stand more for number than accompt. 
 
 hab How say you 1 
 
 Ang. Nay, I '11 not warrant that ; for I can speak 
 Against the thing I say. Answer to this ; — 
 I, now the voice of the recorded law. 
 Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life : 
 Might there not be a charity in sin. 
 To save this brother s life 1 
 
 huh. Please you to do 't, 
 
 I '11 take it as a peril to my soul. 
 It is no sin at all, but charity. 
 
 Ang. Pleas'd you to do 't, at peril of your soul. 
 Were equal poise of sin and charity. 
 
 hab. Tliat I do beg his life, if it be sin, 
 Heaven, let me bear it ! you granting of my suit. 
 If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer 
 To have it added to the faults of mine. 
 And nothing of your, answer. 
 
 Ang. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Your sense pursues not mine : either you are ignorant, 
 Or seem so, craftily : and that's not good. 
 
 hab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good, 
 But graciously to know I am no better, 
 
 Ang. Thus wisdom wislies to appear most bright. 
 When it doth tax itself : as these black masks 
 Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder 
 Than beauty could displayed. — But mark me ; 
 To be received plain, 1 '11 speak more gross ; 
 Your brother is to die. 
 hab. So, 
 
 Ang. And his offence is so. as it appears 
 Accountant to the law upon that pain. 
 hab. True. 
 
 Ang. Admit no other way to save his life, 
 (As I subscribe not that, nor any other. 
 But in the loss of question,) that you, his sister. 
 Finding yourself desir'd of such a person. 
 Whose credit with the judge, or own great place. 
 Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
 Of the all-binding law ; and that there were 
 No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
 You must lay down the treasures of your body 
 To this supposed, or else to let him suffer ; 
 What would you do? 
 
 hab. As much for my poor brother, as myself: 
 That is. Were I under the terms of death. 
 The impression of keen whips I 'd wear as rubies. 
 And strip myself to death, as to a bed 
 That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield 
 My body up to shame. 
 
 Ang. Then must your brother die. 
 
 Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way : 
 Better it were, a brother die at once. 
 Than that a sister, by redeeming him. 
 Should die for ever. 
 
 Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence 
 That you have slunder'd so ? 
 
 hab. Ignominy in ransom, and free pardon. 
 Are of two houses : lawful mercy is 
 Nothing akin to foul redemption. 
 
 Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant ; 
 And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother 
 A merriment than a vice. 
 
 hab. 0, pardon me, my lord ; it oft falls out. 
 To have what we'd have, we speak not what we mean ■ 
 I something do excuse the thing I hate. 
 For his advantage that I dearly love. 
 Ang. We are all frail. 
 
 hab. Else let my brother die. 
 
 If not a feodary, but only he. 
 Owe, and succeed by weakness. 
 
 Ang. Nay, women are frail too. 
 
 hah. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves ; 
 Which are as easy broke as they make forms 
 
ACT III.-SCENE I. 
 
 JVomen t— Help heaven ! men their creation i.iar 
 in protitmg by them. Nav, call us ten times frail • 
 *or we are solt as our complexions are, ' 
 
 / And credulous to false prints. 
 
 .i'T ^. . I think it well : 
 
 •tiia from this testimony of ynur own sex 
 (Since. 1 suppose, we are made to be no stronger 
 i han faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold ■— 
 i do arrest your words ; Be that you are 
 I hat !S a woman ; if you be more, you're none ■ 
 it you be one, (as you are well express'd 
 Hy all external warrants,) shew it now 
 By putting on the destin'd livery. 
 
 hub. I have no tongue but one : gentle my lord 
 Let me entreat you speak the former lanjiua/e. 
 
 A"g. Plainly conceive, I love you. 
 
 TllTt'' "i.^' m':;"";'' '*''' '""« J"''<^'; ^"dyou tell me, 
 That he shall die for it. 
 
 j"g. He shall not, Isabel, if yon. give me love. 
 
 isuh. 1 know, your virtue hath a licence in't 
 " hich seems a little fouler than it is, 
 1 pluck on others. 
 
 >>,'»■ . Believe me, on mine honour, 
 
 iijy words express my purpose. 
 
 hub. Ha ! little honour to be much believed 
 Andmost pernicious purpose !-Seeming, seeming !- 
 1 will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for°t : 
 sife'n me a present pardon for my brotlier 
 Wr, w^ith an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world 
 Aloud, what man thou art. 
 
 Ri"^"^' ■,, , ^^'"' "'■" believe thee, Isabel ' 
 
 My unsoil d name, the austereness of mv life 
 
 Wy vouch against you, and my place i' the state, 
 
 vvill so your accusation overweioh 
 
 Ihat you shall stifle in your own report. 
 
 And smell of calumny. I have be^un ■ 
 
 And now I give my sensual race thi rein : 
 
 tit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 
 
 l>ay by all nicety, and prolixious blushes, 
 
 Jhat bamsh what li.ey sue for ; redeem thy brother 
 
 13y yielding up thy body to my will ; 
 
 Ur else he must not only die the death, 
 
 aut thy unkindness shall his death draw out 
 
 10 angering sufferance : answer me to-morrow, 
 
 Ur, by the aftection that now guides me most, 
 
 1 11 prove a tyrant to him : As for you, 
 
 bay what you can, my false o'eriveighs your true. 
 
 Isab. To wliom shall I complain? Did I tell this," 
 W 110 would believe me 1 O perilous mouths, 
 1 hat bear in them one and the self-same tongue, 
 tither of condemnation or approof ! 
 Biddmg the law make courfsy to their will ; 
 Hookiag both right and wrong to the appetite, 
 i follow as it draws ! I '11 to my brother : 
 Ihough he hath fallen by prompture of the blood 
 
 •rk ' u '" ''™ '"'<='' ^ "'"'' "'' honour, 
 
 1 hat had he twenty heads to tender down 
 
 On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up, 
 
 iSefore his sister should her body stoop 
 
 To such abhorr'd pollution. 
 
 Then Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die : 
 
 Wore than our brother is our chastity. 
 
 1 11 tell him yet of Angelo's request, 
 
 -And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. [Exit. 
 
 115 
 
 [ Clnud. The miserable have no other medicine, 
 But only hope : 
 
 I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die. 
 D„ke. Be absolute for death ; either death, or life 
 
 Niall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life - 
 
 II i do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
 Ihat none but fools would keep: a breath thou art 
 (Servile to all the skiey influences, ) 
 1 hat dost this habitation, where thou keep'st. 
 Hourly afflict : merely, thou art death's fool ; 
 tor him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun 
 And yet run st toward him still : Thou art not noble 
 ^or all tlie accommodations that thou bear'st 
 .4re nuis d by baseness : Thou art by no means 
 For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork [valiant- 
 Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep. 
 And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st 
 Ihy death, which is no more. Thouart not thyself ; 
 ^or thou exist St on many a thousand grains 
 ihat issue out of dust: Happv thou art not : 
 l^or what thou hast not, still thou striv'stto set ■ 
 And what thou hast, forgefst : Thou art not ceitain ■ 
 for ttiy complexion shifts to strange effects 
 After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor • 
 !• or, like an as-, whose back with ingots bows ' 
 J hou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey ' 
 And death unloads thee : Friends hast thou noue- 
 I'or thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, ' 
 The mere efl^ision of thy proper loins. 
 Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum 
 For ending thee no sooner : Thou hast nor youth 
 But, as It were, an after-dinner's sleep, fnor a^ ■ 
 Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth ' 
 Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
 Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich 
 Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beamy. 
 To make th,v riches pleasant. What's yet in this 
 1 hat bears the name of life ! Yet in this life 
 Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear 
 1 hat makes these odds all even. 
 
 T„"""t ■• T. , I humbly thank you. 
 
 To sue to hve, I find, I seek to die • 
 
 And, seeking death, find life: Let iicome on. 
 
 Enter Is.AnELLA. 
 
 ho! Peace here; grace and good 
 
 come in : the wish deserves 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I — A Hoom in the Prison. 
 Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost. 
 Duke. So, thenyou hope of pardon from lord Angelo I 
 
 Isab. What 
 company ! 
 
 Prim. Who's tliere 
 a welcome. 
 
 Duke. Dear sir, ere long I '1! visit you again. 
 
 Uaud. Most holy sir, 1 thank you. 
 
 Imb. My business is a word or two with Claudio. 
 
 Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here 's 
 
 Duke. Provost, a word with you. [your sister. 
 
 Pmv. As many as you ple.ase. fceald 
 
 D<^<e. Bring them to speak, where I may becon^ 
 let hear them. [£r<.„„( Dike »„/ Provost 
 
 ; A iVi. u^"""' '■""• ™'"" '* 'he comfort ? 
 
 hab. W hy, as all comforts are ; mostgood in deed 
 Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven 
 Intends you for his swift embassador,' 
 Where you shall bean everlastinc lie'crer- 
 Therefore your best appointment niake°with speed • 
 io-morrow you set on. 
 
 ,''';"'■ , Is there no remedy? 
 
 Uab. None, but such remedy, as, to save' a head, 
 1 cleave a heart :n twain. 
 
 '''""''• ^ , But is there any? 
 
 Isab. \ es, brother, you may live ; 
 There is a devilish mercy in the judire 
 If you '11 implore it, that will free your life 
 But fetter you till death. 
 
 H2 
 
116 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Claud. " Perpetual durance 1 
 
 Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance ; a restraint, 
 Though all the world's vastidity you had, 
 To a determin'd scope. 
 
 Claud. But in what nature? 
 
 Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to't) 
 Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear, 
 And leave you naked. 
 
 Claud. Let me know the point. 
 
 liub. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and 1 quake. 
 Lest thou a feverish life should'st entertain, 
 And six or seven winters more respect 
 Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? 
 The sense of death is most in apprehension ; 
 And the poor beetle, that we tread upon. 
 In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great 
 As when a giant dies. 
 
 Claud. Why give you me this shame ? 
 
 Think you I can a resolution fetch 
 From flowery tenderness ? If I must die, 
 I will encounter darkness as a bride. 
 And hug it in mine arms. 
 
 Isab. There spake my brother ; there my father's 
 Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die : [grave 
 Thou art too noble to conserve a life 
 In base appliances. This outward- sainted deputy, — 
 Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
 Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth enmew. 
 As falcon doth the fowl, — is yet a devil ; 
 His hlth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell. 
 
 Claud. The princely Angelo 1 
 
 Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell, 
 The damned'st body to invest and cover 
 In princely guards ! Dost thou think, Claudio, 
 If 1 would yield him my virginity. 
 Thou might'st be freed ! 
 
 Claud, 0, heavens! it cannot be. [offence, 
 
 hab. Ves, he would give it thee, from this rank 
 So to offend him still : 'I'his night's the time 
 That I should do what 1 abhor to name, 
 Or else thou diest to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Thou slialt not do 't. 
 
 Isab. O, were it but my life, 
 I 'd throw it down for your deliverance 
 As frankly as a pin. 
 
 Claud, Thanks, dear Isabel. 
 
 Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow. 
 
 Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him. 
 That thus can make him bite the law by the nosej 
 When he would force it ? Sure it is no sin ; 
 Or of the deadly seven it is the least. 
 
 hab. Which is the least 1 
 
 Claud. If it were damnable, he, being so wise. 
 Why, would he for the momentary trick 
 Be perdurably hn'd i. — O Isabel ! 
 
 Isab. What says my brother ! 
 
 Claud, Death is a fearful thing 
 
 hab. And shamed life a hateful. 
 
 Claud. .\y, but to die, and go we know not where ; 
 To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; 
 This sensible warm motion to become 
 A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
 To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
 In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; 
 To be imprison'd in the viewless winds. 
 And blown with restless violence round about 
 The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst 
 Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
 Imao;ine howling ! — 'tis too horrible ! 
 The weariest and most loathed worldly life. 
 That age, ach, penury, and imprisonment 
 
 Can lav on nature, is a paradise 
 To what we fear of death. 
 
 /siifc. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Claud. Sweet sister, let me live : 
 
 What sin you do to save a brotlier's life. 
 Nature dispenses with the deed so far. 
 That it becomes a virtue. 
 
 Isab. O, you beast! 
 
 0, faithless coward! O, dishonest wretch ! 
 Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice ? 
 Is't not a kind of incest, to take life 
 From thine own sister's shame? What should I think? 
 Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair ' 
 For such a warped slip of wilderness 
 Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance: 
 Die ; perish ! might but my bending down 
 Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed : 
 I '11 pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
 No word to save«thee. 
 
 Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 
 
 hab. 0, fye, fye, fye ! 
 
 Thy sin 's not accidental, but a trade : 
 Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd : 
 'Tis best that thou diest quickly. [Going 
 
 Claud. hear me, Isabella. 
 
 Re-enter Dcke. 
 
 DuUe. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one 
 word 
 
 Isab, What is your will 1 
 
 Duke. iNIight you dispense with your leisure, I 
 would by and by have some speech with you: the satis- 
 faction I would require, is likewise-your own benefit. 
 
 hab. 1 liave no superfluous leisure ; my slay must 
 be stolen out of other aflairs j but I will attend you 
 a while. 
 
 Duke. [To Ci.aud;o, aside.^ Son, I have over- 
 heard what hath past between you and your sister, 
 Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her ; only 
 he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practise his 
 judgment with the disposition of natures ; she, hav- 
 ing the truth of honour in her, hath made him that 
 gracious denial which he is most glad to receive : I 
 am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be true ; 
 therefore prepare yourself to death : Do not satisfy 
 your resolution with hopes that are fallible : to-mor- 
 row you must die ; go to your knees, and make ready. 
 
 Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out 
 of love with life, that 1 will sue to be rid of it. 
 
 Duke. Hold you there : Farewell. [Exit Claudio. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 Provost, a word with you. 
 
 Proi'. What's your will, father ? 
 
 Duke. That now you are come, you will be gone : 
 Leave me a while with the maid ; my mind pro- 
 mises with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my 
 company. 
 
 Prov, In good time. [Exit Provost. 
 
 Duke. The hand that hath made you fair, hath 
 made you good: the goodness, that is cheap in beauty, 
 makes beauty brief in goodness ; but grace, being the 
 soul of your complexion, should keep the body of it 
 ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath made to you, 
 fortune hath coniey'd to my understanding ; and, 
 b\it that frailty hath e.xamples for his falling, 1 should 
 wonder at Angelo. How would yo\i do to content 
 this substitute, and to save your brother. 
 
 hab, I am now going to resolve him : I had rather 
 my brother die by the law, than my son should be un- 
 lawfully born. But 0, how mi.ch is the good duke 
 deceived in Angelo ! If ever he return, and I cao 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 117 
 
 speak to him, T will open my lips in vain, or discover 
 his government. 
 
 Duke. That shall not be much amiss : Yet, as the 
 matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation ; he 
 made trial of you only. — Therefore, fasten your ear 
 on my advisings ; to the love I have in doing good, a 
 remedy presents itself. I do make myself believe. 
 that vou may most uprighteously do a poor wronged 
 iadv a merited benefit ; redeem your brother from the 
 angry law ; do no stain to your own gracious person ; 
 and much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, 
 he shall ever return to have hearing of this business, 
 
 Jsab. Let me hear you speak further ; I have spirit 
 to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of 
 my spirit. 
 
 Duke^ Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful. 
 Have you not heard speak of Mariana the sister of Fre- 
 derick, the great soldier, who miscarried at sea ? 
 
 hub. I have heard of the lady, and good words 
 went with her name. 
 
 Duke. Her should this Angelo have married ; was 
 affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: 
 between which time of the contract, and limit of the 
 solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, 
 having in thatperish'd vessel the dowry of his sister. 
 llut mark, how heavily this befel to the poor gentle- 
 woman : there she lost a noble and renowned brother, 
 in his love toward her ever most kind and natural ; 
 with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her 
 marriage-dowry ; with both, her combinate husband, 
 this well seeming Angelo. 
 
 hub. Can thih be so ? Did Angelo so leave her 1 
 
 Duke. Left her in her tears, and diy'd not one of 
 them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole, 
 pretending, in her, discoveries of dishonour ; in few, 
 bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet 
 wears for his sake ; and he, a marble to her tears, is 
 washed with them, but relents not. 
 
 hab. What a merit were it in death, to take this 
 poor maid from the world ! What corruption in this 
 iife, that it will let this man live ! — But how out of 
 this can she avail ? 
 
 Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal ; and 
 the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps 
 you from dishonour in doing it. 
 
 hab. Shew me how, e;ood father. 
 
 Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the 
 continuance of herfirst affection ; hisunjnstunkind- 
 ness, that in all reason should iiave quenched her 
 love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made 
 it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo ; an- 
 swer his requiring with a plausible obedience ; agree 
 with his demands to the point : only refer yourself to 
 this advantage, — first, that your stay with him may 
 not be long ; that the time may have all shadow and 
 silence in it ; and the place answer to convenience : 
 this being granted in course, now follows all. We 
 shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your ap- 
 pointnient, go in your place ; if the encounter acknow- 
 ledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her re- 
 compense : and here, by this, is your brother saved, 
 your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, 
 ana the corrupt deputy scaled. The maid will I frame, 
 and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to 
 carry this as you may, thedoubleness of the benefit de- 
 fends the deceit from reproof. What think you of it? 
 
 hab. The image of it gives me content already ; and 
 I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfection. 
 
 Duke. It lies much in your holding up : Haste you 
 speedily to Angelo; if for this night he entreat you 
 to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction. I will 
 presently to St. Luke s ; there, at the moated grange 
 
 resides this dejected INIariana : At that place call up- 
 on me ; and despatch with Angelo, that it may be 
 quickly, 
 
 hab. I thank you for this comfort : Fare you well, 
 good father. [Exeunt sevei-ally, 
 
 SCENE II.— ne Street before the Prison, 
 
 Enter Duke, as a Friar ; to him Elbow, Clown, 
 and Officers. 
 
 Elb. Nay. if there be no remedy for it, but that 
 you will needs buy and sell men and women like 
 beasts, we shall have all the world drink brown and 
 white bastard. 
 
 Duke. O, heavens! what stufl^is here? 
 
 Cto. 'Twas never merry world, since, of two usu- 
 ries, the merriest was put down, and the worser al- 
 low'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him warm ; 
 and furr'd with fox and lamb-skins too, to signify, 
 that craft, being richer than innocency, stands for 
 the facing. 
 
 Elb. Come your way, sir : — Bless you, good fa- 
 ther brother. 
 
 Duke. And you, good brother father: What of- 
 fence hatli this man made you, sir ? 
 
 Elb. JMarry, sir, he hath offended the law ; and, 
 sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir ; for we have 
 found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we 
 have sent to the deputy. 
 
 Duke. Fye, sirrah; a bawd, a wicked bawd ' 
 The evil that thoucausest to be done. 
 That is thy means to live : Do thou but think 
 What 'tis to cram a maw, or clothe a back, 
 From such a filthy vice : say to thyself, — 
 From their abominable and beastly touches 
 I drink, I eat, array mvself, and live. 
 Canst thou believe thy living is a life, 
 So stinkingly depending? Go, mend, go, mend. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, sir ; but 
 yet, sir, I would prove [sin, 
 
 Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee proofs for 
 Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, officer ; 
 Correction and instruction must both work, 
 Ere this rude beast will profit. 
 
 Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has given 
 him warning : the deputy cannot abide a whoremaster : 
 if he be a whoremonger, and comes before him, he 
 were as good go a mile on his errand. 
 
 Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be. 
 Free from our faults, as faults from seeming free! 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sii. 
 
 Clo. I spy comfort ; I cry, bail : Here's a gentle- 
 man, and a friend of mine. 
 
 Lucio. How now, noble Pompey? What, at the 
 heels of Cssar ? Art thou led in triumph ? What, is 
 there none pf Pygmalion's images, newly made wo- 
 man, to be had now, for putting the hand in the poc- 
 ket and extracting it clutch'd? What reply ? Ha? 
 What say'st thou to this tune, matter, and method ? 
 Is't not drown'd i' the last rain ? Ha ? What say'st 
 thou, trot ? Is the world as it was, man ? Which is 
 the way ? Is it sad, and few words ? Or how ? The 
 trick of it ? 
 
 Duke. Still thus, and thus ! still worse ! 
 
 Lucio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mistress? 
 Procures she still ? Ha ? 
 
 Clo. Troth, sir, she hath eaten up all her beef, and 
 she is herself in the tub. 
 
 Lucio, Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of it: it 
 
lis 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 muat Le so : E^er your fresh whore, and your pow- 
 dei "d bawd : An unshunn'd consequence ; it must 
 be so : Art going to prison, Pompey 1 
 
 Clo. Yes, faith, sir. 
 
 Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey : Farewell ; 
 Go ; say, I sent thee thither. For debt, Pompey? 
 Or how 1 
 
 Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 
 
 Lucio, Well, tlien imprison him : If imprisonment 
 be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his right : Bawd is 
 he, doubtless, and of antiquity too : bawd-born. 
 Farewell, good Pompey : Commend me to the prison, 
 Pompey : You will turn good husband now, Pompey; 
 you will keep tlic house. 
 
 Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail. 
 
 Lucio, ^o, indeed, will I not, Pompey ; it is not 
 the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your 
 bondage : if you talce it not patiently, why, your met- 
 tle is the more : Adieu, trusty Pompey. — IJless you, 
 friar. 
 
 Duke. And you. 
 
 Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey 1 Ha 7 
 
 Lib. Come your ways, sir ; come. 
 
 Clo, You will not bail me then, sir! 
 
 Lucio. Tlien, Pompey 1 nor now. — What news 
 abroad, friar ] What news? 
 
 Lib. Come your ways, sir ; come. 
 
 Lucio. Go, — to kennel, Pompey, go : 
 
 [E.ieu7i£ Elbow, Clown, miti Officers. 
 What news, friar, of the duke ? 
 
 Duke. I know none : Can you tell me of any 1 
 
 Lucio. Some say he is with the emperor of Russia ; 
 otliersome, he is in Rome : Butjvhere is he, think 
 you ! 
 
 Duke. I know not where: But wheresoever, I wish 
 him well. 
 
 Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him to 
 steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was 
 never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his ab- 
 sence ; he puts transgression to't. 
 
 Duke, pie does well in't. 
 
 Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would do no 
 barm in him ; something too crabbed that way, friar. 
 
 Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must 
 cure it. 
 
 LiLcio. Yes, 11 good sooth, the vice is of a great 
 kindred ; it is well ally'd : but it is impossible to ex- 
 tirp it quite, friar, till eating and drinking be put 
 down. They say, this Angelo was not made by man 
 and woman, after the downright way of creation ; Is 
 it true, think you! 
 
 Duke. Howsliouldhe be made then? 
 
 Lucio. Some report, a sea-maid spawn'd him . — 
 Some, that he was begot between two stock-fishes : 
 — But it is certain, that when he makes water, his 
 urine is congeal'd ice ; that I know to be true : and 
 he is a motion uugenerative, that's infallible. 
 
 Duke. You are pleasant, sir ; and speak apace. 
 
 Lucio. Why what a ruthless thing is this in him, 
 for the rebellion of a cod-piece, to take away the life 
 of a man ? Would the duke, that is absent, have done 
 this ? Ere he would have hang'd a man for the get- 
 ting a hundred bastSLrds, he would have paid for the 
 nursing a thousand ; He had some feeling of the 
 sport ; he knew the service, and that instructed him 
 to mercy. 
 
 Duke. I never heard the absent duke much detect- 
 ed for women ; he was not inclined that way. 
 
 Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis not possible. 
 
 Lucio. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar of 
 fifty ; — and his use was, to put a ducat in her clack 
 
 dish : the duke had crotchets in him : He would be 
 drunk too ; that let me inform you. 
 
 Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 
 
 Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his ; A shy fellow 
 was the duke ; and, I believe, I know the cause of his 
 withdi"awing. 
 
 Duke. What, I pr'ythee, niightbe the cause? 
 
 Lucio. No, — pardon ; — 'tis a secret must be lock'd 
 within the teeth and the lips : but this I can let you 
 understand, — The greater file of the subject held tlie 
 duke to be wise. 
 
 Duke. Wise? why, no question but he was. 
 
 Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing 
 fellow. 
 
 Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mistak- 
 ing ; the very stream of his life, and the business he 
 hath helmed, must, upon a warranted need, give him 
 a better proclamation. Let liim be but testimonied 
 in his own bringings forth, and he shall appear to the 
 envious, a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier : There- 
 fore, you speak unskilfully ; or, if your knowledge 
 be more, it is much darken'd in your malice. 
 
 Lucio. Sir, 1 know him, and I love him. 
 
 Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, andknow- 
 ledge with dearer love. 
 
 Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 
 
 Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know 
 not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return, 
 (as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to make 
 your answer before him : If it be honest you have 
 spoke, you have courage to maintain it ; I am bound 
 to call upon you ; and, I pray you, your name ? 
 
 Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known to the 
 duke. 
 
 Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may live 
 to report you. 
 
 Lucio. I fear you not. 
 
 Duke. 0, you hope the duke will return no more : 
 or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But, 
 indeed, I can do you little harm ; you'll forswear 
 this again. 
 
 Lucia. I'll be hang'd first : thou art deceiv'din me, 
 friar. But no more of this : Canst thou tell, if Clau- 
 dio die to-morrow, or no ? 
 
 Duke. Why should he die, sir? 
 
 Lucio. Why? for filling a bottle with a tun-dish. 
 I would, the duke, we talk of, were return'd again: 
 this ungenitur'd agent will unpeople the province 
 with continency ; sparrows nmst not build in his 
 house-eaves, because they are lecherous. The duke 
 yet would have dark deeds darkly answer'd ; he would 
 never bring them to light : would he were return'd I 
 Marry, this Claudio is condemn'd for untrussing. 
 Farewell, good friar ; I pr'ythee, pray for me. The 
 duke, I say to thee again, would eat mutton on Fri- 
 days. He's now past it ; yet, and I say to thee, 
 he would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt 
 brown bread and garlick : say, that 1 said so. Fare- 
 well. [Eiit. 
 
 Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
 Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny 
 The whitest virtue strikes : What king so strong, 
 Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue? 
 But who comes here ? 
 
 Ejitcr EscALUs, Provost, Bawd, and Officers. 
 
 Escal. Go, away with her to prison. 
 
 Buud. Good my lord, be good to me ; your honour 
 is accounted a merciful man : good my lord. 
 
 Escal. Double and treble admonition, and still for- 
 feit in the same kind ? This would make mercy swear, 
 and play the tyrant. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 119 
 
 PrMj. A bawd of eleven years* continuauce, may 
 it please your honour. 
 
 Bawd. My lord, this is one Lucio's information 
 at^ainsl me : mistress Kate Kee^j-dowu was with 
 child by him in the duke's time, he promised her mar- 
 ria -^e ; his child is a year and a ijuarter old, come 
 Plnlip and Jacob: 1 have kept it myself ; and see 
 how lie ^'oes about to abu^e nie. 
 
 EscuL That fellow is a fellow of much licence : — 
 let him be called before us. — Away with her to pri- 
 son : Go to ; no more words. \^Exeunt Bawd and 
 Officers.] Provost, my brother Angelo will not be 
 alter'd, Claudio must die to-monow : let him be 
 furnir^hed with divines, and have all chaiitable pre- 
 paration: if my brother wruuglit by my pity, it should 
 not be so with him. 
 
 Frov. So please you, this friar hath been with him, 
 and advised him for theentertainmenl of death. 
 
 Escal. Good even, good father. 
 
 Duke, Bliss and goodness on you ! 
 
 EscaL Of whence are you ? [now 
 
 Duke. Not of this country, lliough my chance is 
 To use it for my time : 1 am a brother 
 Of gracious order, late come from the see, 
 In special business from his holiness. 
 
 EscaL What news abroad i' tlie world? 
 
 Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on 
 goodness, that the dissolution of it must cure it: 
 novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous to 
 be aged in any kind of couri>e, as it is virtuous to be 
 constant in any undertaking. Theie is scarce truth 
 enough alive, to make societies secure ; but security 
 ■enough, to make fellowships accuis'd: much upon 
 this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. This news 
 is old enough, yet it is every day's news. I pray 
 you, sir, of w hat disposition w as the duke ? 
 
 EscaL One, that, above all other strifes, con- 
 tended especially to know himself. 
 
 Duke. What pleasure was he given to ? 
 
 EicuL Rather rejoicing to see another merry, than 
 merry at any thing which profess'd to make him re- 
 
 i'oice : a gentleman of all temperance. But leave we 
 ;im to his events, with a prayer they may prove 
 prosperous ; and let me desire to know how you find 
 Claudio prepared. 1 am made to understand, tliat 
 you have lent him visitation. 
 
 Duke, He professes to have received no sinister 
 measure from his judge, bat most willingly humbles 
 himself to the determination of justice : yet had he 
 framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty, 
 many deceiving promises of life ; which 1, by my 
 good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he 
 resolved to die. 
 
 Eicai. You have paid the heavens your function, 
 and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I 
 have labour'd for the poor gentleman, to the ex- 
 tremest shore of my modesty ; but my brother justice 
 have I found so severe, that he hath forced me to tell 
 him, he is indeed — justice. 
 
 Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his 
 proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein, if he 
 chance to fail, he hath sentenced himself. 
 
 EscaL 1 am going to visit the prisoner : Fare you 
 well. 
 
 Duke. Peace be with you ! 
 
 [Lifunt EscALus a/iti Provost. 
 He, who the sword of heaven will bear, 
 Should be as holy as severe j 
 Pattern in himself to know, 
 Grace to stand, and virtue go ; 
 More nor less to others paying. 
 Than by self-oifences weighing. 
 
 Shame to him, whose cruel striking 
 Kills for faults of his own liking ! 
 Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
 To weed my vice and let his grow ! 
 O, what may man wittiin him hide, 
 Though angel on the outward side ! 
 How may likeness, made in crimes, 
 Making practice on the times, 
 Draw with idle spiders' stiinirs 
 Most pond'rous and substantial things . 
 Craft against vice 1 must apply : 
 With Angelo to-night shall lie 
 His old, betrothed, but despis'd ; 
 So disguise shall, by the disguis'd, 
 Pay with falsehood false exacting. 
 And perform an old contracting. 
 
 [Eiit. 
 
 f ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room ill Mariana's House, 
 Mariana discovered sitting ; a Boy singing. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Take, oh take those lips awaif. 
 
 That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 
 Lights that do viislead the moni: 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 bring again 
 Seals of love, but seaVd in vain, 
 
 seaCd in vain, 
 
 Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick 
 Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice [away ; 
 Hath often stilj'd my brawling discontent.— 
 
 [Exit Boy. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish 
 
 You had not found me here so musical : 
 
 Let me excuse me, and believe me so, — 
 
 My mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe. 
 
 Duke, 'Tis good : though music oft have such a 
 charm, 
 To make bad good, and good provoke to harm. 
 1 pray you, tell me, hath any body inquired for me 
 here to-day ! much upon this time have I promis'd 
 here to meet. 
 
 Mari. You have not been inquired after : 1 have 
 sat here all day. 
 
 Enter Isabella. 
 
 Duke, I do constantly believe you : — The time is 
 come, even now, 1 shall crave your forbearance a 
 little ; may be, 1 will call upon you anon, for some 
 advantage to yourself. 
 
 Mart. I am always bound to you. j^Eiit, 
 
 Duke, Very well met, and welcome. 
 What is the news from this good deputy 1 
 
 hub. He hath a garden circummur'd vnth brick. 
 Whose western side is with a vineyard back"d ; 
 And to that vineyard is a planched gate. 
 That makes his opening with this bigger key ; 
 This other doth command a little door. 
 Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; 
 There have 1 made my promise to call on him, 
 Upon tiie heavy middle of the night. [way"? 
 
 Duke, But shall you on your knowledge find this 
 
 L^ab. I have ta'en a due and warv note upon't; 
 With whispering and most guilty diligence. 
 
120 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 In action all of precept, he did shew roe 
 The way twice o'er 
 
 Duke. Are there no other tokens 
 
 Belvveeu you 'greed, concerning lier observance! 
 
 Jso6. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark j 
 And that 1 have possess'd him, my most stay 
 Can be but brief : for I have made him know, 
 I have a servant comas with me along, 
 That stays upon me ; whose persuasion is, 
 I come about my brother. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis well borne up. 
 
 I have not yet made known to Maviana 
 A word of this : — What, ho ! within ! come forth ! 
 
 He-enter Mariana. 
 
 1 pray you be acquainted with this maid; 
 She comes to do you good. 
 
 Uab. I do desire the like. 
 
 Duke. Do you persuade yourself, that I respect 
 you ? A [found it. 
 
 Mari. Good friar, I know you ao ? and have 
 
 Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand. 
 Who hath a story ready for your ear : 
 I shall attend your leisure ; but make haste; 
 The vaporous night approaches. 
 
 Mari, Will 't please you walk aside ? 
 
 ^Eieunt Mariana and Isahella. 
 
 Duke. O place and greatness, millions of false 
 Are stuck upon thee ! volumes of report [eyes 
 
 Run with these false and most contrarious quests 
 Upon thy doings ! thousand 'scapes of wit 
 Make thee the father of their idle dream, [agreed? 
 And rack thee in their fancies 1 — Welcome ! How 
 
 Ue-euter Mariana and Isabella. 
 
 Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father, 
 If you advise it. 
 
 Duke. It is not my consent, 
 
 But my intreaty too. 
 
 Jsab, Little have you to say, 
 
 When you depart from him, but, soft and low, 
 Remember now my brother. 
 
 Mari. Fear me not. 
 
 Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all : 
 He is your husband on a pre-contr4ct : 
 To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin ; 
 Sith that ihe justice of your title to him 
 Doth flourish the deceit. Come, let us go ; 
 Our corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. 
 
 ^Exeunt' 
 
 SCENE II.— .4 Room in the Priso7i. 
 Enter Provost and Clown. 
 
 Prov. Come hither, sirrah : Can you cut ofT a 
 man's head 1 
 
 Clo. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can : but if 
 he be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I 
 can never cut off a woman's head. 
 
 Prov. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, and 
 yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are 
 to die Claudio and Barnardine : Here is in our pri- 
 son a common executioner, who in his office lacks a 
 helper: if you will lake it on you to assist him, it 
 shall redeem you from your gyves ; if not, you shall 
 have your full time of imprisonment, and your de- 
 liverance with an unpitied whipping ; for you have 
 been a notorious bawd. 
 
 Clo. Sir, I have been an unlawful bawd, time out 
 of mind ; but yet I will be content to be a lawful 
 hangman. I would be glad to receive some instruc- 
 tion from my fellow partner. 
 
 Prov, What ho, Abhorson ! Where *s Abhorson, 
 there t 
 
 Enter Abhorson. 
 
 Abhor. Do you call, sir? 
 
 Prov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to» 
 morrow in your execution : If you think it meet, 
 compound with him by the year, and let him abide 
 here with you ; if not, use him for the present, and 
 dismiss him : He cannot plead his estimation with 
 you ; he hath been a bawd. 
 
 Abhor. A bawd, sir 1 Fye upon him, he will dis- 
 credit our mystery. 
 
 Prov. Go to, sir ; you weigh equally ; a feather 
 will turn the scale. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, (for, surely, 
 sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a 
 hanging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a 
 mystery 1 
 
 Abhor. Ay, sir ; a mystery. 
 
 do. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery ; 
 and your whores, sir, being members of my occupa- 
 tion, using painting, do prove my occupation a mys- 
 tery : but what mystery there should be in hanging, 
 if I should be hang'd, I cannot imagine. 
 
 Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 
 
 Clo. Proof. 
 
 Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief : 
 If it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks 
 it big enough ; if it be too big for your thief, your 
 thief thinks it little enough : so every true man's 
 apparel fits your thief. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. 
 
 Prov. Are you agreed ? 
 
 Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find, your 
 hangman is a more penitent trade than your bawd ; 
 he doth oftener ask forgiveness. 
 
 Frov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your 
 axe, to-morrow four o'clock. 
 
 Abhor. Come on, bawd ; I will instruct thee in 
 my trade ; follow. 
 
 Clo. I do desire to learn, sir ; and, I hope, if you 
 have occasion to use me for your own turn, you shall 
 find me yare : for, truly sir, for your kindness, I 
 owe you a good turn. 
 
 Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio : 
 
 [Exeunt Clown and Abhorson, 
 One has my pity ; not a jot the other, 
 Being a murderer, thougli he were' my brother. 
 
 Enter Claudio. 
 
 Look, here's the aprrant, Claudio, for thy death : 
 'Tis now dead micniight, and by eight to-morrow 
 Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine ? 
 
 Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless la- 
 When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones : [bour 
 He will not wake. 
 
 Prov, W^ho can do good on him ? 
 
 Well, go, prepare yourself. But hark, what noise ? 
 [Knocking withiji. 
 Heaven give your spirits comfort ! [Exit Claudio. 
 
 By and by : — 
 I hope it is some pardon, or reprieve. 
 For the most gentle Claudio. — Welcome, father. 
 
 Enter Duke. 
 Duke. The best and wholesomest spirits of the 
 night 
 Envelop you , good provost ! Who called here of lat^ ! 
 Prov. None, since the curfew rung. 
 Duke. I>rot Isabel 1 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE H. 
 
 121 
 
 Prou. No. 
 
 Duke, They will then, ere't be long. 
 
 Prov. What comfort is for Claiidio 1 
 
 Duke. There's some in hope. 
 
 Prov. It is a bitter deputy. 
 
 Duke. Not so, not so ; his life is parallel'd 
 Even with the stroke and line of his great justice ; 
 He doth with holy abstinence subdue 
 That in himself, which he spurs on his power 
 To qualify in others : were he meal'd 
 With that which he corrects, then were he tyrannous ; 
 But this being so, he's just. — Now are ihey come. — 
 [Knocking within. — Provost goes out. 
 This is a gentle provost : Seldom, when 
 The steeled gaoler is the friend of men. — [haste, 
 How now? What noise? That spirit's possessed with 
 That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes. 
 
 Provost returns, speaking to one at the door. 
 
 Prov. There he must stay, until the officer 
 Arise to let hira in ; he is call'd up. 
 
 Duke. Have you no couiitermaud forClaudio yet. 
 But he must die to-morrow I 
 
 Prov, None, sir, none. 
 
 Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is. 
 You shall hear more ere morning. 
 
 Prov. Happily, 
 
 You something know ; yet, I believe, there comes 
 No countermand ; no such example have we : 
 Besides, upon the very siege of justice, 
 Lord Angelo hath to the public ear 
 Profess'd the contrary. 
 
 Euter a Messenger. 
 
 Duke. This is his lordship's man. 
 
 Prov, And here comes Claudio's pardon. 
 
 Mess. Mv lord hath sent you this note ; and by 
 me this further charge, that you swerve not from the 
 smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or other 
 circumstance. Good-inorrow j for, as I take it, it is 
 aimost day. 
 
 Prov. 1 shall obey him. [Evit Messenger- 
 
 Duke. This is his pardon ; purchas'd by such sin, 
 For which the pardoner himself is in : [^Ajiide, 
 
 Hence hath offence his quick celerity, 
 When it is borne in high authority: 
 When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended, 
 That for the fault's love, is the offender friended. — 
 Now, si^^ what news] 
 
 Prov. 1 told you: Lord Angelo, belike, thinking 
 me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this un 
 wonted putting on : methinks, strangely ; for he hath 
 not used it before. 
 
 Duke. Pray you, let's hear, 
 
 Prov, [Reads.] Wbatsoevev you may hear to the 
 contrari), let Claudia be executed by Jour of the clock; 
 and, in the afternoon, Barnard ine : for my better satis- 
 faction, let me have Claudio^s bead sent me by Jive. Let 
 this be dulij perj'orni'd; uith a thought, that more de- 
 pends on it than ue must yet deliver. Thusjaihiot to 
 do your office, us yon uill answer it at your peril. 
 What say you to this, sir \ 
 
 Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be exe- 
 cuted in the afternoon \ 
 
 Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nursed up and 
 bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old, 
 
 Duke. How came it, that the absent duke had not 
 either deliver'd him to his liberty, or executed him ? 
 I have heard, it was ever his manner to do so. 
 
 Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for him : 
 And, indeed, his fact, till now in the government of 
 lord Aogelo^ came not to an undoubtful proof. 
 
 Duke, Is it now apparent ? 
 Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself. 
 Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison ? 
 How seems he to be touch'd 1 
 
 Prov. A man that apprehends death no more 
 dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep ; careless, reck- 
 less, and ff ailess of what's past, present, or to come ; 
 insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal. 
 Duke, He wants advice. 
 
 Prov. He will hear none ; he hath evermore had 
 the liberty of the prison ; give him leave to escape 
 hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if not 
 many days entirely drunk. We have very often 
 awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and 
 shew'd him a seeming warrant for it; it hath not 
 moved him at all. 
 
 Duke. jMore of him anon. There is written in your 
 brow, provost, honesty and constancy : if 1 read it 
 not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me ; but in the 
 boldness of mv cunning, I will lay myself in hazard, 
 Claudio, whom here you have a warrant to execute, 
 is no greater forfeit to the law than Angelo who hath 
 sentenced him : To make you understand this in a 
 manifested effect, I crave but four days respite ; for 
 the which you are to do me both a present and a 
 dann;erous courtesy. 
 
 Prov. Pray, sir, in what? 
 Duke. In the delaying death. 
 Prov. Alack ! how may 1 do it? having the hour 
 limited ; and an express command, under penalty, to 
 deliver his head in the view of Angelo 1 I may make 
 my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the smallest. 
 
 Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you, 
 if my instructions may be your guide. Let this 
 Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head 
 borne to Angelo. 
 
 Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will dis- 
 cover the favour. 
 
 Duhe. O, death's a great disguiser : and you may 
 add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard ; and 
 sav, it was the desire of the penitent to be so bared 
 btfore his death : You know the course is common. 
 If any thing fall to you upon this, more than thanks 
 and good fortune, by the saint whom I profess, I vi-ill 
 pleat! ;igainst it with my life. 
 
 Prov. Paidoa me, good father : it is against my 
 oath. 
 
 Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the 
 deputy ? 
 
 Pj-ov, To him, and to his substitutes. 
 Duke. You will think you have made no offence, 
 if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing? 
 Prov, But what likelihood is in that? 
 Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet 
 since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, inte- 
 grity, nor mv persuasion, can with ease attempt you, 
 1 will go further than I meant, to pluck all fears out 
 of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand and seal of 
 the duke. You know the character, I doubt not ; and 
 the signet is not strange to you. 
 Proo, I know tiiem both. 
 
 Duke. The contents of this is the return of the 
 duke ; you shall anon over-read it at vour pleasure : 
 where you shall find, within these two days he will 
 be here. This is a thing, that Angelo knows not : 
 for he this very day receives letters of strange tenor: 
 perchance, of the duke's death ; perchance, entering 
 mto some monaster}' ; but, bv chance, nothing of 
 what IS writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the 
 shepherd : Put not yourself into amazement, how 
 these things should be : all difficulties are but easy 
 when they are known. Call your executioner, and 
 
122 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 otT with Barnardine's head : I will give him a present 
 thrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet you 
 are amazed : but this shall absolutely resolve you. 
 Come away ; it is almost clear dawn. [£ieu«t. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Clown. 
 Cb. I am as well acquainted here, as I was in our 
 house of profession: one would think, it were mistress 
 Overdone's own house, for here be many of her old 
 customers. First, here's young master Rash ; he's 
 *in for a commodity of brown paper and old ginger, 
 ninescore and seventeen pounds ; of which he made 
 five marks, ready money : marry, then, ginger was 
 not much in request, for the oM women were all 
 dead. Then is there here one master Caper, at the 
 suit of master Three-pile the mercer, for some four 
 suits of peach-colour'd satin, which now peaches him 
 a beggar. Then have we here young Dizy, and 
 young master Deep-vow, and master Copper-spur, 
 and master Stan'e-lackey the rapier and dagger-man, 
 and young Drop-heir that kill'd lusty Pudding, and 
 master Forthright the tilter, and brave master Shoe- 
 tie the great traveller, and wild Half-can that stubb'd 
 Pots, and, I think, forty more ; all great doers in our 
 trade, and are now for the Lord's sake. 
 
 Enter Ahnonsos. 
 Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. 
 Cto, Master Barnardine ! you must rise and be 
 hang'd, master Barnardine ! 
 Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine ! 
 Barnar. [Ifd/iZ/i] A pox o' your throats ! Wlio 
 makes that noise there 1 What are you ? 
 
 C/o. Your friends, sir ; the hangmen : You must 
 be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death. 
 
 Barnar. [U'it/uu.] Away, you rogue, away ; I am 
 sleepy. 
 
 Abhor, Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly 
 too. 
 
 Clo. Pray, master Barnardine, awake till you are 
 executed, and sleep afterwards. 
 
 Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out. 
 Clo. He is coming, sir, he is coming ; I hear his 
 straw rustle. 
 
 Enter BAnNAftoiNE, 
 Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? 
 Clo. Very ready, sir. 
 
 Barnar. How now, Abhorson 1 what's the news 
 with you 1 
 
 Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into 
 your prayers ; for, look you, tlie warrant's come. 
 
 Barnar. Vou rogue, I have been drinking ail night, 
 I am not fitted for't. 
 
 Clo. O, the better, sir ; for he that drinks all night, 
 and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may sleep the 
 sounder all the next day. 
 
 Enter Di'ke. 
 
 Abhor. Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly 
 father ; Do we jest now, think you ? 
 
 Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing 
 how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise 
 you, comfort you, and pray with you. 
 
 Bartiar- Friar, not 1 ; 1 have been drinking hard 
 all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, 
 or they shall beat out my brains with billets : I will 
 not consent to die t'jis day, that's certain. 
 
 Duke. O, sir, you must; and therefore, I beseech 
 Look forward on the journey you shall go. [yo"» 
 
 Barnar. I swear, 1 will not die to-day for any 
 man's persuasion. 
 
 Duke. But hear you, 
 
 Barnar. Not a word ; if you have any thing to 
 say to me, come to my ward ; for thence wilt not I 
 to-day. iKxit. 
 
 Enter Provost. 
 
 Duke. Unfit to live, or die : O, gravel heart ! — 
 After him, fellows; bring him to the block. 
 
 [Kieunt Ap.morson and Clown. 
 Prov. Now, sir, liow do you find the prisoner"? 
 Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death. 
 And, to transport hira in the mind he is, 
 Were damnable. 
 
 Prov. Here in the prison, father. 
 
 There died this morning of a cruel fever 
 One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate, 
 A man of Claudio's years ; his beard, and head. 
 Just of his colour: What if we do omit 
 This reprobate, till he were well inclined ; 
 And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
 Of Ragozine. more like to Claudio ? 
 
 Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides ? 
 Despatch it presently ; the hour draws on 
 Prefix'd by Ansjelo : See, tliis be done. 
 And sent according to command ; whiles I 
 Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die. 
 
 Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently. 
 But Barnardine must die this afternoon ; 
 And how shall we continue Claudio, 
 To save me from the danger that might come. 
 If he were known alive? 
 
 Duke. Let this be done: — Put them in secret holds. 
 Both Barnardine and Claudio : Ere twice 
 'j'he sun hath made his journal greeting to « 
 
 The under generation, you shall rind 
 Your safety manifested. 
 
 Prov. I am your free dependant, 
 Duke. Quick, despatch^ 
 
 And send the head to Angelo. [Eiit Provost. 
 
 Now will I write letters to Angelo, — 
 
 The provost, he shall bear them, whose contents 
 
 Shall witness to him, I am near at lionie ; 
 And that, by great injunctions, I am bound 
 To enter publicly : him 1 '11 desire 
 To meet me at the consecrated fount, 
 A league below the city ; and from thence. 
 By cold gradation and weal-balanced form. 
 We shall proceed with Angelo. 
 
 Re-enter Provost. ' 
 
 Prov. Here is the head ; I'll carry it myself, 
 
 Duke. Convenient is it ; Make a swift return ; 
 For I would commune with you of such things, 
 That want no ear but yours. 
 
 Prov. 1 '11 make all speed. [JSiiC 
 
 Isab. [Within.'] Peace, ho, be here! 
 
 Duke. The tongue of Isabel : — She's come to know. 
 If yet her brother's pardon be come hither : 
 But I will keep her ignorant of her good. 
 To make her heavenly comforts of despair 
 When it is least expected. 
 
 Enter Isabella- 
 
 Jsah. Ho, by your leave. 
 
 Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious 
 daughter. 
 
 Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man. 
 Hath yet the deputy sent rav brother's pardon '^ 
 
 Duke. He hath releas'd him, Isabel, from the 
 His head is ofT, and sent to Angelo. [world ; 
 
 Isab. Nay, but it is not so. 
 
 Duke. It is no other: 
 
 Shew your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience* 
 
#"■ 
 
 
 <^^.^^^^rT 
 
 C^.rt■>^^^•uUlMh^l;i1rlr1^^JJlllrtl..^■ir|im,r^^l|m7,l'u^^l,/•;/)>^Jl|.,.,ltl'lJr|l|^.;l^;^.^p^,.^^^,m.l,J^i;,;^^ 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 
 
 123 
 
 2svi6. 0, I will 10 him, and pluck out his eyes. 
 
 Dulie. Vou shall not be admitted to his sight. 
 
 hub. Unhappy Claudio ! Wretched Isabel ! 
 Injurious world! Most damned Angelo ! 
 
 Diilte. This nor hurts him nor profits you a jot: 
 Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven. 
 Mark what I say ; whidi you sliall find 
 By every syllable, a faithful verity : 
 Tile duke comes home to-morrow ; — nay, dry your 
 One of our convent, and his confessor, [eyes ; 
 
 Gives rae this instance ; Already he hath carried 
 Notice to Escalus and Angelo ; 
 Who do prepare to meet him at the gates. 
 There to give up their power. If you can, pace your 
 In that good path tha» I would wish it go ; [wisdom 
 And you shall have your bosom on this WTetch, 
 Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart. 
 And general honour, 
 
 Isab. I am directed by you. 
 
 Duke. This letter then to Friar Peter give ; 
 'Pis that he sent me of the duke's return ; 
 Say, by this token, I desire his company 
 At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause, and yours, 
 I '11 perfect him withal ; and he shall bring you 
 Before the duke ; and to the head of Angelo 
 Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self, 
 I am combined by a sacred vow. 
 And shall be absent. Wend you with this letter: 
 Command- these fretting waters from your eyes 
 With a light heart ; trust not my holy Older, 
 If I pervert your course. — Who 's here 1 
 
 Enter Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Good even ! 
 
 Friar, where is the provost t 
 
 Duke. Not within, sir. 
 
 Lucio. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart, 
 to sec thine eyes so red ; thou must be patient : I 
 am fain to dine and sup with water and bran ; I dare 
 not for my head fill my belly ; one fruitful meal would 
 set me to 't : But they say the duke will be here to- 
 morrow. By my troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother ; 
 if the old fantastical duke of dark corners had been 
 at home, he had lived. [Eiit Isabella. 
 
 Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholden 
 to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in them, 
 
 Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well as 
 I do : he 's a better woodman than thou takest him for. 
 
 Duke. Well, you '11 answer this one day. Fare 
 ye well. 
 
 Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I '11 go along with thee ; I can 
 tell thee pretty tales of the duke. 
 
 Duke. Vou have told me too many of him already, 
 fiir, if they be true ; if not true, none were enough. 
 
 Lucio. 1 was once before him for getting a wench 
 with child 
 
 Duke. Did you such a thing 1 
 
 Lucio. Ves, marry, did I ; but was fain to for- 
 swear it ; they would else have married me to the 
 rotten medlar. 
 
 Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than honest : 
 Rest you w^ell. 
 
 Lucio. By my troth, I '11 go with thee to the lane's 
 end : If bawdy talk offend you, we '11 have very little 
 of it ; Nay, friar, 1 am a kind of burr, I shall stick. 
 
 [_Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room in Angelo's House. 
 Enter Angelo and Escalus. 
 Eseal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd 
 other. 
 Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner. His 
 
 actions shew much like to madness : pray heaven, 
 his wisdom be not tainted ! And why meet him at 
 the gates, and re-deliver our authorities there 1 
 
 Escal. I guess not. 
 
 Aug: And why should we proclaim it in an Iiour 
 before his entering, that, if any crave redress of injus- 
 tice, they sliould exliibit their petitions in the street 1 
 
 Escal. He shews his reason for tiiat: to have a de- 
 spatch of complaints ; and to deliver us from devices 
 hereafter, which shall then have no power to stand 
 against us. 
 
 Aug. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaira'd : 
 Betimes i' the morn, I 'II call you at your house : 
 Give notice to such men of sort and suit. 
 As are to meet him. 
 
 Eiccil. I shall, sir: fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 Ang. Good night. — 
 This deed unshapes me quite, makes me iinpregnant. 
 And dull to all proceedings. A deflowei-'d maid! 
 And by an eminent body, that enforc'd 
 I'he law against it ! — But that her tender shame 
 AVill not proclaim against her maiden loss. 
 How might she tongue met Yet reason dares her? — 
 For my authority bears a credent bulk, [no : 
 
 That no particular scandal once can touch, 
 But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd, 
 .Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense, 
 Might, in the times to come, have ta'eu revenge, 
 }5y so receiving a dishonour'd life, 
 With ransome of such shame. 'Would yet he had liv'd! 
 Alack, when once our grace we have forgot. 
 Nothing goes light ; we would, and we would not. 
 
 [Exit. 
 SCENE V — Fields without the Town. 
 
 Enter Duke in his own habit, and Friar Peter. 
 
 Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me. 
 
 [Giving letters. 
 The provost knows our purpose, and our plot. 
 The matter being afoot, keep you instruction. 
 And hold you ever to our special drift ; 
 Though sometimes you do blench from this to that. 
 As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavins' house, 
 And tell him where I stay : give the like notice 
 To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
 And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate : 
 But send me Flavins first. 
 
 F. Feter. It shall be speeded well. [Exit Friar. 
 
 Enter Varrtus. 
 Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made good 
 haste : 
 Come, we will walk : There 's other of our friends 
 Will greet us here anon, raygentle Varrius. [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE VL— Street near the City Gate. 
 
 Enter Isabella and Mariana. 
 
 Isab, To speak so indirectly, I am loath ; 
 I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so. 
 That is your part : yet I 'm advised to do it ; 
 He says, to veil full purpose. 
 
 Mari. Be rul'd by him. 
 
 Is,ih. Besides, he tells me, that, if peradventure 
 He speak against me on the adverse side, 
 I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic, 
 That 's bitter to sweet end. 
 
 Mari. 1 would, friar Peter — 
 
 Isab. O, peace ; the friar is come. 
 
 Enter Friar Peter. 
 F. Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand moat ' 
 1 Where you may have such vantage on the duke, [fit, 
 
124 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 He shall not pass you ; Twice have the trumpets 
 The generous and gravest citizens [souuded ; 
 
 Have hent the gates, and very near upon 
 Tiie duke is ent'ring ; therefore hence, away. [Ereunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — A public Place near the City Gate, 
 
 Mariana (veiled), Isabella, and Peter, at a dis- 
 tance. Enter at opposite doors, Duke, Varrius, 
 Lords ; Ancelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost, Offi- 
 cers, and Citizens. 
 
 Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly met : — 
 Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you. 
 Aug. and EscaL Happy return be to your royal 
 
 grace ! 
 Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both. 
 We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear 
 Such goodness of your j ustice, that our soul 
 Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks, 
 forerunning more requital. 
 
 Aug. You make my bonds still greater. 
 
 Duke. 0, your desert speaks loud ; and I should 
 To lock it in the wards of covert bosom, [wrong it. 
 When it deserves with characters of brass 
 A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of lime, 
 And razure of oblivion ; Give me your hand. 
 And let the subject see, to make them know 
 That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
 Favours that keep within.— Come, Escalus, 
 You must walk by us on our other hand j 
 And good supporters are you. 
 
 Peter and Isabella come forward. 
 
 F. Peter. Now is your time ; speak loud, and 
 kneel before him, 
 
 Isab. Justice, O royal duke ! Vail your regard 
 Upon a wrong'd, I 'd fain have said, a maid ! 
 worthy prince, dishonour not your eye 
 By throwing it on any other object, 
 Till you have heard me in my true complaint, 
 And given me justice, justice, justice, justice ! 
 
 Uu/ce. Relate your wrongs: In what"! By whom ? 
 Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice ! [Be brief: 
 Reveal yourself to him. 
 
 hab. 0, worthy duke. 
 
 You bid me seek, redemption of the devil : 
 Hear me yourself; for that which 1 must speak 
 Must either punish me, not being believ'd, 
 Or wring redress from you : hear me, O, hear me, here 
 
 Aiig. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm : 
 She hath been a suitor to me for her brother. 
 Cut off by course of justice ! 
 
 Isab. By course of justice! 
 
 Aug. And she will speak most bitterly, and strange. 
 
 Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, will I speak ; 
 That Angelo "s forsworn ; is it not strange ! 
 That Angelo 's a murderer ; is 't not strange 1 
 That Angelo is an adulterous thief, 
 An hypocrite, a virgin-violator ; 
 Is it not strange, and strange ? 
 
 Duke. Nay, ten times strange. 
 
 Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo, 
 Than this is all as true as it is strange : 
 Nay, it is ten times true ; for truth is truth 
 To the end of reckoning. 
 
 Dulie. Away with her ; — Poor soulj 
 
 She speaks this in the infirmity of sense. 
 
 Isab. prince, 1 cunjure thee, as thou believ'st 
 There is another comfort than this world, 
 
 That thou neglect me not, with that opinion, 
 
 That lam touch'd with madness ; make not impossible 
 
 That which but seems unlike -. 'tis not impossible 
 
 But one. the wicked'st caitiff" on the ground. 
 
 May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute. 
 
 As Angelo ; even so may Angelo, 
 
 In all his dressings, characts, titles, forms. 
 
 Be an arch-villain ; believe it, royal prince, 
 
 If he be less, he 's nothing ; but he 's more, 
 
 Had I more name for badness. 
 
 Duke. By mine honesty. 
 
 If she be mad, as I believe no other. 
 Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense. 
 Such a dependency of thing on thing, 
 As e'er I heard in madness. 
 
 Isab, O, gracious duke. 
 
 Harp not on that : nor do not banish reason 
 For inequality ; but let your reason serve 
 To make the truth appear, where it seems hid j 
 And hide the false, seems true, 
 
 Duke. Many that are not mad. 
 
 Have, sure, more lack of reason. — What would you 
 Isab. I am the sister of one Ciaadio, [say ? 
 
 Condemned upon the act of fornication 
 To lose his head ; condemn'd by Angelo: 
 I, in probation of a sisterhood, 
 Was sent to by my brother : One Luclo 
 As then the messenger ; — 
 
 LxLcio. That's I, an't like your grace: 
 
 I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her 
 To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo, 
 For her poor brother's pardon. 
 
 Isab. That's he, indeed. 
 
 Duke, You were not bid to speak. 
 Lucio. No, my good lord ; 
 
 Nor wish'd to hold my peace. 
 
 Duke. I wish you now then j 
 
 Pray you, take note of it : and when you have 
 A business for yourself, pray heaven, you then' 
 Be perfect. 
 
 Lucio. I warrant your honour. 
 
 Duke. The warrant's for yourself ; take heed to it. 
 Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale. 
 Lucio. Right. 
 
 Duke. It may be right ; but you are in the wrong 
 To speak before your time. — Proceed. 
 
 Isab. I went. 
 
 To this pernicious caitiff deputy. 
 
 Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken. 
 Isab. Pardon it ; 
 
 The phrase is to the matter, 
 
 Duke. IMended again : the matter; — Proceed. 
 Isab. In brief, — to set the needless process by. 
 How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, 
 How he refell'd me, and how I reply 'd; 
 (For this was of much length.) the vile conclusion 
 1 now begin with grief and shame to utter ; 
 He would not, but by gift of my chaste body 
 To his concupiscible intemperate lust. 
 Release my brother ; and, after much debateroent. 
 My sisterly remorse confutes mine honour. 
 And I did yield to him : But the next morn betimes. 
 His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
 For my poor brother's head. 
 
 Duke. This is most likely . 
 
 Isab. 0, that it were as like as it is true ! 
 Duke. By heaven, fond wretch, thou know'st not 
 what thou speak'st ; 
 Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour. 
 In hateful practice: First, his integrity 
 Stands without blemish : — next, it imports no reason, 
 That with such veheuiency he should pursue 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 125 
 
 Faults proper to himself : if he had so offended, 
 He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself, 
 And not have cut him off: Some one hath set you on ; 
 Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
 Thou cam'st here to complain. 
 
 Isab. And is this all 1 
 
 Then, oh, you blessed ministers above, 
 Keep me in patience ; and with ripen 'd time, 
 Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up 
 Incountenance ! — Heaven shield yourgrace from woe. 
 As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go ! 
 
 Duke. I know, you'd fain be gone : — An officer ! 
 To prison with her : — Shall we thus permit 
 A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 
 On liim so near us? This needs must be a practice. 
 — Who knew of your intent, and coming hither ? 
 Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick. 
 Duke. A ghostly father, belike : Who knows that 
 
 Lodowick] 
 Lttcio. My lord, 1 know him ; 'tis a meddling friar ? 
 I do not like tlie man : had he been lay, my lord. 
 For certain words he spake against your grace 
 In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly. 
 
 Duke. Words against me 1 This is a good friar belike ! 
 And to set on this wretched woman here 
 Against our substitute! — Let this friar be found. 
 
 Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar 
 I saw them at the prison: a saucy friar, 
 A very scurvy fellow. 
 
 F. Peter. Blessed be your royal grace 1 
 
 I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
 Your royal ear abus'd : First, hath this woman 
 Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute ; 
 Who is as free from touch or soil with her, 
 As she from one ungot. 
 
 Duke. We did believe no less. 
 
 Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of! 
 
 F. Peter. I know him for a man divine and holy ; 
 Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler. 
 As he's reported by this gentleman ; 
 And, on my trust, a man that never yet 
 Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace. 
 Lucio. My lord, most villanously; believe it. 
 F, Pe(«r. Well, he in time inay come to clear himself; 
 But at this instant he is sick, my lord. 
 Of a strange fever: Upon his mere request, 
 (Being come to knowledge that there was complaint 
 intended 'gainst lord Angelo,) came I hither. 
 To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know 
 Is true, and false ; and what he with his oath. 
 And ail probation, will make up full clear, 
 Whensoever he's convented. First, for this woman ', 
 (To justify this worthy nobleman, 
 So vulgarly and personally accus'd,) 
 Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes, 
 Till she herself confess it. 
 
 Duke. Good friar, let's hear it. 
 
 [Isabella is carried off^ guarded; and 
 Mariana comes forward. 
 Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo ? — 
 O heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools ! 
 Give us some seals. — Come, cousin Angelo ; 
 In this I'll be impartial ; be you judge 
 Of your own cause. — Is this the witness, friar 1 
 First, let her shew her face ; and, after, speak. 
 
 Mari. Pardon, my lord ; I will not shew my face, 
 Until my husband bid me. 
 
 Duke. What, are you married ! 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 ' Duke. Are you a maid 1 
 
 Mari. No, my lord. 
 
 Duke, A widow then ? 
 
 Mari. Neither, my lord. , 
 
 Duke. Why, you 
 
 Are nothing then : — Neither maid, widow, nor wife 1 
 Lucio. ]\Iy lord, she may be a punk ; for many of 
 them are neither maid, widow, nor wife. 
 
 Duke. Silence that fellow : I would, he had some 
 To prattle for himself. [cause 
 
 Lucio. Well, nry lord. 
 
 Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ; 
 And, I confess, besides, I am no maid : 
 I have known my husband ; yet my husband knows 
 That ever lie knew me. [not, 
 
 Lucio. He was drunk then, my lord; it can be no 
 better. 
 
 Duke. For the benefit of silence, would thou wcrt 
 so too. 
 
 Lucio. Well, my lord. 
 Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo. 
 Mori. Now I come to't, my lord : 
 She, that accuses him of fornication, 
 In self-same manner doth accuse my husband ; 
 And charges him, my lord, with such a time. 
 When I'll depose I had him in mine arms. 
 With all tlie effect of love. 
 
 Aug. Charges she more than me ? 
 
 Mari. Not that I know. 
 
 Duke. No? you say, your husband. 
 
 Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo, 
 Who thinks, he knows, that he ne'er knew my body. 
 But knows, he thinks, that he knows Isabel's. 
 
 Aug. This is a strange abuse : — Let's see thy face. 
 Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will unmask. 
 This is that face, thou cruel Angelo, [Unveiling. 
 Which, once thou swor'st, was worth the looking ou : 
 This is the hand, which, with a vow'd contract, 
 Was fast belock'd in thine : this is the body 
 That took away the match from Isabel, 
 And did supply thee at thy garden-house, 
 In her imagin'd person. 
 
 Duke. Know you this woman 1 
 
 Lucio. Carnally, she says. 
 Duke. Sirrah, no more. 
 
 Lucio. Enough, my lord. 
 
 Aug. My lord, I must confess, I know this woman ; 
 And, five years since, there was some speechof mar- 
 riage 
 Betwixt myself and her ; which was broke off. 
 Partly, for that her promised proportions 
 Came short of composition ; but, in chief. 
 For tliat her reputation was disvalued 
 In levity : since which time of five years, 
 I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her. 
 Upon my faith and honour. 
 
 Mari. Noble prince, [breath. 
 
 As there comes light from heaven, and words from 
 As tliere is sense in truth, and truth in virtue, 
 I am affianc'd this man's wife, as strongly 
 As words could make up vows ; and, my good lord, 
 But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden-house. 
 He knew me as a wife ; As this is true 
 Let me in safety raise me from my knees j 
 Or else for ever be confixed here, 
 A marble monument ! 
 
 Ang. I did but smile till now; 
 
 Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice; 
 RIy patience here is touched : I do perceive. 
 These poor informal women are no more 
 But instruments of some more mightier member. 
 That sets them on : Let me have way, my lord. 
 To find this practice out. 
 
 Duke. Ay, with all my heart ; 
 
 And punish them unto your height of pleasure.— 
 
126 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Thou foolish friar ; and thou pernicious woman, 
 PompdcAvith her that's gone ! think'st thou , thy oaths. 
 Though they would swear down each particular saint. 
 Were testimonies against his worth and credit, 
 That's seal'd in approbation? — You, lord Escalus, 
 Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains 
 To find out this abuse, whence 'tis deriv'd, — 
 There is another friar that set them on ; 
 Let him be sent for. 
 
 F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord, for he, in- 
 Hath set the women on to this complaint : [deed, 
 Your provost knows the place where he abides, 
 And he may fetch him. 
 
 Duke. Go, do it instantly — [E.iit Provost. 
 
 And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin. 
 Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth. 
 Do with your injuries as seems vou best, 
 In any chastisement: I for a while 
 Will leave you ; but stir not you, till you have well 
 Determined upon these slanderers. 
 
 Escal. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly. — [Exit 
 Duke.] Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew 
 that friar I.odowick to be a dishonest i)erson! 
 
 Lucio. CucuUus mm JacU mnnitcltum: honest in 
 nothing, but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke 
 most villanous speeches of the duke. 
 
 Escal. We shall intreat you to abide here till he 
 come, and enforce theiti against him : we shall find 
 this friar a notable fellow. 
 
 Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word. 
 
 Escal. Call tliat same Isabel here once again ; 
 [To an Attendant.] I would speak with her : Pray 
 you, my lord, give me leave to question; you shall 
 see how I'll handle her. 
 
 Lucio. Not better than he, by her own report. 
 
 Escal. Say you 1 
 
 Lucia. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled her pri- 
 vately, shewould sooner confess: perchance, publicly 
 she'll be ashamed. 
 
 Re-enter Officers, vnth Isabella ; the Duke, in the 
 Friar's habit, and Provost. 
 
 Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 
 
 Lucio. That's the way ; for women are light at 
 midnight. 
 
 Escal. Come on, mistress : [Tn Isahella.] here's 
 a gentlewoman denies all that you have said. 
 
 Lucio. My lord, here corae's the rascal 1 spoke of ; 
 here with the provost. 
 
 Escal. In very good time : — speak not you to him, 
 till we call upon you. 
 
 Lucio. i\Ium. 
 
 Escal. Come, sir: Did you set these women on to 
 slander lord Angelo? they have confess'd you did. 
 
 Duke. "lis false. 
 
 Escal. How ! know you where you are ? 
 
 Duke. Respect to vour great place ! and let the devil 
 Be sonietinie'honour'd for his burning throne : — • 
 Where is the duke 1 'tis he should hear me speak. 
 
 Escal. The duke's in us ; and we will hear you 
 Look, you speak justly. [speak : 
 
 Duke. Boldly, at least : But, 0, poor souls. 
 
 Come vou to seek the lamb here of the fox ? 
 Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone t 
 Then is your cause gone loo. The duke's unjust. 
 Thus to retort your manifest appeal 
 And put your trial in the villain's mouth, 
 Which here you come to accuse. 
 
 Lucia. This is the rascal ; this is he I spoke of. 
 
 Escal. Why, thou unreverendandunhallow'd friar ! 
 Is't not enough, thou hast suborn'd these women. 
 To accuse this worthy man ; but, in foul mouth. 
 
 And in the witness of his proper ear, 
 
 To call him villain? 
 
 And then to glance from him to the duke hiraielf j 
 
 To tax him with injustice? Take him hence ; 
 
 Totherackwith him : — We'll touze you jointby joint; 
 
 But we will know this purpose : — What ! unjust? 
 
 Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke 
 Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he 
 Dare rack his own ; his subject am I not. 
 Nor here provincial : My business in this state 
 Made me a looker-on here in Vienna, 
 Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble, 
 Till it o'er-run the stew : laws, for all faults ; 
 But faults so countenanc'd. that the strong statutes 
 Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop. 
 As much in mock as mark. [prison 
 
 Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to 
 
 Au^. What can you vouch against him, signior 
 Is this the man that you did tell us of! [Lucio ? 
 
 Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither good-man 
 bald-pate : Do you know me? 
 
 Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your 
 voice : I met you at the prison, in the absence of the 
 duke. 
 
 Lucio. O did you so ? And do you remember what 
 you said of the duke ? 
 
 Duke. Most notedly, sir. 
 
 Lucio. Do vou so, sir ? And was the duke a flesh- 
 monger, a fool, and a coward, as you then reported 
 him to be ? 
 
 Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me, ere 
 you make that my report: you, indeed, spoke so of 
 him ; and much more, much worse. 
 
 Lucia. thou damnable fellow ! Did not I pluck 
 thee by the nose, for thy speeches ? 
 
 Duke. I protest, I love the duke, as I love myself, 
 
 Aug. Hark ! how the villain would close now, 
 after his treasonable abuses. 
 
 Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talk'd withal : — 
 Away with him to prison : — Where is the provost? 
 — Away with him to prison ; lay bolts enough upon 
 him : let him speak no more : — Away with those 
 giglots too, and with the other confederate companion. 
 [The Protest laijs hands on the Duke. 
 
 Duke. Stay, sir ; stay awhile. 
 
 Aug. What! resists he ! Help him, Lucio. 
 
 Lucio. Come, sir ; come, sir ; come, sir ; fob, sir : 
 Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be 
 hooded, must you ? Shew your knave's visage, with 
 a pox to you ! shew your sheep-biting face, and be 
 hang'd an hour ! Will 't not off? 
 
 [Pulls off' the Friar's hood, and discorers the Ddke. 
 
 Duke. Thou art the first knave, that e'er made a 
 
 duke. 
 
 First, provost, let me bail these gentle three : 
 
 Sneak not away, sir ; [to Lucio.] for the friar and you 
 Must have a word anon : — lay hold on him. 
 
 Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging. 
 
 Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit you 
 
 down. [ToEscalbb. 
 
 We 'II borrow place of him — Sir, by your leave : 
 
 [To Angelo. 
 Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence. 
 That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast. 
 Rely upon it till my tale be heard. 
 And hold no longer out. 
 
 Ang. O my dread lord. 
 
 I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
 To think I can^.be undiscernible. 
 When I perceive, your grace, like power divine, • 
 Hath look'd upon my passes ; Then, good prince, 
 No longer session hold upon my shame, 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I, 
 
 127 
 
 But iet mv trial be mine own confession ; 
 Immediate sentence then, and sequent death, 
 Is all the grace I beg. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Mariana: — 
 
 Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ! 
 
 Aug. I was, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Go take her hence and marry her instantly. — 
 Do you the office, friar ; which consummate. 
 Return him here again -.—Go with him, provost. 
 
 [£ieii«« Ancelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. 
 
 Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his dishonour. 
 Than at the strangeness of it. 
 
 Duke. Come hither, Isabel : 
 
 Your friar is now your prince : As I was then 
 Advertising, and holy to your business, 
 Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
 Attorney'd at your service. 
 
 Imb. give me pardon, 
 
 That I, your vassal, have employ 'd and pain'd 
 Your unknown sovereignty. 
 
 Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel ; 
 
 And now, dear maid, be you as free to us. 
 Your brother's death, X know, sits at your heart ; 
 And you may marvel, why I obscur'd myself. 
 Labouring to save his life ; and would not rather 
 JIake rash remonstrance of my liidden power. 
 Than let him so be lost : O most kind maid, 
 It was the swift celerity of his death. 
 Which I did think with slower foot came on, 
 That brain'd my purpose : But, peace be with him ! 
 That life is better life, past fearing death. 
 Than that which lives to fear ; make it your comfort. 
 So happy is your brother. 
 
 Re'enter Akoelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost. 
 
 Isab. I do, my lord. 
 
 Duke. For this new-married man, approaching here. 
 Whose salt imagination yet hath wrong'd 
 Your well defended honour, you must pardon 
 For Jlariana's sake : but as he adjudg'd your brother, 
 (Being criminal, in double violation 
 Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach. 
 Thereon dependent, for your brother's life,) 
 The very mercy of the law cries out 
 Most audible, even from his proper tongue. 
 An AngetoJ'av Claudio, death for death. 
 Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ; 
 Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure. 
 Then Angelo, thy fault 's thus manifested : 
 Which though thou would'st deny, denies thee van- 
 We do condemn thee to the very block [tage : 
 
 Where Claudio stoop'd to death, and with like haste ; 
 Away with him. 
 
 Mari. O, my most gracious lord, 
 
 I hope you will not mock me with a husband! 
 
 Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a hus- 
 Consenting to the safeguard of your honour, [band : 
 I thought your marriage fit ; else imputation 
 For that he knew you, might reproach your life. 
 And choke your good to come : for his possessions, 
 Although by confiscation they are ours. 
 We do instate and widow you withal. 
 To buy you a better husband. 
 
 Mari. O, my dear lord, 
 
 I crave no other, nor no better man. 
 
 Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive. 
 
 Mari, Gentle, my liege, — \_Kneeling. 
 
 Duke, You do but lose your labour ; 
 
 Away with him to death. — Now, sir, [lo Lucio.] 
 
 to you. [part ; 
 
 Mari. O, my good lord! — Sweet Isabel, take my 
 Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 
 
 I '11 lend you all my life to do you service. 
 
 Duke. Against all sense do you impurtunfe her : 
 Should she kneel down, in mercy of tiiis fact. 
 Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break, 
 And take her hence in horror. 
 
 Mari. Isabel, 
 
 Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ; 
 Hold up your hands, say nothing, I '11 speak all. 
 They say, best men are moulded out of faults ; 
 And, for the most, become much more the better 
 For being a little bad : so may my husband. 
 O, Isabel ! will you not lend a kneel 
 
 Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 
 
 Isab. Most bounteous sir, [_Kneelijig 
 
 Look, if it please you, on this man condemned. 
 As if my brother liv'd : I partly think, 
 A due sincerity govern'd his deeds. 
 Till he did look on me ; since it is so. 
 Let him not die : My brother had but justice, 
 In that he did the thing for which he died : 
 For Angelo, 
 
 His act did not o'ertake his bad intent ; 
 And must be buried but as an intent 
 That perished by the way : thoughts are no subjects . 
 Intents but merely thoughts. 
 
 Ma 
 
 Merely, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Your suit's unprofitable ; stand up, I say. — 
 I have bethought me of another fault : — ■ 
 Provost, how came it, Claudio was beheaded 
 At an unusual hour 1 
 
 Frov. It was commanded so. 
 
 Duke. Had you a special \^'arrant for the deedl 
 
 Proo. No, my good lord ; it was by private message 
 
 Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office : 
 Give up your keys. 
 
 Prov. Pardon me, noble lord: 
 
 I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ; 
 Yet did repent me after more advice : 
 For testimony whereof, one in the prison, 
 That should by private order else have died, 
 I have reserv'd alive. 
 
 Duke. What's he? 
 
 Prov. His name is Barnardine. 
 
 Duke. I would thou had'st done so by Claudio, — 
 Go, fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. 
 
 [Exit ProvosL 
 
 Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise 
 As you, lord Angelo, have still appear'd. 
 Should slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood. 
 And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. 
 
 Aug. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure " 
 And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart. 
 That I crave death more willingly than mercy ; 
 'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. 
 
 /?e-eH(erProvost, Barnardine, Claudio, ajidJuLiET. 
 
 Duke. Which is that Barnardine 1 
 
 Prov. This, my lord 
 
 Duke. There was a friar told me of this «ian; 
 
 Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul. 
 That apprehends no further than this world. 
 And squar'st thy life. according. Thou 'rt condemn'd ; 
 But, for those earthly faults, I quit them all ; 
 And pray thee, take this mercy to provide 
 
 For better times to come: Friar, advise him ; 
 
 I leave him to your hand. — What muffled fellow's 
 
 Prov. This is another prisoner, that I sav'd, [that ? 
 That should have died when Claudio lost his head ; 
 As like almost to Claudio, as himself. 
 
 [Unmuffies Claudio 
 
 Duke. If he be like your brother, [to Isabella.] 
 for his sake 
 
128 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 
 Is lie pardon'd ; And, for your lovely sake, 
 Give me your hand, and say you will be minCi 
 He is my brother too : But fitter time for that. 
 By this/lord Angelo perceives he 's safe ; 
 Methinks, I see aquick'nmg in his eye: — 
 Well, Angelo, your evil quits you well : 
 Look that you love your wife; her worth, worth 
 I find an apt remission in myself: [yours. — 
 
 And yet here 's one in place 1 cannot pardon : — 
 You, sirrah, [to Lucio.] that knew me for a fool, a 
 One all of luxury, an ass, a madman j [coward, 
 
 Wherein have I so desei-v'd of you, 
 That you extol me thus 1 
 
 Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according to 
 the trick: If you will hang me for it, you may, but I 
 had rather it would please you, I might be whipp'd. 
 
 Duke, Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after, — 
 Proclaim it, provost, round about the city ; 
 If any woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow, 
 (As I have heard him swear himself, there's one 
 Whom he begot with child,) let her appear, 
 And he shall marry her: the nuptial finish'd, 
 Let him be whipp'd and hang'd. 
 
 Lucio* I beseech your higlmess, do not marry me 
 to a whore ! Your highness said even now, 1 made 
 
 you a duke ; good my lord, do not recompense me, 
 in making me a cuckold. 
 
 Duke. Upon mine honour, thou shalt marry her. 
 Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal 
 Kemit thy other forfeits : — Take him to prison : 
 And see our pleasure herein executed. 
 
 Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is pressing to 
 death, whipping, and hanging, 
 
 Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it, — 
 She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you restore. — 
 Joy to you, Mariana! — love her, Angelo ; 
 I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue, — 
 Thanks, good friend Escalus, for thy much goodness: 
 There 's more behind, that is more gratulate. 
 Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy; 
 We shall employ thee in a worthier place : — ■ 
 Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
 The head of Ragozine for Claudio's; 
 The offence pardons itself.— Dear Isabel, 
 I have a motion much imports your good j 
 Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, 
 What 's mine is your's and what is yours is mine : — 
 So, bring us to our palace ; where we'll shew 
 What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know, 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Of this play, the light or comic part is very natural and pleas- 
 ing, but the grave scenes, if a few passages be exctyted, have 
 more labour than elegance. The plot is rather intricate than 
 ertful. The time of the action is indefinite ; some time, we 
 know not how much, must have elapsed between the recess of 
 the (luke and the imprisonment of Cliiudio ; for he must have 
 learned the story of Mariana in his disguise, or he delegated 
 his power to a man alreadyknown lobe corrupted. The unities 
 of action and place are sufficitntly preserved.— Jun nson. 
 
 There are very few readers whose adniiralinn for Shakspeare 
 will not be outraged by reading the above harsh and tasteless 
 observations of l)r Johnson. It may perhaps allay their irri- 
 tation to find that all critics are not equally cold to the various 
 merits of this beautiful play.—" Uf Measure for Measure," says 
 Dr. Drake, " iudependent of the comic characters, which afford 
 a rich funa of entertainment, the great charm springs from the 
 lovely examjjle of female excellence exhibited in the person of 
 Isabella. Piety, spotless purity, tenderness combined with 
 firmness, and an eloquence the most persuasive, unite to render 
 her singularly interesting and attractive. C est un an^e de lit- 
 mieresous I'humfile habit d' une novice. To save the life of her 
 brother she hastens to quit the peaceful seclusion of her con- 
 \ ent, and moves amid the votaries of corruption and hypocrisy, 
 amid the sensual, the vulgar, and the profligate, as a being of a 
 Cipher order, as a ministering spirit from the throne of grace. 
 Her first interview with ADgelo, and the immediately subse- 
 
 quent one with Claudio, exhibit, along with themost engaging 
 leuiinine diffidence and modesty, an extraordinary display of 
 intellectual energy, of dexterous argument, :md of inuignant 
 contempt. Her pleadings before the lord deputy, are directed 
 with a strong appeal both to his uiidt:rstandiiig and his heart, 
 wliile her sagacity and address in the communication of the re- 
 sult of her appointment with him to her brother, of whose weak- 
 ness and irresolution she is justly apprehensive, are. if possible, 
 still more skilfully marked, and atlcl another to the multitude 
 of instances which have established for Shaksiware an miri- 
 yalled iutiuiacy with the finest t'etrlings of our nature." There 
 is one beauty in this play which I do not remember to have seea 
 observed; though the vice of Claudio is one which the world 
 is inclined to think too lightW of. and though there was oflered 
 so easy and popular a way of ex{;jting an interest forhim in the 
 minds of the audience, by diminishing the heinousness of his 
 offence, and representing the transgressor ratbera> a martyr than 
 a culprit; Shakspeare has in no instance breathed a syllable that 
 might seem to extenuate his guilt. 1 hrou^jhout the play, the 
 crime which is so much debated, is represented as nn object of 
 disi^ust, both in its own impurity aud in the mean, the selfish, 
 and the loathsome baseness of its uiinisicrs. The very passages 
 of a grofcs and indecent nature that occur, only serve to heighten 
 the general, moral effect of the whole, and raise the reader's 
 admiration of the holy chastity' of Isabel, by placing it in con- 
 trast with the repalsive levity of the votaries of Ucei]tiousu£:»s. 
 
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 This plav was printed in quarto in the year 160O ; 'and entered 
 at Sidtioners' Hall. Ausuil 2.). of that year: and as it IS not 
 nifntioued bv .Meres, in his list of our .Author s works pub- 
 lished in 15118, the date of its producuon is ascertained with 
 more than usual accuracy. ^. , . , - 
 
 Wr. Pope savs that the plot was taken from the fifth hook ot 
 the Ca'«».;o' Ji"-i0J«.— Mr. Steevensconceivesthat not Ariosto 
 but bpenser affgided the subject! of the play, and that it was 
 taken from the Fairy Qtieen, b. 2. c. 4. But as both these 
 
 originals are tnost justly acknowledged to ie remo/e, it has 
 been suggested that the story niitht have been copied from 
 the ISth history of the third volume of Belleforest. It never 
 appears to have entered into the minds of the critics that 
 bhakspeare might occasionally have dramatized a story of 
 his own invention.— .Vy/c/i ad<j ab,'iii Soiliitis, is reported in 
 Mr. \ ertue s :\1.SS. to have passed formerly under the nam* 
 
 of Benedici and Beatrice- 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Don Peuro, Prince of Amgon. 
 
 Don John, his bastard brother. 
 
 Claudio, a uaung lord oJ"Eloret\ce, favourite to Don 
 
 Petiro. 
 Benedick, a young lord of Padua./atwurite Ukeivise 
 
 of Don Pedro. 
 Leonato, governor of IMessina. 
 Antonio, his brother, 
 Balthazap, servant to Don Pedro. 
 BoRACHio, Cnynjii>E,fotlmiers o/' Don John. 
 DoGBEURY, Verges, two foolish officers. 
 A Sexton, A Friar, A Boy. 
 
 Hero, daughter to Leonato. 
 Beatrice, niece to Leonato. 
 JIaRGaret, Ursula, gent/etcomcn atteiirfiiig m Hero. 
 
 Messengers, Watch, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE,— Messina. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Before Leonato's House. 
 
 E7iter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, 
 uilli a Messenger. 
 
 Leon. I learn in this letter, that Don Pedro of 
 Arragon comes this night to Messina. 
 
 Mess. He is very near by this ; he was not three 
 leagues off when 1 left him. 
 
 Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this 
 action ? 
 
 Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name. 
 
 Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever 
 brings home full numbers. 1 find here, tliat Don 
 Pedro bath bestowed much honour on a young Flo- 
 rentine, called Claudio. 
 
 Mess. Much deseiTed on his part, and equally re- 
 membered by Dou Pedro : He hath borne himself 
 beyond the promise of his age ; doing, in the figure 
 of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed, 
 better bettered e.tpectation, than you must expect of 
 me to tell you hotv. 
 
 Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be 
 very much glad of it. 
 
 Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and 
 there appears much joy in him ; even so much, that 
 ioy could not shew itself modest enough, without a 
 badge of bitterness. 
 
 Leon. Did he break out into tears 1 
 
 Mess. In great measure. 
 
 Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : There are 
 no faces truer than those that are so washed. How 
 
 much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at 
 weeping? 
 
 Beat. I pray you, is signior Montanto returned 
 from the wars, or no ? 
 
 Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there was 
 none such in the army of any sort. 
 
 Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? 
 
 Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of 
 Padua. 
 
 Mess. 0, he is returned, and as pleasant as evtr 
 he was. 
 
 Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and 
 challenged Cupid at the flight: and my uncle's fool, 
 reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and 
 challenged him at the bird-bolt. — I pray you, how 
 many hath he killed and eaten in these wars 1 But 
 how many hath he killed 1 for, indeed, I promised 
 to eat all of his killing. 
 
 Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too 
 much ; but he '11 be meet with you, I doubt it not. 
 
 Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these 
 wars. 
 
 Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp 
 to eat it : he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath 
 an excellent stomacli. 
 
 Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 
 
 Beat. And a good soldier to a lady ; — But what is 
 he to a lord ? 
 
 Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stufi'ed 
 with all honourable virtues. 
 
 Beat. It is so, indeed : he is no less than a stufi'ed 
 man : but for the stuffing, — Well, we are all mortal. 
 
 Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece ; there 
 is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick and 
 her ; they never meet, but there is a skirmish of wit 
 between them. 
 
 Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last 
 conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and 
 now is the old man governed ivith one : so that if he 
 have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear 
 it for a difference between himself and his horse ; 
 for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known 
 a reasonable creature. — Who is his companion nowl 
 He hath every month a new sworn brother. 
 
 Mess. Is it possible ? 
 
 Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith but 
 as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with the 
 next block. 
 
 Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your 
 books. 
 
 Beat. No : an he were, I would burn my study. 
 But, I pray you, who is his companion ? Is there no 
 young squarer now, that will make a voyage with 
 him to the devil ? 
 
 Mess. He is most in the company of the right noble 
 Claudio. 
 
 Beat, Lord ! he will hang upon him like a dis- 
 
130 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 ease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence : and 
 the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble 
 Ckiudio ! if he have caught the Benedick, it will 
 cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured. 
 
 Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady. 
 
 Beat. Do, good friend. 
 
 Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 
 
 Beat. No, not till a hot January. 
 
 Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 
 
 Enter Don PEnno, attended by Balthazah and 
 
 others, Don John, Claudio, and Benedict. 
 D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come 
 (0 meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to 
 avoid cost, and you encounter it. 
 
 Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the 
 likeness of your grace ; for trouble being gone, com- 
 fort should remain ; but when you depart from me, 
 sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave. 
 
 D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willingly. 
 — I think, this is your daughter. 
 
 Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so. 
 Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her I 
 Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you a 
 ihild. 
 
 D.Pedro. You have it full, Benedick: we may 
 ^uess by tliis what you are, being a man. Truly, tlie 
 lady fathers herself : — Be happy, lady ! for you are 
 like an honourable father. 
 
 Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would 
 not have his head on her shoulders, for all Messina, 
 as like him as she is. 
 
 Beat, I wonder that you will still be talking, 
 signior Benedick ; no body marks you. 
 
 Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain ! are you yet 
 living? 
 
 Beat. Is it possible, disdain should die, while she 
 hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Benedick ? 
 Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come 
 iu her presence. 
 
 Bene. Tlien is courtesy a turn-coat: — But it is 
 certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted : 
 and I would I could find in my heart that I had not 
 a liard heart : for, truly, I love none. 
 
 Beat. A dear happin'ess to women ; they would 
 else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I 
 thank God, and my cold blood, I am of your hu- 
 mour for that ; I had rallier hear my dog bark at a 
 crow, than a man swear lie loves me. 
 
 Bene. God keep your ladyship still in that mind ! 
 so some gentleman or other shall *scape a predesti- 
 nate scratched face. 
 
 Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an 
 'twere such a face as yours were. 
 
 Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 
 Beat. A bird of my tongue, is better than a beast 
 of yours. 
 
 Bene. I would, my horse had the speed of your 
 tongue ; and so good a continuer : But keep your 
 way 0* God's name ; I have done. 
 
 Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I 
 Jtnow you of old. 
 
 D. Pedro. This is the sum of all : — Leonato, — 
 signior Claudio, and signior Benedick, — my dear 
 friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him, we 
 shall stay here at the least a month ; and he heartily 
 prays some occasion may detain us longer : I dare 
 swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his heart. 
 
 Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not be for- 
 sworn. — Let me bid you welcome, my lord : being 
 reconciled to tlie prince your brother, I owe you all 
 daly. 
 
 D.John. I thank you ; I am not of many words, 
 but I thank you. 
 
 Leon. Please it your grace lead on 1 
 
 D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go toge- 
 ther. \_Eieunt all but Benedick a^d Ci^uDio. 
 
 Claud. Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of 
 signior Leonato ? 
 
 Bene. I noted her not : but I looked on her. 
 
 Cland. Is she not a modest young lady 7 
 
 Bene. Do you iiuestioii me as an honest man 
 should do, for my simple true judgment ; or would 
 you have me speak after my custom, as being a pro- 
 fessed tyrant to their sex 1 
 
 Claud, No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment. 
 
 Beae. Why, i'faith, mcthiuks she is too low for a 
 high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and too 
 little for a great praise : only this commendation I 
 can afford her ; that were she other than she is, she 
 were unhandsome ; and being no other hut as she is, 
 I do not like her. 
 
 Claud. Thou thinkest I am in sport ; I pray thee, 
 tell me truly how thou likest her. 
 
 Beae. Would you buy her, that you inquire after 
 her? 
 
 Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ? 
 
 Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But speak 
 you this with a sad brow ? or do you play the flout- 
 ing Jack ; to tell us Cupid is a good hare-finder, 
 and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key 
 shall a man take you, to go in the song t 
 
 Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that 
 ever I looked on. 
 
 Bene- I can see yet without spectacles, and I see 
 no such matter ; there's her cousin, an she were not 
 possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in 
 beauty, as the first of May doth the last of Decem- 
 ber. But I hope, you have no intent to turn hus- 
 band ; have you ? 
 
 Claud, I would scarce trust myself, though I had 
 sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife. 
 
 Bene. Is it come to this, i'faith 1 Hath not the 
 world one man, but he will wear his cap witli suspi- 
 cion 1 Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score 
 again ? Go to, i'faith : an thou wilt needs thrust thy 
 neck into a yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away 
 Sundays. Look, Don Pedro is returned to seek you. 
 
 Re-enter Dnn Pedbo. 
 
 D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that 
 you followed not to Leonato's 1 ■ [tell. 
 
 Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me to 
 
 D. Pedro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 
 
 Bene. You hear, count Claudio : I can be secret 
 as a dumb man, I would have you think so ; but on 
 my allegiance, — mark you this, on my allegiance : — 
 He is in love. With who? — now that is your grace's 
 part. — Mark, how short his answer is : With Hero, 
 Leonato's short daughter. 
 
 Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 
 
 Bene. Like the old tale, my lord: " it is not so, 
 nor 'twas not so : but, indeed, God forbid it should 
 be so." 
 
 Claud. If my passion change not shortly, God for- 
 bid it should be otherwise. 
 
 D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady is 
 very well worthy. 
 
 Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, 1 speak my thought. 
 
 Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine. 
 
 Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my lord, 
 I spoke mine. 
 
 Claud. That I love her, I feel. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 131 
 
 D. Pidn. That she is worthy, I know. 
 Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, 
 Qor know how she should be worthy, is the opinion 
 that fire cannot melt out of me ; 1 will die ia it at 
 the stake. 
 
 i). Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in 
 the despite of beauty. 
 
 Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in 
 the force of his will. 
 
 Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her ; 
 that she brought me up, I likewise give her most 
 humble tiianks : but that I will have a recheat winded 
 in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible 
 baldrick, all women shall pardon me : Because I will 
 not do them tlie wrong to mistrust any, I will do my- 
 self the right to trust none ; and the fine is, (for the 
 which I may go the finer,) I will live a bachelor. 
 
 D. Pedro. I shall see lliee, ere I die, look pale 
 with love. 
 
 Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, 
 my lord ; not with love : prove, that ever I lose 
 more blood with love, than I will get again with 
 drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's 
 pen, and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house, 
 for the sign of blind Cupid. 
 
 D. Pedro. Weil, if ever thou dost fall from this 
 faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument. 
 
 Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and 
 shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him be clapped 
 on the shoulder, and called Adam. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, as time shall Uy: 
 In time the savuge hull doth hear the yoke. 
 
 Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sen- 
 sible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and 
 ■ set them in my forehead : and let me be vilely paint- 
 ed ; and in such great letters as they write. Here is 
 good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign, — 
 Here you maif see Benedick the marriedntan. 
 
 Claud. If this should ever happen, thou would'st 
 be horn-mad. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his 
 quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly. 
 Bene. I look for an earthquake too then. 
 D. Pedro. Well, you mil temporize with the 
 hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick, 
 repair to Leonato's ; commend me to him, and tell 
 him, I will not fail him at supper ; for, indeed, he 
 hath made great preparation. 
 
 Bene. 1 have almost matter enough in me for such 
 an embassage ; and so I commit you — 
 
 Claud. To the tuition of God : From my house, 
 (if I had it)— 
 
 D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend. 
 Benedick. 
 
 Bene. Nay, mo<tk not, mock not : The body of 
 your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments, 
 and the guards are but slightly basted on neither ; 
 ere you flout old ends any further, examine your 
 conscience ; and so I leave you. [Krit Benedick. 
 Claud. My liege, your highness now may do me 
 good. [but how, 
 
 D. Pedro. My love is thine to teach ; t»,ach it 
 And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
 Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 
 Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lordl 
 D. Pedro. No child but Hero, uhe's his onlv heir: 
 Dost thou affect her, Claudiot 
 
 Claud. my lord, 
 
 When you went onward on this ended aciion, 
 1 look'd upon her with a soldier's eye. 
 'I'liat lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand 
 riian to drive liking to the name of love: 
 
 But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts 
 Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
 Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
 AUprompting me how fair young Hero is, 
 Saymg, 1 lik'd her ere I went to wars. 
 
 D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently 
 And tire the hearer with a book of words : 
 If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it ; 
 And I will break with her, and with her father. 
 And thou shaK have her : Was't not to this end. 
 That thou began'st to twist so fine a story 1 
 
 Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love, 
 That know love's firief by his complexion ! 
 
 But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
 I would have salv'd it with a longer treatise. 
 
 D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader 
 
 The fairest grant is the necessity : [than the flood ! 
 
 Look, what will serve, is fit : 'tis once, thou lov'st ; 
 
 And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
 
 I know, we shall have revelling to-night; 
 
 I will assume thy part in some disguise. 
 
 And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ; 
 
 And in her bosom I'll unclasptuy heart. 
 
 And take her hearing prisoner with the force 
 
 And strong encounter of my amorous tale : 
 
 Then, after, to her father will I break ; 
 
 And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine : 
 
 In practice let us put it presently. [Eicunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Poam in Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Leonato and Antonio. 
 
 Leon. How now, brother? Where is my cousin, 
 your son 1 Hath he provided this music 1 
 
 Ant. He is very busy about it. But, brother, I can 
 tell you strange news that you yet dreamed not of. 
 Leon. Are they good 1 
 
 Ant. As the event stamps them ; but they ha\e a 
 good cover, they shew well outward. The prince 
 and count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached 
 alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a 
 man of mine : The prince discovered to Claudio, that 
 he loved my niece your daughter, and meant to ac- 
 knowledge it this night in a dance ; and, if he found 
 her accordant, he meant to take the present time by 
 the top, and instantly break with you of it. 
 
 Leon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this ? 
 
 Ant. A good sharp fellow ; I will send for him, 
 and question him yourself. 
 
 Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream, till it 
 appear itself :- but I will acquaint my daughter 
 withal, that she may be the better prepared for an 
 answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and 
 tell her of it. ISeL^ernt jtersom cross the stage.] Cou- 
 sins, you know what you have to do. — O, I cry you 
 mercy, friend": you go with me, and I will use your 
 skill : — Good cousins, have a care this busy time. 
 
 l^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Room iii^Leonato's House. 
 Enter Don John and Conhade. 
 
 Oon. What the goujere, my lord ! why are you 
 thus out of measure sad I 
 
 D.John. There is no measure in the occasion that 
 breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit. 
 
 Co7i, You should hear reason. 
 
 D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing 
 bringeth it? 
 
 Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient suffcr- 
 ance. 
 
 D. John. I wonder, that thou being (as thou say'st 
 thou art) born under Saturn, goest about to apply a 
 I i 
 
132 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 moral medicine to a mortifying mischief. I cauuot 
 liide wliat I am : 1 must be sad when I liave cause, 
 and smile at no man's jests; eat when I have sto- 
 mach, and wait for no man's leisure ; sleep when 1 
 am drowsy, and tend to no man's business ; laugh 
 when I am merry, and claw no man in his humour. 
 
 Con. Vea, but vou must not make the full show of 
 tliis, till you may do it without controhuent. You 
 have of late stood out against your brother, and he 
 hath ta'cn you newly into his grace ; where it is im- 
 possible you should take true root, but by the fair 
 weather that you make yourself: it is needful that 
 you frame the season for your own harvest. 
 
 D. John. I had rather be acankerin a hedge, than 
 a rose in his grace ; and it better fits my blood to be 
 disdain'd of all, than to fashion a carriage to rob 
 love from any : in this, though I cannot be said to 
 be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied that 
 1 am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with 
 muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog: therefore I 
 have decreed not to sing in my cage : If I had my 
 if I had my liberty, I would 
 
 Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I ncvef 
 can see him, but I am heart-burned an hour after. 
 
 Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition. 
 
 Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made 
 Justin the mid-way between him and Benedick; the 
 one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and the 
 other, too like my lady's eldest son, evennore tattling 
 
 Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in count 
 John's mouth, and half count John's melancholy in 
 signior Benedick's face, — 
 
 Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle, 
 and money enough in his purse, such a man would 
 win any woman in the world, — if he could get her 
 good will. 
 
 Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee 
 a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue. 
 
 Ant. In faith, she is too curst. 
 
 Beat. Too curst is more than curst : I shall lessen 
 God's sending that way ; for it is said, God semis a 
 curst cow short horns ; but to a cow too curst he sends 
 none. 
 
 Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send you 
 
 mouth, I would bite , .. - — —^ v- , 
 
 do mv liking : in (fie mean time, let me be that I no horns. . . j r .i. 
 
 am, and seek not to alter me. ,««"'• J^-^.l. 'f I^^ send me no husband ; for the 
 
 which blessing, I am at him upon my knees every 
 morning and evening : Lord ! I could not endure a 
 husband with a beaid on his face : I had rather lie 
 in the woollen. 
 
 Leon. You may light upon a husband, that hath 
 no beard. 
 
 Beat. What should 1 do with him 1 dress him in 
 my apparel, and make him my waiting gentlewomaul 
 He that hath a beard, is more than a youth ; and he 
 that hath no beard, is less than a man; and he that 
 is more than a youth, is not for me ; and he that is' 
 less than a man, I am not for him : Therefore I will 
 even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-herd, and 
 lead his apes into hell. 
 
 Leon. Well then, go you into hell 1 
 Bent. No ; b'ut to the gate ; and there will the 
 devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his 
 head, and say. Get t/nii to heaven, Beatrice, get you 
 tohearen; here's no place for i)oii maids : so deliver I 
 up my apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens ; 
 he shews me where the bachelors sit, and there live 
 
 am, and seek not to 
 
 Con. Can you make no use of your discontent ! 
 
 D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only. 
 Who comes here'! What news, Borachiol 
 Enter Bohachio. 
 
 Bora. I came yonder from a great supper ; the 
 prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo- 
 nato ; and I can give you intelligence of an intended 
 marriage. 
 
 D. John. Will it serve for any model to build mis- 
 chief onl What is he for a fool, that betroths him- 
 self to unquietness 1 
 
 Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand. 
 
 I). John. Who! the most e.ttiuisite Claudio 1 
 
 Bora. Even he. 
 
 D.John. A 'proper squire! And who, and who? 
 which way looks he ? . 
 
 Bora. jMarry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of 
 Leonato. 
 
 D. John. A very forward March-chick ! How came 
 
 you to thisf - - 
 
 Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was ,ve as merry as the day is Ion] 
 
 smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and ' ■ "' " --— ''- " 
 
 Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference : I whipt 
 me behind the arras ; and there heard it agreed upon, 
 that the prince should woo Hero for himself, andhav- 
 ing obtained her. give her to count Claudio. 
 
 D. John. Come, come, let us thither ; this may 
 prove food to my displeasure : that young start-up 
 hath all the glory of my overthrow ; if I can cross 
 him any way, I bless triyself every way : You are 
 both sure, and will assist me 1 
 
 Con. To the death, my lord. 
 
 i). John. Let us to the great supper: their cheer 
 is the greater, that I am subdued : 'Would the cook 
 were of my mind ! — Shall we go prove what's to be 
 done 1 
 
 Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [E«u7i(. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ Hall in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Lf.onato, Antonio, Hebo, Beatrioe, 
 and others. 
 Leon. Was not count John here at supper? 
 Ant. I saw him not. 
 
 Ant. Well, niece, [to Heko.] I trust you will be 
 ruled by your father. 
 
 JBcat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make 
 courtesy, and say. Father, as it please you : — but yet 
 for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, 
 or else make another courtesy, and say. Father, as it 
 please me. 
 
 Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day 
 fitted with a husband. 
 
 Beat. Not till God make men of some other metal 
 than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be 
 over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust 1 to make 
 an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl t 
 No, uncle, 1 '11 none . Adam's sons are my brethren ; 
 and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 
 
 Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if 
 the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know your 
 answer. 
 
 Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, if you 
 be not woo'd in good time : if the prince be too im- 
 portant, tell him, there is measure in every thing, 
 and so dance out the answer. Tor hear me, Hero ; 
 Wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, 
 a measure, and a cinque-pace: the first suit is hot 
 and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical ; 
 the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure full of 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 J 3.3 
 
 state and ancientry ; and then comes repentance, and, 
 
 with his bad legs, falls into the cinque-pace faster 
 
 and faster, till he sink into his grave. 
 
 Leon, Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly. 
 Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; 1 can see a 
 
 church by day-light. 
 
 Leon, The revellers are entering ; brother, make 
 
 good room. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, Clavdio, Benedick, Baltha- 
 zar ; Don John, Borachio, Margaret, Ursula, 
 and others, masked, 
 
 D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your 
 friend 1 
 
 Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and 
 say nothing, I am yours for the walk ; and, espe- 
 cially, when I walk away. 
 
 X). Pedro. With me in your company ? 
 
 Hero. I may say so, when I please. 
 
 D. Pedro. And when please you to say so ? 
 
 Hero. When I like your favour; for God defend, 
 the lute should be like the case ! 
 
 D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof ; within the 
 house is Jove. 
 
 Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd. 
 
 D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love. 
 
 [Takes her aside. 
 
 Bene, Well, I would you did like me. 
 
 Marg. So would not I, for your own sake, for I 
 have many ill qualities. 
 
 Bene. \V hich is one ? 
 
 Marg. I say my prayers aloud. 
 
 Beite, 1 love you the better ; the hearers may cry. 
 Amen. 
 
 Marg, God match me with a good dancer ! 
 
 Bultfi. Amen. 
 
 M"rg, And God keep him out of my sight when 
 tlie dance is done ! — .\nswer, clerk. 
 
 Balth. No more words ; the clerk is answered. 
 
 Urs. I know you well enough ; you are signior 
 Antonio. 
 
 Ant, At a word, I am not. 
 
 Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head. 
 
 Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. 
 
 Crs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless 
 you were the very man : Here's his dry hand up and 
 down ; you are he, you are he. 
 
 Ant. At a word, I am not. 
 
 Uis. Come, come ; do you think I do not know 
 you by your excellent wit ! Can virtue hide itself? 
 Go to, mum, you are he : graces will appear, and 
 there 's an end. 
 
 Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so X 
 
 Bene, No, you shall pardon me. 
 
 Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are ? 
 
 Bene. Not now. 
 
 Beat. That I was disdainful, — and that I had my 
 good wit out of the Hundred merry Tales; — Well, 
 this was signior Benedick that said so. 
 
 Bene. What's he ? 
 
 Beat, I am sure, you know him well enough. 
 
 Bene, Not I, believe me. 
 
 Beat. Did he never make you laugh ? 
 
 Bene. I pray you, what is he 1 
 
 Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very dull 
 fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders : 
 none but libertines delight in him ; and the com- 
 mendation is not in his wit, but in his villainy ; for 
 he both pleaseth men, and ai)<;ers them, and then 
 they laugh at him, and beat him : I am sure he is in 
 the fleet ; I would he had boarded me. 
 
 Bene. When I know the gentleman, I '11 tell him 
 what you say. 
 
 Beat. Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or 
 two on me ; which, peradventure, not marked, or not 
 laughed at, strikes him into melancholy ; and then 
 there's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool will eat 
 no supper that night. [Music within.] We must fol- 
 low the leaders. 
 
 Bene. In every good thing. 
 
 Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave 
 them at the next turning. 
 
 [Dance, I'hen eieunt ail but Don John, 
 • Borachio, and CLArnio. 
 
 D. .Tnhn. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and 
 hath withdrawn her father to break with him about 
 it : The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains. 
 
 Bora. And that is Claudio : I know him by his 
 bearing. 
 
 D. John, Are not you signior Benedick 7 
 
 Claud, You know me well : 1 am he. 
 
 D. John. Signior, you are \ ery near my brother 
 in his love : he is enamour'd on Hero ; I pray you, 
 dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth : 
 you may do the part of an honest man in it. 
 
 Claud, How know you he loves her \ 
 
 D.John. I heard him swear his affection. 
 
 Biira. So did I too ; and he swore he would marry 
 her to-night. 
 
 D. John. Come, let us to the banquet. 
 
 [Exeunt Don John and Bobachio. 
 
 Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick, 
 But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio. — 
 *Tis certain so ; — the prince wooes for himself. 
 Friendship is constant in all other things. 
 Save in the office and affairs of love : 
 Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ; 
 Let every eye negotiate for itself. 
 And trust no acent: for beauty is a witch, 
 -A-gainst whose charms faith nielteth into blood. 
 This is an accident of hourly proof, 
 Which I mistrusted not : Farewell therefore. Hero ! 
 
 Be-enter Benedick. 
 
 Belie. Count Claudio 1 
 
 Claud. Yea, the same. 
 
 Bene. Come, will you go with me ? 
 
 Claud. Whither ! 
 
 Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own 
 business, count! What fashion will you wear the 
 garland oil About your neck, like an usurer's chain ? 
 or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf! You 
 must wear it one way, for the prince hath got your 
 Hero. 
 
 Claud. I wish him joy of her. 
 
 Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover ; 
 so they sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince 
 would have served you thus 1 
 
 Claud. I pra}' you, leave me. 
 
 Bene, Ho ! now you strike like the blind man , 
 't^vas the boy that stole your meat, and you '11 beat 
 the post. 
 
 Claud, If >t will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Bene, Alas ! poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep 
 
 into sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should 
 
 know me, and not know me ! The prince's fool ! — 
 Ha, it may be, 1 go under that title, because I am 
 merry. — Yea -, but so ; I am apt to do myself wrong: 
 I am not so reputed : it is the b,ase, the bitter disposi- 
 tion of Beatrice, that puts the world into her person, 
 and so gives me out. Well, I '11 be revenged as I 
 may. 
 
134 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Re-enter Dim Pedko. 
 
 U.Pedro. Now, sigaior, where's the count t Did 
 you see him 1 
 
 Bene. Troth, my lord,- 1 have played the part of 
 lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a 
 lodfe in a warren ; I told him, and, I think, I told 
 him" true, that your grace had got the good will of 
 this young lady ; and 1 offered liim my company to 
 a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being 
 forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy 
 to be whipped. 
 
 i). I'edro. To be whipped ! What's his fault? , 
 
 Bene. The fiat transgression of a school-boy ; who, 
 beinc overjoy'd witli finding a bird's nest, shews it 
 his companion, and he steals it. 
 
 D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression 1 
 The transgression is in the stealer. 
 
 Be/te. Vet it had not been amiss, the rod had been 
 made, and the garland too ; for the garland he miglit 
 have worn himself; and the rod he might have be- 
 stow'd on you . who, as I take it, have stol'n his bird's 
 nest. 
 
 D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and re- 
 store them to the owner. 
 
 Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my 
 faith, vou say honestly. 
 
 D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you ; 
 the gentleman, that danced with her, told her, she is 
 much wrong'd by you. 
 
 Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a 
 block ; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would 
 have answer'd her ; my very visor began to assume 
 life, and scold with her : She told me, not thinking I 
 had been myself, that I was the prince's jester ; that 
 I was duller than a great thaw ; huddling jest upon 
 jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me, that 
 I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army 
 shooting at me : She speaks poniards, and every word 
 stabs : if her breath were as terrible as her termina- 
 tions, there were no living near her, she would infect 
 to the north star. I would not marry her, though she 
 were endowed with all that Adam liad left him before 
 he transgressed : she would have made Hercules have 
 turned spit ; yea, and have cleft bis club to make the 
 fire too. Come, talk not of her: you shall find her 
 the infernal Ale in good apparel. 1 would to God, 
 some scholar would conjure her ; for, certainly, while 
 she is here, a man may live as quiet in hell, as in a 
 sanctuary ; and people sin upon purpose, because 
 they would go thither ; so, indeed, all disquiet, hor- 
 ror, and perturbation, follow her. 
 lie-enter Claudio, Beatiiice, Leonato, and Heeo. 
 
 D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. 
 
 Bene. Will your grace command me any seiTice 
 to the world's end"! I will go on the slightest eirand 
 now to the Antipodes, that you can devise to send me 
 on ; I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the far- 
 thest inch of Asia ; bring you the length of Prester 
 John's foot ; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's 
 beard ; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather 
 than hold three words' conference with this harpy : 
 You have no emploj-ment for me ? 
 
 D.Pedro. None, but to desire your good company. 
 
 Bene. OGod, sir, here's a dish 1 love not; I cannot 
 endure my lady Tongue. [Exit. 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost the 
 heart of signior Benedick. 
 
 Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me awhile ; and 
 I gave him use for it, a double heart for his sihgle 
 one : marry, once before, he won it of me with false 
 dice, therefoie your grace may well say, I have lost it. 
 
 D. Pedro. You have put bim down, lady, yon 
 have put him down. 
 
 Beat. So I would not he should do me, my lord, 
 lest I should prove the motiier of fools. I have 
 brought count Claudio, whom you sent me to seek. 
 D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ? wherefore arc 
 you sad t 
 
 Claud. Not sad, my lord. 
 D. Pedro. How then ? Sick 1 
 Claud. Neither my lord. 
 
 Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor 
 merry, nor well ; but civil, count ; civil as au 
 orange, and something of that jealous complexion. 
 D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be 
 true ; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit 
 is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, 
 and fair Hero is won ; I have broke with her father, 
 and his good will obtained: name the day of mar- 
 riage, and God give thee joy ! 
 
 Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with 
 her my fortunes ; his grace hath made the match, 
 and all grace say Amen to it ! 
 Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. 
 Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I 
 were but little happy, if 1 could say how much. — 
 Lady, as you are mine, I am yours : I give away 
 myself for you, and dote upon the exchange. 
 
 Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop his 
 mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak, neither. 
 D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart. 
 Beat. Yea, my lord ; I thank it, poor fool, it 
 keeps on the windy side of care : — JNIy cousin tells 
 him in his ear, that he is in^her heart. 
 ■ Claud. And so she doth, cousin. 
 
 Beat. Good lord, for alliance ! — Thus goes every 
 one to the world but I, and I am sun-burned ; I may 
 sit in a corner, and cry, heigh-ho ! for a husband. 
 D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 
 Beat. I would rather have one of your father's 
 getting : Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you ? 
 Your father got excellent husbands, if a maid could 
 come by them. 
 
 D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ? 
 Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another 
 for working-days ; your grace is too costly to wear 
 every day : But, I beseech your grace, pardon me ; 
 I was born to speak all mirth, and no matter. 
 
 D. Pedro. Your silence most ofiends me, and to 
 be merry best becomes you ; for, out of question, you 
 were born in a merry hour. 
 
 Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cry'd : but 
 then there was a star danced, and under that was I 
 born. — Cousins, God give you joy ! 
 
 Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told 
 you of? 
 
 Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's 
 pardon. [_Eai( Beaikice. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady. 
 Leon. There's little of the melancholy element in 
 her, my lord ; she is never sad but wheu she sleeps ; 
 and not ever sad then ; lor 1 have heard niv daughter 
 say, she hath often dreamed of uuhappiness, and 
 waked herself with laughing. 
 
 i). Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a hus- 
 band. 
 
 Leon. 0, by no means ; she mocks all her wooers 
 out of suit. 
 
 D.Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Benedick. 
 Leon. lord, my lord, if they were but a week 
 married, they would talk themselves mad. 
 
 D. Pedro, Count Claudio, when mean jou to go 
 to church ■• 
 
ACT II.— SCENE HI. 
 
 135 
 
 Claxid. To-i«orrow, my lord : Time goes on 
 crutciies, till love have all his rites. 
 
 Leon. Not till Jlonday, my dear son, v.-hich is 
 hence a just seven-night ; and a time too brief too, 
 to iiave all things answer my mind. 
 
 i). Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long a 
 breathing ; but 1 warrant thee, Claudio, the time 
 shall not go dully by us ; I will, in the interim, un- 
 dertake one of Hercules' labours; which is, to bring 
 signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into a moun- 
 tain of affection, the one with the other. 1 would 
 fain have it a match ; and I doubt not but to fasliion 
 it, if you three will but minister such assistance as 
 I shall give you direction. 
 
 Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me 
 ten niglits* watchings. 
 
 Ciuttd. And I, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero ? 
 
 Hero, I will do any modest office, my lord, to help 
 my cousin to a good husband. 
 
 D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopeful lest 
 husband that I know: thus far can 1 praise him ; iie 
 is of a noble strain, of approved valour, and confirm- 
 ed honesty. I will teach you how to humour your 
 cousin tliat she shall fall in love with Benedick : — 
 and I, with your two helps, will so practise on Bene- 
 dick, that, iu despite of his quick wit and his queasy 
 stomach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. If we 
 can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer ; his glory 
 fihall be ours, for we are the only love-gods. Go in 
 with me, and I will tell you my dnft. [£xeitHt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Hqorn in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Don John and Borachio. 
 
 D. John. It is so : the count Claudio shall marry 
 the daughter of Leonato. 
 
 Bom. Yea, my lord, but I can cross it. 
 
 D. Jnhn. Any bar, any cross, any impediment will 
 be medicinable to me : I am sick in displeasure to 
 nim ; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection, 
 ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross this 
 marriage 1 
 
 Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly that 
 no dishonesty shall appear in me. 
 
 D. John. Siiew me briefly how. 
 
 Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since, 
 how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the 
 waiting-gentlev/oraan to Hero. 
 
 D. Joitn. I remember. 
 
 Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the 
 night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber- 
 window. 
 
 D. John. ^Vhit life is in that, to be the death of 
 this marriage \ 
 
 Bora. The poison of that lies in you to temper. 
 Go you to the prince your brother ; spare not to tell 
 him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying 
 the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you 
 mightily hold up) to a contaminated stale, such a one 
 as Hero. 
 
 D. J' liH. What proof shall I make of that ? 
 
 Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex 
 Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato : Look you 
 for any other issue ? 
 
 D. John. Only to despite them, I will endeavour 
 any thing. 
 
 Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw Don 
 Pedro and the count Claudio, alone : tell them, that 
 you know that Hero loves me ; intend a kind of zeal 
 both to the prince and Claudio, as — in love of your 
 brother's honour who hath made this match ; and 
 
 his friend's reputation, who is thus liked to be cozened 
 with the semblance of a maid, — that you have dis- 
 covered thus. They will scarcely believe this with- 
 out trial ; offer them instances ; which shall bear no 
 less likelihood, than to see me at her chamber-win- 
 dow ; hear me call Margaret, Hero ; hear Margaret 
 term me Borachio ; and bring them to see this, the 
 very night before the intended wedding : for, in the 
 mean time, I will so fashion the matter, that Hero 
 shall be absent ; and there shall appear such seem- 
 ing truth of Hero's disloyalty, that jealousy shall be 
 call'd assurance, and all the preparation overthrown. 
 
 D.John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can, 
 I will put it in practice : Be cunning in the working 
 this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. 
 
 Burn. Be you constant in the accusation, and my 
 cunning shall not shame me. 
 
 D. John. I will presently go learn their day of 
 marriage. [ Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III — Leonato's Garden. 
 Enter Benedick a7id a Boy. 
 
 Bene* Boy, — 
 
 Boi/. Signior. 
 
 Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book ; brin^ 
 it hither to me in the orchard. 
 
 iJoi/. I am here already, sir. 
 
 Bene. I know that ; — but I would have thee 
 hence, and here again. [Eiit Boy. J — I do much 
 wonder, that one man, seeing how much another 
 man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to 
 love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow fol- 
 lies in others, become the argument of his own scorn, 
 by falling in love : And such a man is Claudio. I 
 have known when there was no music with him but 
 the drum and fife ; and now had he rather hear the 
 tabor and the pipe : I have known, when he would 
 have walked ten mile afoot, to see a good armour ; 
 and now will he lie ten nights awake, carving the 
 fashion of a new doublet. He was wont to speaJc 
 plain, and to the purpose, like an honest man, and 
 a soldier ; and now is he turn'd orthographer ; his 
 words are a very fantastical banquet, just so many 
 strange dishes. May 1 be so converted, and see with 
 these eyes 1 1 cannot tell ; I think not : I will not 
 be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster ; 
 but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an 
 oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. 
 One woman is fair; yet I am well : another is wise ; 
 yet I am well : another virtuous ; yet I am well ; 
 but till all graces be in one woman, one woman 
 shall not come in my grace. Rich, she shall be, 
 that 's certain ; wise, or I '11 none ; virtuous, or I'll 
 never cheapen her ; fair, or I'll never look on her ; 
 mild, or come not near me ; noble, or not I for an 
 angel ; of good discourse, an excellent musician, 
 and her hair shall be of what colour it please God. 
 Ha ! the prince and monsieur Love ! I will hide nie 
 in the arbour. \^]Vithdraiv6. 
 
 Enter Don PEDno, Leonato, and Claudio. 
 D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music ? 
 Claud- Yea, my good lord ; — How still the even- 
 As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! [ing is, 
 D. Pedro. See you where Benedick! hath hid 
 
 himself? 
 Claud. O, very well, my lord ; the music ended. 
 We'll fit the kid fox with a pennyworth. 
 
 Enter Balthazar, with music. 
 D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we *11 hear that song 
 again. 
 
136 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Balth. good my lord, tax not so bad a voice 
 To slander music any more than once. 
 
 D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency, 
 To put a strange face on his own perfection : — 
 I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 
 
 Batth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing : 
 Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
 To her he thinl;s not worthy ; yet lie wooes ; 
 Yet will he swear, he loves. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come : 
 
 Or if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
 Do it in notes. 
 
 Balth. Note this before my notes. 
 
 There 's not a note of mine that 's worth the noting. 
 
 D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he 
 speaks ; 
 Note, notes, forsooth, and noting! [Music. 
 
 Bene. Now, Divine air ! now is his soul ravished ! 
 — Is it not strange, that sheeps' guts should hale 
 souls out of men's bodies? — Well, a horn for my 
 money, when all's done. 
 
 Balthazar sings. 
 I. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no mare ; 
 Men were decctiers ever ; 
 One foot in seo, and out' on shoi'e i 
 To one thing constant never ; 
 Then sigh not so. 
 But let them go. 
 And be you htitlie and bonny ; 
 Converting all your sannds of woe 
 Into, Hey nanny, nonny, 
 II. Sing no more ditties, sing no mo 
 Of dumps so dull and heavy j 
 The fraud of men was ever so, 
 Since summer first was teavy. 
 Then sigh not so, 6cc. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 
 
 Balth. And an ill singer, my lord. 
 
 Claud. Ha ! no ; no, faith ; thou singest well 
 enough for a shift. 
 
 Bene. [.■Iside.] An be had been a dog, that should 
 have howled thus, they would have hanged him ; 
 and, I pray God his bad voice bode no mischief! I 
 had as lief have heard the ni^ht raven, come what 
 plague could have come after it. 
 
 JJ. Pedro. Yea, marry ; [fo Ci.audio.] — Dost thou 
 hear, Balthazar ? I pray thee, get us some excellent 
 music •, for to-morrow night we would have it at the 
 lady Hero's chamber-window. 
 
 Balth. The best I can, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exeunt Balthazar 
 and music] Come hither, Leonato i What was it 
 you told me of to-day 1 that your niece Beatrice was 
 in love with signior Benedick ? 
 
 Claud. O, ay :— Stalk on, stalk on : the fowl sits. 
 [Aside to PKnno.] I did never think that lady would 
 nave loved any man. 
 
 Leon. No, nor I neither ; but most wonderful, that 
 she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom she 
 hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to abhor. 
 
 Bene. Is't possible 1 Sits the wind in that corner ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Leon. % my troth, my lord, I cannot tell what to 
 think of it" but that she loves him with an enraged 
 affection, — it is past the infinite of thought. 
 
 D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit. 
 
 Claud. 'Faith, like enough. 
 
 Leon. O God! counterfeit! There never was coun- 
 terfeit of passion came so near the life of passion, as 
 she discovers it. 
 
 D. Pedro, Why, what effects of passion shews slie? 
 
 Claud. Bait the hook well ; this lish will bite. 
 
 [.•iside. 
 
 Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit you, — 
 You heard my daughter tell you how. 
 
 Claud. She did, indeed. 
 
 D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze 
 me : 1 would have thought her spirit had been in- 
 vincible against all assaults of affection. 
 
 Leon. 1 would liave sworn it bad, my lord ; espe* 
 cially against Benedick. 
 
 Rene. [Aside.] 1 should think this a gull, but 
 that the white bearded fellow speaks it; knavery 
 cannot, sure, hide itself in such reveience. 
 
 Claud. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it up. 
 
 [.'Iside. 
 
 D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known to 
 Benedick. 
 
 Leon. No ; and swears she never will : that's her 
 torment. 
 
 Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says : 
 Shall I, says she, that have so oft encountered him with 
 scorn, write to him that 1 love him ? 
 
 Leon. I'his says she now ivheu she is beginning ^o 
 write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a night : 
 and there will she sit in her smock, till she have writ 
 a sheet of paper : — my daughter tells us all. 
 
 Claiul. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I remem- 
 ber a pretty jest your daugliter told us of. 
 
 Leon. O! — When she had writ it, and was read- 
 ing it over, she found Benedick and Beatrice between 
 the sheet '. — . 
 
 Claud. That. 
 
 Leo7i. O! she tore the letter into a thousand half- 
 pence ; railed at herself, that she should be so im- 
 modest to write to one that she knew would flout 
 lier ; / nu-asure him, says she, h^ mi/ own spirit; for 
 I should font him, if he u-nt to me; t/ea, though I love 
 him, I should. 
 
 Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls, weeps, 
 sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, prays, curses ; 
 — O sweet Benedick! God yive me patience! 
 
 Leon. She doth indeed ; my daughter says so ; and 
 the ecstacy hath so much overborne her, that my 
 daughter is sometime afraid she will do a desperate 
 outrage to herself: It is very true. 
 
 D. Pedro. It were good, that Benedick knew of it 
 by some other, if she will not discover it. 
 
 Claud. To what end? He would but make a sport 
 of it, and torment llic j>oor lady worse. 
 
 D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to hang 
 him : She's an excellent sweet lady ; and, out of all 
 suspicion, she is virtuous. 
 
 Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 
 
 D. Pedro. In every thing, but in loving Benedick. 
 
 Leon. O my lord, wisdom and blood combating in 
 so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that 
 blood hath the victory. I am sorry for her, as I have 
 just cause, being her uncle and her guardian. 
 
 D. Pedro. I would she had bi-stowed this dotage 
 on ine ; I would have daff'd all other respects, and 
 made her half myself: I pray you, tell Bent lick of 
 it, and hear what he will say. 
 
 Leon. Were it good, think you? 
 
 Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die: for she 
 says, she will die if he lovelier not; and she will die 
 ere she makes her love known : and she will die if 
 he woo her, rather than she will 'bate one breadth of 
 her accustomed crossness. 
 
 l>. Pedro. Sliedolh well; if she should make ten- 
 der of her love, 'tisvery possible he'll scorn it; for the 
 man. as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 137 
 
 Ctaud. He is a very proper man. 
 
 D. Pedro. He hath, indeed, a good outward hap- 
 piness. 
 
 Claud. 'Fore God, and in my mind, very wise. 
 
 U. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks that 
 ai'e like wit. 
 
 Leon. .\nd I take him to be valiant. 
 
 D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you ; and in the 
 managing of (luarrels you may say he is wise ; for 
 either he avoids them with great discretion, or un- 
 dertakes tliem with a most Christian-like fear. 
 
 Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep 
 peace ; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into 
 a quarrel with fear and trembling. 
 
 D. I'edro. And so will he do ; for the man doth 
 fear God, howsoever it seems not in him, by some 
 large jests he will make. Well, I am sorry for your 
 niece ; Shall we go see Benedick, and tell him of her 
 lovel 
 
 Claud. Never tell him, my lord; let her wear it 
 out with good counsel. 
 
 Leon. Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her 
 heart out first. 
 
 D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your 
 daughter : let it cool the while. I love Benedick 
 well : and I could wish he would modestly examine 
 himself to see how much he is unworthy so good a lady. 
 
 Leon. My lord, will you walk! dinner is ready. 
 
 Ctaud. If he lio not doat on her upon this, I will 
 n«ver trust mj expectation. [^Aside. 
 
 U. Pedro. Let tliere be the same net spread for her : 
 and that must your daughter, and her gentlewoman 
 carry. The sport will be, when they hold one an 
 opinion of another's dotage, and no such matter ; 
 tJiat's the scene that I would see, which will be merely 
 a dumb show. Let us send her to call him to dinner. 
 
 \^Aside. 
 [Exeunt Don Pedho, Claudio, and Leonato. 
 
 Benedick advances from the arbour. 
 
 Bene. This can be no trick : The conference was 
 sadly borne. — They have the truth of this from Hero. 
 They seem to pity the lady; it seems, her affections 
 have their full bent. Love me ! why, it must be re- 
 quited. I hear how I am censured : they say, I will 
 bear myself proudly, if I perceive the love come from 
 her ; they say too, that she will rather die than give 
 any sign of affection. — I did never think to marry — 
 I must not seem proud ; — Happy are they that hear 
 their detractions, and can put them to mending. They 
 say, the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth, I can bear thera 
 witness ; and virtuous — 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; 
 arid wise, but for loving me: — By my troth, it is no 
 addition to her wit ; — nor no great argument of her 
 folly, for I will be horribly in love with her. — I may 
 chance have some odd quirks and remnants of wit 
 broken on me, because I have railed so long against 
 marriage: But doth not the appetite alter! A man 
 loves tlie meat in his youth, that he cannot endure 
 in his age: Shall quips, and sentences, and these 
 paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the career 
 of his humour! No: The world must be peopled. 
 When I said, I would die a bachelor, I did not think 
 I should live till I were married. — Here comes Bea- 
 trice : By this day, she's a fair lady : I do spy some 
 marks of love in her. 
 
 Enter Beathice. 
 
 Beat, -\gainst my will, I am sent to bid you come 
 in to dinner. 
 
 Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains. 
 Beat. 1 took no more pains for those thanks, than 
 
 you take pains to thank me ; if it had been painful, 
 I would not have come. 
 
 Bene. You take pleasure then in the message? 
 
 Boat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a 
 knife's point, and choke a daw withal : — You have 
 no stomach, signior ; fare you well. [Exit. 
 
 Bene. Ha ! .-igainst mi/ aiU I am sent to bid you 
 come to dinner — there's a double meaning in that. / 
 took no more pains for those thanks, than l/oa took pai)is 
 to thank me— that's as much as to say, Any pains that 
 I take for you is as easy as thanks ; — If I do not take 
 pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not love her, I ain 
 a .Tew : 1 will go get her picture. \_Eiit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — Lecnato's Garden, 
 Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 
 
 Hero, Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour; 
 There thou shall find niy cousin Beatrice 
 Proposing with thejrince and Chiudio : 
 Whisper her ear, arid tell her, I and Ursula 
 Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse 
 Is all of her-, say, that thou overheard'st us; 
 And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
 Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun. 
 Forbid the sun to enter ; — like favourites, 
 iMade proud by princes, that advance their pride 
 Against that power that bred it : — there will she hide 
 To listen our purpose : This is thy ofTicCj [tier, 
 
 Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone. 
 
 Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, pre- 
 sently. [Exit, 
 
 Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth corne. 
 As we do trace this alley up and down, 
 Our talk must only be of Benedick : 
 When I do name him, Itt it be thy part 
 To praise him more than ever man did merit: 
 I\Iy talk to thee must be, how Benedick 
 Is sick in love with Beatrice ; Of this matter 
 Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
 That only wounds by hear-say. Now begin ; 
 
 Enter Beatrice, behind* 
 
 For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
 Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 
 
 Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish 
 Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, 
 And greedily devour the treacherous bait: 
 So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now 
 Is couched in the woodbine coverture : 
 Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 
 
 Hero. Thengo we near her, that herear lose nothing 
 Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. — 
 
 [Theu advance to the bower 
 No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
 I know, her spirits are as coy and wild 
 As haggards of the rock. 
 
 Urs. But are you sure 
 
 That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely^ 
 
 Hero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed loid. 
 
 Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam? 
 
 Hero. They did tntreat me to acquaint her of it: 
 But I persuaded them, if tliev lov'd Benedick, 
 To wish him wrestle with atrtction. 
 And never to let Beatrice know of it. 
 
 Urs. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentleman 
 Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed, 
 As evef Beatrice shall couch upon } 
 
138 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Jfeio. God ol love ! I know, he doth deserve 
 As much as may be yielded to a man • 
 But nature never fia'med a womau's heart 
 Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice: 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
 Misprising ivhat tliey look on ; and her ivit 
 Values itself so higiily, that to her 
 All matter else seems weak : she cannot love. 
 Nor take no shape nor project of affection. 
 She is so self endeared. 
 
 Urs. Sure, I think so ; 
 
 And therefore, certainly, it were not good 
 She knew his love, lest she make sport at it. 
 
 Hero. Why, you speak trutli : 1 never yet saw man, 
 How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd. 
 But she would spell him backward ; if fair-faced. 
 She'd swear, the gentleman should be lier sister ; 
 If black, why, nature, drawing of an antic, 
 Blade a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
 If low, an agate v^ry vilely cut : 
 If speaking, why, a vane blown with all winds; 
 If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
 So turns she every man the wiong side out ; 
 Aud never gives to truth and virtue, that 
 Which simpleness and merit pmchaseth. 
 
 Un. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. 
 Hero. No : not to be so odd, and from all fashions, 
 Is Beatrice is, cannot be commendable : 
 But who dare tell her so 1 If I should speak, 
 Slie'd mock me into air ; 0, she would laugh me 
 Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
 Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, 
 Consume away in siglis, waste inwardly : 
 It were a better death than die with mocks ; 
 Which is as bad as die witli tickling. 
 
 Urs. Yet tell her of it; hear- what she will say. 
 Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick, 
 And counsel him to fight against his passion : 
 And, truly. 1 '11 devise some honest slanders 
 To stain my cousin with : One doth not know. 
 How much an ill word may empoison liking. 
 
 Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. 
 She cannot be so much without true judgment, 
 (Having so swift and excellent a wit. 
 As she Is priz'd to have,) as to refuse 
 So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick. 
 
 Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
 Always excepted my dear Claudio. 
 
 Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam, 
 Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick, 
 For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour, 
 Goes foiemost in report through Italy. 
 
 Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good name. 
 Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it.— 
 When are you married, madam 1 
 
 Hero. Why, every day ; — to-morrow : Come, go in ; 
 I '11 shew tliee some attires ; and have thy counsel, 
 Which is the best to furnisli me to-morrow. 
 
 Urs. She 's lim'd, 1 warrant you ; we have caught 
 
 lier, madam. 
 Hero. If it j>rove so, then loving goes by haps . 
 Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 
 
 [Exeunt Hero and Ursula. 
 
 Beatrice advances. 
 
 Bent. What fire is in my earsl Can this be true 1 
 
 Stand I condemn'd for pride and scorn so much l 
 Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu! 
 
 No glory lives behind the back of such. 
 And, Benedick, love on, 1 will requite thee ; 
 
 Taming my wild heart to tliy lovin^» hand ; 
 If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite theo 
 
 To bind our loves up in a holy band : 
 For others say, thou dost deserve ; and I 
 Believe it better than reportingly. [F.iit. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's Honse. 
 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and 
 
 Leonato. 
 D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be con- 
 summate, and then I go toward Arragon. 
 
 Claud. I '11 bring you thither, my lord, if you '11 
 vouchsafe me. . . 
 
 V. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil m 
 the new gloss of your marriage, as to shew a child 
 his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only 
 be bold with Benedick for his company ; for, from 
 the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is all 
 mirth ; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string, 
 and the little hangman dare not shoot at him : he hath 
 a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the 
 clapper ; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks. 
 Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 
 Leon. So say I ; methinks, you are sadder. 
 Claud. I hope, he be in love. 
 D. Pedro. Hang him, truant ; there 's no true drop 
 of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love : if lie 
 be sad, he wants money. 
 Bene. I have the tooth-ach. 
 V. Pedro. Draw it. 
 Bene. Hang it ! 
 
 Claud. You must hangit first, and draw it afterwards. 
 D. Pedro. What ! sigli for the tooth-ach 1 
 Leon. Where is but a humour or a worm? 
 Bene, \^'ell, every one can master a grief, but he 
 that has it. 
 
 Claud. Y'et, say I, he is in love. 
 D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in hira, 
 unless it be a fancy that he l>ath to strange disguises ; 
 as, to be a Dutchman to-day ; a Frenchman to-mor- 
 row ; or in the shape of two countries at once, as, a 
 German from the waist downw.'aid, all slops ; and a 
 Spaniard from tlie hip upward, no doublet : Unless 
 he have a fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, 
 he is no fool for fancy, as you would have it appear 
 he is. 
 
 Claud. If he be not in love with some woman, 
 there is no believing old signs : he brushes his hat 
 o' mornings ; What should that bode 1 
 
 D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's? 
 C/(iitrf. No, but the barber's man hath been spea 
 with him ; and the old ornament of his cheek hath 
 already stuffed tennis-balls. 
 
 Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, by 
 the loss of a beard. 
 
 i). Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet : Can 
 you smell him out by that ? 
 
 Claud. That's as much as to say. The sweet youtli's 
 in love. 
 
 D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy. 
 Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face 1 
 D. Pedro. Y'ea, or to paint himself? for the wliich 
 I hear what they say of him. 
 
 Ciuud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is now 
 crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops. 
 
 D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him: 
 Conclude, conclude, he is in love. 
 
 C(uiirf. Nay, but 1 know who loves him. 
 D. Pedro. That would I know too ; I warrant, one 
 that knows him not. 
 
 Claud. Y'es, and his ill conditions; and, m despite 
 of all, dies for him. 
 
 D. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face up- 
 wards. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 139 
 
 Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach. — ' 
 Old signior, walk aside with me ; I have studied 
 eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which 
 lliese hobby-horses mast not hear. 
 
 [Exetnit Benkdick ajid I.eonato. 
 
 D. Pedfo. For my life, to break with him about 
 Beatrice. 
 
 Claud. *Tis even so ; Hero and iSIargaret have by 
 this played their parts with Beatrice ; and then the 
 two bears will not bite one another, when they meet. 
 
 Enter Don John. 
 
 J). John, My lord and brother, God save you. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good den, brother. 
 
 D.John. If your leisure served, I would speak 
 with you. 
 
 D. Pedro. In private 1 
 
 D.John. If it please you; — yet count Claudio 
 iray hear ; for \\ hat 1 would speak of, concerns him. 
 
 D.Pedro. What's the matter? 
 
 D. John, Means your lordsliip to be married to- 
 morrow 1 [To Cl.AUDIO. 
 
 D. Pedro. You know, he does. 
 
 D. John. I know not that, when he knows what I 
 know. 
 
 Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you, 
 discover it. 
 
 D. John. You may think, I love you not ; let that 
 appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I now 
 will manifest : For my brother, I think, he holds you 
 well ; and in dearness of heart hath holp to effect 
 your ensuing marriage : surely, suit ill spent, and 
 labour ill bestowed ! 
 
 X*. Pedro. Why, what's the matter? 
 
 D. John. I came hither to tell you : and, circum- 
 stances shortened, (for she hath been too long a talk- 
 ing of,) tlie lady is disloyal. 
 
 Claud. Who 1 Hero ? 
 
 D.John. Even she ; Leonato*s Hero, your Hero, 
 every man's Hero. 
 
 Claud. Disloyal? 
 
 D. Johti. The word is too good to paint out her 
 wickedness ; I could say, she were worse ; think you 
 of a worse title, and "I will fit her to it. Wonder not 
 till further warrant : go but with me to-night, you 
 shall see her chamber-window entered ; even the 
 night before her wedding-day : if you love her then, 
 to-morrow wed her ; but it would better fit your 
 honour to change your mind. 
 
 Claud. May this be so ? 
 
 D. Pedro. 1 will not think it. 
 
 D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, con- 
 fess not that you know: if you will follow me, I will 
 shew you enough ; and when you have seen more, 
 and heard more, proceed accordingly. 
 
 Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I should 
 not marry her to-morrow ; in the congregation, 
 wliere I should wed, there will I shame her. 
 
 D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to obtain her, 
 I will join with thee to disgrace her. 
 
 D.John. I will disparage her no farther, till you 
 are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till midnight, 
 and let the issue shew itself. 
 
 D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned ! 
 
 Cluud, mischief strangely thwarting ! 
 
 D. John. plague right well prevented! 
 So will you say, when you have seen the sequel. 
 
 [£,teun(. 
 SCENE III.— il Street. 
 
 Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch. 
 Dngb. Are you good men and true ! 
 
 Verg. Yea, or else it were pity but they should 
 suffer salvation, body and soul. 
 
 Dngh, Nay, that were a punishment too good for 
 them, if they should have any allegiance in them 
 being chosen for the prince's watch. 
 
 Verg. Well, give thera their charge, neighbour 
 Dogberry. 
 
 Dogi). First, who think you the most desartless 
 man to be constable ? 
 
 1 Watch, Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal ; 
 for they can wTite and read. 
 
 Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal : God hath 
 blessed you w ith a good name ; to be a w ell-favoured 
 man is the gift of fortune ; but to write and read 
 comes by nature. 
 
 ii Watch. Both which, master constable, 
 
 Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your an- 
 swer. Well, for your favour, sir, why, give God 
 thanks, and make no boast of it ; and for your wri- 
 ting and reading, let that appear when there is no 
 need of such vanity. Vou are thought here to be 
 the most senseless and fit man for the constable of 
 the watch ; therefore bear you the lantern : This is 
 your charge ; Vou shall comprehend all vagrom men ; 
 you are to bid any maii stand, in the prince's name. 
 
 2 Watch. How if he will not stand ? 
 
 Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let him 
 go J and presently call the rest of the watch toge- 
 ther, and thank God you are rid of a knave. 
 
 Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he 
 is none of the prince's subjects. 
 
 Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none but 
 the prince's subjects : — You shall also make no noise 
 in the streets ; for, for the watch to babble and talk, 
 is most tolerable and not to be endured. 
 
 y Watch. We will rather sleep than talk ; we 
 know what belongs to a watch. 
 
 Dogb. Why, you speak like an ancient and most 
 quiet watcliman ; for I cannot see how sleeping 
 should offend: only, have a care ihat your bills be 
 not stolen : — Well, you are to call at all the ale- 
 houses, and bid those that are drunk get them to bed. 
 
 2 Watch. How if they will not 1 
 
 Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are sober; 
 if they make you not then the better answer, you 
 may say they are not the men you took them for, 
 
 St Watch. Well, sir. 
 
 Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, 
 by virtue of your otTice, to be no true man : and for 
 such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with 
 them, why, the more is for your honesty, 
 
 2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we 
 not lay hands on him 1 
 
 Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may; but, I 
 think, they that touch pitch will be defiled : the 
 most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief, 
 is, to let hiua shew himself what he is, and steal out 
 of your company. 
 
 Verg. Vou have been always called a merciful 
 man, partner. 
 
 Dogb. Truly, T would not hang a dog by my will ; 
 much more a man wlio hath any honesty in him. 
 
 ^'erg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you 
 must call to the nurse, and bid her still it. 
 
 S? Watch. How if the nurse be asleep, and will 
 not hear us * 
 
 Dogb. Why then, depart in peace, and let tiie 
 child wake lier with crying : for the ewe that will 
 not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer a 
 calf when he bleats. 
 Veig. 'Tis verj- true, 
 
 Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, cou- 
 
140 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 stable, are to present the prince's own person ; if 
 you meet the prince in tlie night, you may stay him. 
 
 Verg. Nay by 'r lady, that, I think, he cannot. 
 
 Dogh, Five shillings to one on 't, with any man 
 that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry, 
 not without the prince be willing : for, indeed, the 
 watch ought to olTeud no man ; and it ii an offence 
 to stay a man agamst liis will. 
 
 Verg. By 'r lady, I think, it be so. 
 
 D:<gb. Ha, ha, ha! Well, masters, good night: 
 an there be any matter of weight chances, call up 
 me : keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and 
 good night. — Come, neighbour, 
 
 i! JVutcli. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let 
 ns go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and 
 tJien all to -bed. 
 
 Dngh. One word more, honest neighbours : I 
 pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door ; for 
 the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great 
 coil to-night: Adieu, be vigilant, I beseech you. 
 
 l^Eieiint DoGBERitY and Veiices. 
 
 Enter BoRAcuro ajirf Conrade. 
 
 Bora. What! Conrade, — 
 
 U'atch. Peace, stir not. \_Aside, 
 
 Bora. Conrade, I say ! 
 
 Con. Here, man. I am at thy elbow. 
 
 Bora. Jlass, and my elbow itched ; I thought, 
 there would a scab follow. 
 
 Con. I will owe thee an answer for that ; and now 
 forward with thy tale. 
 
 Bora. Stand tliee close then under this pent-house, 
 for it drizzles ra'ln ; and I will, like a true drunkard, 
 utter all to thee. 
 
 Watch, laside.] Some treason, masters ; yet stand 
 close. 
 
 Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of Don John 
 a thousand ducats. 
 
 Con. Is it possible that any villany should be so 
 dear! 
 
 Bora. Thou should'st rather ask, if it were possible 
 any villany should be so rich ; for when rich villains 
 have need of poor ones, poor ones may make what 
 price they will. 
 
 Con. 1 wonder at it. 
 
 Bora. That shews, thou art unconfirmed: Thou 
 knowest, that the fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a 
 cloak, is nothing to a man. 
 
 Con. Yes, it is apparel. 
 
 Bora. I mean, the fashion. 
 
 Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 
 
 Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the 
 fool. But see'st thou not what a defonned thief this 
 fashion is } 
 
 Watch. I know tliat Defonned ; he has been a 
 vile thief this seven year ; he goes up and down like 
 a gentleman : I remember liis name. [^.iside. 
 
 Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody! 
 
 Con. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. 
 
 Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed thief 
 this fashion is! how giddily he turns about all the 
 hot bloods, between fourteen and five and thirty! 
 sometime, fashioning them like l-*haraoh's soldiers in 
 the reechy painting ; sometime, like god Bel's priests 
 in the old church window ; sometime, like the shaven 
 Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, where 
 his cod-piece seems as massy as his club ! 
 
 Con* All this I see ; and see, that the fashion 
 wears out more apparel than the man : But art not 
 thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou 
 hast sliifted out of thy tale into telling rae of the 
 fashion ! 
 
 Bora. Not so neither : but know, that I have to- 
 night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentlewoman, 
 by the name of Hero ; she leans me out at her mis- 
 tress' chamber window, bids me a thousand times 
 good night, — I tell this tale vilely : — 1 should first 
 tell thee, how the Prince, Claudio, and my master, 
 planted, and placed, and possessed by my master 
 Don John, saw afar off in the orchard this amiable 
 encounter. 
 
 Coti. And thought they, Margaret was Hero! 
 
 Bom. Two of them did, the Prince and Claudio , 
 but the devil my master knew she was Maigaret ; 
 and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them, 
 partly by the dark night, which did deceive them, 
 but chiefly by my villany, which did confirm any 
 slander that Don John had made, away went Claudia 
 enraged ; swore he would meet her as he was ap- 
 pointed, next morning at the temple, and there, be- 
 fore the whole congregation, shame her with what he 
 saw over-night, and send her home again without a 
 husband. 
 
 1 Watch. We chargeyou in the prince's name, stand. 
 
 '2 Watch. Call up the right master Constable ; we 
 have here recovered the most dangerous piece of 
 lechery that ever was known in the commonwealth. 
 
 1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them ; I 
 know him, he wears a lock. 
 
 Con. Masters, masters. 
 
 2 Watch. You'll be made bring Defonned forth, 
 I warrant you. 
 
 Con. Masters, — 
 
 1 Watch. Never speak ; we charge you, let us 
 obey you to go with us. 
 
 Bora. We are likely to prove a goodly commodity, 
 being taken up of these men's bills. 
 
 Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you. 
 Come, we '11 obey you. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House. 
 Enter Hero, Marg.^ret, tjiai Ursula, 
 
 Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice, and 
 desire her to rise. 
 
 Vrs. I will. lady. 
 
 Hero. And bid her come hither. 
 
 Urs. Well. [Eiit Ursul.'., 
 
 Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato were better. 
 
 Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I '11 wear this, 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it 's not so good ; and I war- 
 rant, your cousin will say so. 
 
 Hero. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another ; 
 I '11 wear none but this. 
 
 Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if the 
 hair were a thought browner ; and your gown's a 
 most rare fashion, i'faith. I saw the duchess of Mi- 
 lan's gown that they praise so. 
 
 Hero. O, that exceeds, they say. 
 
 Marg. By my troth, it's but a night-gown in re- 
 spect o^ yours ; Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced 
 with silver ; set with pearls, down sleeves, side- 
 sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a blueish 
 tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excellent 
 fashion, yours is worth ten on 't. 
 
 Hero. Give rae joy to wear it, for my heart is ex- 
 ceeding heavy ! 
 
 Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon, by the weight of 
 a man. 
 
 Hav. Eye upon thee ! art not ashamed ! 
 
 Marg. (3f what lady ! of speaking honourably ■* 
 Is not marriage honourable in a beggar ! Is not your 
 lord honourable without marriage ! I think, you w»uld 
 have me say, saving yQur reverence, — ti husband : 
 an bad thinking do not wrest true speaking, I' 11 of- 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 141 
 
 fend nobody : Is there any harm in — the heavier for 
 a hushiuid? None, I think, anit be the right liusband, 
 and the right wife : otherwise 'tis light, and not heavy : 
 Ask my lady Beatrice else, here she comes. 
 Enter Beatrice. 
 
 Hero. Good morrow, coz. 
 
 lieat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 
 
 Hero. \Vhy,hownow ! do you speak in the sick tune? 
 
 Beat. 1 am out of all other tune, methinks. 
 
 M(irg. Clap usinto— Z-ij/it o' love; that goes with- 
 out a burden ; do you sing it, and I 'II dance it. 
 
 Bent. Yea. Light o' lore, with your heels ! — then 
 if your husband have stables enough, you '11 see he 
 shall lack no barns. 
 
 Marg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn that 
 with my heels. 
 
 Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousin ; 'tis time 
 you were ready. By my troth I am exceeding ill : — 
 licy, ho ! 
 
 Murg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ? 
 
 Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 
 
 Marg. Well, an you be not turned Turk, there 's 
 no more sailing by the star. 
 
 Beat. What means the fool, trow? 
 
 Marg. Nothing I ; but God send every one their 
 heart's desire ! 
 
 Hero. These gloves the count sent me, they are an 
 e-xcelient perfume. 
 
 Beat. I am stuffed, cousin, I cannot smell. 
 
 Marg. A maid, and stuffed, there 's goodly catch- 
 ing of cold. 
 
 Beat. 0, God help me ! God help me ! how long 
 Lave you profess'd apprehension! 
 
 Marg. Ever since you left it : doth not my wit be- 
 come me rarely ? 
 
 Beat. It is not seen enough, you should wear it in 
 your cap.— By my troth, I am sick. 
 
 Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus Be- 
 nedictus, and lay it to your heart ; it is the only thing 
 for a qualm. 
 
 Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle. 
 
 Beat. Benedictus 1 why Benedictus t you have 
 some moral in this Benedictus. 
 
 Mnrg. Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral 
 meaning; I meant, plain holy-thistle. You may 
 think, perchance, that I think you are in love : nay, 
 by'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list : 
 nor I list not to think what I can ;, nor, indeed. 1 
 cannot tliink, if I would think my heart out of think- 
 ing, that you are in love, or that you will be in love, 
 or tliat you can be in love : yet Benedick was such 
 another, and now is he become a man ; he swore he 
 would never marry ; and yet now, in despite of his 
 heart, he eats his meat without grudging : and how 
 5'ou may be converted, I know not ; but, methinks, 
 you look with your eyes as other women do. 
 
 Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ? 
 
 Marg. Not a false gallop. 
 
 lie-enter UnsuLA. 
 
 Urs. Madam, withdraw ; the prince, the count, 
 signior Benedick, Don .Tohn, and all the gallants of 
 the town, are come to fetch you to church. 
 
 Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg, good 
 Ursula. [Ezeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Room in Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Leonato with Dogbehby and Verges. 
 
 Leon. What would you with me, honest neighbour? 
 Dogb. Slarry, sir, I would have some confidence 
 with you, that discerns you »early. 
 
 Leon. Brief, I pray you ; for you see, 'tis a busy 
 time with me. 
 
 Dogb. JMarry, this it is, sir. 
 
 Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir, 
 
 Leon. What is it, my good friends? 
 
 Diigh. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off the 
 matter : an old man, sir, and his wits are not so 
 blunt, as, God help, I would desire they were ; but, 
 in faith, honest as the skin between his brows. 
 
 Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any man 
 living, that is an old man, and no honester than 1. 
 
 Dogh. Comparisons are odorous : j)a(a6rus, neigh- 
 bour Verges. 
 
 Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious, 
 
 Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we 
 are the poor duke's officers ; but, truly, for mine own 
 part, if I were as tedious as a king.'l could find ia 
 my heart to bestow it all of your worship. 
 
 Leon. All thy tediousness on me! ha! 
 ^ Dogh. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more than 
 'tis ; fori hear as good exclamation on your worship, 
 as of any man in tlie city ; and though I be but a 
 poor man, I am glad to hear it. 
 
 Verg. .\nd so ain I. 
 
 Leon. I would fain know what you have to say. 
 
 Verg. JMarry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting 
 your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as 
 arrant knaves as any in Messina. 
 
 Dogh. A good old man, sir; he will be talking; 
 as they say. When the age is in, the wit is out ; God 
 help us ! it is a world to see! — Well said, i'faith, 
 neighbour Verges : — well, God 's a good man ; an 
 two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind ; — 
 An honest soul i'faith, sir ; by my troth he is, as 
 ever broke bread : but God is to be worshipped : All 
 men are not alike ; alas, good neighbour ! 
 
 Leon. Indeed, neigh hour, he comes too short of you. 
 
 Dogb. G^ts. that God gives. 
 
 Leon. I must leave you. 
 
 Dogb. Oneword.sir; ourwatch, sir, have, indeed, 
 comprehended two auspicious persons, and we would 
 have them this morning examined before vour worship. 
 
 Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring 
 it me ; I am now in great haste, as it may appear 
 unto you. 
 
 1*00:6. It shall be suffigance. 
 
 Leon. Drink some wine ere you go : fare you well. 
 
 Ejiter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your 
 daughter to her husband. 
 
 Lgui^. I will wait upon them ; I am ready. 
 
 [Ejeu/it Leonato and Messenger. 
 
 Dogh. Go. good partner, go, get you to Francis 
 Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the 
 gaol ; we are now to examination these men. 
 
 Verg. And we must do it wisely. 
 
 Dogh. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ; 
 here's that [touching his forehead^ shall drive some 
 of them to a non com: only get the learned writer 
 to set down our excommunication, and meet me at 
 the gaol. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Inside of a Church. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leovato, Friar, 
 
 Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice, i^t. 
 
 Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to the 
 
 plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their 
 
 particular duties afterwards. 
 
142 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 friar. Youcomchither.my lord, tomarrythislady? 
 
 r,, J M„ Imairy her. 
 
 Claud. JNo. ,.'-■', 
 
 Leon. To be married to her, fnar ; you come to 
 Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to 
 this count ">. 
 
 Hero. I do. , ■ j • i- 
 
 Friar If either of you know any inward impedi- 
 ineut why you should not be conjoined, I charge you, 
 on your souls, to utter it. 
 
 Ciaiid. Know you any. Hero? 
 Hero. None, my lord. 
 Friar. Know you any, count? 
 Leon. I dare make liis answer, none. 
 Claud. O, what men dare do! what men may do . 
 what men daily do ! not knowing what they do ! 
 
 Bene. How now! Interjections'! Why, then some 
 be of laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he ! 
 
 C/,.kJ. Stand thee by, fnar :-Father, by your 
 Will you with free and unconstrained soul [leave; 
 Give me this maid, your daughter? 
 
 Leon. As freely, son, as Uod did give her me. 
 Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose 
 May counterpoise this rich and precious gift? [worth 
 1). Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again. 
 Claud Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank- 
 There, Leona-.o, take her back again ; [fulness.- 
 Give not this rotten orange to your friend ; 
 She's but the sign and semblance of her honour:— 
 Behold, how like a maid she blushes here : 
 O, what authority and show of truth 
 Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! 
 Comes not that blood, as modest evidence,. 
 To witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, 
 All you that see her, lliat she were a maid. 
 By these exterior shows? But she is none: 
 She knows the heat of a luxurious bed: 
 Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty. 
 Leon. What do you mean, my lordt! 
 Chmd. ^°^ '" ^^ married. 
 
 Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. 
 
 Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof 
 Have vanquished the resistance of her youth, 
 And made defeat of her virginity,-— 
 
 Claud. I know whatyou would say ; If I have known 
 You "11 say, she did embrace me as a husband, [her, 
 And so extenuate the 'forehand sin ; 
 No, Leonato, 
 
 X never temiited her with word too large : 
 But, as a biotlier to his sister shew'd 
 Bashful sincerity, and comely love. ♦ 
 
 Hero. And seem'd I e\er otherwise to you ? _ 
 Claud. Out on thy seeming ! I will write agaiYist it : 
 You seem to me as Dian in her orb ; 
 As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ; 
 But you arc more intemperate in your blood 
 Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals 
 That rage in savage sensuality. 
 
 Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide ! 
 Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you ? 
 2) Pedro. What should I speak ? 
 
 I stand disllonouv'd, that have gone about 
 To link my dear friend to a common stale. 
 
 Leon. Are these tilings spoken ? or do I but dream . 
 D John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things are 
 Bene. This looks not like a nuptial. [true. 
 
 Hero. ■ -T^f^' O God . 
 
 Claud. Leonato, stand I here ? . ^ , , 
 Is this the prince? Is this the prince s brother? 
 Is this face Hero's? Are our eyes our own? 
 Leon. All this is so ; But what of this, my lord? 
 Claud. Let me but move one question to your 
 And by that fatherly and kindly power [daughter ; 
 
 That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 
 Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child. 
 Hero. O God defend me ! how am I beset ! — 
 What kind of catechising call you this ? 
 
 (7,i,«i. To make you answer truly to your name. 
 Hero. Is it not Hero? Who can blot that name 
 With any just reproach? 
 
 Claud Marry, that can Hero ; 
 
 Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
 What man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
 Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ! 
 Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 
 
 Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord. 
 D Pedro Why, then you are no maiden.— Leonato, 
 I am sorry you must hear ; Upon mine honour, 
 iMyself my brother, and this grieved count. 
 Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night, 
 Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ; 
 Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
 Confess'd the vile encounters they have had 
 A thousand times in secret. ^ , , ., „„ 
 
 D.John. Fy.fye! they are 
 
 Not to be nam'd my lord, not to be spoke ol ; 
 There is not chastity enough in language. 
 Without oBence, to utter them : Ihus, pretty lady, 
 I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 
 
 Claud. O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been. 
 If half thy outward graces had been placed 
 About thy thoughts, aHd counsels of thy heart . 
 But, fare thee well, most foul, most fair farewell. 
 Thou pure impiety, and impious purity . 
 For thee I'll lock up all the gates ol love, 
 And on my eye-lids shall conjecture hang, 
 To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 
 And never shall it more be gracious. 
 
 Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me ? 
 
 [Heho su-ooni. 
 Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink 
 
 you down. 
 D. John. Come, let us go : these things, come 
 Smother her spirits up. ^""fr^'lio 
 
 [Exeunt Don Pedho, Don John, and Claudio. 
 Brae. How doth the lady ? 
 
 Beat. Dead, I think -.-help, uncle;— Itnar. 
 Hero ! why He.o!-Uncle !-Signior Benedick !- 
 
 Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand . 
 Death is the fairest cover for her shame. 
 That may be wish'd for. . „ , 
 
 gg^( ■' How now, cousin Hero? 
 
 Friar. Have comfort, lady. i „i, „„, 
 
 j^^^^^ Dost thou look up ? 
 
 Friar. Yea; Wherefore should she not? 
 
 Leon. Wherefore? Why, doth not every earthly 
 Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny [thing 
 The story that is printed in her blood?— 
 Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes : 
 For did I think thou would'st not quickly die. 
 Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames. 
 Myself would, on tlie rearward of reproaches. 
 Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one ? 
 Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ? 
 O, oae too much by thee! Why had I one . 
 Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? 
 Why had I not with charitable hand, 
 Took up a begsar's issue at my gates ; 
 Who smirched "thus, and mired with infamy, 
 I might have said. No part of it is mine, 
 This shame derives itself from nnhno<m loins f 
 But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais d, 
 And mine that I was proud on ; mine so much, 
 That I myself was to myself not mine. 
 Valuing hi her , why, she-O, she is fallen 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 143 
 
 Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea 
 Hatli drops too few to wash her clean a^ain j 
 And salt too little, which may season give 
 To her foul tainted flesh ! 
 
 Bene. Sir, sir, be patient : 
 
 For my part I am so attir'd in wonder, 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 Beat* O, on my soul, my cousin is belied ! 
 
 Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? 
 
 Beat. No, truly not ; although, until last night, 
 I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 
 
 Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd! O, that is stronger 
 Which was before barr'd up with vibs of iron! [made, 
 Would the two princes lie i and Claudio lie 1 
 Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness, 
 Wa^ih'd it with tears? Hence from her ; let her die. 
 
 Friar, Hear me a little ; 
 For 1 have only been silent so long, 
 And given way unto this course of fortune, 
 By noting of the lady ; 1 have mark'd 
 A thousand blushing apparitions start 
 Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames 
 In angel witnesses bear away those blushes ; 
 And in her eye there hath appear 'd a fire, 
 To burn the errors that these princes hold 
 Against her maiden truth : — Call me a fool ; 
 Trust not my reading, nor my observations, 
 Which with experimental zeal doth warrant 
 The tenour of my book ; trust not my age, 
 My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 
 K this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
 Under some biting error. 
 
 Leon, Friar, it cannot be : 
 
 Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left, 
 Is, that she will not add to her damnation 
 A sin of perjury ; she not denies it : 
 AVhy seek'st thou then to cover with excuse 
 That which appears in proper nakedness ? 
 
 Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of? 
 
 Hero, They know, that do accuse me ; I know 
 If I know more of any man alive, [none : 
 
 Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant, 
 Let all my sins lack mercy! — O my father, 
 Prove you that any man with me convers'd 
 At hours unmeet, or that I yesterniglit 
 Maintain'd the change of words with any creature, 
 Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death, [princes. 
 
 Friar, There is some strange misprision in the 
 
 BeJie. Two of thera have the very bent of honour ; 
 And if their wisdoms be misled in this. 
 The practice of it lives in John the bastard. 
 Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 
 
 Leon. I know not ; If they speak but truth of her, 
 These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour. 
 The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
 Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, 
 Nor age so eat up my invention. 
 Nor fortune made such havoc of my means. 
 Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, 
 But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind. 
 Both strength of limb, and policy of mind, 
 Ability in means, and choice of friends, 
 To quit me of them thoroughly. 
 
 Friar, Pause awhile, 
 
 And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
 Your daughter here the prmces left for dead ; 
 Let her awhile be secretly kept in. 
 And publish it that she is dead indeed ; 
 Maintain a mourning ostentation; 
 And on your family's old monument 
 Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites 
 That appertain unto a burial. 
 
 Leon. AVhat shall become of this ^ What will 
 this do? 
 
 Friar, JNIarry, this, well carried, shall on her bo- 
 Change slander to remorse ; that is some good ; [half 
 But not for that, dream I on this strange course, 
 But on this travail look for greater birth. 
 She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, 
 Upon liie instant that she was accus'd, 
 Shall be lamented, pitied, am^ excus'd, 
 Of every hearer : For it so falls out, 
 That what we have we prize not to the worth. 
 Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost, 
 Why, then we rack the value, then we find 
 The virtue, that possession would not shew us 
 Whiles it was ours : So will it fare with Claudio : 
 When he shall hear she died upon his words, 
 The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
 Into his study of imagination ; 
 And every lovely organ of her life 
 Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit. 
 More moving-delicate, and full of life, 
 Into the eye and prospect of his soul, 
 Than when she lived indeed : — then shall he mourn, 
 (If ever love had interest in his liver,) 
 And wish he had not so accused her ; 
 jNo, though he thought his accusation true. 
 Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
 VVill fashion the event in better shape 
 Than I can lay it down in likelihood. 
 But if all aim but this be levell'd false, 
 The supposition of the lady's death 
 Will quench the wonder of her infamy : 
 And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her 
 (As best befits her wounded reputation,) 
 In some reclusive and religious life. 
 Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries. 
 
 Bene, Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you * 
 And though, you know, my inwardness and love 
 Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
 Yet, by mine honour. I will deal in this 
 As secretly, and justly as your soul 
 Should with your body. 
 
 Leon. Being that I flow in grief, 
 
 The smallest twine may lead me. 
 
 Friar. 'Tis well Consented ; presently away ; 
 
 For to strange sores strangely they strain the 
 
 Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day, [cure. — 
 
 Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; have patience, and 
 
 endure. [Exeunt Friar, Hero, and Leoxato. 
 
 Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while 1 
 
 Beat. Yea, and I will weep awhile longer. 
 
 Bene. I will not desire that. 
 
 Beat, You have no reason, I do it freely. 
 
 Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is 
 wrong'd. 
 
 Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of me 
 that would right her. 
 
 Bene, Is there any way to shew such friendship? 
 
 Beat, A very even way, but no such friend. 
 
 Bene. May a man do it? 
 
 Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours. 
 
 Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as 
 you ; Is not that strange ? 
 
 Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It were 
 as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as 
 you : but believe me not ; and y^ I lie not ; I confess 
 nothing, nor I deny nothing : — I am sorry for my 
 cousin. 
 
 Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me- 
 
 Beat. Do not swear by it, and eat it. 
 
 Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and I 
 will make him eat it, that says, I love not you. 
 
144 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, 
 
 jBmC Will you not eat your word f 
 
 Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it : I 
 protest, I love thee. 
 
 Beat. Why then, God forgive me ! 
 
 Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice T 
 
 Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour ; I was 
 about to protest I loved you. 
 
 Bene. And do it with all thy heart. 
 
 Beat. I love you with so much of my heart that 
 none is left to protest. 
 
 Bene. Come, bid nie do any thing for thee. 
 
 Beat. Kill Claudio. 
 
 Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. 
 
 Beat. You kill me to deny it : Farewell. 
 
 Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 
 
 Beat. I am gone, though 1 am here; — ^There is no 
 love in you : — Nay, I pray you, let me go. 
 
 Bejie. Beatrice, — 
 
 Beat. In faith, I will go. 
 
 Bene. We '11 be friends first. 
 
 Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than 
 fight with mine enemy. 
 
 Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? 
 
 Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain, 
 that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kins- 
 woman t — O, that I were a man '.—What ! bear her 
 in hand until they come to take hands ; and then with 
 public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated 
 rancour.— O God, tliat I were a man ! I would eat 
 his heart in the market-place. 
 
 Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ; — 
 
 Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ? — a pro- 
 per saj'ing. 
 
 Bene. Nay but, Beatrice ; — 
 
 Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is wronged, she is slan- 
 dered, she is undone. 
 
 Bene. Beat — 
 
 Beat. Princes, and counties 1 Surely, a princely 
 testimony, a goodly count- confect ; a sweet gallant, 
 surely ! O that I were a man for his sake I or that I 
 had any friend would be a man for my sake ! But 
 manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into com- 
 pliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and 
 trim ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercules, that 
 only tells a lie, and swears it: — I cannot be a man 
 i\-ith wishing, therefore I will die a woman with 
 grieving. 
 
 Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, I love 
 tliee. 
 
 Beat. Use it for my love some other way than 
 swearing by it. 
 
 Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio 
 hath wronged Hero ? 
 
 Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a soul. 
 
 Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge 
 him ; I will kiss your baud, and so leave you : By 
 this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account : 
 As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfort your 
 cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, farewell. 
 
 [ Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Prison. 
 
 £>i(er Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in gowns; 
 and the Watch, with Conrade and BoRAcmo, 
 Dogh. Is our whole dissembly appeared 1 
 Verg. 0, a stool'and a cushion for the sexton ! 
 Seitiiii. Which be tlie malefactors t 
 Dogb. Many, that am I and my partner. 
 Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the exhibition 
 
 to examine. 
 Seiton. But which are the otTenders that are to be 
 
 examined 1 let them come before master constable. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me. — 
 What \% your name, friend 1 
 
 Bora. Borachio. 
 
 Dogb. Pray write down — Borachio. Yours, 
 
 sirrah 1 
 
 Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is 
 Conrade. 
 
 Dogb. Write down — master gentleman Conrade. — 
 Slasters, do you serve God ! 
 
 Con, Bora. Yea, sir, we hope. 
 
 Dogb. Write down— that they hope they serve 
 God; — and write God first; for God defend but 
 God should go before such villains ! — Masters, it is 
 proved already that you are little better than false 
 knaves; and it will go near to be thought so shortly. 
 How answer you for yourselves. 
 
 Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 
 
 Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ; 
 but I will go about with him. — Come you hither, 
 sirrah ; a word inyourear, sir ; I say to you, it is 
 thought you are false knaves. 
 
 Bora. Sir, I say to you, we are none. 
 
 Dogb. Well, stand aside. — 'Fore God, theyare both 
 in a tale : Have you writ down — that they are none? 
 
 Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to 
 examine ; you must call forth the watch that are 
 their accusers. 
 
 Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way : — Let the 
 watch come forth :— Masters, I charge you, in the 
 prince's name, accuse these men. 
 
 1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the 
 prince's brother, was a villain. 
 
 Dogb. Write down — prince John a villain : — Why 
 this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother — villain* 
 
 Bora. Master constable, — 
 
 Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace ; I do not like thy 
 look, I promise thee. 
 
 Seitoti. What heard you him say else? 
 
 2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand 
 ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero 
 wrongfully. 
 
 Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed. 
 Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is. 
 Se.rton. What else, fellow ! 
 
 1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean, upon 
 his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole assembly, 
 and not marry her. 
 
 Dogb. villain ! thou wilt be condemned into 
 everlasting redemption for this. 
 Sexton. What else 1 
 
 2 Watch. This is all. 
 
 Seito}!. And this is more, masters, than you cnn 
 deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen 
 away ; Hero was in this maimer accused, in this very 
 manner refused, and upon the grief of this, suddenly 
 died. — Master constable, let lliese men be bound, 
 and brought to Leonato's ; I will go before, and shew 
 him their examination. [Eiit 
 
 Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned. 
 
 Verg. Let them be in band. 
 
 Con. Off, coxcomb ! 
 
 Dogb. God's my life ! where's the sexton ? let him 
 write down — the prince's officer, coxcomb.— Come, 
 bind them : Thou naughty varlet ! 
 
 Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass. 
 
 Dogb. Dost thou not suspect ray place t Dost thou 
 not suspect my years : — O that he were here to write 
 me down — an ass ! but, masters, remember, that I 
 am an ass ; though it be not written down, yet forget 
 not that I am an ass : — No. thou villain, thou art full 
 of piety, as shall be proved upon thee by good wit- 
 ness. I am a wise fellow ; and, which is more, an 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 145 
 
 officer ; and, which is more, ahoiiseholder ; and, which I Claud. Who wrongs him t 
 
 is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Mes- Leon. Marry, 
 
 sina ; and one that knows tlie law, go to ; and a rich Thou, thou dost wrong me ; thou dissembler, thou : — 
 
 fellow enough, go to ; and a fellow that hath had Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword, 
 
 losses ; and one that hath two gowns, and every thing I fear thee not. 
 
 handsome about him : — Bring him away, 
 had been writ down — an ass ! 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Before Leonat.o's House. 
 
 Enter Leonato and Antonio. 
 
 Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill j'ourself; 
 And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief 
 Against yourself. 
 
 Leon, I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 
 
 Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
 As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ; 
 Nor let no comforter delight mine ear. 
 But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine. 
 Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child. 
 Whose joy of her is over^vhelra'd like mine, 
 And bid him speak of patience ; 
 Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine, 
 And let it answer every strain for strain ; 
 As thus for thus, and such a grief for such, 
 In every lineament, branch, shape, and form : 
 If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard : 
 Cry — sorrow, wag ! and hem, when he should groan ; 
 Patch grief with proverbs ; make misfortune drunk 
 With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me, 
 And I of him will gather patience. 
 But there is no such man : For, brother, men 
 Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief 
 Wliich they themselves not feel j but, tasting it, 
 Their counsel turns to passion, which before 
 Would give preceptial medicine to rage. 
 Fetter strong madness in a silken thread, 
 Charm ach with air, and agony with words : 
 No, no J 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
 To those that wring under the load of sorrow ; 
 But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency. 
 To be so moral, when he shall endure 
 The like himself: therefore give me no counsel : 
 My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 
 
 Ant, Therein do men from children nothing differ. 
 
 Leon. I pray thee, peace ; I will be flesh and blood ; 
 For there was never yet pliilosopher, 
 That could endure the tooth-ach patiently j 
 However they have writ the style of gods. 
 And made a push at chance and sufferance. 
 
 Ant. Vet bend not all the harm upon yourself; 
 Make those, that do offend you, suffer too. 
 
 Leon. There thou speak'st reason : nay, I will do 
 My souJ doth tell me, Hero is belied ; [so -. 
 
 And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince, 
 And all of them, that thus dishonour her. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. 
 
 Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good den, good den. 
 
 Claud. Good day to both of you. 
 
 Leon. Hear you, my lords, — 
 
 D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato. 
 
 Leon. Some haste, my lord! — well, fare you well, 
 my lord : — 
 Are you so hasty now? — well, all is one. [man. 
 
 D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old 
 
 Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling, 
 Some of us would lie low. 
 
 O, that I Claud. Marry, beshrewmy hand, 
 
 [^Exeunt. If it should give your age such cause of fear , 
 In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 
 
 Leon, Tush, tush, man, never fleer andjest at mo : 
 I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ; 
 As, under privilege of age, to brag 
 What I have done being young, or what would do, 
 Were I not old : Kdow, Claudio, to thy head, 
 Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me. 
 That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by ; 
 And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days. 
 Do challenge thee to trial of a man. 
 I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child ; 
 Thy slander hath gone through and through her heart, 
 And she lyes buried with her ancestors : 
 O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept. 
 Save this of her's, fram'd by thy villany, 
 Claud. My villany ! 
 
 Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine I say. 
 
 D. Pedro. You say not right, old man. 
 Leon, My lord, my lord. 
 
 I'll prove it on his body, if he dare ; 
 Despite his nice fence, and his active practice. 
 His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood. 
 Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you. 
 Leon. Canst thou so dalf me f Thou hast kill'd 
 my child ; 
 If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 
 
 Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed ; 
 But that's no matter ; let him kill one first ; — 
 Win me, and wear me, — let him answer me, — 
 Come follow me, boy ; come, sir boy, foUowme: 
 Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining fence ; 
 Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will. 
 
 Leo7i. Brother, — [niece ; 
 
 A/it. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my 
 And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains j 
 That dare as well answer a man, indeed. 
 As I dare take a serpent by the tongue : 
 Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops! — 
 
 Leon. Brother Antony, — [yea, 
 
 Ant. Hold you content: What, man! Iknowthem, 
 And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple : 
 Scarabling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring boys, 
 That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander. 
 Go anticly, and shew outward hideousness. 
 And speak off half a dozen dangerous words. 
 How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst. 
 And this is all. 
 
 Leon. But, brother Antony, — 
 Ant. Come, 'tis no matter j 
 
 Do not you meddle, let me deal in this. [patience. 
 D, Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake your 
 My heart is &orry for your daughter's death ; 
 But, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing 
 But what was true, and very full of proof. 
 Leon. My lord, ray lord, — 
 D. Pedro, I will not hear you. 
 
 Leon. No ? 
 
 Come, brother, away : — I will be heard ; — 
 
 Ant. And shall. 
 
 Or some of us will smart for it. 
 
 [Eieu/U Leonato and Antonio. 
 
 Enter Benedick. 
 
 D. Pedro. 
 to seek. 
 
 See, see ; here comes the man we went 
 
146 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Claud, Now, signior! what news ? 
 Bene. Good day, my lord. 
 
 D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : You are almost 
 come to part almost a fray. 
 
 Cldiui. We had liked to have had our two noses 
 snapped off" with two old men without teeth. 
 
 D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother: Whatthink'st 
 thou 1 Had we fought, 1 doubt, we should have been 
 too young for them. 
 
 Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour ; 
 I came to seek you both. 
 
 Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee ; 
 for we are high proof melancholy, and would fain 
 have it beaten away : Wilt ihou use thy wit ? 
 Bene. It is in my scabbard ; Shall I draw it ? 
 D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side? 
 Claud. Never any did so, though very many have 
 been beside their wit. — 1 will bid thee draw, as we 
 do the minstrels ; draw, to pleasure us. 
 
 D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks pale : 
 — Art thou sick, or angry ? 
 
 Claud. What! courage, man ! What though care 
 killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill 
 care. 
 
 Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career, an 
 you charge it against me ; — I pray you, choose an- 
 other subject. 
 
 CUiud. Nay, then give him another staff*; this last 
 was broke cross. 
 
 D, Pedro. By this light, he changes more and 
 more ; I think, he be angry indeed. 
 
 Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle. 
 Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear ? 
 Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! 
 Bene. You are avillain ; — I jest not — I will make 
 it good how you dare, with what you dare, and when 
 you dare : — Do me right, or 1 will protest your cow- 
 ardice. You have killed a sweet lady, and her death 
 shall fall heavy on you : Let me hear from you. 
 
 Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good 
 cheer. 
 
 D. Pedro. What a feast? a feast? 
 Claud, rfaith, I thank him ; he hath bid me to a 
 calf's head and a capon, tlie which if I do not carve 
 most curiously, say, my knife's naught. — Shall 1 not 
 find a woodcock too? 
 
 Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily. 
 D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how I3eatrice praised thy 
 ■wit tlie otiier day: 1 said, thou hadst a fine wit; 
 True, says slie, a fine little one : A'o, said I, a great 
 wit ; Right, says she, a great gross one : Naij, said I, 
 a good wit -f Just, said she, it hurts nohodif : Nay, 
 said I, the gentlemen is ivise ; Certain, said she, a 
 wise gentleman: Nui/, said I, he hath the to7ig>ies ; 
 That J believe, said she, Ji'/' he swore a thing to me on 
 Monday niglit, loiiich hcj'orswore on Tuesdatf ynorning ; 
 there^s a double tongue ; there's two tongues. Thus 
 did she, an hour together, transshape lliy particular 
 virtues ; yet, at last, she concluded witli a sigh, thou 
 wast the properest man in Italy. 
 
 Claud, For the which she wept heartily, and said, 
 she cared not. 
 
 D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet. for all that, 
 an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love 
 him dearly : the old man's daughter told us all. 
 
 Claud. Allj all ; d.nd moreoyGV, God saw him when 
 he was hid in the garden. 
 
 D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's 
 horns on the sensible Uenedick's head? 
 
 Claud. Yea, and text underneath, Here dwells 
 Benedick the married man ? 
 
 Bi-ne. Fare you well, boy ! you know my mind ; 
 
 I will leave you now to your gossip-like humors, ' 
 you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which, 
 God be thanki-d. hurt not. — My lord, for your many 
 courtesies 1 thank you : 1 must discontinue your 
 company: youi brother, the bastard, is Hed from 
 Messina : you have, among you, killed a sweet and 
 innocent lady : For my lord Lack-beard, there, he 
 and I shall meet; and till then, peace be with him. 
 
 lExit Bf.nedick. 
 
 D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 
 
 Claud. In most profound earnest ; and I'll war- 
 rant you, for the love of Beatrice. 
 
 D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee ? 
 
 Claud. Most sincerely. 
 
 D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is. when he 
 goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off" his wir! 
 
 Ento* DoGBF.nnY, Veuces, and the Watch, with 
 
 CONRADE and BORACHIO. 
 
 Claud. He is then a giant to an ape : but then is 
 an ape a doctor to such a man. 
 
 D, Pedro. But. soft you, let be ; pluck up, my 
 heart, and be sad ' Did he not say, my brother was 
 fled? 
 
 Dogh, Come, you, sir ; if justice cannot tame you, 
 she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance : 
 nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must 
 be looked to. 
 
 D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men 
 bound ! Borachio, one ! 
 
 Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord ! 
 
 D. Pedro. OtBcers, what offence have these men 
 done? 
 
 Dogh. Marry, sir, lliey have committed false re- 
 port ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; se- 
 condarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they 
 have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified un- 
 just things: and. to conclude, they are lying knaves. 
 
 D. Pedro. First, 1 ask thee what they have done ; 
 thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence ; sixth and 
 lastly, why they are committed: and, to conclude, 
 what you lay to their charge ? 
 
 Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division ; 
 and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited. 
 
 D. Pedro. Whom have you offended, masters, that 
 you are thus bound to your answer? this learned 
 constable is too cunning to be understood : What's 
 your offence ? 
 
 Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine 
 answer ; do you hear me, and let this count kill me. 
 I have deceived even your very eyes : what your wis- 
 doms could not discover, these shallow fools have 
 brought to light ; who, in the night, overheard me 
 confessing to this man, how Don John your brother 
 incensed me to slander the lady Hero ; how you 
 were brought into the orchard, and saw me court 
 Margaret in Hero's garments ; how you disgraced 
 her, when you should marry her : my villany they 
 have upon record ; which 1 had rather seal with my 
 death, than repeat over to my shame : the lady is 
 dead upon mine and my master's false accusation ; and, 
 briefly, I desire nothing but the reward of a villain. 
 
 D, Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through 
 your blood ? 
 
 Claud. I have drunk poison, whiles he uttered it. 
 
 D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this? 
 
 Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice of it, 
 
 D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of trea- 
 And fled lie is upon this villany. [chery : — 
 
 Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth appear 
 In the rare semblance that 1 loved it first. 
 
 JJogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs; by this 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 ttme our Sexton hath refonned si^nior Leonato of 
 the matter : And masters, do not forget to specify, 
 when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass^ ' 
 Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato 
 and the Sexton too. 
 
 Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, Kith the Sexton. 
 tcKn. Which is the villain ? Let me see his eyes ■ 
 That when I note another man like him, ' 
 
 I may avoid him : Which of these is he' 1 
 
 Bora. If you would knowyour wronger, look onme. 
 leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath hast 
 Mme innocent child ? fkiU'd 
 
 f"'"- Yea, even I alone. 
 
 Lem. No, not so, villain ; thou belv'st thyself; 
 Here stand a pair of honourable men, ' 
 A third is fled, that had a hand in it :'— 
 I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death ■ 
 Kecord U with your high and worthy deeds ■ 
 Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.' 
 
 Child. 1 know not how to pray your patience 
 \ et I must speak : Choose your" revenge yourself 
 Impose me to what penance your invention 
 Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not, 
 ijut m mistaking. 
 
 D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ; 
 
 And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
 I would bend under any heavyweight 
 That he'll enjoin me to". 
 
 Leon. I cannot bid you bid mv daughter live 
 1 hat were impossible ; but I pfiy you both 
 t'ossess the people in Messina here 
 How innocent she died : and, if vour love 
 Can labour aught in sad invention. 
 Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb 
 And smg it to her bones ; sing it to-night : - 
 io-morrow morning come you to my house ; 
 And since you could not be my son-in-law 
 Be yet my nephew: my brother hath a daughter 
 Almost the copy of my child that's dead. 
 And she alone is heir to both of us • 
 Give her the right you should have given her cousin 
 And so dies my revence. 
 
 Claud. ° O, noble sir, 
 
 Your over kindness doth wring tears from me ' 
 1 do embrace your offer ; and dispose 
 tor hencelorth of poor Claiidio. 
 
 Le,„i To-morrow then I will expect your coming; 
 To-night I take my leave.-This nauglity man 
 ^i'ru T^f '° ''*™ ''^ l"-ought to Margaret, 
 Who, I believe, was pack'd in all this wrong, 
 Hir d to It by your brother. 
 
 M ^7'''' , ^°' ^y "y ^O"'' she was not : 
 
 Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me • 
 liut always hath been just and virtuous ' 
 
 In any thing that I do know by her. 
 
 Dogh. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under I 
 white and blaclc,) this plaimiff here, the offender 
 did call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remembered I 
 in his punishment : And also, the watch heard them ' 
 talk of one Deformed : they say, he wears a key in ' 
 his ear and a lock hanging by it ; and borrows mo- 
 ney in God s name ; the which he hath used so Ion? 
 and never paid, that now men grow hard-hearted! 
 and will lend nothing for God's sake: Pray you 
 examine him upon that point. ' 
 
 /.<■<>". I thank thee for thy care and honest pains. 
 
 Uogh. \our worship speaks like a most thankful 
 and reverend youth ; and I praise God for you. 
 
 /-e«i. 1 here 's for thy pains. 
 
 Dogb. God save the foundation ! [thank thee. 
 
 Leon. Go. I discharge thee of thy prisoner, and I 
 
 147 
 
 Dn^ft. I leave an arrant knave with your worship 
 which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself' 
 for the example of others. God keep your worship • 
 I wish your worship well ; God restore you to health : 
 1 humbly give you leave to depart ; and if a merrv 
 meeting may be wished, God prohibit it.-Corae 
 neighbour. 
 
 [Er«,„t Dogberry, Verges, and Watch. 
 
 l^eon.Vnlil to-morrow morning, lords, farewell. 
 
 ^«(. Farewell, my lords; we look foi you to- 
 
 n. Pedro. We will not fail. [morrow. 
 
 utaud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. 
 
 [Ereunt Don PEniio and Clacdio. 
 
 Lean. Brin? you these fellows on ; we'll talk with 
 
 Margaret, 
 
 How her acquaintance grew with tliis lewd fellow. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE II.-Leonato's Garden. 
 Enter Benedick and Margaret, meetinrr. 
 Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret deserve 
 B:atr1ce"' '""'^' '^ '^'^'^S me to fk. speth of 
 
 t of m;'!eau™' """ '''^ ™'^ ™ ' ''"""^' '" P"-'^ 
 
 vJZ'\ ^u '° '''°'' ^ "y''- Margaret, that no man 
 iving shall come over it ; for, in most comely truth 
 thou deservest it. •' ' 
 
 iMarg To have no man come over me ? whv 
 shall I always keep below stairs i ■" 
 
 /if... Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's 
 mouth. It catches. ^ 
 
 r.J'Tf-A"'^ 1°"''^ ^^ '''"'" ^s ""« fencer's foils, 
 which hit, but hurt not. 
 
 Bene. A most manly wit, Margaret, it will not 
 
 I Jil! r^'f." 'r''"',',"'' ^ P'"='y "'ee. t^Il Beatrice : 
 I give thee the bucklers. 
 
 our o"™ ^"^ "' "'^ ''™"''' "'^ '"'™ bucklers of 
 
 Bene. If you use them, Margaret, you must put 
 
 vennn ^f ""'^ ^ "'' ' '""^ "'^y "^ dangerous • 
 weapons for mauls. " 
 
 thint"'f",h"l'"' ^ ''"' "'" ^^'''"™ '" yo". ^"ho, I 
 think, hath legs. [Exit Margaret. 
 
 Bene. And therefore will come. 
 
 The god of love, [Singing. 
 
 That sits above, >- o B 
 
 And knows me, and knows mt. 
 
 How piijjul I deserve.— 
 I mean in singing; but in loving.'- Leander the 
 good swimmer Troilus the first enfployer of panders 
 and a whole book full of these quondam carpet 
 
 road of a blank verse, why, they were n'ever so truly 
 
 turned over and over as my-^poor self, in love 
 
 ■Marry I cannot shew it in rh'yme ; I lia;e Uied I 
 
 can find out no rhyme to /,,,,/but bai,, an innocent 
 
 1 rbb'lit' 'T- '*""'• ' ^'^"^ '^y^^ ■' 'lorsckool.fool. 
 a babbling rhyme ; very ominous endings : No f 
 
 woo ?n f ,■" r'^"' ' '''-^'^S planet, no? I cannot 
 woo in festival terms. 
 
 Enter Beatrice. 
 fh"r' ^**'"'=e. 'would'st thou come when I called 
 
 Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid rae. 
 
 Bene. O, stay but till then ! 
 
 -Beat. Then, is spoken ; fare you well now :— 
 and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for, 
 which IS, with knowing what hath passed between 
 you and Claudio. 
 
 K2 
 
148 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 
 Bene, Only foul words ; and thereupon I will 
 kiss thee. 
 
 Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind 
 is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome ; there- 
 fore I will depart uukissed. 
 
 Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of liis 
 right sense, so forcible is thy wit : But, I must tell 
 thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge ; and 
 either I must shortly hear from him, or I will sub- 
 scribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now, tell me, 
 for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love 
 with me ? 
 
 Beat. For them all together ; which maintained 
 so politic a state of evil, that they will not admit 
 any good part to intermingle with them. But for 
 which of my good parts did you first suffertoloveme. 
 
 Bene. Sujf'er love ; a good epitliet ! I do sufi'er 
 love, indeed, for 1 love ihue against my will. 
 
 Beat. In spite of your heart, 1 think ; alas ! poor 
 heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for 
 yours J for 1 will never love that which my friend 
 hates. 
 
 Bene* Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably. 
 
 Beat. It appears not in this confession : there 's 
 not one wise man among twenty, that will praise 
 himself. 
 
 Bene, An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that 
 lived in the time oi good neighbours ; if a man do 
 not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he 
 shall live no longer in monument, than the bell 
 rings, and the widow weeps. 
 
 Beat* And how long is that, think you ? 
 
 Bene. Question? — Why, an hour in clamour, and 
 a quarter in rheum: Therefore it is most expedient 
 for the wise, (if Don Worm, his conscience, find no 
 impediment to the contrary,) to be the trumpet of 
 his own virtues, as I am to myself: So much for 
 praising myself, (who, 1 myself will bear witness, is 
 praise- worthy,) and now tell me. How doth your 
 cousin 1 
 
 Beat. Very ill. 
 
 Bene. And how do you? 
 
 Beat. Very ill too. 
 
 Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend : there will 
 I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. 
 
 Enter UnsuLA. 
 
 Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle, yon- 
 der's old coil at home : it is proved, my lady Hero 
 hpth been falsely accused, the prince and Claudio 
 mightily abus'd ; and Don John is the author of all, 
 who is fled and gone ; will you come presently t 
 
 Beat* Will you go hear this news, signior ? 
 
 Bene. I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and 
 be buried in thy eyes j and, moreover, I will go 
 with thee to thy uncle's. {^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE lll.—The Inside of a Church. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with 
 music and tapers. 
 Claud, Is this the monument of Leonatol 
 Atten. It is, my lord. 
 Claud. [^Readsjrom a scroti.^ 
 
 Done to deqth 6y slanderous tongues 
 
 Was the Hero that here lies: 
 Dmth, in guerdon of her tvrongs, 
 
 Gives her fame which never dies : 
 So the Ife, that died with siiame, 
 Lives in death with glorious fame. 
 Hang thmi there upon the tomb, [affixing it. 
 Praising her when I am dumb. — 
 
 Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn hymn. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Pardon, Goddess of the night, 
 Those that slew thu virgi}i knight ; 
 For the xchich, with songs of woe. 
 Round about her tomb theu go. 
 
 Midnight, assist our 7nonn ; 
 
 Help 2ts to sigh and gj-oan, 
 Heavily, heavHif : 
 
 Graves, yawn, and yield your dead. 
 
 Till death be uttered. 
 Heavenly, heavenly. 
 
 Claud* Now unto thy bones good night ! 
 
 Yearly will 1 do this rite. [out : 
 
 D.Pedro. Good morrow, masters ; put your torches 
 
 The wolves have prey'd: and look the gentle 
 
 Before the wheels of Phcebus, round about [day. 
 
 Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray : 
 Thanks to you all, and leave us ; fare you well. 
 Claud. Good morrow, masters ; each his several 
 way. [weeds ; 
 
 D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other 
 And then to Leonato's we will go. [speeds, 
 
 Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue 
 Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe ! 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Boom in Leonato's House. 
 
 Enter Leonato, Aktomo, Benedick, Beatrice, 
 Ursula, Friar, and Hero. 
 
 Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ? 
 
 Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, whoaccus'd 
 Upon the error that you have heard debated : [her. 
 But Margaret was in some fault for this j 
 Although against her will, as it appears 
 In the true course of al! the question. 
 
 Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well. 
 
 Bene. And so am 1, being else by faith t^Torc'd 
 To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 
 
 Leoji. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all, 
 Witiidraw into a chamber by yourselves ; 
 And, when I send for you, come hither masked ! 
 The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour 
 To visit me : — -You know your office, brother ; 
 You must be father to your brother's daughter, 
 And give her to young Claudio. [Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Ant. Which I will do with confinn'd countenance. 
 
 Bene. Friar, I must intreat your pains, I think. 
 
 Friar. To do what, signior 1 
 
 Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them, — ■ 
 Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior. 
 Your niece regards me with an eye of favour, [true. 
 
 Leon. That eye my da\ighter lent her ; 'Tis most 
 
 Bene. And I do with an eye of love requite her. 
 
 Leon. The sight, whereof, 1 think, you had from 
 me, 
 From Claudio and the prince; But what's your 
 
 Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical: [will? 
 But, for my will, my will is, your good will 
 May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd 
 In the estate of honourable marriage ;■ — 
 In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 
 
 Leon. My heart is with your liking. 
 
 Friar. And my help. 
 
 Here comes the prince, and Claudio. 
 
 Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, with Attendants. 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly. 
 Leon. Good morrow, prince ; good morrow ; 
 Claudio : 
 
ACT v.— SCENE IV. 
 
 149 
 
 We here attend you ; Are you yet determin'd 
 To-day to marry with my brother's daughter '. 
 
 Ctiiud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope. 
 
 Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar 
 ready, [Exit Antonio. 
 
 D. Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick : 'VVhy, what's 
 the matter. 
 That you have such a February face. 
 So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness ? 
 
 Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull : — 
 Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold. 
 And all Europa shall rejoice at thee ; 
 As once Europa did at lusty Jove, 
 When he would play the noble beast in love. 
 
 Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; 
 And some such strange bull leap'd your father's 
 And got a calf in that same noble feat, [cow. 
 
 Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. 
 
 B-e-enter AnxoNro, xi-ith the Ladies masked, 
 
 Claud. For this I owe you : here come other rec- 
 Which is the lady I must seize upon ? [konings. 
 
 Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her. 
 
 Claud. Why, then she's mine: Sweet, let me see 
 your face. [hand, 
 
 Lean. No, that you shall not, till you taJce her 
 Before this friar, and swear to marry her. 
 
 Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar ; 
 I am your husband, if you like of me. 
 
 Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife : 
 
 [Unmasking. 
 And when you lov'd, you were my other husband. 
 
 Claud. Another Hero ? 
 
 Hero. Nothing certainer ; 
 
 One Hero died defil'd ; but I do live. 
 And, surely as I live, I am a maid. 
 
 D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead ! 
 
 Leon, She died my lord, but whiles her slander 
 
 Friar. All this amazement can I qualify; [lived. 
 When, after that the holy rites are ended, 
 I '11 tell you largely of fair Hero's death • 
 Mean time, let wonder seem familiar. 
 And to (he chapel let us presently. 
 
 Bene, Soft and fair, friar. — Which is Beatrice 1 
 
 Beat. I answer to that name ; [ Unmasking.'] 
 
 What is your will 1 
 
 Bene. Do not you love me 1 
 
 Beat. No, no more tlian reason. 
 
 Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince, and 
 Claudio, 
 Have been deceived ; for they swore you did. 
 
 Beat. Do not you love me^ 
 
 Bene, No, no more than reason. [sula, 
 
 Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ur- 
 Are much deceiv'd ; for they did swear, you did. 
 
 Bene. They swore that you were almost sick forme. 
 
 Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead for 
 me. [love me ? 
 
 Bene. 'Tis no such matter : — Then you do not 
 
 Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 
 
 Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 Clajid. And I'll be sworn upon 't. that he loves her; 
 For here 's a paper, written in his hand, 
 A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
 Fashion'd to Beatrice. 
 
 Hera. And here's another. 
 
 Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket. 
 Containing her affection unto Benedick. 
 
 Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against 
 our hearts ! — Come, I will have thee ; but, by this 
 light, I take thee for pity. 
 
 -Brat. I would not deny you ; — but, by this good 
 day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and, partly, to 
 save your life, for 1 was told you were in a con- 
 sumption. 
 
 Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. [7i issini,' her. 
 
 D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick the married 
 man? 
 
 Bene. I '11 tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit- 
 crackers cannot flout me out of my humour : Dost 
 thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram 1 No : 
 if a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear 
 nothing handsome about him : In brief, since I do 
 propose to marry, I will think nothing to any pur- 
 pose that the world can say against it ; and theie- 
 fore never flout at me for wiiat I have said against 
 it ; for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclu- 
 sion. — For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have 
 beaten thee ; but in that thou art like to be my kins- 
 man, live unbruised, and love my cousin. 
 
 Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have de- 
 nied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee out 
 of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer ; 
 which, out of question, tiiou wilt be, if my cousin 
 do not look exceeding narrowly to thee. 
 
 Bene. Come, ctme. we are friends : — let's have a 
 dance ere we are married, that we may lighten our 
 own hearts, and oar wives' heels. 
 
 Leon. We '11 have dancing afterwards. 
 
 Bene. First, 'o my word; therefore, play music. — 
 Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a 
 wife : there is no staff' more reverend than one tipped 
 with horn. 
 
 Lntcr a Jlessenger. 
 
 Mess, My lord, your brother John is ta'en in 
 flight. 
 And brought with armed men back to Messina. 
 
 Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow ; I '11 de- 
 vise thee brave punishments for him. — Strike up, 
 pipers. [Dance. Eieunt 
 
 This play may be jastly said to contain two of the most 
 sprightly characters that Shakspeare ever drew. 'I he wit, the 
 buniounst, the gentleman, and the soldier, are combined ill 
 Benedick. U is to be Utnenied, indeed, that the first and most 
 splendid of these distinctions, is disgraced by unnecessary 
 profaneness ; for the goodness of his heart is hardiy sufficient 
 to atone for the license of his tongue. The too sarcastic levity, 
 which fiasbes out in the convprsaiioo of Beatrice, may be ex. 
 Clued oa eccooDt of the steadiness and friendship so apparent 
 
 in her behaviour, when she urges her lover to risk his life by 
 a challenge to Claudio. In tlie conduct of the fable, however, 
 there is an imperfection simiLir to that which Dr. Johnson has 
 pointed nut in Tlie Merry IViiei of IlVj/rfjitr .— the second con- 
 trivance is less ingenious than the first;— or, to speak more 
 plainly, the same incident is become stale by repetition. I 
 wish some other method had been found to entrap Heatrtce 
 than that very one which before had been successfully prac- 
 ti-sed on Benedick.— Steevens. 
 
MIDSUMiMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 This play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Oct. 8, IGOO.— And there were two editions of it published io quarto in that year 
 Mr. Maloric supposes it to li3ve been written in 15^. It is distinguished by one of the strongest characteristics of our 
 author's early plays— the recurrence of passages and scenes in rhyme. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Theseus, Duke o/ Athens. 
 
 ^Gi.vs, father to Hermia. 
 
 Lysander, } , , . , TT 
 
 Demetrivs, S ^"- '""^ '"'*'' Hermia. 
 
 Philostrate, master of the revels to Theseus. 
 
 Qui>xe, the carpenter. 
 
 Snug, the joiner. 
 
 Bottom, the weaver. 
 
 Flute, the belloivs-mender. 
 
 Snout, the tinker. 
 
 Starveling, the tailor, 
 
 HippoLYiA, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to 
 
 Theseus. 
 Hermia, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander. 
 Helena, in love with Demetrius. 
 Oeeron, king of the fairies. 
 TiTAMA, queen of the fairies. 
 Puck, or Robin-goodfellow, a fairy. 
 Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustard-seed, 
 
 fairies. 
 Pyramus, Thishe, Wall, Moonshine, Lion, characters 
 
 in the Interlude performed by the Clowns. 
 Other Fairies attending their King and Queen, 
 Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta. 
 
 SCENE, — Athens, and a Wood not far from it. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENi! I.— Athens. A Room in the Palace of 
 Theseus. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, PuiLOSTnAXE, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 The. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour 
 Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in 
 Another moon : but, oh, methinks, how slow 
 This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires. 
 Like to a step-dame, or a dowager. 
 Long withering out a young man's revenue, [nights ; 
 
 Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in 
 Four nights will quickly dream away the time j 
 And then the moon, like to a silver bow 
 Now bent in heaven, shall behold the night 
 Of our solemnities. 
 
 The. Go, Philostrate, 
 
 Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments ; 
 Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth ; 
 Turn melancholy forth to funerals. 
 The pale companion is not for our pomp. — 
 
 l^Erit Philostrate, 
 Hippolyta, I woo'd thee vrith my sword, 
 And won thy love, doing thee injuries ; 
 But I will wed thee in another key. 
 With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling. 
 
 Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander, and Demetrius. 
 Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke ! [thee? 
 The. Thanks, good Egeus ; What's the news with 
 
 Ege. Full of vexation come I, with complaint 
 Against my child, my daughter Hermia.^ 
 Stand forth, Demetrius ; — My noble lord. 
 I'his man hath my consent to marry her : — 
 Stand forth, Lysander ; — and, my gracious duke. 
 This hath bewitcli'd the bosom of my child : 
 Thou, thou. Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes 
 And interchang'd love-tokens with my child : 
 Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung. 
 With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ; 
 And stol'n the impression of her fantasy 
 With bracelet! of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits. 
 Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats; messengers 
 Of strong prevailmeut in unharden'd youth : 
 With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart, 
 Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me. 
 To stubborn harshness : — And, my gracious duke. 
 Be it so she will not here before your grace 
 Consent to marry with Demetrius, 
 I beg the ancient privilege of Athens ; 
 As she is mine, I may dispose of her ; 
 Which shall be either to this gentleman. 
 Or to her death ; according to our law, 
 Immediately provided in that case. 
 
 TAc What say you, Hermia"! be advis'd, fair maid : 
 To you your father should be as a god ; 
 One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, znd one 
 To whom you are but as a form in wax. 
 By him imprinted, and within his power 
 To leave the figure, or disfigure it. 
 Demetrius is a worthy gentleman. 
 
 Her. So is Lysander. 
 
 The. In himself he is : 
 
 But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice. 
 The other must be held the worthier. 
 
 Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes. 
 
 The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment look. 
 
 Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon mc. 
 I know not by what power I am made bold ; 
 Nor how it may concern my modesty. 
 In such a presence here to plead my thoughts : 
 But I beseech your grace that I may know 
 The worst that may befal me in this case, ' 
 
 If I refuse to wed Demetrius. 
 
 The. Either to die the death, or to abjure 
 For ever the society of men. 
 Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires. 
 Know of your youth, examine well your blood. 
 Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice. 
 You can endure the livery of a nun ; 
 For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd. 
 To live a barren sister all your life. 
 Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon. 
 Thrice blessed they, that master so their blood, 
 To undergo such maiden pilgrimage : 
 But earthlier happy is the rose dislill'd. 
 Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn. 
 Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness. 
 
 Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord 
 Ere I will yield my virgin patent up 
 Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke 
 
ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 lol 
 
 My soul consents not to give sovereignty. 
 
 The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next new 
 (The sealing-day bet\\-ixt my love and me, [moon 
 For everlasting bond of fellowship,) 
 I'pon that day either prepaie to die, 
 For disobedience to your father's will ; 
 Or else, towed Demetrius, as he would : 
 Or on Diana's altar to protest. 
 For aye, austerity and single life. 
 
 Dein. Relent, sweet Hermia; — And, Lysander, 
 Thy crazed title to my certain right. [yield 
 
 Ltjs. You have her father's love, Demetrius ; 
 Let ine have Hermia's : do you marry him. 
 
 Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true he hath my love ; 
 And what is mine my love shall render him ; 
 And she is mine ; and all my right of her 
 I do estate unto Demetrius. 
 
 Lijs. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he. 
 As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ; 
 My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd, 
 If not with vantage, as Demetrius ; 
 And, which is more than all these boasts can be, 
 I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia : 
 Why should not I then prosecute my right? 
 Demetrius, I '11 avouch it to his head, 
 Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, 
 And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes, 
 Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry, 
 Vpon this spotted and inconstant man. 
 
 The. I must confess, that I have heard so much. 
 And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof ; 
 But, being over-full of self-affairs. 
 My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come ; 
 And come, Egeus ; you shall go with me, 
 I have some private schooling for you both. — 
 For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself 
 To fit your fancies to your father's will ; 
 Or else the law of Athens yields you up 
 (\\ hich by no means we may extenuate,) 
 To death, or to a vow of single life. — 
 Come, my Hippolyta; What cheer, my lovel 
 Demetrius, and Egeus, go along : 
 I must employ you in some business 
 Against our nuptial ; and confer with you 
 Of something nearly that concerns yourselves. 
 
 Ege. With duty, and desire, we follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt. Thes. Hip. Eoe. Dem. and train. 
 
 Lys, How now, my love"? Why is your cheek so 
 How chance the roses there do fade so fast ? [pale 1 
 
 Her. Belike for want of rain ; %\hich I could well 
 Beteem them from the tempest of mine eyes. 
 
 Lys, Ah me ! for ought that ever I could read. 
 Could ever hear by tale or history. 
 The course of true love ne\er did run smooth : 
 But, either it was difierent in blood. 
 
 Her. O cross ! too hi^rh to be enthrall'd to low ! 
 
 Lys. Or else misgraffed, in respect of years ; 
 
 Her, O spite ! loo old to be engag'd to young ! 
 
 Lys. Or else it stood upon the choice of friends : 
 
 Her* O hell ! to choose love by another's eye ! 
 
 Lys. Or, if there were a sympathy in choice. 
 War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it ; 
 Making it raomentar)- as a sound, 
 Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ; 
 Brief as the lightning in the coUied night, 
 That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, 
 And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold ! 
 The jaws of darkness do devoii^ it up : 
 So quick bright things come to confusion. 
 
 Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd. 
 It stands as an edict in destiny : 
 Then let us teach our trial patience 
 
 Because it is a customary cross ; 
 
 As due to love, as thoughts and dreams, and sighs. 
 
 Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's followers. 
 
 Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear rae 
 I have a widow aunt, a dowager [Hermia. 
 
 Of great revenue, and she hath no child : 
 From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ; 
 And she respects me as her only son. 
 There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ; 
 And to that place the sharp Athenian law 
 Cannot pursue us : If thou lov'st me then. 
 Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ; 
 And in the wood, a league without the town. 
 Where I did meet thee once with Helena, 
 To do observance to a morn of May, 
 There will 1 stay for thee. 
 
 ^^>'- My good Lysander ! 
 
 I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow ; 
 By his best arrow with the golden head ; 
 By the simplicity of Venus' doves ; 
 By that whicli knitteth souls, and prospers loves ; 
 And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen, 
 Wlicn the false Trojan under sail was seen ; 
 By all the vows that ever men have broke, 
 In number more than ever women spoke ; — 
 In that same place thou hast appointed me, 
 To-morrow truly will I meet with thee. 
 Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes Helena. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Her. God speed fair Helena ! Whither away ? 
 
 Hel. Call you me faif ? that fair again unsay. 
 Demetrius loves you fair : O happy fair ! 
 Your eyes are load-stars ; and your tongue's sweet air 
 More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear. 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
 Sickness is catching ; O, were favour so ! 
 Your's would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 
 My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eve, 
 My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
 Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated, 
 The rest I 'II give to be to you translated. 
 O, teach me how you look ; and with what art 
 Y'ou sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
 
 Her. 1 frown upon him, yet he loves me still. 
 
 Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles 
 such skill! 
 
 Her. I give him curses, yet he gives me love, 
 
 Hel. O, that my prayers could such affection move ' 
 
 Her. The more 1 hate, the more he follows me. 
 
 Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me. 
 
 Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 
 
 HH, None, but your beauty ; 'Would tliat fault 
 were mine ! 
 
 Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face i 
 Lysander and myself will fly this place. — 
 Before the time 1 did Lysander See, 
 Seem'd Athens like a paradise to me: 
 O then, what graces in my love do dwell, 
 That he hath turn'd a heaven unto hell ! 
 
 Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold : 
 To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold 
 Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass, 
 Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass, 
 (A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,) 
 Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal. 
 
 Her. And in the wood, where often you and I 
 Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie, 
 Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet ; 
 There my Lysander and myself shall meet: 
 And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes, 
 To seek new friends and stranger companies. 
 
152 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Farewell, sweet playfellow ; pray thou for us. 
 And good luck graot thee thy Demetrius ! — 
 Keep word, Lysander ; we must starve our sight 
 From lovers' food, till morrow deep miduigLL 
 
 [£'it Hebm. 
 
 Lys. 1 will, my Hermia. — Heleaa adieu : 
 As you on him, Demetrius dote on you! [Eiit Lvs. 
 
 Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be I 
 Through Athens I am thought as fair as she. 
 But what of that t Demetrius thinks not so ; 
 He will not know what all but he do know. 
 And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes. 
 So I, admiring of his qualities- 
 Things bas^ and vile, holding no quantity. 
 Love can transpose to form and dignity. 
 Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ; 
 And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 
 Nor hath love's mind of aj-y judgment taste; 
 Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste : 
 And therefore is love said to be a child. 
 Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. 
 As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, 
 So the boy Love is perjur'd every where : 
 For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne. 
 He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine ; 
 And when tliis hail some heat from Hermia felt. 
 So he dissolv'd, and showers of oaths did melu 
 I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight : 
 Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night, 
 Pursue her ; and for this intelligence 
 If I have thanks, it is a dear expense : 
 But herein mean I to enrich my pain. 
 To have his sight thither and back again. [Eiit. 
 
 SCEXE II. — The same. A Roam in a Cottage. 
 
 Enter Simo, Bottom, Flwte, Sxuit, Qcikce, and 
 Starveling. 
 
 Quin. Is all our company here 1 
 
 Bot. You were best to call them generally, man 
 by man, according to the scrip. 
 
 Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name, 
 which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in 
 our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his 
 wedding-day at night. 
 
 Bot. First, good Peter Quince, say what the play 
 treats on ; then read the names of the actors ; and so 
 grow to a point. 
 
 Quin. Marry, our plav is^The most lamentable 
 comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramusand'l'hisby. 
 
 Bot. A very good piece of work, 1 assure you, and 
 a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your 
 actors by the scroll : JIasters, spread yourselves. 
 
 Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom, the 
 weaver. 
 
 Bot. Ready. Name;what part I am for, and proceed. 
 
 Quin. '5fou, Nick Bottom, are set down for Py- 
 ramus. 
 
 Bot. \Mjat IS Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant? 
 
 Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly 
 for love. 
 
 Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per- 
 forming of it : If I do it, let the a<idience look to 
 their eves ; I will move storms, I will condole in 
 some measure. To the rest: — Yet my chief humour 
 is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely, or a part 
 to tear a cat in, to make all split. 
 
 ■■ The raging rocks, I 
 
 " With shivering shocks, 
 " Shall break the locks 
 
 " Of prison-gales: i 
 
 " .\nd Phibbus' car 
 " Shall shine from far, 
 " And wake and mar 
 " The foolish fates." 
 
 This was lofty '. — Now name the rest of the players, 
 — This \s F.rcles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is 
 more condoling. 
 
 Quiu. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender. 
 
 Flu. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You must take Ihisby on you. 
 
 Flu. What is Thisby^ a wandering knight? 
 
 Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus mnst love. 
 
 Flu. Nay, faith let me not play a woman ; I have 
 a beard coming. 
 
 Quin. That 's all one ; you shall play it in a mask, 
 and you may speak as small as you will. 
 
 Bot. -An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby 
 too : I'll speak in a monstrous little voice ; — Thisue, 
 Tltisne, — Ah, Pyrumus, my lover dear ; thy Thitby 
 dear ! and ladt^ dear ! 
 
 Quin. No, no ; you must play Pyramus, and. Flute, 
 you Thisby. 
 
 Bot. Well, proceed. 
 
 Qitin. Robirt Starveling, the tailor. 
 
 Star. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Qnin. Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's 
 mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker. 
 
 Snout. Here, Peter Quince. 
 
 Quin. You, Pyramus's father ; myself, Thisby's 
 father ; — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part ; — and, 
 I hope, here is a play fitted. 
 
 Snug. Have you the lion's part written? pray you, 
 if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 
 
 Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing 
 but roaring. 
 
 Bot. Let me play the lion too: I w^.U roar, that 
 I will do any man's heart good to hear me ; I will 
 roar, that I will make the duke say. Let him roar 
 again. Let him roar again. 
 
 Quin. .\.n you should do it too terribly, you would 
 fright the duchess and the ladies, thai they would 
 shriek ; and that were enough to hang us all. 
 
 All. That would hang us every mother's son. 
 
 Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should fright 
 the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more 
 discretion but to hang us : but I will aggravate my 
 voice so, that I will roar you as gently as any sucking 
 dove ; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale. 
 
 Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus: for 
 Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper man, as 
 one shall see in a summer's day ; a roost lovely, 
 gentleman-like man ; therefore you must needs play 
 Pyramus. 
 
 Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were 
 I best to play it in ? 
 
 Quin. Why, vvhat you will. 
 
 iiui. I will discharge it in either your straw- 
 coloured beard, your orauge-lawny beard, your pur- 
 ple-in-grain he^Ltd, or your French-crown-colour 
 beard, your perfect yellow. 
 
 Quin. Some of your French crowns have no hair 
 at all, and then you will play bare-facud.— But, mas- 
 ters ; here are your parts : and I am to enlreai you, 
 request you, and desire you, to con them by to- 
 morrow night ; and meet me in the palace wood, a 
 mile without the town, by moon-light ; there will 
 we rehearse : for if we meet in the city, we shall be 
 dog'd with company, and our devices known. In the 
 mean time I will draw a bill of properties, such as our 
 play wants. I pray you fail me not. 
 
 Bot. We will meet ; and there we may rehearse 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 153 
 
 more obscenely, and courageously. Take pains ; be 
 perfect ; adieu. 
 
 Qiiin. At the duke's oak we meet. 
 
 Z>,'l. Enough ; Hold, or cut bow-strings. [Eieiiiit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— A U'i'od near .■\lhens. 
 
 Enter a Fairy at one door,iind Pt'CK uf another. 
 
 Puck. How now, S])irit! wliither wander you ? 
 fill. Over hill, over dale. 
 
 Thorough bush, thorougli briar. 
 Over park, over pale. 
 
 Thorough Hood, thorough fire, 
 T do wander every whore. 
 Swifter than the moones sphere ; 
 And I serve the fairy queen. 
 To dew her orbs upon the green: 
 The cowslips tall lier pensioners be ; 
 In tlicir gold coats spots you see ; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favours. 
 In those freckles live their savours : 
 1 must go seek some dew-drops here. 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I '11 bo gone : 
 Our queen and all our elves come heio anon. 
 
 I'lic/c. The king doth keep hisre\iJs here to-night 
 Take heed, the queen come not within his sight. 
 For Oberon is passing fell and wrath, 
 Hccause, that she, as her attendant, hath 
 A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian kiug ; 
 She never had so sweet a changeling; 
 .\nd jealous Oberon would have the child 
 Kniglit of his train, to trace the forests \\'ild : 
 Hut she, perforce, withholds the lovoil bov. 
 Crowns lum with llowers, and makes him all her joy : 
 And now they never meet in grove, or green, 
 l>v fc>uutain clear, or spangled star-light sheen. 
 Hut thev do square ; that all their elves, for fear. 
 Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there. 
 
 Fat. Either I mistake your shape and makingquite. 
 Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite, 
 Call'd Robin Good-fellow : are you not he, 
 Tlial fright the maidens of the villagery; 
 Skinr milk ; and sometiuies labour in the quern. 
 And bootless make the breathless housewife churn ; 
 And sometime make the drink to be.ar no barm ; 
 Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at tiieir harm 1 
 Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck, 
 "^'oudo their work, and they shall have good luck: 
 -\re not you he ! 
 
 I'ttck, Thou speak'st aright ; 
 
 I am that merry wanderer of the night. 
 I jest to Oberon, and make him smile. 
 When I a fat and boan-fod Imrse beguile. 
 Neighing in likeness of a lilly foal : 
 And sometime lurk 1 in a gossip's bowl, 
 In very likeness of a roasteil crab ; 
 And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob. 
 And on her withor'd dew-lap pour the ale. 
 The wisest au'il, telling the saddest tale. 
 Sometime for three loot stool mistaketh ure ; 
 Then slip I from her bum, down topples she. 
 And tailor cries, and falls into a cough ; 
 And then the whole ipiire hold their hips, and lotle ; 
 And waxen in their mirth, and nceze and swear 
 A merrier hour was never wasted there. — 
 But room. Faery, here comes Oberon. [gone' 
 
 J-'ui. And here my mistress: — 'Would that he were 
 
 SCENE II. — Enter Oderos, at one door, uitA hit 
 train, and Tit.\nia, at another, vith hers. 
 
 Obe. Ill met by moon-light, proud Titania. 
 
 Tita. What, jealous Oberon ! Fairy, skip heuce ; 
 I have forsworn his bed and company. 
 
 Obe. Tarry, rash wanton ; Am not I lliy lord ? 
 
 Tita. Thou I must he thy lady : Hut 1 know 
 When thou hast stol'n away from fairy land. 
 And in the shape of Corin sat all dav. 
 Playing on pipi?s of corn, and versini love 
 To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here. 
 Come from the farthest steep of India '. 
 Uutth,it, forsooih. the bouncing .Vmazon. 
 \'our buskin'd mistress, and yovir warrior love. 
 To Theseus nnisi be wedded ; and you come 
 To give their bod joy and prosperitv. 
 
 Ohc. How cansi I'hou thus, for siiame, Titania, 
 Glance at my credit with Hippolvta, 
 Knowing 1 know ihy love to I'heseus 1 
 Didst thou not lead him through the gllmmerin<' ui<»hl 
 From Perigenia, \\hom he ravished? 
 -And make him with fair .Fgle break his faith, 
 With .\riadne, and .\ntiopa! 
 
 7'i(.i. These are the forgeries of jealousy : 
 .\nd never, since the miildle summer's sprin". 
 Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead, 
 Hy paved fountain, or by rushy brook, 
 (^r on the beacheil nuirgent of the sea. 
 To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind. 
 Hut with thy brawls thou hast disturbed our sport. 
 Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain, 
 .\s in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea 
 Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land. 
 Have every pelting river made so proud, 
 That they have overborne their continents: 
 'I'lie ox hath thercforo strelch'd his yoke in vain, 
 The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn 
 Hath rotted, ore his youth attain'il a heard: 
 The fold stands empty in the drowned held. 
 And crows are fatted with the murrain dock ; 
 The nine men's morris is liU'd up with mud; 
 .\nd the quaint nia2es in the wanton green, 
 Kor lack of tread, are iindistinguishable ; 
 The human mortals want their w inter here ; 
 Xo night is now with hymn or carol blest: — 
 Therefore the moon, the governess of Hoods, 
 Pale in her anger, washes all the air, 
 That rheumatic diseases do abound : 
 .\nd thorough this distemperature, we S39 
 The seasons alter : hoary -headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of tlie crimson rose ; ' 
 .■\nd on old llyems chin, and icy crown, 
 .Vii oilorous chaplet ofswoot summer buds 
 Is, as in mockoiy. set : The spring, the summer, 
 The childing autumn, angrv winter, change 
 Their wonted liveries ; and the ma^ed world, 
 Hy their increase, now knows not which is which: 
 .\nd this same progeny of evils comes 
 From our debate, from our dissension; 
 U'e are their parents and original. 
 
 Ohf. Do you amend it then : it lies in you : 
 Why should Titania cross her Oberon ! 
 I do but beg a lilllc changeling boy, 
 I'o be my henchman, 
 
 ^ ila. Set vour heart at rest. 
 
 The fairy land buys not the oliild of me. 
 His mother was a vot'ress of my order : 
 .\nd, in the spiced Indian air. by night. 
 Full often hath she gossip'd by mv side ; 
 And sat with me on Neptune's vellow sands. 
 Marking the embarked traders on the liuod ; 
 
lo4 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive, 
 And grow big-bellied, with the wanton wind": 
 Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait, 
 PoUowing (her womb, then rich with my ycung 
 Would imitate ; and sail upon the land, [squire,) 
 To fetch me trifles, and return again. 
 As from a voyage, rich witli merchandise. 
 But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ; 
 And, for her sake, I do rear up lier boy : 
 And, for her sake, I will not part with him. 
 
 Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay? 
 
 Tita. Perchance, till after Tlieseus' wedding-day. 
 If you will patiently dance in our round. 
 And see our moon-light revels, go with us ; 
 If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts. 
 
 Obe, Give me that boy, and 1 will go with thee. 
 
 Tita. Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away : 
 We shall chide down- right, if I longer stay. 
 
 [Kxetnit TiTANiA and her train. 
 
 Obe. Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this 
 Till I torment thee for this injury. — [grove, 
 
 5Iy gentle Puck come hither : Thou remember'st 
 Since once I sat upon a promontory, 
 And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, 
 Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath. 
 That the rude sea grew civil at her song ; 
 And certain stars shot madly from their spheres 
 To hear the sea-maid's music. 
 
 Puck. I remember. 
 
 Obe. That very time T saw, (but thoucould'st not,) 
 Flying between the cold moon and the earth, 
 Cupid all arra'd : a certain aim he took 
 At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; 
 And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow. 
 As it should pierce a hundred thousand heart? : 
 But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft 
 Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon ; 
 And the imperial vot'ress passed on. 
 In maiden meditation, fancy-free. 
 Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell : 
 It fell upon a little western flower, — • 
 Before, milk-white ; now purple with love's wound, — 
 And maidens call it love-in-idleness. 
 Fetch me that flower ; the herb 1 shew'd thee once ; 
 The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid. 
 Will make or man or woman madly dote 
 Upon the next live creature that it sees. 
 Fetch me this herb ; and be thou here again. 
 Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 
 
 Puclc. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes. [Exit PvcK. 
 
 Obe. Having once this juice, 
 
 I '11 watch Titania when she is asleep. 
 And drop the liciuor of it in her eyes : 
 The next thing then she waking looks upon, 
 (Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull. 
 On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) 
 She shall pursue it with the soul of love, 
 And ere I take this charm off" from her sight, 
 (As I can take it, with another herb,) 
 1 '11 make her render up her page to me. 
 But who comes here 1 I am invisible ; 
 And I vvill over-hear their conference. 
 
 Enter Demetrius, Helena following hin}, 
 Dem, I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. 
 Where is Lysander, and fair Hermial 
 The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. 
 Tbou told'st me, they were stol'n into this wood. 
 And here am I, and wood within this wood, 
 Because I cannot meet with Hermia. 
 Hence, get thee gone and follow me QO more. 
 
 Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant, 
 But yet you draw not iron, for my heart 
 Is true as steel : Leave you your power to draw. 
 And I shall have no power to follow you. 
 
 Dem. Do I entice you ? Do I speak you fair 1 
 Or, rather, do I not in plainest trutii 
 Tell you — I do not, nor I cannot love you ? 
 
 Hel. And even for that do I love you the more. 
 I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius, 
 1'he more you beat me, I will fawn on you : 
 Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me. 
 Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave. 
 Unworthy as I am, to follow you. 
 What worser place can I beg in your love, 
 (And yet a place of high respect with me,) 
 'I'han to be used as you use yt)ur dog ? 
 
 Dem. Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit : 
 For I am sick, when I do look on thee. 
 
 Hel. And I am sick, when I look not on you. 
 
 Dem. You do impeach your modesty too ntuch, 
 To leave the city, and commit yourself 
 Into the hands of one that loves you not ; 
 To trust the opportunity of night. 
 And the ill counsel of a desert place. 
 With the rich worth of your virginity. 
 
 Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that. 
 It is not night, when I do see your face, 
 Thereioie I think I am not in the night: 
 Nor doth this wood lack worlds of comjiany ; 
 For you, in my respect, are all the woild : 
 Then how can it be said, I am alone. 
 When all tire world is here to look on me 1 
 
 Dem. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the brakes, 
 And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. 
 
 Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you. 
 Run when you will, the story shaii be chang'd ; 
 Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ; 
 The dove pursues the grifiin ; the mild hind 
 Makes speed to catch the tiger : Bootless speed ! 
 When cowardice pursues, and valour flies. 
 
 Dem. 1 will not stay thy questions ; let me go : 
 Or, if thou follow me, do not believe 
 But I shall do thee mischief in the wood. 
 
 Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field. 
 You do me mischief. Fye, Demetrius I 
 Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex : 
 We cannot fight for love, as men may do : 
 We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo. 
 I '11 follow thee, and make a heaven of hell. 
 To die upon the hand I love so well. 
 
 [£i£h;(£ Dem. and Hel 
 
 Obe. Fare thee well, nymph ; ere he do leave this 
 grove. 
 Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. — 
 
 Re-enter Pvcr. 
 
 Hast thou the flower there 1 Welcome wanderer. 
 
 Puck, Ay, there it is. 
 
 Obe. I pray thee, give it nie. 
 
 I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, 
 Where ox-lips and the nodding violet glows ; 
 Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine. 
 With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine ; 
 There sleeps Titania, some time of the night 
 Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delii;ht ; 
 And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin. 
 Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in ; 
 And with the juice of this I 'II streak her eyes, 
 And make her full of hateful fantasies. 
 Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove ; 
 A sweet Athenian lady is in love 
 WitJi a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes : 
 
ACT II.-SCENE III. 
 
 155 
 
 But do it, when the next thing he espies 
 May be the lady : Thou shalt know the man 
 By the Athenian gannents he hath on. 
 F-iftcl it with some care ; that he may prove 
 More fond on her, than she upon her love : 
 And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow. 
 Puck, Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENK III. — Another part of the Wood, 
 Enter Titania, with her train* 
 Tita. Come, now a roundel, and a fairy song ; 
 Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ; 
 Some, to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds ; 
 Some, w-ar with rear-mice for their leathern wings, 
 To make my small elves coats ; and some, keep back 
 'i'he clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders 
 At our quaint spirits: Sing me now asleep ; 
 Then to your offices, and let me rest, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 1 Fat, You spotted snakes, uith double tongue, 
 
 Thornxi hedge-hogs, be not seeii ; 
 Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong ; 
 
 Come not near our fairy queen: 
 CHonus, 
 Philomel, with melody, 
 Si)tg in our sweet luilaby ; 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby ; 
 Never harm, nor spell nor charm^ 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
 So, good night, with lullaby. 
 
 II. 
 
 2 Fui, Weaving spiders, come 7iot here: 
 
 Hence, you long-legged spinnei's, hence: 
 Beetles black, approach not near; 
 Worm, nor snail, do no o^ence, 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Philomel, -with melody, &c. 
 
 1 Fai* Hence, away ; now all is well : 
 One, aloof, stand sentinel. 
 
 [E.ie)/K( Fairies. Titania sleeps. 
 
 Enter Obehon. 
 Obe* What thou seest, when thou dost wake, 
 
 [Squeezes the flower on Titasia's eye-lids. 
 Do it for thy true-love take ; 
 Love and languish for his sake ; 
 Be it ounce, or cat, or bear, 
 Pard, or boar with bristled hair, 
 In thy eye that shall appear 
 When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ; 
 Wake, when some vile thing is near. [Eair. 
 
 Enter Lysander and Hermia. 
 
 Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in the 
 
 And to speak troth, I have forgot our way ; [wood; 
 We '11 rest us, Hermia, if you think it good, 
 
 And tarry for the comfort of the day. 
 
 Her. Be it so, Lysander, find you out a bed, 
 For I upon this bauk will rest my head. 
 
 Lys. On^ turf shall serve as pillow for us both ; 
 One heart, one bed, two bosoms and one troth. 
 
 Her, Nay, good Lysander ; for my sake, my dear, 
 Lie furtiier off yet, do not lie so pear. 
 
 Lys. O take the sense, sweet, of my innocence; 
 Love takes the meaning, in love's conference. 
 I mean, that my heart unto yours is knit ; 
 So that but one heart we can make of it : 
 Two bosoms interchained with an oath ; 
 6o then, two bosoms, and a single Uolh. 
 
 Then, by your side no bed-room me deny ; 
 
 For. lying so, Hermia. I do not lie. 
 Her. Lysander riddles very prettily: — 
 
 Now much beshrew my manners and my pride. 
 
 If Hermia meant to say, Lysander lied. 
 
 But, gentle friend, for love and courtesy 
 
 Lie further off; in human modesty 
 
 Such separation, as, may well be said, 
 
 Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid : 
 
 So far be distant; and good night, sweet friend: 
 
 Thy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end ! 
 Lys. Amen, Amen, to that fair prayer, say I ; 
 
 And then end life, when I end loyalty ! 
 
 Here is my bed : Sleep give thee all his rest ! 
 
 Her, \Vith half that wish the wisher's eyes be 
 pressed ! [They sleep. 
 
 Enter Puck. 
 Puck, Through the forest have I gone, 
 But Athenian found I none, 
 On whose eyes I might approve 
 This flower's force in stirring love. 
 Night and silence ! who is here? 
 Weeds of Athens he doth wear : 
 This is he, my master said, 
 Despised tlie Athenian maid ; 
 And here the maiden, sleeping sound. 
 On the dank and dirty ground. 
 Pretty soul ! she durst not lie 
 Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy. 
 Churl, upon thy eyes I throw 
 All the power this charm doth owe : 
 When thou wak'st, let love forbid 
 Sleep liis seat on thy eye-lid. 
 So awake, when I am gone ; 
 For 1 must now to Oberon. [Exit, 
 
 Enter Demetrius and Helena, running, 
 
 Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me 
 thus. 
 
 Hel. O, wilt thou darkling leave me 1 do not so. 
 
 Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; 1 alone will go. 
 
 [Exit Demetrius- 
 
 Hel. 0, I am 8ut of breath in this fund chase ' 
 Tlie moie my prayer, the lesser is my grace. 
 Happy is Hennia, wheresoe'er she lies ; 
 For she hath blessed and attractive eyes. 
 How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears: 
 If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers. 
 No, no, 1 am as ugly as a bear ; 
 For beasts that meet me, run away for fear: 
 Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius 
 Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus. 
 What wicked and dissembling glass of mine 
 iMade me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne? — 
 But who is here '! — Lysander ! on the ground ! 
 l^ead ? or asleep? 1 see no blood, no wound ! — 
 Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake. 
 
 Lys. And run through fire 1 will, for thy sweet 
 sake. [ Waking. 
 
 Transparent Helena ! Nature here shews art, 
 That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart. 
 Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word 
 Is that vile name, to perish on my swoid? 
 
 Hel. Do not say so, Lysander ; say not so : 
 What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what 
 
 though ? 
 Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content. 
 
 Lys. Content with Hermia? No: I do repent 
 The'tedious minutes I with her have spent. 
 Not Hermia, but Helena I love : 
 Who will not change a raven for a dove? 
 
156 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'Ss DREAM. 
 
 The will of man is by his reason sway'd : 
 And reason says you are the worthier maid. 
 Things growing are not ripe until their season ; 
 So I, being young, till i;ow ripe not to reason ; 
 And touching now the point of human skill, 
 Reason becomes the marshal to my will, 
 And leads me to your eyes ; where I o'erlook 
 Love's stories, written in love's richest hook. 
 
 He!. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born? 
 AVhen, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn? 
 Is 't not enough, is 't not enough, young man. 
 That 1 did never, no, nor never can, 
 Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, 
 But you must flout my insufHciency ? 
 Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do. 
 In such disdainful manner me to woo.- 
 But fare you well : perforce I must confess, 
 I thought you lord of more true gentleness. 
 O, that a lady, of one man refus'd, 
 Should, of another, therefore be abus'd ! [Eii(. 
 
 Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Hermia, sleep thou 
 And never may'st thou come I.ysander near! [there; 
 For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things 
 The deepest loathing to the stomach brings ; 
 Or, as the heresies that men do leave. 
 Are hated most of those they did deceive ; 
 So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy, 
 Of all be hated ; but the most of me ! 
 And all my powers, address your love and might, 
 To honour Helen, and to be her knight ! [Exit. 
 
 Her. [slarting.] Help me, Lysander, help me ! do 
 thy best, 
 To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast ! 
 Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here? 
 Lysander, look, how 1 do quake with fear ! 
 Wethought a serpent eat my heart away. 
 And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : — 
 Lysander! what, reinov'd? Lysander! lord! 
 What, out of hearing? gone? no sound, no word? 
 Alack, where are you? speak, an if you hear ; 
 Speak, of all loves ; I swoon almost with fear. 
 No? — then I well perceive you are not nigh : 
 Either death, or you, I 'U find immediately. [Ejit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. The Quem of 
 Fairies lying asleep. 
 
 Ejiter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, 
 and Starveling. 
 
 Bot. Are we all met 1 
 
 Quin. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous conve- 
 nient place for our reliearsal : Tiiis green plot shall 
 be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tyring-house ; 
 and we will do it in action, as we will do it before 
 the duke. 
 
 Bot, Peter Quince, — 
 
 Quin. \\'hat say'sl thou, bully Bottom ? 
 
 Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramiis 
 and Thhbu, that will never please. J'irst, Pyraiuus 
 must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies 
 cannot abide. How answer you that 1 
 
 Snout, liy'riakin, a parlous fear. 
 
 Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out, 
 ■when all is done. 
 
 Bot. Not a whit ; I have a device to make all well. 
 Write me a prologue : and let the prologue seem to 
 say, we will do no harm with our swords : and that 
 Pyraraus is not killed indeed: and, for the more 
 
 better assurance tell them, that I Pyramus am not 
 Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: This will put 
 them out of fuar. 
 
 Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue ; and 
 it shall be written in eight and six. 
 
 Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written in 
 eight and eight. 
 
 Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ? 
 
 Star. 1 i'ear it, I promise you. 
 
 Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your- 
 selves : to bring in, God shield us ! a lion among 
 ladies, is a most dreadful thing : for there is not a 
 more fearful wild-fowl than your lion, living ; and 
 we ought to look to it. 
 
 Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell, he 
 is not a lion. 
 
 Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his 
 face must be seen through the lion's neck ; and he 
 himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the 
 same defect, — Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish 
 you, or, I would request you, or, I would intreat 
 you, not to fear, not to tremble: my life for yours. 
 If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity of 
 my life : No, I am no such thing ; I am a man as 
 other men are : and there, indeed, let him name his 
 name ; and tell them plainly, he is Snug the joiner. 
 
 Quin. Well, it shall be so. But there is two 
 hard things; that is. to bring the moon-light into a 
 chamber : for you know, Pyramus and Tbisby meet 
 by moon-light. 
 
 Snug Doth the moon shine that night we play 
 our play ? 
 
 Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the alma- 
 nack ; find out moon-shine, find out moonsl'iine. 
 
 Quin. Ves, it doth shine that night. 
 
 Bli(. Why, then you may leave a casement of the 
 great chamber-window, where we play, open ; and 
 the moon may shine in at the casement. 
 
 Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush 
 of thorns and a lantern, and say, he comes to dis- 
 figure, or to present, the person of moon-shine. 
 Then, there is another thing : we must have a wall 
 in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, says 
 the story, did talk through the chink of a wall. 
 
 Snug. You never can bring in a wall. — What 
 say you, Bottom ? 
 
 Bot. Some man or other must present wall : and 
 let him have some plaster, or some lonie, or some 
 rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; or let him 
 hold his fingers thus, and through that cranny shall 
 Pyramus and Thisby whisper. 
 
 Quin. U that may be, then all is well. Come, sit 
 down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts, 
 Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken your 
 speech, enter into that brake ; and so every one ac- 
 cording to his cue. 
 
 Eriter Puck behind* 
 
 Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swag- 
 So near the cradle of the fairy queen 1 [gering here. 
 What, a play toward ? I'll be an auditor ; 
 An actor too, perhaps, if I see cause. 
 
 Quin. Speak, Pyramus : — Thisby, stand forth. 
 
 Pyr, Thisbu, the flowers of odious savours sweet ^ — 
 
 Quin. Odours, odours. 
 
 Pyr. odours savours sweet : 
 
 So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. — 
 But, hark, a voice ! stoij thou but here a while, 
 
 And by and bij I wilt to thee appear. [Eiit. 
 
 Puck. A stranger Pyranms than e'er play'd here ! 
 
 [Aside. — Exit, 
 
 This, Must I speak now 1 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 157 
 
 Qnhu Ay, marry, must you : for you must under- 
 stand, he goes but to see a noise thai he heard, and is 
 to come again. 
 
 This. Mostradiant Pyramus, viost lilii white of hue, 
 
 Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier, 
 Most briskij Juvenal, and eke most lovelii Jew, 
 
 As true as truest horse, that yet would uever (ire, 
 rU meet thee, Pyrajnus, at Ninny's tomb. 
 
 Quin. Ninus' tomb, man: Why you must not 
 speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramuif. : you 
 sp&tk all your part at once, cues and all. — Pyramus 
 enter ; your cue is past ; it is, never tire. 
 
 Re'tnter Puck and Bottom with an ass^s head. 
 This. 0, — As true as truest horse, that yet would 
 never tire. . ' 
 
 Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only thine ;— 
 Quin. O monstrous ! strange ! we are haunted,. 
 Pray, masters ! fly, masters I help. [Exeunt Clowns. 
 Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round. 
 Through bog, through bush, through brake, 
 through brier ; 
 Sometime a horse Y\l be, sometime a hound, 
 
 A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ; 
 And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and loar, and burn, 
 Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn. 
 
 [EjU, 
 Bot. Why do they run away 1 this is a knavery of 
 them, to make me afeard. 
 
 He-enter Snout. 
 
 Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed ! what do I 
 see on thee. 
 
 Bat, What do you see 1 you see an ass's head of 
 your own ; Do yyu 1 
 
 Re-enter Quin'ce. 
 
 Quin. Bless thee. Bottom ! bless thee ! tiiou art 
 
 translated. [Exit. 
 
 Bi^t. I see their knavery : this is to make an ass 
 
 of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not 
 
 stir from this place, do what they can : I will walk 
 
 up and down here, and I will sing, that they shall 
 
 hear I am not afraid. [5i/igs. 
 
 The ou»el-cock, so black nf hue, 
 
 With orange-tawney bill, 
 The throstle with hie note so true 
 The wren with little quill ; 
 
 Tita. What angel wakes me from my flowery bed 1 
 
 [^Waking^ 
 Bot, The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, 
 The plai/i-song ouckoo gray. 
 Whose note full many a inan doth mark. 
 And dares not answer, nai/ ; — 
 
 for, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolish a 
 bird 1 who would give a bird the lie, though he cry 
 cuckoo, never so ? 
 
 Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again ; 
 Mine ear is much enaraour'd of thy note. 
 So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ; 
 And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me. 
 On the first view, to say, to swear, 1 love thee. 
 
 Bot. Methinks, mistress, you should have little 
 reason for that : And yet, to say the truth, reason 
 and love keep little compauy together now a-days : 
 The more the pity, that some honest neighbours 
 will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek upon 
 occasion. 
 
 Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 
 
 Bot. Not so, neither : but if I had wit enough to 
 get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine 
 
 Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go ; 
 Thou shall remain here, whether thou wilt or no. 
 I am a spirit, of no common rate ; 
 The summer still doth tend upon my state, 
 And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ; 
 I 'II give thee fairies to attend on thee ; 
 And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep. 
 And sing, wliile thou on pressed flowers dost sleep. 
 And I will purge thy mortal grossness so, 
 That thou shalt like an airy spirit go.' — 
 Peas-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth 1 and Mustard-seed! 
 
 Enter four Fairies. 
 
 1 Eai. Ready. 
 
 2 Fui, And I. 
 
 3 Fai. And I. 
 
 •i Fai. Where shall we go? 
 
 Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ; 
 Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes j 
 Feed him with apricocks and dewberries ; 
 With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries j 
 The honey bags steal from the humble bees. 
 And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs. 
 And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes. 
 To have my love to bed, and to arise ; 
 And pluck tlie wings from painted butterflies. 
 To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes : 
 Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies. 
 
 1 Fai. Hail, mortal 1 
 
 2 Fai. Hail ! 
 
 3 Fai. Hail ! 
 , 4 Fai. Hail ! 
 
 Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — I be- 
 seech your worship's name. 
 
 Cob. Cobweb. 
 
 Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance, 
 good master Cobweb: If I cut my finger, I shall 
 make bold with you. — Your name, honest gentleman } 
 
 Peas. Peas-blossom. 
 
 Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squash, 
 your mother, and to master Peas-cod. your father. 
 Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of 
 more acquaintance too. — Yourname, 1 beseech you, 
 sir? 
 
 Mus. ]\Iustard-seed. 
 
 Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your 
 patience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox- 
 beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your 
 house : I promise you, your kindred hath made my 
 eyes water ere now, I desire you more acquaintance, 
 good master I\Iustard-seed. [bower. 
 
 Tita. Come, wait upon hira ; lead him to my 
 
 The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye ; 
 And when she weeps, weeps every little flower, 
 
 Lamenting some enforced chastity. 
 
 Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.— Another part of the Wood. 
 
 Enter Oberon. 
 
 Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd : 
 Then, what it was that next came in her eye, 
 Which she must dote on in extremity. 
 
 Enter Puck. 
 Here comes my messenger. — How now, mad spirit? 
 What niglit-rule now about this haunted grove 1 
 Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love. 
 Near to her close and consecrated bower. 
 While she was in her dull and sleeping hour, 
 A crew of patches, rude mechanicals, 
 That work for bread upon Athenian stalls, 
 
158 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM, 
 
 Were met together to rehearse a play, 
 
 Intended for great Tlieseus' nuptial day. 
 
 The shallowe!.t thick-skin of that barren sort, 
 
 Who Pyramus presented, in their sport 
 
 Forsook his scene, and euter'd in a brake : 
 
 When I did him at this advantage take, 
 
 An ass's nov.l I fixed on his head ; 
 
 Anon, his Thisbe must be answered, 
 
 And forth my mimic comes : When they him spy. 
 
 As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye. 
 
 Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort. 
 
 Rising and cawing at the gun's report 
 
 Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky ; 
 
 So at his sight, away his fellows fly : 
 
 And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls ; 
 
 He murder cries, and help from Athens calls, [strong. 
 
 Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus 
 
 Made senseless things begin to do them wrong : 
 
 For briers and tlxorns at their apparel snatch ; 
 
 Some, sleeves ; some, hats : froinyielders all things 
 
 I led them on in this distracted fear, [catch. 
 
 And left sweet Pyramus translated there : 
 
 When in that moment (so it came to pass,) 
 
 Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass. 
 
 Obe, This falls out better than I could devise. 
 But hast tiiou yet latched the Athenian's eyes 
 With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do? 
 
 Puck. 1 took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too, — 
 And the Athenian woman by his side ; 
 That when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd. 
 
 Enter DEfliETnius and Hermia. 
 
 Ohe. Stand close ; this is the same Athenian. 
 
 Puck. This is the woman, but not this the man. 
 
 De.m. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so? 
 Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe. 
 
 Her. NowIbutc]iide,but 1 should use thee worse ; 
 For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse. 
 If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep. 
 Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep. 
 And kill me too. 
 
 The sun was not so true unto the day, 
 As iie to me : Would he have stol'n away 
 From sleeping Hermia ? I 'II believe as soon, 
 This whole earth may be bor'd ; and that the moon 
 May through the centre creep, and so displease 
 Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes. 
 It cannot be, but thou hast murder'd him ; 
 So should a murderer look ; so dead, so grim. 
 
 Dent. So should the murder'd look; and so should I, 
 Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty: 
 Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear. 
 As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere. 
 
 Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he? 
 Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ? 
 
 Dem. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds. 
 
 Her, Out, (log ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past 
 the bounds 
 Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then ? 
 Henceforth be never number'd among men ! 
 Oh ! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ; 
 Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake. 
 And hast thou kill'd him sleeping ? O brave touch ! 
 Could not a worm, an adder, do so much? 
 An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue 
 Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung. 
 
 Dem. You spend your passion onamispris'dmood; 
 I am not guilty of Lysander's blood ; 
 Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell. 
 
 Her. I pray thee, tell me then that he is well. 
 
 Dem. An if I could, what should I get therefore? 
 
 Her, A privilege, never to see me more. — 
 
 And from thy hated presence part I so : 
 See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [-Eri(, 
 Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein* 
 Here, therefore, for a while I will remain. 
 So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow 
 For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ; 
 Which now, in some slight measure it will pay. 
 If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies dmm. 
 Obe. What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken 
 quite. 
 And laid the love-juice on some true love's sight: 
 Of t!iy misprision must perforce ensue 
 Some true-love turn'd, and not a false turn'd true. 
 
 Puck. Then fate o'er-rules ; that, one man holding 
 A million fail, confounding oath on oath. [troth, 
 
 Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind, 
 And Helena of Athens look thou find : 
 All fancy-sick she is, and pale of cheer 
 With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear ■ 
 By some illusion see thou bring her here ; 
 1 '11 charm his eyes, against she doth appear. 
 
 Puck, I go, 1 go ; look, how I go ; 
 Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [Eiit. 
 Obe. Flower of this purple die, 
 Hit with Cupid's archery. 
 Sink in apple of his eve ! 
 When his love he doth espy 
 Let her shine as gloriously 
 As the Venus of the sky. — 
 When thou wak'st, if she be by. 
 Beg of her for remedy. 
 
 Re-enter Puck, 
 Puck. Captain of our fairy band, 
 
 Helena is here at hand. 
 
 And the youth, mistook by me. 
 
 Pleading for a lover's fee ; 
 
 Shall we their fond pageant see? 
 
 Lord, what fools these mortals be f 
 Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make, 
 
 Will cause Demetrius to awake. 
 Puck. Then will two at once, woo one ; 
 
 That must needs be sport alone ; 
 
 And those things do best please me. 
 
 That befal preposterously. 
 
 Enter Lvsanoer and Helena. 
 
 Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo in 
 
 Scorn and derision never come in tears, [scorn ? 
 Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born. 
 
 In their nativity all truth appears. 
 How can these things in me seem scorn to you, 
 Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true! 
 
 Hel. You do advance your cunning more and more. 
 
 When truth kills truth, O devilish holy fray! 
 These vows are Hermia's ; Will you give her o'er? 
 
 Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothingweigh 
 Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales. 
 Will even weigh ; and both as light as tales. 
 
 Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore. 
 
 Het. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her o'er. 
 
 Ltis. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not you. 
 
 Dem. [awuking.] Helen, goddess, nymph, per- 
 fect, divine ! 
 To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne? 
 Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show 
 Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow ! 
 That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow, 
 Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow. 
 When thou holdst up thy hand : let me kiss 
 This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss ! 
 
 Het, spite 1 hell ! I see you all are bent 
 To set against me, for your merriment. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 159 
 
 If you were civil, and knew courtesy. 
 
 You would not do me thus rauch iujury. 
 
 Can you not hate rae, as 1 know you do, 
 
 But you must join, in souls, to mock me too ] 
 
 If you were men, as men you are in show. 
 
 You would not use a gentle lady so ; 
 
 To vow, and swear, and superpiaise my parts. 
 
 When, 1 am sure, you hate me with your hearts. 
 
 You both are rivals, and love Hermia; 
 
 And now both rivals, to mock Helena : 
 
 A trim exploit, a manly enterprize, 
 
 To conjuie tears up in a poor maid's eyes, 
 
 With youi derision ! none, of noble sort, 
 
 AVouId so offend a virgin ; and extort 
 
 A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport. 
 
 Lifs. Vou are unkind, Demetrius ; be not so ; 
 For you love Hermia : this, you know, 1 know : 
 And here, with -all good will, with all my heart, 
 In Hermia's love I yield you up my part j 
 And yours of Helena to me bequeath, 
 "Whom I do love, and will do till my death. 
 
 llel, Never did mockers waste more idle breath. 
 
 Dem. Lysander, keep thy Hermia; I will none: 
 If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone. 
 My heart with her but, as guest-wise, sojourn'd ; 
 And now to Helen is it home return'd. 
 There to remain. 
 
 Lus, Helen, it is not so. 
 
 Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, 
 Lest, to thy peril, tiiou aby it dear. — 
 Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is thy dear. 
 
 Enter Hermia. 
 
 Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function 
 The ear more iiuick of apprehension makes; [takes, 
 Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense, 
 It pays the hearing double recompense : — 
 Thou art not by mine eye, Lysander, found ; 
 Mine ear, I thank it, brought me to thy sound. 
 But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ? [to go 1 
 
 Lys. Why should he stay, whom love doth press 
 
 Her. What love could press Lysander from my side? 
 
 Lus. Lysander's love, that would not let hira bide, 
 Fair Helena ; who more engilds the night 
 Than all yon fiery oes and eyes of light. 
 AVhy seek'st tlioume? could not this make thee know. 
 The hate I bear thee made me leave thee so? 
 
 Her, You speak not as you think ; it cannot be. 
 
 HeU Lo, she is one of this confederacy ! 
 Now 1 perceive tliey have conjoin'd, all three, 
 To fashion this false sport in spite of me. 
 Injurious Hermia! most ungrateful maid! 
 Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd 
 To bait me with this foul derision? 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd. 
 The sisters* vows, the hours that we have spent, 
 AVhen we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us, — O, and is all forgot? 
 All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence"? 
 We, Henuia, like two artificial gods. 
 Have with our neelds created both one flower, 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, 
 Both warbling of one song, both in one key ; 
 As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds. 
 Had been incorporate. So we grew together. 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ; 
 But yet a union in partition, 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem : 
 So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart ; 
 Two of the first, like coats in heraldry. 
 Due but to one, and crowned with one crest. 
 And will you rend our ancient love asunder, 
 
 To join with men in scorning your poor friend ? 
 It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly : 
 Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it ; 
 Though I alone do feel the injury. 
 
 Her. I am amazed at your passionate words : 
 I scorn you not ; it seems that you scorn me. 
 
 Hel. Have you not set Lvsander, as in scorn. 
 To follow me, and praise my eyes and face ? 
 And made your other love, Demetrius, 
 (Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,) 
 To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare. 
 Precious, celestial ? Wherefore speaks he this 
 To her he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysander 
 Deny your love, so rich within his soul, 
 And tender me, forsooth, aflfection ; 
 But by your setting on, by your consent ? 
 What though I be not so in grace as you. 
 So hung upon with love, so fortunate ; 
 But miserable most, to love unlov'd ? 
 This you should pity, rather than despise. 
 
 Her. I understand not what you mean by this. 
 
 Hel. Ay, do, pei-sever, counterfeit sad looks. 
 Make mows upon me when I turn my back ; 
 Wink at each other; hold the sweet jest up : 
 This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled. 
 If you have any pity, grace, or manners, 
 You would notmalce me such an argument. 
 But. fare ye well : 'tis partly mine own fault ; 
 Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy. 
 
 Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse ; 
 Jly iove, my life, my soul, fair Helena ! 
 
 Hel. excellent ! 
 
 Her, Sweet, do not scorn her so. 
 
 De7n, If she cannot entreat, I can compel. 
 
 Lijs. Thou canst compel no more than she entreat ; 
 Thy threats have no more strength, than her weak 
 Helen, I love thee ; by my life I do ; [prayers.^ 
 I swear by that which 1 will lose for thee. 
 To prove him false, that says Hove thee not. 
 
 Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do. 
 
 Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. 
 
 Dem. Quick, come, — 
 
 Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this ? 
 
 Lys. Away, you Kthiop ! 
 
 Dem. No, no, sir : — he will 
 
 Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow ; 
 But yet come not: You are a tame man, go ! 
 
 Lys. Han>i* off, thou cat, thou burr: vile thing let 
 Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent, [loose ; 
 
 Her. Why are you grown so rude ? what change 
 Sweet love ! [is this, 
 
 Lys, Thy love ? out, tawny Tartar, out! 
 
 Out, loathed medicine ! hated potion, hence ! 
 
 Her. Do you not jest ? 
 
 HeL Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you, 
 
 Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee. 
 
 Dem. I would, I had your bond; for, I perceive, 
 A weak bond holds you ; I '11 not trust your word. 
 
 Lys. What, should 1 hurt her, strike her, kill her 
 Although I hate her, I'll not harm her so. [dead ? 
 
 Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than hate? 
 Hate me I wherefore? me I what news, my love? 
 Am not I Hermia ? Are not you Lysander ? 
 I am as fair now, as I was erevvhile. 
 Since night, you lov'd me ; yet, since night you left me • 
 AVhy, then you left me, — O, the gods forbid ! — 
 In earnest, shall I say ? 
 
 Lys. Ay, by my life ; 
 
 And never did desire to see tliee more. 
 Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt, 
 Be certain, nothing truer ; 'tis no jest, 
 That I do hate thee, and love Helena. 
 
160 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 Her. me ! you juggler! you canker-blossom ! 
 You thief of love ! wiiai, have you come by night, 
 And stol'n ray love's heart from him ? 
 
 HeL Fine, i'faith ! 
 
 Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, 
 No touch of bashfulness 1 What, will you tear 
 Impatient answers from my gentle tongue? 
 Fie, lie ! you counterfeit, you puppet you ! 
 
 /fer. Puppet! why so? Ay, that way goes the game. 
 Now I perceive that she hath made compare 
 Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height ; 
 And with her personage, her tall personage. 
 Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail 'd with him. — 
 And are you grown so high in his esteem, 
 Because I am so dwarfish, and so low I 
 How low am I, thou painted maypole? speak ; 
 How low am I ? I am not yet so low, 
 But lliat my nails can reach unto thine eyes. 
 
 HeL I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen, 
 Let her not hurt me : I was never curst j 
 I have no gift at all in shrewishness ; 
 I am a right maid for my cowardice ; 
 Let her not strike me : You, perhaps, may think. 
 Because she's something lower than myself, 
 That I can match her. 
 
 Her, Lower ! hark, again. 
 
 HeL Good Hermia, do not be so bitter with me. 
 I evermore did love you, Hermia, 
 Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you ; 
 Save that, in love unto Demetrius, 
 I told him of your stealth unto this wood : 
 He followed you ; for love, 1 follow'd him. 
 But he hath chid me hence ; and threaten'd me 
 To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too : 
 And now, so you will let me quiet go, 
 To Athens will I bear my folly back, 
 And follow you no further*. Let me go : 
 You see how simple and how fond 1 am. 
 
 Her, Why, get you gone: W^hois't that liinders you? 
 
 HeL A foolish heart that I leave here behind. 
 
 Her. What, with Lysander ? 
 
 HeL With Demetrius. 
 
 Lys. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee, Helena. 
 
 Dem. No, sir ; she shall not, though you take her part. 
 
 HeL O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd : 
 She was a vixen, when she went to school ; 
 And, though she be but little, she is fierce. 
 
 Her. Little again? nothing but low and little ? — 
 Why will you suffer her to flout me thus ? 
 Let me come to her. 
 
 Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf ; 
 
 Y'oi; minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass made ; 
 You bead, you acorn. 
 
 Dem. You are too officious, 
 
 In her behalf that scorns your services. 
 Let her alone ; speak not of Helena ; 
 Take not her part : for if thou dost intend 
 Never so little show of love to her. 
 Thou shalt aby it. 
 
 Lys. * Now she holds me not ; 
 
 Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right. 
 Or thine or mine, is most in Helena. 
 
 Dem. Follow ? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by jole. 
 [^Exeunt Lys. and Dem. 
 
 Hei'. You, mistress, all this coil is long of you : 
 Nay, go not back. 
 
 HeL I will not trust you, I ; 
 
 Nor longer stay in your curst company. 
 Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray ; 
 My legs are longer though, to run away. [Eiit. 
 
 Her. I am aiuaz'd, and know not what to say. 
 
 [En'f, pursuing Helena. 
 
 Obe, This is thy negligence : sttll thou mistalc'st. 
 Or else commit'st thy knaveries wilfully 
 
 Fuck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook. 
 Did not you tel! me, I should know the man 
 By the Athenian garments he had on ? 
 And so far blameless proves my enterprise, 
 That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes : 
 And so far am I glad it so did sort. 
 As this their jangling I esteem a sport. 
 
 Obe. Thou see'st, these lovers seek a place to fight 5 
 Hie therefore, Robin, overcast the night ; 
 The starry welkin cover thou anon 
 With drooping fog, as black as Acheron ; 
 And lead these testy rivals so astray, 
 As one come not within another's way. 
 Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue. 
 Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong; 
 And sometime rail thou like Demetrius ; 
 And from each other look thou lead them thus. 
 Till o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep 
 With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep : 
 Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye ; 
 Whose liquor hath this virtuous property. 
 To take from thence all error, with his might. 
 And make his eye balls roll with wonted sight 
 When they next wake, all this derision 
 Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision ; 
 And back to Athens shall the lovers wend, 
 With league, whose date till death shall never end 
 Whiles 1 in this affair do thee employ, 
 I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy j 
 And then 1 will her charmed eye release 
 From monster's view, and all tilings shall be peace. 
 
 Puck. My fairy lord, thi3 must be done with haste ; 
 For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast. 
 And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger; 
 At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there. 
 Troop home to church-yards: damned spirits all. 
 That in cross-ways and floods have burial. 
 Already to their wormy beds are gone ; 
 For fear lest day should look their shames upon, 
 They wilfully themselves exile from light, 
 And must for aye consort with black-brow'd night. 
 
 Obe. But we are spirits of another sort: 
 I with the morning's love have oft made sport ; 
 And, like a forester, the groves may tread, 
 Even till the eastern gate, all fiery-red. 
 Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams. 
 Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams. 
 But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay : 
 WemayefTecttiiisbusiiiessyetereday. [E.V(iOiiEROH. 
 
 Puck. Up and down, up and down ; 
 I will lead them up and dow n : 
 I am fear'd in field and town ; 
 Goblin, lead them up and down. 
 Here comes one. 
 
 Eiiter Lysander. 
 
 Lys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius? speak 
 thou now. 
 
 Puck. Here villain; drawn and ready. Where art 
 
 Lijs. I will be with thee straight. [thou? 
 
 Puck. Follow me then 
 
 To plainer ground. [Exit Lys. as following the voice. 
 
 Enter Demetrivs. 
 
 Dem. Lysander ! speak again. 
 
 Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled? [head? 
 Speak. In some bush ? Where dost thou hide thy 
 
 Puck. Thou cowai'd, art thou bragging to the stars. 
 Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars, 
 And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou child , 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 161 
 
 I'll whip thee with a rod : He Is defiVd, 
 That draws a sword on thee. 
 
 Dem. Yea ; art thou there ? 
 
 Puck. Follow my voice ; we'll try no manhood 
 here. [Kxeuut. 
 
 Re-enter Lysander. 
 
 Lus. He gt)es before me, and still dares me on ; 
 When I come where he calls, then he is gone. 
 The villain is much lighter heel'd than I : 
 I follow 'd fast, but faster he did fly ; 
 That fallen am I in dark uneven way. 
 And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day ! 
 
 [Lies down* 
 For if but once thou shew me thy grey light, 
 I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. [Sleeps* 
 
 Re-enter Puck and Demetrits. 
 
 Puck. Ho, ho! ho, ho! Coward, why com'st 
 thou noti 
 
 Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st ; for well I wot, 
 Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place ; 
 And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face. 
 Where art thou \ 
 
 Puck. Come hither ; I am here, 
 
 Dem. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt buy 
 If ever I thy face by day-light see: [this dear, 
 
 Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me 
 To measure out my length on this cold bed. — 
 By day's approach look to be visited. 
 
 [Lies down and sleejfs. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night. 
 Abate thy hours : shine, comforts, from the east ; 
 That I may back to Athens, by day-light, 
 
 From these that my poor company detest : — 
 And, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, 
 Steal me a while from mine own company. [Sleeps. 
 
 Puck. Vet but three ? Come one more j 
 Two of both kinds makes up four. 
 Here she comes, curst and sad : — 
 Cupid is a knavish lad, 
 Thus to make poor females mad. 
 
 Enter Hermia. 
 
 Her. Never so weary, never so in woe, 
 
 Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers ; 
 I can no further crawl, no further go ; 
 
 Wy legs can keep no pace \vith my desires. 
 Here will 1 rest me, till the break of day. 
 Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray ! 
 
 [Lies down. 
 Puck. On the ground 
 Sleep sound : 
 I'll apply 
 To your eye, 
 Gentle lover, remedy. 
 
 [Squeezins; the Juice on Lysander*s eye. 
 When thou wak'st. 
 Thou tak'st 
 True delight 
 In the sight 
 Of thy former lady's eye : 
 And the country proverb known. 
 That every man should take his own, 
 In your waking shall be shewn : 
 Jack shall have Jill ; 
 Nought shall go ill ; 
 The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be 
 [Exit Puck. — Dem. Hel. 6cc. sleep. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 
 Enter Titania and Bottom, Fairies attendtrtg ; 
 OuERON behind unseen. 
 
 Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed. 
 While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, 
 And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head. 
 And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy. 
 
 Bot. Where's Peas-blossom ? 
 
 Peas. Ready. 
 
 Bvt. Scratch my head, Peas-blossom. — Where s 
 
 Cob. Ready. [monsieur Cobweb"! 
 
 Bot. Monsieur Cobweb; good monsieui, get your 
 weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped 
 humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good mon- 
 sieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret yourself 
 too much in the action, monsieur ; and, good mon- 
 sieur, have a care the honey-bag break not ; I would 
 be loth to have you overflown with a honey-bag, sig- 
 nior. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed? 
 
 Must. Ready. 
 
 Bot. Give me your neif, monsieur Mustard-seed. 
 Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur, 
 
 Mtist. What's your will ? 
 
 Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cava- 
 lero Cobweb to scratch. 1 must to the barber's, 
 monsieur ; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy 
 about the face: and I am such a tender ass, if my 
 hair do but tickle me. I must scratch. 
 
 Tita. What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet 
 love 1 
 
 Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in music : let 
 us have the tongs and the bones. 
 
 Tita. Or, sav, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat. 
 
 Bot. Truly, a peck of provender ; I could munch 
 your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great desire 
 to a bottle of hay ; good hay, sweet hay, hath no 
 fellow. 
 
 Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek 
 The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts. 
 
 Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried 
 peas. But. I pray you. let none of your people stir 
 me ; I have an exposition of sleep come upon me. 
 
 Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my anus, 
 Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away. 
 So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle, 
 Gently entwist; — the female ivy so 
 Enrings the baiky fingers of the elm. 
 0. how 1 love thee ! how I dote on thee ! [They sleep. 
 
 Oberon' advances. Enter Puck. 
 
 Obe. Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet 
 Her dotage now I do begin to pity. [sight 1 
 
 For meeting her of late, behind the wood, 
 Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool, 
 J did upbraid her, and fall out with her: 
 For she his hairy temples then had rounded 
 With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ; 
 And that same dew, which sometime on the buds 
 Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls, 
 Stood now within the pretty flourets' eyes. 
 Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail. 
 When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her, 
 And she, tn mild terms, begg'd my patience, 
 I then did ask of her her changeling child ; 
 Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent 
 To bear him to my bower in fairy land. 
 And now 1 have the boy, I will undo 
 This hateful imperfection of her eyes. 
 And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp 
 
162 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 From off tlie head of tliis Athenian swain ; 
 That he awaking when tlie other do, 
 May all to Athens back again repair ; 
 And think no more of this night's accidents. 
 But as the fierce vexation of a dream. 
 But first I will release the fairy queen. 
 Be, as thou wast wont to be ; 
 
 [Toucliiiig her eyes with an herb. 
 See, as thou wast wont to see ; 
 Diana's bud o'er Cupid's flower 
 Hath such force and blessed power. 
 Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen. 
 Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have 1 seen ! 
 Methouglit I was enamour'd of an ass. 
 Obe. There lies your love. 
 
 Tita. How came these things to pass 1 
 
 O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now ! 
 
 Obe. Silence, a while. — liobin, take off' this head, — • 
 Titania, music call ; and strike more dead 
 Than common sleep, of all these five the sense. 
 Tita. Music, ho ! music ; such as charmcth sleep. 
 Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own 
 
 fool's eyes peep. 
 06c. Sound, music. [Still miisii;.] Come, my queen, 
 take hands with me, 
 And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be. 
 Now thou and I are new in amity ; 
 .And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly. 
 Dance in duke Theseus' house triumphantly, 
 And bless it to all fair posterity ; 
 There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be 
 Wedded, v\'ith Theseus, all in jollity. 
 Puck. Fairy king, attend, and mark ; 
 
 I do hear the morning lark. 
 Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad, 
 Trip we after the night's shade ; 
 We the globe can compass soon, 
 Swifter than the wand'ring moon. 
 Titii. Come, my lord ; and in our flight, 
 Tell me how it came this night, 
 That I sleeping heie was found. 
 With these mortals, on the ground. [Exeuitt. 
 [Ht}rns sound within. 
 
 Enter TntsEUS, Hippolyta, Eceus, and train. 
 
 The. Go, one of you, find out the forester ;— 
 For now our observation is perform'd ; 
 And since we have the vaward of the day, 
 My love shall hear the music of my hounds. — 
 Uncouple in the western valley ; go ; — 
 Despatch, I say, and find the forester. — 
 We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top, 
 And mark the musical confusion 
 Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 
 
 Hiji. 1 was with Hercules, and Cadmus, once, 
 When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
 ■With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
 Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves. 
 The skies, the fountains, every region near 
 Scem'd all one mutual cry : 1 never heard 
 So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 
 
 The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
 So flow'd, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
 Crook-knee'd and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
 Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells. 
 Each under each. \ cry more tuneable 
 Was never hoUa'd to, nor checr'd with horn. 
 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : [these 1 
 
 J ud»e, when you hear. — But, soft ; what nymphs are 
 
 Esc. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep ; 
 Andi'this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ; 
 
 This Helena, old Nedar's Helena : 
 1 wonder of their being here together. 
 
 Tlie. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe 
 The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent, 
 Came here in grace of our solemnity. — 
 But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day 
 That Hemiia should give answer of her choice ? 
 E^c. It is, my lord. [horns 
 
 The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their 
 
 Horns, and shout within, Demetrius, Lysandeu, 
 Hermia, and Helen'a, wake and start up. 
 
 The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is 
 Begin these wood-birds but to couple now 1 [past j 
 
 Lys. Pardon, my lord. 
 
 \ He and the 7-est kneel to Theseus. 
 
 The. I pray you all, stand up. 
 
 I know, you are two rival enemies ; 
 How comes this gentle concord in the world, 
 That hatred is so far from jealousy. 
 To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ? 
 
 Lys. i\Iy lord, I shall reply amazedly. 
 Half 'sleep, half waking : But as yet, I swear, 
 I cannot truly say how I cam.e here : 
 But, as I think, (for truly would I speak, — 
 And now I do bethink me, so it is ;) 
 I came with Hermia hither : our intent 
 Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be 
 Without the peril of the Athenian law. 
 
 Ege. Enough, enough, my lord ; you have enough 
 I beg the law, the law upon his head. — ' 
 They would have stol'n away, they would, Demetrius, 
 Thereby to have defeated you and me : 
 You, of your wife ; and me, of my consent ; 
 Of my consent that she should be your wife. 
 
 Dcm. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealth. 
 Of this their purpose hither, to this wood ; 
 And I in fury hither follow'd them ; 
 Fair Helena in fancy following me. 
 hut, my good lord, I \vot not by what power, 
 (But, by some power it is,) my love to Hermia, 
 Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now 
 As the remembrance of an idle gawd, 
 Which in my childhood 1 did dote upon : 
 And all the faith, the virtue of my heart. 
 The object, and the pleasure of mine eye. 
 Is only Helena. To her, my lord. 
 Was I betroth'd ere I saw Hermia : 
 But, like in sickness, did I loath this food : ' 
 
 But, as in health, come to my natural taste, 
 Now do I wish it, love it, long for it, 
 And will for evermore be true to it. 
 
 The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met ; 
 Of this discourse we more will hear anon. — 
 Egeus, I will overbear your will ; 
 For in the temple, by and by with us. 
 These couples shall eternally be knit. 
 And, for the morning now is something worn. 
 Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. — 
 .'\way, with us, to Athens : Three and three, 
 We '11 hold a feast in great solemnity. — 
 Come, Hippolyta. 
 
 [Exeunt Theseus, Hippolyta, Eceus, and train 
 
 l)em. These things seem small and uudistinguisb. 
 Like far-off mountains turned into clouds. [able, 
 
 Her. Methinks, 1 see these things with parted eye, 
 When every thing seems double. 
 
 Hel. So, methinks : 
 
 And I have found Demetrius like a jewel, 
 Mine own, and not mine own, 
 
 Dem. It seems to me, 
 
 That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 163 
 
 The dulte was here, and bid us follow him 1 
 
 Her. Yea ; and my father. 
 
 Hel. And Hippolyta. 
 
 Lv«. And he did bid us follow to the temple, 
 
 Uem. Why then, we are awake: let's follow him ; 
 And, by the way, let us recount our dreams. [^Exeunt, 
 
 As they go ont^ Bottom awakes. 
 
 ISflt, When my cue comes, call me, and I will 
 
 Answer; — my next is, Mrst fair Ptfranws, Hey, 
 
 ho 1 — Peter Quince ! Flute, the bellows-mender ! 
 Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! God's my life ! stolen 
 hence, and left me asleep ! I itave had a most rare 
 vision. I have had a dream, — past the wit of man 
 to say what dream it was : — Man is but an ass, if he 
 go about to expound this dream. Melhought I was 
 — there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, 
 and methought I had- — But man is but a patched 
 fool, if he will ofier to say what methought I had. 
 The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath 
 not seen ; man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue 
 to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream 
 was. I will get Peter Quince to write a ballad of this 
 dream : it sliall be called Bottom's Dream, because 
 it liath no bottom ; and I will sing it in the latter end 
 of a play, before the duke : Peradventure, to make it 
 the more gracious, I shall sing it at her death. [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE II. — .Athens. A Room in Quince's House. 
 
 Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and SxAnvELiNG. 
 
 Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house 1 is he come 
 home yet 1 
 
 Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, lie is 
 transported. 
 
 Fhi. If he come not then, the play is marred ; It 
 goes not forward, doth it t 
 
 Quin. It is not possible : you have not a man in 
 all Athens, able to discharge Pyiajnus, but he. 
 
 Fh(. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any 
 handycraft man in .Athens. 
 
 Qni7i. Yea, and the best person too : and he is a 
 very paramour, for a sweet voice. 
 
 Ftu. You must say, paragon : a paramour is, God 
 bless us, a thing of nought. 
 
 Enter Snug. 
 
 Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the tem- 
 ple, and there is two or three lords and ladies more 
 married : if our sport had gone forward, we had all 
 been made men. 
 
 Ftu. O sweet Bully Bottom ! Thus hath he lost 
 sixpence a-day during his life ; he could not have 
 'scaped sixpence a-day : an the duke had not given 
 him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I '11 be 
 hanged ; he would have deserved it ; sixpence a-day, 
 in Pyramus, or nothing. 
 
 Enter Bottom. 
 
 Bot. Where are these lads ? where are these hearts 1 
 
 Qni/i. Bottom ! — O most courageous day ! most 
 happy hour ! 
 
 Bat. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : but ask 
 me not what ; for if I tell you, I am no true Athenian. 
 I will tell you every tiling, right as it fell out. 
 
 Quiiu Let us hear, sweet Bottom. 
 
 BiH. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you, 
 is, that the duke hath dined : Get your apparel to- 
 gether ; good strings to your beards, new ribbons to 
 your pumps : meet presently at the palace ; every 
 man look o'er his part ; for, the short and the long is, 
 our play is preferred. In any case, let 'I'hisby have 
 clean linen ; and let not him that plays the lion, pare 
 
 his nails, for they shall hang out for the lion's claws. 
 And, most dear actors, eat no onions, nor garlick, for 
 we are to utter sweet breath ; and I do not doubt, but 
 to hear them say. It is a sweet comedy. No more 
 words ; away ; go, away. [Eieunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — The same. An Apartment in the 
 Palace of Theseus. 
 
 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, 
 Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers 
 speak of. 
 
 The. More strange than true. I never may believe 
 These antique fables, noi these fairy toys. 
 Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, 
 Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend 
 More than cool reason ever comprehends. 
 Tiie lunatic, the lover, and the poet. 
 Are of imagination all compact : 
 One sees more devils tlian vast hell can hold , 
 That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, 
 Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to 
 And, as imagination bodies forth [heaven. 
 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation, and a name. 
 Such tricks hath strong imagination ; 
 That, if it would but apprehend some joy, 
 It comprehends some bringer of that joy j 
 Or, in the hight, imagining some fear. 
 How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear ? 
 
 Hip. But all the story of the night told over. 
 And all their minds transfigured so together, 
 More witnesseth than fancy's images. 
 And grows to something of great constancy ; 
 liut, howsoever, strange, and admirable. 
 
 Enfei'LvsANUER, Demetrius, Hermia, and Hklena 
 
 The. Here comethelovers,fullof joy and mirth. — 
 Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love, 
 Accompany your hearts ! 
 
 Lys, More than to us 
 
 Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed ! 
 
 The. Come now ; what masks, what dances shall 
 we have. 
 To wear away this long age of three hours. 
 Between our after-supper and bed-time? 
 Where is our usual manager of mirth ? 
 What revels are in hand 1 Is there no play. 
 To ease the anguish of a torturing hour I 
 Call Philostri.te. 
 
 Philost. Here, mighty Theseus. [ing ! 
 
 The. Say, what abridgment have you for this even- 
 What mask, what music ? How shall we beguile 
 The lazy time, if not with some delight ? 
 
 Fhi(i>st. There is a brief, how many sports are ripe; 
 Make choice of which your highness will see first. 
 
 [Giiji?(^ a paper. 
 
 The. [reads-l The battle ivith the Centaurs, to Veiung, 
 
 ]hi an Athenian eunuch to the harp. 
 We'll none of that : that have I told my love, 
 In glory of my kinsman Hercules. 
 
 The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals, 
 
 Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage. 
 That is an old device, and it was play'd 
 
 L a 
 
164 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM. 
 
 When I from Thebes came last a conqueror. 
 The tlince three Wuses iiuniriiiiig /or tlie death 
 Of learuiiig, late decem'd in liegguru. 
 That is some satire, keen, and critical. 
 Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony. 
 A tedious brief si-etie of iiouiig Piframus, 
 And /lis love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth. 
 Meiry and tragical! Tedious and brief! 
 That is, hot ice, and wonderous strange snow. 
 How shall we tind the concord of this discord t 
 Philoit. A play there is my lord, some ten words 
 long ; 
 Which is as brief as I have known a play ; 
 But by ten words, my lord, it is too long. 
 Which makes it tedious : for in all the play 
 There is not one word apt, one player fitted. 
 And tragical, my noble lord, it is ; 
 For Pyramus therein doth kill himself. 
 Which when 1 saw rehears'd, 1 must confess, 
 Made mine eyes water ; but more merry tears 
 The passion of loud laughter never shed. 
 
 The. What are they that do play it ! [here, 
 
 Phiiost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens 
 Which never labour 'd in their minds till now ; 
 And now have toil'd their unbreath'd memories 
 With this same play, against your nuptial. 
 The. And we will hear it. 
 
 Philost. No, my noble lord, 
 
 It is not for you : I have heard it over. 
 And it is nothing, nothing in the world ; 
 Unless vou can find sport in their intents. 
 Extremely stretch'd and conn'd with cruel pain. 
 To do you service. 
 
 The.' I will hear that play ; 
 
 For never any thing can be amiss. 
 When simpleness and duty tender it. 
 Go, bring them in: and take yourplaces, ladies. 
 
 [E.ieunt PHll.osTnATE. 
 Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged. 
 And duty in his service perishing. 
 
 The. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. 
 Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. 
 The. Thekinderwe, to give them thanks fornothing. 
 Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake : 
 And what poor duty cannot do, 
 Noble respect takes it in might, not merit. 
 Where 1 have come, great clerks have purposed 
 To greet me with premeditated welcomes ; 
 Where I have seen them shiver and look pale. 
 Make periods in the midst of sentences, 
 Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears. 
 And, in conclusion, durably have broke off. 
 Not paying me a welcome : Trust me, sweet. 
 Out of this silence, yet, 1 pick'd a welcome ; 
 And in the modesty of fearful duty 
 I read as much, as from the rattling tongue 
 Of sawcy, and audacious elotjuence. 
 Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, 
 In least, speak most, to my capacity. 
 
 Enter Philostrate. 
 
 Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is ad- 
 
 drest. 
 The. I.et him approach. [Flourisn of trumpets. 
 
 Enter Quince as Prologue. 
 
 Prol- Ifu-e offend, it is with our good will. 
 
 That you should think, we come not to offend, 
 But with good will. To shew oursimple skill, 
 
 That is the true beginning of our end. 
 Consider then, we come but in despite. 
 
 We do not corneas minding to cojitentyou, 
 
 Our true intent i). .-Ill for your delight, 
 
 TtV are not here. That you should here repent you, 
 The actors are at hand ; and, by their show. 
 You shall know all, that you are like to know. 
 
 The. This fellow doth not stand upon points. 
 
 Lus. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt ; 
 he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord ; It 
 is not enough to speak, but to speak true. 
 
 Hip. Indeed he hath played on this prologue, like 
 a child on a recorder ; a sound, but not in govern- 
 ment. 
 
 The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; nothing 
 impaired, but all disordered. Who is next 1 
 
 Enter Pvramvs and Thisce, Wall, Moonshine, and 
 Lion, as in dumb show. 
 
 Prol. " Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this 
 
 show ; 
 "But wonder on, till truth make all things plain. 
 "This man is Pyramus, if you would know ; 
 " This beauteous lady Thisby is, certain. 
 "This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present 
 " Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers 
 
 sunder : [tent 
 
 " And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are con- 
 
 " To whisper, at the which let no man wonder. 
 " This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn, 
 " Presenteth moon-shine; for, if you w-ill know, 
 " By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn 
 " To meet at jN'inus' tomb, there, there to woo« 
 " This grisly beast, which by name lion hight, 
 "The trusty Thisbv, coming first by night, 
 " Did scare away, or rather did affright: 
 " And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall -, 
 
 " Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain: 
 " Anon comes Pvramus, sweet youth, and tail, 
 "And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain : 
 " Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade, 
 " He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast-, 
 " And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade, 
 
 " His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest, 
 " Let lion, moon-shine, wall, and lovers twain, 
 " At large discourse, while here they do remain." 
 lExeunt Prol. Thisde, Lion, and Moonshine. 
 The. I wonder, if the lion be to speak. 
 Dem. No wonder, ray lord : one lioi? may, when 
 many asses do. 
 
 Wall. " In this same interlude, it doth befall, 
 " That I, one Snout bv name, present a wall : 
 " And such a wall as I would have you think, 
 " That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink, 
 " Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, 
 " Did whisper often very secretly. 
 "This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth shew 
 "That 1 am that same wall ; the truth is so : 
 " And this the cranny is, right and sinister, 
 " Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper." 
 The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak 
 
 better 1 
 Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard 
 discourse, my lord. 
 
 The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence! 
 
 Enter Pyramus, 
 Pvr. " grim-look 'd night! O night with hue so 
 
 black ! 
 " night, which ever art H'hen day is not! 
 "0 night, O night, alack, alack, alack, 
 
 " 1 fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! — 
 " And thou, Owall, O sweet, O lovely wall, [mine , 
 " That stand'st between her father's ground and 
 " Thou wall, O wall, sweet and lovely wall. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 165 
 
 " Shew me thy chink, to blink through with mine 
 eyae. [Wall holds up his ting^rs* • 
 
 " Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well for 
 
 "But what see 1 ! No Thisbv do I see. [this! I 
 
 '• O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ; 
 
 ■' Curst be thy stones lor thus deceiving me !" I 
 
 The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should : 
 
 curse again. 
 
 Pyr. No, in truth, sir. he should not. Deeening j 
 
 me, is Thisbv's cue : she is to enter now, and I ara 
 
 to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will 
 
 fall pat as 1 told you : — Yonder she comes. 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 This. " O wall, full often hast thou heard my 
 " For parting my fair Pyramus and me ; [moans, 
 
 " My cherr\' lips have often kiss'd ihv stones ; 
 " Thy stones with lime and hair kmt up in thee." 
 Pyr. " I see a voice : now will I to the chink, 
 " To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face. 
 
 "Thisby!" 
 
 This. " Jly love ! thou art my love. I tliink." 
 Pur. " Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's 
 And like Limander am I tnisty still." [grace ; 
 This. " And I like Helen, till the fates me kill." 
 Ptir. " Not Shafalus to Procrus, was so true.' 
 This. " AsShafalus to Procrus. I to you." [wall." 
 Pyr. " O, kiss me througli the hole of this vile 
 This. " I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all." 
 Pj/r. " Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me 
 
 straightway ?" 
 J^is. "Tide life, tide death, I come without delay." 
 Wall. " Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so ; 
 
 " And, being done, thus wall away doth go." 
 
 [Ereiiiit Wall, Pvbamos, «>«< Thisbe. 
 77rt'. Now is the mural down between the two 
 
 neighbours, 
 
 Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so wil- 
 ful to hear without warning. 
 
 Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard. 
 T e. The best in this kind are but shadows ; and 
 
 the worse are no worse, if imagination amend them. 
 Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not 
 
 theirs. 
 
 The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they 
 
 of tliemselves, thev mav pass for exxellent men. 
 
 Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion. 
 Enter Lion and ^loonshine. 
 Lion. " \'ou, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear 
 "The smallest monstrous mouse thatcreeusontioor 
 
 " ^lay now. perchance, both quake and tremble here, 
 " When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar. 
 
 " Then know, that 1, one Snug, the joiner, am 
 
 " .4 lion fell, nor else no lion's dam ; 
 
 " For if 1 should as lion come iu stiife 
 
 "Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.'* 
 
 The. .\ very gentle beast, and of a good conscience. 
 Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er 
 
 I saw. 
 
 Lvs* This lion is a xerv fox for his valour* 
 The. True ; and a goose for his discretion. 
 Dem. Not so, my lord : for his valour cannot carry 
 
 his discretion ; and the fox carries the goose. 
 
 The. His discretion. 1 am sure, cannot carry his 
 valour; for the goose carries not the fox. Itiswell: 
 leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to the moon- 
 MiVH. "This lantern doth the horned moon pre- 
 sent:" 
 Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head. 
 The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible 
 within tlie circumference. 
 
 Muniu " This lantern doth the horned moon present ; 
 
 " Mvself the man i' the moon do seem to be." 
 
 The. Tnis is the greatest error of all the rest : the 
 man should be put into the lantern : How is it else 
 the man i' the moon. 
 
 Dem. He dares not come there for the candle : for, 
 you see, it is already in snuff. 
 
 Hip. I am ayeary of this moon : Would, he would 
 change ! 
 
 The. It appears, by his small light of discretion, 
 that he is in tlie wane : but yet, in courtesy, in all 
 reason, we must stay the time. 
 
 L<is. Proceed, moon. 
 
 -Vcvii. ■' All that 1 have to say. is. to tell you, that 
 the lantern is the moon ; 1. the man in the moon ; this 
 Ihom-bush. mv thorn-bush ; and this dog, my dog." 
 
 Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern ; for 
 they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes 
 Thisbe. 
 
 Enter Thisbe. [love V* 
 
 This. " This is old Ninnv's tomb : Where is my 
 
 Lion. " Oh—." 
 
 [The Lion roars. — Thisbe runs of , 
 
 Dem. WeH roared, lion. 
 
 The. Well ran. Thisbe. 
 
 Hip. Well shone, moon. — Truly, the moon shines 
 with a gotxl grace. 
 
 nw. Well moui'd, lion. 
 
 [7'/ie Lion tears Thisue's mantle, and exit. 
 
 Dem. .\nd so comes Pyramus. 
 
 Lys. .\nd then the moon vanishes. 
 
 Enter PvRiMvs. 
 Par. " Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny 
 
 beams; 
 " I thank thee, moon, for shining now so bright : 
 " For, bv thv gracious, golden, glittering streams, 
 "I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight. 
 " But stay ; — O spite ! 
 •' But mark ; — Poor knight, 
 " What dieadful dole is here ! 
 " Kyes, do you see ! 
 " How can it be ! 
 " O dainty duck ! Odear! 
 " Thy mantle good. 
 " What, stain'd with blood? 
 " .\pproach, ve furies fell ! 
 ■• O fates ! come, come ; 
 " Cut thread and thrum ; 
 " Quail, crush, conclude, and quell !" 
 The. This passion, and the death of a dear friend 
 would go near to make a man look sad. 
 
 Hip. Beshrcw my heart, but I pity the man. 
 P</> . ■■ O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame ! 
 "Since lion vile hath here detlour'd my dear : 
 " Which is — no. no — winch was the fairest dame. 
 " That liv'd. that lov'd, that lik'd, that look'd \> uh 
 " Come, tears, confound ; [cheer. 
 
 " Out, swor<t, and wound 
 " The pap of Pyramus ; 
 " Ay. that left pap. 
 " W here heart dotli hop : — 
 " Thus die 1. thus, thus, thus. 
 " Now am I dead, 
 •• Now am I fled ; 
 " My soul is in the sky : 
 
 " Tongue, loose tny light ! 
 " Moon, take thy flight ! 
 " Now die, die, die, die, die.'' 
 
 [Dies. — Eiit Jloonsliine. 
 Dem. No die, but an ace. for him ; for he is but one. 
 Lvs. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead ; he 
 is nothing. 
 
160 
 
 MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM. 
 
 The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet re- 
 cover, and prove an ass. 
 
 Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before Thisbe 
 comes back and finds her lover 1 
 
 The. Slie mil find him by star-light.— Here she 
 comes ; and her passion ends the play. 
 Enter Thisbe. 
 Hiv. Methinks. she should not use a long one, 
 foi such a Pyramus : I hope, she will be brief. 
 
 Dem. A mote will tuin the balance, which Pyra- 
 mus, which Thisbe, is the better. 
 
 Lys. She hath spied him already with tho^e sweet 
 eyes. 
 
 Dem, And thus she moans, videlicet. 
 
 This. " Asleep, my love ! 
 
 " What, dead, my dovel 
 "O Pyramus, arise, 
 
 " Speak, speak. Quite dumb? 
 "Dead, dead? A tomb 
 " Must cover thy sweet eyes. 
 "These lily lips, 
 " This cherry nose, 
 " These yellow cowslip cheeks, 
 "Are gone, are gone: 
 " Lovers, make moan ! 
 " His eyes were green as leeks. 
 " O sisters three, 
 " Come, come to me, 
 " With hands as pale as milk ; 
 " Lay them m gore, 
 " Since you have shore 
 " With sheai-s his thread of silk. 
 " Tongue, not a word : — 
 " Come, trusty sword ; 
 *' Come, blade, my breast imbue : 
 " And farewell, friends ; — 
 "Thus Thisbe ends : 
 " Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies. 
 
 The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead. 
 Dem. Ay, and wall too. 
 
 But. No, I assure you ; the wall is down that 
 parted their fathers. Will it please you to see tlie 
 epilogue, or to hear a liergomask dance, between two 
 of our company. 
 
 The. No epilogue, I pray you ; for your play needs 
 no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the players are 
 all dead, tliere need none to be blamed. Marry, if 
 he that writ it had played Pyramus, and hanged him- 
 self in Thisbe's garter, it would have been a fine tra- 
 gedy : and so it is, truly ; and very notably discharged. 
 But come, your Bergomask : let your epilogue alone. 
 [Here a dance of Clowns. 
 The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : — 
 Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time. 
 I fear we shall out-sleep the coming morn, 
 As much as we this night have overwatch'd. 
 This palpable-gross play hath well beguil'd 
 The heavy gait of niglit. — Sweet friends, to bed. — 
 A fortnight hold we this solemnity. 
 In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE n.— Enter Puck. 
 
 Puck. Now the hungry lion roars. 
 And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
 
 Whilst tne heavy ploughman snores. 
 All with weary task fordone. 
 
 Now the wasted Inrands do glow. 
 
 Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud. 
 
 Puts the wretch that lies in woe. 
 
 In remembrance of a sliroud. 
 Now it is the time of night. 
 
 That the graves, all gaping wide. 
 Every one lets forth his sprite. 
 
 In the church-way paths to glide : 
 And we fairies, that do run 
 
 By the triple Hecat's team, 
 From the presence of the sun. 
 
 Following darkness like a dream. 
 Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
 Shall disturb this hallow'd house : 
 I am sent, with broom, before, 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Enter Oceron and Titama, with their trains 
 Obe. Through this house give glimmering light. 
 By the dead and drowsy fire : 
 Every elf, and fairy sprite. 
 
 Hop as light as bird from brier; 
 And this ditty, after me. 
 Sing, and dance it trippingly. 
 Tita. First, rehearse this song by rote : 
 To each word a warbling note. 
 Hand in hand, with fairy grace. 
 Will we sing, and bless this place. 
 
 SONG, AND DANCE. 
 
 Obe. Now, until the break of day. 
 Through this house each fairy stray. 
 To the best bride-bed will we. 
 Which by us shall blessed be; 
 And the issue there create. 
 Ever shall be fortunate. 
 So shall all the couples three 
 Ever true in loving be ; 
 And the blots of nature's hand 
 Shall not in their issue stand ; 
 Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar. 
 Nor mark prodigious, such as are 
 Despised in nativity, 
 Shall upon tlieir children be — 
 With this field dew consecrate. 
 Every fairy take his gait ; 
 And eacli several chamber bless, 
 Through this palace with sweet peace : 
 Ever shall in safety rest. 
 And the owner of it blest. 
 Trip away ; 
 Make no stay : 
 Meet me all by break of day. 
 
 [Exeunt OuEuoN, Titania, and trains 
 Pnch. ]f we shadows have offended, 
 
 Think but this, (and all is mendedyy 
 
 That yon have but slumber'd here. 
 
 While these visions did appear. 
 
 And this weak and idle theme, 
 
 No more yielding but a dream. 
 
 Gentles, do not reprehend ; 
 
 If }]0u pardon, we will mend. 
 
 And, as I'm an honest Puck, 
 
 If we have unearned luck 
 
 Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue. 
 
 We will make amends, ere tang : 
 
 Else the Pnck a liar call. 
 
 So, good night unto you all. 
 
 Give me uour hands, if we befriends. 
 
 And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit. 
 
 W ild ftod fantastical as ibis play is. all ihe jiarts in their various modes are well written, and give the kind of pl«»nro which 
 the author designed. Fairies in his time were much in fashion ; cummoa tradition had made them familiar, and Spenser's liocia 
 had made them great— Johnson. 
 
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 Published in 1508. Mr. Malone snpposes this play lo have been written in 1594. The title page in the quarto stales it to 
 have been newhj ccTterted and augmented by W. Shaksfeare, and perhaps these corrections and augmentations constitmed 
 his ooly share of the production. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Ferdinand, King fi^" Navarre. 
 
 BiRON, LoNGAViLLE, DuMAiN, Ltri'ds, atWuUng on 
 
 the King. 
 BoYET, Mercade, Lords, attending on the Princess 
 
 of France. 
 Don Adriano de Armado, a fantastical Spaniard. 
 Sir Nathaniel, a curate. 
 HoLOFERNES, a scboolmaster. 
 Dull, a constable. 
 Costard, a cU^wn, 
 Moth, pnge to Armado. 
 A Forester, 
 
 Princess of France. 
 
 Rosaline, Maria, Katharine, Ladies, atiendingon 
 
 the Princess. 
 Jaquenetta, a country wench. 
 
 Officers and others, Attendants on the King 
 and Princess. 
 
 SCENE,— Navarre. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Navarre. A Park, with a Palace in it. 
 
 Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, 
 and DuMAiN. 
 
 KiH*. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives, 
 Live register'd upon our brazen tombs, 
 And then grace us in the disgrace of death ; 
 ^Vhen, spite of cormorant devouring time, 
 The endeavour of this present breath may buy 
 That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge. 
 And make us heirs of all eternity. 
 Therefore, brave conquerors ! — tor so you are, 
 That war against your own affections, 
 And the huge army of the world's desires, — 
 Our late edict shall strongly stand in force : 
 Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ; 
 Our court shall be a little Academe, 
 Still and contemplative in living art. 
 Vou three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville, 
 Have sworn for three years' term to live with me, 
 My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes, 
 That are recorded in this schedule here ; 
 Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names; 
 That his own hand may strike his honour down, 
 That violates the smallest branch herein : 
 If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do, 
 Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too. 
 
 Loo^. I am resolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast ; 
 The mind shall banquet, tliough the body pine : 
 Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits 
 Make rich the ribs, but bauk'rout quite the wits, 
 
 Dum. My loving lord, Dumain is mortitied ; 
 The grosser manner of these world's delights 
 He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves : 
 To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die. 
 With all these living in philosophy. 
 
 Biron. I can but say their protestation over, 
 
 So much, dear liege, I have already sworn, 
 That is, To live and study here three years. 
 But there are other strict observances : 
 As, not to see a woman in that term ; 
 AVhich, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 
 And, one day in a week to touch no food ; 
 And, but one meal on every day beside ; 
 The which, I hope, is not enrolled there : 
 And then, to sleep but three hours in the nio-ht. 
 And not be seen to wink of all the day ; 
 (When 1 was wont lo tliink no harm all night, 
 And make a dark night too of half the day ;) 
 Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there : 
 O, these are barren tasks, too haid to keep ; 
 Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep. 
 
 King. Your oath is pass'd to pass away from these. 
 
 Biron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please ; 
 I only swore, to study with your grace, 
 And stay here in your court for three years' space. 
 
 Long. You swore to that, Bir6n, and to the rest. 
 
 Biron. By yea and nay, sir, then I swore in jest.— 
 What is the end of study 1 let me know. 
 
 King. Why, that to know, which else we should 
 not know. 
 
 Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mean, from 
 common sense I 
 
 King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. 
 
 Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so, 
 To know the thing I am forbid to know : 
 As thus, — To study where 1 well may dine, 
 
 When I to feast expressly am forbid ; 
 Or, study where to meet some mistress fine. 
 
 When mistresses from common sense are hid : 
 Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath. 
 Study to break it, and not break my troth. 
 If study's gain be thus, and this be so, 
 Study knows that, which yet it doth not know . 
 Swear me to this, and 1 will ne'er say, no, 
 
 Kirig, These be the stops that hinder study quite, 
 And train our intellects to vain delight. 
 
 Biron. Why, all delights are vain; but that most 
 Which, with pain purchased, doth inherit pain : [vain, 
 As, painfully to pore upon a book. 
 
 To seek the light of truth; while truth the while 
 Dotli falsely blind the eye sight of his look : 
 
 Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile: 
 So, ere you find where liglit in darkness lies, 
 Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes. 
 Study me how to please the eye indeed, 
 
 By fixing it upon a fairer eye ; 
 Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed. 
 
 And give him light that was it blinded by. 
 Study is like the heaven's glorious sun, 
 
 That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks ; 
 Small have continual plodders ever won. 
 
 Save base authority from others* books. 
 These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights, 
 
 That give a name to every fixed star, 
 Have no more profit of their shining nights, 
 
 Than those that walk, and wot not what they are. 
 Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame ; 
 And every godfather can give a name. 
 
 King. How well he's read, to reason against reading I 
 
168 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 Vum, I'roceeded well, to stop all good proceeding ! 
 
 Long, He weeds the corn, and still lets grow the 
 weeding. 
 
 Bjj'Ort. The spring is near, when green geese are a 
 
 Dum. How follows that? [breeding. 
 
 Biron. Fit in his place and time. 
 
 Dum. In reason nothing. 
 
 Birnn* Something then in rhyme. 
 
 Long. Bir6n is like an envious sneaping frost, 
 That bites the first-born infants of the spring. 
 
 Biron. Well, say 1 am ; why should proud sum- 
 mer boast. 
 Before the birds have any cause to sing? 
 AVhy should I joy in an abortive birth 1 
 At Christmas I no more desire a rose. 
 Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows ; 
 But like of each thing, that in season grows. 
 So you, to study now it is too late, 
 Climb o'er the house to unlock the little gate. 
 
 King. Well, sit you out; go home, Bir6u; adieu! 
 
 Biron. No, my good lord j I have sworn to stay 
 with you : 
 And, though I have for barbarism spoke more, 
 
 Than for that angel knowledge you can say, 
 Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore, 
 
 And bide the penance of each three years' day. 
 Give me the paper, let me read the same ; 
 And to the strict'st decrees I '11 write my name. 
 
 King, How well this yielding rescues thee from 
 shame ! 
 
 Biron. [Reads.^ Item, That no woman shall come 
 within a mile of my court. — 
 And hath this been proclaim'd 1 
 
 Long, Four days ago. 
 
 Biron. Let's see the penalty, 
 [/fearis.]— On pain of losing her tongiie. — 
 
 Who devis'd this 1 
 
 Long. Marry, that did I. 
 
 Biron. Sweet lord, and why 1 
 
 Long. To fright them hence with that dread penalty. 
 
 Biron. A dangerous law against gentility. 
 
 [Zieurfs.] Item, If any man be seen to talk with a wo- 
 man within the termcf three years, he shall endure such 
 jniblic shame as the restof the court can possibly devise. — 
 This article, my liege, yourself must break ; 
 
 For well you know, here comes in embassy 
 The French King's daughter with yourself to speak, — 
 
 A maid of grace and complete majesty, — 
 About surrender-up of Aquitain 
 
 To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father: 
 Therefore this article is made in vain, 
 
 Or vainly comes the admired princess hither. 
 
 A'(;(^>-. What say you, lords? why, this was quite 
 
 Biron. So study evermore is over-shot ; [forgot. 
 While it doth study to have what it would. 
 It doth forget to do the thing it should : 
 And when it hath the thing it hunteth most, 
 'Tis won, as towns with fire ; so won, so lost. 
 
 King. We must, of force, dispense with this de- 
 She must lie here on mere necessity. [cree ; 
 
 Biron. Necessity will make us all forsworn 
 Three thousand times within this three years' 
 For every man with his affects is born ; [space : 
 
 Not by might master'd, but by special grace : 
 If I break faith, this word shall speak for me, 
 I am forsworn on mere necessity.- — 
 So to the laws at large I write my name : {^Subscribes. 
 
 And he that breaks them in the least 4egree, 
 Stands in attainder of eternal shame : 
 
 Suggestions are to others, as to me ; 
 But, I believe, although I seem so loth ; 
 I am the last that will last keep his oath. 
 
 But is there no quick recreation granted ? 
 
 King. Ay, that there is : our court, you know, is 
 
 With a refined traveller of Spain ; [haunted 
 
 A man in all the world's new fashion planted, 
 
 That hath a mint of phrases in his brain 
 One, whom the music of his own vain tongue 
 
 Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ; 
 A man of complements, whom right and wrong 
 
 Have chose as umpire of their mutiny : 
 This child of fancy, that Armado hight, 
 
 For interim to our studies, shall relate, 
 In high-born words, the worth of many a knight 
 
 From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate. 
 How you delight, ray lords, 1 know not, I ; 
 But, I protest, I love to hear him lie. 
 And I will use him for my minstrelsy. 
 
 Biron. Armado is a most illustrious wight, 
 A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight. 
 
 Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be our sport' 
 And, so to study, three years is but short. 
 
 Enter Dull, with a letter, and Costard. 
 
 Dull. Which is the duke's own person ? 
 
 Biron. This, fellow ; What would'st? 
 
 Dull. I myself reprehend his own person, for I ara 
 his grace's tharborough : but I would see his own 
 person in flesh and blood. 
 
 Biron. This is he. 
 
 Dull. Signior Arme — Arme — ■commends you. 
 There's villany abroad ; this letter will tell you more. 
 
 Cost. Sir, the contempts thereof are as touching me. 
 
 King. A letter from the magnificent Armado. 
 
 Biron. How low soever the matter, I hope in God 
 for high words. 
 
 Long. A high hope for a low having : God grant 
 us patience I 
 
 Biron. To hear? or forbear hearing? 
 
 Long. To hear meekly, sir, and to laugh mode- 
 rately •, or to forbear both, 
 
 Biron. Well, sir, be it as the style shall give us 
 cause to climb in the merriness. 
 
 Cost. The matter is to me, sir, as concerning Ja- 
 quenetta. The manner of it is, I was taken with the 
 manner. 
 
 Biron. In what manner? 
 
 Cost. In manner and form following, sir ; all those 
 three : I was seen with her in the manor house, sit- 
 ting with her upon the form, and taken following her 
 into the park ; which, put together, is in manner and 
 form following. Now, sir, for the manner, — it is the 
 manner of a man to speak to a woman : for the form, 
 — in some form. 
 
 Biron. For the following, sir ? 
 
 Cost. As it shall follow in my correction ; And 
 God defend the riglit ? 
 
 King. Will you hear this letter with attention? 
 
 Biron. As we would hear an oracle. 
 
 Cost. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after 
 the flesh. 
 
 King. [Reads.^ Great deputy, the welkins vicege- 
 rent, and sole dominator nf Navarre, my soul's earth^s 
 God, and bodu's fostering patron,^ 
 
 Cost. Not a word of Costard yet. 
 
 King. So it is, — 
 
 Cost. It may be so ; but if he say it is so, he is, in 
 telling true, but so, so. 
 
 King. Peace 
 
 Cost. — be tome, and every man that dares not fight ' 
 
 King. No words 
 
 Cost. — of other men's secrets, I beseech, you. 
 
 Ki7ig. So it is, besieged uif/i sable-coloured melon, 
 choiy, I did commend the black-oppressing humour ity 
 
ACT I.— SCENE II, 
 
 169 
 
 the most tehoUsome phusic of tk\j health-giving air ; 
 and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to uulk. The 
 time when ? About the sixth hour ; when beasts most 
 graze, birds best peck, and men sit down to that nou- 
 rishment which is called supper. So much J'or the time 
 when : Xow for the ground which ; which, 1 mean, I 
 walked upon: it is ycleped thy park. Then for the 
 place where ; where, I mean, I did encounter that ob- 
 scene and most preposterous event, that draweth from 
 my snow-white pen the ebon- coloured ink, which here 
 thou viewest, beholdest, snrveyest, or seest : But to the 
 place, where, — /( standeth'north-north-east and by east 
 from the west corner tf thy curious-knotted garden. 
 There did I see that low-spirited swain, that base min- 
 liiny of thy mirth. 
 
 Cost. Jle. 
 
 King. • — that unlettered small-knowing soul. 
 
 Cost. Me. 
 
 King. — that shallow vassal, 
 
 Cost. Still me. 
 
 King, — which as I remember, hight Costard, 
 
 Cost. O me ! 
 
 King. — sorted and consorted, contrary to thy establish- 
 ed proclaimed edict and continent canon, with — icUh^ — 
 O with — but wUh this I passion to say wherewith. 
 
 Cost. Willi a wench. 
 
 King, -^wilh a child of our grandmother Eve, a 
 female; or,forthy more sweet undcrstaiiding, a wo- 
 man. Him I {as my ever esteemed duly pricks vieou) 
 have sent to thee, to receire the meed ojf punishment, 
 by thy sweet grace's officer, .,dntony Dull ; a man of 
 good repute, carriage, bearing, and estimation. 
 
 Dull. Me, an't shall please jou ; I am Antony Dull. 
 
 King, For Jaquenclta,{ao is the weaker vessel call- 
 ed, which I apprehended with the aforesaid swain,) 
 J keep her as a vessel of tliy law's fury : and shall, 
 at the least of thy sweet notice, bring her to trial. 
 Thine, in all compliments of devoted and heart-burn- 
 ing heat of duty, Don Adriano de Abmado. 
 
 Biron. This is not so well as I looked for, but 
 the best that ever I heard. 
 
 King. Ay, the best for the worst. But, sirrah, 
 what say you to this ? 
 
 Cost. Sir, I confess the wench. 
 
 King. Did you hear the proclamation ? 
 
 Cost. I do confess much of the hearing it, but 
 little of the markins; of it. 
 
 King. It was proclaimed a year's imprisonment, 
 to be taken with a wench. 
 
 Cost. I was taken with none, sir ; I was taken 
 with a damosel. 
 
 t^ing. Well, it was proclaimed damosel. 
 
 Cost. This was no damosel neither, sir ; she was 
 a virgin. 
 
 King. It is so varied too ; for it was proclaimed 
 virgin. 
 
 Cost. If it were, I deny hervirginity ; I was taken 
 with a maid. 
 
 hing. This maid will not serve j'our turn, sir. 
 
 Cost. This maid will serve my turn, sir. 
 
 hing. Sir, I will pronounce your sentence ; Vou 
 shall fast a week with bran and water. 
 
 Cost. I had rather pray a month with mutton and 
 porridge. 
 
 Ainj. And Don Annado shall be your keeper. 
 
 Sly lord Biron, see him deliver'd o'er. — 
 Ajid go we, lords, to put in practice, that 
 
 W hich each to other hath so strongly sworn. — 
 [Eiiunt King, Longaville, and Di'main. 
 
 Biron. I 'U lay my head to any good man's hat. 
 These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. — , 
 
 Sirrah, come on. 
 
 Ciisf. I suffer for the truth, sir: for true it is, I 
 was taken with .laquenetta. and .laquenetta is a true 
 girl ; and therefore, Welcome the sour cup of pros- 
 perity ! .Vfflictiun may one day smile again, and till 
 then. Sit thee down, sorrow ! [£jciijit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Another part of the same. Armado's House. 
 
 Enter Ahmabo ajid Moth, 
 
 Arm. Boy, what sign is it, when a man of great 
 spirit grows melancholy ? 
 
 Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad. 
 Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same thing, 
 dear imp. 
 
 Moth. No, no; O lord, sir, no. 
 Arm. How canst tliou part sadness and melancholy, 
 my tender Juvenal ? 
 
 Moih. By a familiar demonstration of the work- 
 ing, my tough senior. 
 
 Arm. Why tough senior'! why tough senior 1 
 Moth. Why tender Juvenal ? why tender juvenal I 
 Arm. I spoke it. tender juvenal, as a congruent 
 epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which we 
 may nominate tender. 
 
 Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title 
 to your old time, which we may name tough. 
 Arm. Pretty, and apt. 
 
 Jl/ii(/i. How mean you, sir ; I pretty, and my say- 
 ing apt? or I apt, and my saying pretty 1 
 Arm. Thou pretty, because little. 
 Moth. Little pretty, because little : Wherefore apt! 
 Arm. And therefore apt, because quick. 
 Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master ? 
 Arm. In thy condign praise. 
 Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise. 
 Ar:n. What? tliat an eel is ingenious? 
 Moth. That an eel is quick. 
 
 Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers : Thou 
 heatest my blood. 
 
 Moth. I am answered, sir. 
 Arm. I love not to be crossed. 
 Moth. He speaks the mere contrary, crosses love 
 not him. [.iside. 
 
 Ann. I have promised to study three years with 
 the duke. 
 
 Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir. 
 Arm, Impossible. 
 
 Moth. How many is one thrice told ? 
 Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit of 
 a tapster. 
 
 Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir. 
 Arm. I confess both ; they are both the varnish of 
 a complete man. 
 
 Moth. Then, I am sure, you know how much the 
 gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to. 
 
 Arm. It doth amount to one more than two. 
 Moth. Which the base vulgar do call, three. 
 Arm. True. 
 
 Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study? 
 Now here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink: 
 and how easy it is to put years to the word three, and 
 study three years in two words, the dancing horse 
 will tell you. 
 
 Arm. A most fine figure ! 
 
 Moth. To prove you a cipher. [Aside. 
 
 Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love: and, 
 
 as it is base for a soldier to love, so am I in love with 
 
 a base wench. If drawing my sword against the 
 
 humour of affection would delivaj-me from the repro- 
 
170 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST, 
 
 bate thought of it, I would take deshe prisoner, and 
 ransom him to any French courtier for a new devised 
 courtesy. I think scorn to sigii ; methinks, I should 
 out-swear Cupid. Comfort me, boy : What great 
 men have been in level 
 
 Molli. Hercules, master. 
 
 Arm. Most sweet Hercules ! — More authority, dear 
 boy, name more ; and, sweet my child, let them be 
 men of good repute and carriage. 
 
 Moth. Sampson, master; he was a man of good 
 carriage, great carriage ; for he carried the town- 
 gates on his back, like a porter; and he was in love. 
 
 Ann, well-knit Sampson! strong-jointed Samp- 
 son 1 I do excel thee in my rapier, as much as thou 
 didst me in carrying gates. 1 am in love too, — Who 
 was Sampson's love, my dear Moth t 
 
 Mi*th, A woman, master. 
 
 Arm. Of what complexion 1 
 
 Moth. Of all the four, or the three, or the two ; or 
 one of the four. 
 
 Arm. I'ell me precisely of what complexion? 
 
 Moth. Of the sea-water green, sir. 
 
 Arm. Is that one of the four complexions'! 
 
 Moth. As I have read, sir : and the best of them too. 
 
 Arm. Green, indeed, is the colour of lovers ; but 
 to have a love of that colour, methinks, Sampson had 
 small reason for it. He, surely, attiicted her for her 
 wit. 
 
 Moth. It was so, sir ; for she had a green wit. 
 
 Ann. My love is most immaculate white and red. 
 
 Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are masked 
 under such colours. 
 
 Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant. 
 
 Moth. My father's wit, and my motlier's tongue 
 assist me. 
 
 Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty, 
 and pathetical ! . 
 
 Moth. If she be made of while and red, 
 Her faults will ne'er be known ; 
 For blushing cheeks by faults are bred. 
 
 And fears by pale white shewn : 
 Then, if she fear, or be to blame, 
 
 By this you shall not know ; 
 For still her cheeks possess the same, 
 Which native she doth owe. 
 A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of 
 white and red. 
 
 Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and 
 the Beggar. 
 
 Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad 
 some three ages since ; but, I think now 'tis not to 
 be found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve for 
 the writing, nor the tune. 
 
 Arm. I will have the subject newly writ o'er, that 
 I may example my digression by some mighty pre- 
 cedent. Boy, 1 do love that country girl, that I took 
 in the park with the rational hind Costard ; she de- 
 serves well. 
 
 Moth. To be whipped; and yet a better love than 
 my master. [Aside. 
 
 Arm. Sing, boy ; my spirit grows heavy in love. 
 
 Moth. And that's great marvel, lovinga light wench. 
 
 Arm. 1 say, sing. 
 
 Moth. Forbear till this company be past. 
 
 Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta. 
 
 Didl. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep 
 Costard safe : and you must let him take no delight, 
 nor no penance ; but a' must fast three days a-week. 
 For this damsel, I must keep her at the park ; she 
 is allowed for the day-woman. Fare you well. 
 
 Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — iMaid. 
 
 Jaq. Man. 
 
 Arm. 1 will visit thee at the lodge. 
 
 Jaq. That's hereby. 
 
 Ar7n. I know where it is situate. 
 
 Jaq. Lord, how wise you are! 
 
 Aiin. I will tell thee wonders. 
 
 Jaq. With that face 1 
 
 Arm. I love thee. 
 
 Jaq. So I heard you say. 
 
 Aryn. And so farewell. 
 
 Jaq. Fair weather after .you ! 
 
 Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away. 
 
 [Exeunt Di'LT. ajid Jaquenetta. 
 
 Arm. A'illain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere 
 thou be pardoned. 
 
 Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do 
 it on a full stomach. 
 
 Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished. 
 
 Cost. I am more bound to you, than your fellows, 
 for they are but lightly rewarded. 
 
 Arm. Take away this villain ; shut him up. 
 
 Moth. Come, you transgressing slave ; away. 
 
 Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir ; I will fast, 
 being loose. 
 
 Moth. No, sir ; that were fast and loose : then 
 shalt to prison. 
 
 Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of 
 desolation that I have seen, some shall see — 
 
 Moth, ^^"hat shall some see? 
 
 Cost. Nay nothing, master Moth, but what they 
 look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent in 
 their woids ; and, therefore, I will say nothing ; I 
 thank God, 1 have as little patience as another man ; 
 and, therefore, I can be quiet. 
 
 [Eieunt Moth atnl Costard. 
 
 Arm. I do affect the very ground, which is base, 
 where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot, 
 which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn, 
 (which is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love : 
 And how can that be true love, which is falsely at- 
 tempted ? Love is a familiar; love is a devil : there 
 is no evil angel but love, 'i'et Sampson was so 
 tempted ; and he had an excellent strength : yet was 
 Solomon so seduced ; and he had a very good wit. 
 Cupid's butt-shaft is too hard for Hercules' club, 
 and therefoie too much odds for a Spaniard's rapier. 
 The first and second cause will not serve my turn ; 
 the passado he respects not, the duello he regards 
 not : his disgrace is to be called boy ; but his glory 
 is, to subdue men. Adieu, valour ! rust, rapier ! be 
 still, drum ! for your manager is in love ; yea, he 
 loveth. Assist me some extemporal god of rhyme, 
 for, I am sure, I shall turn sonneteer. Devise wit ; 
 write pen ; for I am for whole volumes in folio. 
 
 [E«u)it. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Another part nf the same. A Paiilion 
 and Tents at a distance. 
 Enter the Princess of Fhance, Rosaline, M.tniA, 
 Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other Attendants, 
 Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest 
 Consider who the king your father sends ; [spirits ; 
 To whom he sends ; and what's his embassy : 
 Yourself, held precious in the world's esteem ; 
 To parley with the sole inheritor 
 Of all perfections that a man may owe, 
 Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight 
 Than Aquitain ; a dowry foi a queen. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 171 
 
 Be now as prodigal of all dear grace, 
 
 Ae. nature was in making graces dear. 
 
 AVhen she did starve the general world beside, 
 
 And prodigally gave them all to you, [mean, 
 
 Prill, Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but 
 Needs not the painted flourish of your praise ; 
 Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye. 
 Not utter'd liy base sale of chapmen's tongues : 
 I am less proud to hear you tell my worth, 
 Than v»JU much willing to be counted wise 
 In spending your wit in the praise of mine. 
 But now to task the tasker, — Good Boyet, 
 You are not ignorant, all-telling fame 
 Doth noise abroad, Navarre hath made a vow, 
 Till painful study shall out-wear three years, 
 No woman may approach his silent court : 
 Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course, 
 Before we enter his forbidden gates, 
 To know his pleasure ; and in that behalf, 
 Bold of your worthiness, we single you 
 As our best-moving fair solicitor; 
 Tell hira, the daughter of the king of France, 
 On serious business, craving quick despatch, 
 Importunes personal conference with his grace. 
 Haste, signify so much ; while we attend. 
 Like humbly visag'd suitors, his high will. 
 
 Boiiet. Proud of employment, willingly 1 go. [Exit. 
 
 Prill. All pride is willing pride, and your's is so. — 
 Who are the votaries, my loving lords, 
 That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke 1 
 
 1 Lord. X^ngaville is one. 
 
 Prin. Know you the man ? 
 
 Mar. 1 know him, madam ; at a marriage feast, 
 Between lord Perlgort and the beauteous heir 
 Of Jacques Falconbridge solemnized. 
 In Normandy saw I this Longaville : 
 A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ; 
 Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms : 
 Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well. 
 The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss, 
 (If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,) 
 Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will ; 
 Whose edge hath power to cut whose will still wills 
 It should none spare that come within his power. 
 
 Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belike ; is't so ? 
 
 Mar, They say so most, that most his humours 
 know. 
 
 Prill. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow. 
 Who are the rest ? [youth, 
 
 Kuth. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd 
 Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd ; 
 Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ; 
 For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, 
 And shape to win grace though he had no wit. 
 I saw him at the duke Alencon's once ; 
 And much too little of that good I saw, 
 Is my report, to his great worthiness. 
 
 lias. Another of these students at that time 
 Was there with him : if I have heard a truth, 
 Biron they call hira ; but a merrier man, 
 Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
 His eye begets occasion for his wit : 
 For every object that the one doth catch, 
 The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ; 
 Which his fair tongue (^conceit's expositor,) 
 Delivers in such apt and gracious words, 
 That aged ears play truant at his tales, 
 And younger hearings are quite ravished ; 
 So sweet and voluble is his discourse. 
 
 Prill. God bless my ladies ! are they all in love ; 
 Thai every one her own hath garnished 
 
 With such bedecking ornaments of praise? 
 
 Mar. Here comes Boyet. 
 
 Re-enter Boyet. 
 
 Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ? 
 
 Bnvet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach *, 
 And he. and his competitors in oath. 
 Were all addressed to meet you, gentle lady. 
 Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt, 
 He rather means to lodge you in the field, 
 (Like one that comes here to besiege his court,) 
 Than seek a dispensation for his oath. 
 To let you enter his unpeopled house. 
 Here comes Navarre. [The Ladies inask. 
 
 Enter KiNGt Longaville, Dumain, Biron, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of 
 Navarre. 
 
 Prill. Fair, I give you back again ; and, welcome 
 I have not yet : the roof of this court is too high to 
 be yours ; and welcome to the wild fields too base 
 to be mine. 
 
 King. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court. 
 
 Prin. I will be welcome then ; conduct me thither. 
 
 King. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath. 
 
 Prin. Our lady help my lord ! he'll be forsworn. 
 
 King. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will. 
 
 Prin. Why, will shall break it; will, and nothing 
 
 King, Your ladyship is ignorant what it is. [else. 
 
 Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise, 
 Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance. 
 I hear, your grace hath sworn-out house-keeping : 
 'Tis deadly sin to keep that oath, my lord, 
 And sin to break it : 
 But pardon me, I am too sudden bold ; 
 To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me. 
 Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming. 
 And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Giues a paper. 
 
 King. Rladam, I will, if suddenly I may. 
 
 Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away ; 
 For you'll prove perjur'd, if you make me stay. 
 
 Biron, Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? 
 
 Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ? 
 
 Biron. I know you did. 
 
 Ros. How needless was it then 
 
 To ask the question ! 
 
 Biron, You must not be so quick. 
 
 Ros, 'Tis 'long of you that spur me with such 
 questions. ['twill tire. 
 
 Bn'on. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 
 
 Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire. 
 
 Biron. \\niat time o' day f 
 
 Ros. The hour tiiat fools should ask. 
 
 Biron. Now fair befall your mask! 
 
 R'is. Fair fall the face it covers ! 
 
 Biron. And send you many lovers ! 
 
 Ros. Amen, so you be none. 
 
 Biron. Nay, then will I be gone. 
 
 King. Madam, your father here doth intimate 
 The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ; 
 Being but the one half of an entire sum. 
 Disbursed by my father in his wars. 
 But say, that he, or we, (as neither have.) 
 Receiv'd that sum ; yet there remains unpaid 
 A hundred thousand more ; in surety of the which. 
 One part of Aquitain is bound to us, 
 Although not valued to tlie money's worth. 
 If then the king your father will restore 
 But that one half which is unsatisfied, 
 We will give up our right in Aquftain, 
 And hold fair friendship with his majesty. 
 But that, it seems, he little purposeth. 
 
17-2 
 
 LOVES LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 For here he iloth demind to have repaid 
 
 An hundred tiiousand crowns ; and not demands, 
 
 On pa^'ment of a liundred tiiousand crowns, 
 
 To have his title live in yVquitain ; 
 
 M'hich we much rather had depart withai, 
 
 And have the money by our father lent, 
 
 Than Aquitain so gelded as it is. 
 
 Dear princess, were not his requests so far 
 
 From reason's yielding, your fair self should make 
 
 A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast, 
 
 And go well satisfied to France again. 
 
 Priu, You do the king my father too much wrong, 
 And wrong the reputation of your name. 
 In so unseeming to confess receipt 
 Of that which hath so faithfully been paid- 
 
 King. I do protest, I never heard of it ; 
 And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back. 
 Or yield up Aquitain. 
 
 Prill. ■ We arrest your word : — 
 
 Boyet, you can produce acquittances, 
 For such a sum, from special officers 
 Of Charles his father. 
 
 King. Satisfy me so. 
 
 Boifet. So please your grace, the packet is not come, 
 'Where that and other specialties are bound ; 
 To-morrow you shall have a sight of them. 
 
 King. It shall suffice me : at which interview. 
 All liberal reason I will yield unto. 
 Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand. 
 As honour, without breach of honour, may 
 Slake tender of to thy true worthiness : 
 \ ou may not come, fair princess, in my gates ; 
 But here without you shall be so receiv'd, 
 As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart. 
 Though so denied fair harbour in my house. 
 Your own good tnoughts excuse me, and farewell : 
 To-morrow shall we visit you again, [o-race ! 
 
 Prin. Sweet health and fair desires consort your 
 
 King. Thv own wish wish I thee in every place ! 
 [E.veiint King and his train. 
 
 Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own heart. 
 
 Ros. 'Pray jfou, do my commendations ; I would 
 be glad to see it. 
 
 Biron. I would, you heard it groan. 
 
 Ros. Is the fool sick ? 
 
 Biron. Sick at heart. 
 
 Ros. Alack, let it blood. 
 
 Biron. Would that do it good? 
 
 Ros. My physic says, I. 
 
 Biron. Will you prick 't with your eye 1 
 
 Ros. No poynt, with my knife. 
 
 Biron. Now, God save thy life ! 
 
 Ros. And yours from long living ! 
 
 Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring. 
 
 Dum. Sir, I pray you, a word : What lady is that 
 same ? 
 
 Bojiet. The heir of Alen^on, Rosaline her name. 
 
 Dum. A gallant lady I Monsieur, fare you well. 
 
 [Eiit. 
 
 Long. I beseech you a word ; What is she in the 
 white ? [light. 
 
 Botiet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in the 
 
 Long. Perchance, light in the light ; I desire her 
 name. [were a shame. 
 
 Boiiet. She hath but one for herself ; to desire that. 
 
 Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter? 
 
 Boiiet. Her mother's, I have heard. 
 
 Long. God's blessing on your beard ! 
 
 Boiiet. Good sir, be not offended: 
 She is an heir of Falconbridge. 
 
 Long. Nay, my choler is ended. 
 She is a most sweet lady. 
 
 Boyet. Not unlike, sir ; that may be. [Eiit Lono. 
 
 Biron. What's !ier name, in the cap! 
 
 Boyet. Katharine, by good hap. 
 
 Biron. Is she wedded, or no ! 
 
 Boyet. To her will, sir, or so. 
 
 Biron. You are welcome, sir ; adieu 
 
 Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you. 
 
 [Exit BlltON. — Ladif^s unmit.sk. 
 Mar. The last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord ; 
 Not a word with hira but a jest. 
 Boyet. And every jest but a word. 
 
 Prin. It was well done of you to take him at his 
 word. [board. 
 
 Boyet. I was as willing to grapple, as he was to 
 Mar. Two hot sheeps, marry I 
 Boyet. And wherefore not ships? 
 
 No sheep, sweet lamb, unle.ss we feed on your lips. 
 Mar. You sheep, and I pasture; Shall that finish 
 Boyet. So you grant pasture for me. [the jest ? 
 [Offering to kiss Iter. 
 Mar. Not so, gentle beast ; 
 
 My lips are no common, though several they be. 
 Boyet. Belonging to whom I 
 Mar. To my fortunes and me. 
 
 Prin. Good wits will be jangling: but, gentles, 
 The civil war of wits were much better used [agree : 
 On Navarre and his book-men ; for here 'tis abused. 
 Boyet. If my observation, (which very seldom lies,) 
 By the heart's still rhetoric, disclosed witii eyes. 
 Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected. 
 Prill. With what ! 
 
 Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, aflTected. 
 Prin. Your reason. 
 
 Boyet. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire 
 To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire : 
 His heart, like an agate, with your piint impressed, 
 Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed ; 
 His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see. 
 Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be ; 
 All senses to that sense did make their repair. 
 To feel only looking on fairest of fair : 
 Methought all his senses were lock'd in his eve. 
 As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; [glass'd. 
 Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they were 
 Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. 
 His face's own margent did quote such amazes. 
 That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes : 
 I '11 give you Aquitain, and all that is his, 
 An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss. .' 
 Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd — 
 Boijet. But to speak that in words, which his eye 
 I only have made a mouth of his eye, [hath disclos'd ; 
 By adding a tongue which I know will not lie. 
 Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st 
 skilfully. [of hira. 
 
 Mar. He is Cupid's grandfather, and earns news 
 Ros. Then was Venus like her mother ; for her 
 
 father is but grim. 
 Bouet. Do you hear, my mad wenches? 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Boyet. What then, do you see ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, our way to be gone. 
 Boyet. You are too hard for me. [EieunU 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 ■ SCENE I Another part of the same. 
 
 Enter Armado and Moth. 
 Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense 
 of hearing. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 173 
 
 Mot. Concolinel — — [Singing. 
 
 Arm. Sweet air ! — Go, tenderness of years! take 
 this kty, give enlargement to the swain, bring him 
 feslinately hither ; I must employ him in a letter to 
 my love. [brawl ? 
 
 Moth. Master, will you win your love with a French 
 
 Ann. How mean'st thou ? brawling- in French 1 
 
 Moth, No, my complete master; but to jtg ofi' a 
 tune at tlie tongue's end, canary to it with your feet, 
 humour it with turning up your eye-lids ; sigh a note, 
 and sing a n He ; sometime through the throat, as if 
 vou swailowtd love with singing love ; sometime 
 through the nose, as if you snutfed up love by smel- 
 ling love ; with your hat penthouselike, o'er the shop 
 of your eyes ; with your arms crossed on your thin 
 belly-doublet, like a rabbit on a spit ; or your hands 
 in your pocket, like a man after the old painting ; 
 and keep not too long in one tune, but a snip and 
 away: These are complements, these are humours ; 
 these betray nice wenches — that would be betrayed 
 without these ; and make them men of note, (do you 
 note, men V) that most are afiected to these. 
 
 Ann. How hast thou purchased this experience? 
 
 Moth, By my penny of observation. 
 
 Arm. But O,— but 0— 
 
 Moth. — the hobby horse is forgot? 
 
 Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse? 
 
 Moth. No, master ; the hobby-horse is but a colt, 
 and your love, perhaps, a hacknev. But have you 
 forgot your love ? 
 
 Arm. Almost I had. 
 
 Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart. 
 
 Ann, By heart, and in heart, boy. 
 
 Moth, And out of heart, master : all those three I 
 will prove. 
 
 Arm. What wilt thou prove ? 
 
 Moth. A man, if I live; and this, by, in, and with- 
 out, upon the instant: By heart you love her, because 
 yourheartcannot comeby her : in heart you love her, 
 because your heart is in love with her ; and out of 
 heart you love her, being out of heart that you can- 
 not enjoy her. 
 
 Arm. I am all these three. 
 
 Moth. And three times as much more, and yet 
 nothing at all. [a letter. 
 
 Ann. Fetch hither the swain ; he must carry me 
 
 Moth. A message well sympathized ; a horse to be 
 embassador for an ass ! 
 
 Arm. Ha, ha ! what savest thou ? 
 
 Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the 
 horse, for he is very slow-gaited : But I go. 
 
 Arm. The way is but short ; away. 
 
 Moth, As swift as lead, sir. 
 
 Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious? 
 Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ? 
 
 Moth. Minimi-, honest master ; orrather, master, no, 
 
 Ann. I say, lead is slow. 
 
 Moth. You are too swift, sir. to say so : 
 
 Is that lead slow which is fir'd from a gun ? 
 
 Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetoric ! 
 He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that's he : — 
 I shoot thee at the swain. 
 
 Moth. Thump then, and I flee. [Erit, 
 
 Arm, A most acute juvenal ; voluble and free of 
 grace ! 
 By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face : 
 Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place. 
 My herald is relurn'd. 
 
 Re-enter Moth arid Costard. 
 
 Moth. A wonder, master : iiere's a Costa^'d broken 
 in a shin 
 
 Arm. Some enigma, some riddle : come, — thy 
 r enroll ; — begin. 
 
 Cost. No egma, no riddle, no renvcy ; no salve 
 in them all, sir; O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ; 
 no reuvou, no ['emnu, no salve, sir, but a plantain ! 
 
 Arm, By virtue, thou enforces! laughter; thy silly 
 thougjit, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs pro- 
 vokes me to ridiculous smiling : O, pardon me, my 
 stars ! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for /'euioi/, 
 and the word, Venvoii, for a salve? 
 
 ilii'(/(. Do the wise think them other? is not I'envoy 
 a salve ? [make plain 
 
 Arm. No, page: it is an epilogue or discourse, to 
 Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain. 
 1 will example it : 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 "Were still at odds, being but three. 
 There's the moral : Now the Venvou. * 
 
 Moth. I will add the C envoy . say the moral again. 
 
 Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 Were still at odds, being but three : 
 
 Moth, Until the goose came out of door, 
 And stay'd the odds by adding four. 
 Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow 
 with my t' envoy. 
 
 The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee, 
 Were still at odds, being but three : 
 
 Arm. Until the goose came out of door, 
 Staying the odds by adding four. 
 
 Moth. A good Te/imu, ending in the goose; Would 
 you desire more ? 
 
 Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose, 
 that's flat :— 
 Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat. — 
 To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose* 
 Let me see a fat i' envoy ; ay, that's a f^t goose. 
 
 Arm. Come hither, come hither: How did this 
 argument begin ? 
 
 Mi'tA. By saying that a Costard was broken in ashin. 
 Then call'd you for the Cenvoy. 
 
 Cost. True, and I for a plantain : Thus came your 
 argument in ; 
 Then the boy's fat Venvoy, the goose that you bought ; 
 And he ended the market. 
 
 Arm. But tell me; how was there a Costard broken 
 in a shin ? 
 
 Moth. I will tell you sensibly. 
 
 Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it, Moth ; I will 
 speak that T envoy. 
 
 I, Costard, running out, that was safely within, 
 Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin. 
 
 Arm. We will talk no more of this matter. 
 
 Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin. 
 
 Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee. 
 
 Cost, 0, marry me to one Frances; — I smell some 
 Venvoy^ some goose, in this. 
 
 Ann. By my sweet soul, I mean, setting thee at 
 liberty, enfreedoming thy person ; thou wert im- 
 mured, restrained, captivated, bound. 
 
 Cost, True, true ; and now you will be my purga- 
 tion, and let me loose. 
 
 Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from dur- 
 ance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing 
 but this : Bear this significant to the country maid 
 Jaquenetta : there is remuneration; [^I'i"^ him 
 mojiet/-] for the best ward of mine honour, is. re- 
 warding my dependents. Moth, follow. [Exit. 
 
 Motk Like the sequel,I.—Signior Costard, adieu. 
 
 Cost. My sweet ounce of man's flesh! my incony 
 Jew! [Exit Moth. 
 
 Now will 1 look to his remuneration. Remunera- 
 tion ! 0, that's the Latin word for three farthings : 
 
174 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST, 
 
 three farthings — remuneration. — Il'/iul's the price of 
 this inklel a peivm: — A'», I'll give finu a remunera- 
 tion : why, it carries it. — Remuneration ! — why, it 
 is a fairer name than French crown. I will never 
 buy and sell out of this word. 
 
 "Enter BiRON. 
 
 Biron. O, my good knave Costard ! exceedingly 
 well met. 
 
 Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon 
 may a man buy for a remuneration ? 
 
 Biron. What is a remuneration ? 
 
 Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing. 
 
 Biron. O, why then, three-l'arthings-worth of silk. 
 
 Cost. I thank your worship : God be with you ! 
 
 Biron. 0, stay, slave ; I must employ thee : 
 As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave, 
 }io one thing for me that I shall entreat. 
 
 Cost. When would you have it done, sir f 
 
 Biron. O, this afternoon. 
 
 Cost. Well, I will do it, sir : Fare you well. 
 
 Biron. O, thou knowest not what it is. 
 
 Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it. 
 
 Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first. 
 
 Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 Biron. It mtist be done this afternoon. Hark, 
 slave, it is but this ; — 
 The princess comes to hunt here in the park. 
 And in her train there is a gentle lady ; [name. 
 
 When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her 
 And Rosaline they call her : ask for her ; 
 And to her white hand see thou do commend 
 This seal'd-up counsel. There's thy guerdon ; go. 
 
 [Gives him money. 
 
 Cost. Guerdon, — O sweet guerdon ! better than 
 remuneration ; eleven-pence farthing better : JNIost 
 sweet guerdon ! — I will do it, sir, in print. — Guerdon 
 — remuneration. [Exit. 
 
 Birim. O ! — And I, forsooth, in love ! I, that have 
 been love's whip ; 
 A very beadle to a humorous sigh ; 
 A critic ; nay, a night-watch constable ; 
 A domineering pedant o'er the boy. 
 Than whom no mortal so magnificent ! 
 This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy ; 
 This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid; 
 Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms. 
 The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, 
 Liege of all loiterers and malcontents. 
 Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, 
 Sole imperator, and great general 
 Of trotting paritors, O my little heart ! — 
 And 1 to be a corporal of his field, 
 And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop ' 
 What! I! I love ! I sue! 1 seek a wife! 
 A woman, that is like a German clock, 
 Still a repairing ; ever out of frame ; 
 And nevei going aright, being a watch. 
 But being watch'd that it may still go right? 
 Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all ; 
 And, among three, to love the worst of all ; 
 A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, 
 With two pitch balls stuck in her face for eyes ; 
 Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed. 
 Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard : 
 And 1 to sigh for her ! to watch for her ! 
 To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague 
 That Cupid will impose for my neglect 
 Of his almighty dreadful little might. 
 Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan ; 
 Some men must love my lady, and some Joan. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I Another part of the same. 
 
 Enter the Princess, Rosaline, JMaria, KATHAnmE, 
 BovFT, Lords, Attendants, and c Forester. 
 
 Prin. Was that the king, that spurr'd his horse so 
 Against the steep uprising of tiie hilH [hard 
 
 Boiiet. I know not ; but, 1 think, it was not he. 
 
 Prin. Whoe'erhe was, heshew'da mounting mind. 
 Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ; 
 On Saturday we will return to France.- — 
 Then, forester, my friend, where is the bush. 
 That we must stand and play the murderer in ? 
 
 For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice j 
 A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot. 
 
 Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot. 
 And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot. 
 
 Fur. Pardon me, madam, fori meant not so. 
 
 Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again say, 
 O short-Iiv'd pride ! Not fair? alack for wue! [no? 
 
 For. Yes, madam, fair. 
 
 Prin. Nay. never paint me now; 
 
 Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. 
 Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ; 
 
 [Giving him money. 
 Fair payment for foul words is more than due. 
 
 For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit. 
 
 Pri7i. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit 
 O heresy in fair, fit for these days ! 
 A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise. — 
 But come, the bow : — Now mercy goes to kill, 
 And shooting well is then accounted ill. 
 Thus will I save my credit in the shoot ; 
 Not wounding, pity would not let me do't ; 
 If wounding, then it was to shew my skill. 
 That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill. 
 And, out of question, so it is sometimes ; 
 Glojy grows guilty of detested crimes ; 
 When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part. 
 We bend to that the working of the heart : 
 As I, for' praise alone, now seek to spill 
 The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. 
 
 Bo^et. Do not curst wives hold thatself-sovereignty 
 Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be 
 Lords o'er their lords ? 
 
 Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may afford 
 To any lady "that subdues a lord. 
 
 Enter CosxAnD. 
 
 Priti. Here comes a member of the common-wealth. 
 
 Cost. God dig-you-den all ! Pray you, which is the 
 head lady? 
 
 Prin. Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest 
 that have no heads. 
 
 Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ? 
 
 Prin. The thickest, and the tallest. [is truth. 
 
 Cost. The thickest, and the tallest ! it is so ; truth 
 
 An your waist, mistress, were as slender as my wit, 
 
 One of these maids' girdles for your waist should be 
 
 fit. [here. 
 
 Are not you the chief woman ? you are the thickest 
 
 Prin. What's your will, sir? what's your will? 
 
 Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one 
 lady Rosaline. [of mine : 
 
 Prin. 0, thy letter, thy letter ; he's a good friend 
 Stand aside, good bearer. — Boyet, you can carve ; 
 Break up this capon. 
 
 Boyet. I a™ bound to serve. — 
 
 This letter is mistook, it importeth none here ; 
 It is writ to Jaquenetta. 
 
 Prill. We will read it, I swear : 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 175 
 
 Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear. 
 
 Bovet. [Reads.^ Bu heaven, that thou art Jair is 
 most hifaltibte ; true, that thou art beauteous; truth 
 itf^etf, that thoH art lovely : More fairer thanfair, beau- 
 tiful tkari beauteous ; truer than truth itself; have com- 
 tniseration on thif heroicat vassal! The magnanimous 
 and most iflustrate king Co^heXudi set eye upon the per- 
 Jticious and induhitate beggar Zenelophon ; and he it 
 u-as that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici ; uhich to 
 anatomize in the vulgar, (0 base and obscure vulgar !) 
 videlicet, he came, saw, and ovei'came : he came, one; 
 saw, two; overcame, three. Who earned the king; 
 Why did he come? to see ; Why did he see? to over- 
 come: To whom came he? to the beggar ; What snio 
 he? the beggar ; Who overcame he? the beggar: The 
 conclusion is victory ; On ivliose side? the hinges : the 
 captive is eni'icli'd ; On whose side? thebeggars : The 
 catastrophe is a nuptial: Ott whose side? The king's? 
 — no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the king ; 
 for so stands the comparison : thou, the beggar ; for so 
 witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I command thy love? 
 I maii : Shalt I enforce thy love? IcouUi: Shall I en- 
 treat thy love? I icilL What shalt thou exchange for 
 rags ? robes ; For tittles, titles ; For thyself, me. Thus, 
 expecting thy reply, Iprofanemy lips on thy foot, my 
 eyes on thy picture, and my heart on thy every part. 
 Thine, in the dearest design of i/idustry, 
 
 Don Adriano de Armado. 
 Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar 
 
 'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey ; 
 Submissive fall his princely feet before, 
 
 And he from forage will incline to play : 
 But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then"! 
 Food for his rage, repasture for his den. 
 
 Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited 
 
 this letter 1 [better 1 
 
 What vane ^ what weather-cock ? did you ever hear 
 
 Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the 
 style. [while. 
 
 Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o'er it ere- 
 
 Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps here 
 in court ; 
 A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport 
 To the prince, and his book-mates, 
 
 Prin. Thou, fellow, a word : 
 
 Who gave thee this letter 1 
 
 Cost. I told you ; my lord. 
 
 Prin, To whom should'st thou give it? 
 
 Cost, From my lord to my lady. 
 
 Prin. From which lord, to which lady^ 
 
 Cost. From my lord Biroa, a good master of mine ; 
 To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline, [away. 
 
 Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come, lords, 
 
 Here, sweet, put up this ; 'twill be thine anotherday. 
 
 [E-i it Princmss and train. 
 
 Boyet. Who is the suitor? who is the suitor? 
 
 Ros. Shall I teach you to know 1 
 
 Boyet, Ay, my continent of beauty. 
 
 Ros. Why, she that bears the bow. 
 
 Finely put off! [marry, 
 
 Boyet. My lady goes to kill horns ; but, if thou 
 Hang me by the neck, if horns that year miscarry. 
 Finely put on ! 
 
 Ros. Well then, 1 am the shooter. 
 
 Boyet. And who is your deer ? 
 
 Ros. If we choose by the horns, yourself : come 
 Finely put on, indeed ! — [near. 
 
 Mar. You still wrangle with her, Boyet, and she 
 strikes at the brow. 
 
 Boyet. But she herself is hit lower : Have I hit 
 her now 1 
 
 Ecs. Shall I come upon thee with an old saying. 
 
 that was a man when king Pepin of France was a 
 little boy, as touching the hit it? 
 
 Boyet. So I may answer thee with one as old, that 
 was a woman when queen Guineverof Britain was a 
 little wencli, as touching the hit it. 
 
 Ros. Thou canst Jiot hii it, hit it, hit it, [Singing 
 
 Thou canst not hit it, my good man. 
 Boyet. An I cannot, cannot, cannot, 
 An I cannot, another can, 
 
 ^Exeunt Ros. and Kath. 
 
 Cost. By my troth, most pleasant ! how both did 
 
 fit it ! [did hit it. 
 
 Mar. A mark marvellous well shot : for they bota 
 
 Boyet. A mark ! O, mark but that mark ; A mark, 
 
 says my lady ! 
 
 Let the mark have a prick in't, tometeat, if itmaybe. 
 
 Mar, Wide o' the bow hand ! I'faith your hand is 
 
 out. [hit the clout. 
 
 Cost, Indeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er 
 
 Boyet, An if my hand be out, then, belike your 
 
 hand is in. [the pin. 
 
 Cost. Then will she get the upshot by cleaving 
 
 Mar. Come, come, you talk greasily, your lips 
 
 grow foul. [Isiig® her to bowl. 
 
 Cost, She's too hard for you at pricks, sir; chal- 
 
 Boyet. I fear too much rubbing; Good night my 
 
 good owl. l^Eieunt Boyet and Maria. 
 
 Cost. By my soul, a swain ! a most simple clown ! 
 
 Lord, lord ! how the ladies and I have put him down ! 
 
 0' my troth, most sweet jests ! most incony vulgar 
 
 wit ! [were, so tit. 
 
 When it comes so smoothly off, so obscenely, as it 
 
 Armatho o' the one side. — O, a moit dainty man ! 
 
 To see him walk before a lady, and to bear her fan ! 
 
 To see him kiss his hand ! and how most sweetly a' 
 
 will swear ! — 
 And his page o' t' other side, that handful of wit ! 
 All, heavens, it is a most pathetical nit ! 
 Sola, sola ! [Shouting within, 
 
 [Exit Costard, running, 
 
 SCENE IL—T/iesamg. 
 
 E«ter HoLOFERNES, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 
 
 Nath. Very reverent sport, truly ; and done in the 
 testimony of a good conscience. 
 
 liol. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis, — 
 blood ; ripe as a pomewater, who now hangeth like a 
 jewel in the ear of co:lo, — the sky, the welkin, the 
 heaven; and anon falleth like a crab, on the face ot 
 terra, — the soil, the land, the earth. 
 
 Nath, Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are 
 sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least; But, sir, 
 I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head. 
 
 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. 
 
 Dull, 'Twas not a hand credo ; 'twas a pricket. 
 
 Hoi. Mostbarbarous intimation ! yet a kind of in- 
 sinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explication ; 
 facere, as it were, replication, or, rather, ostentare, to 
 shew, as it were, his inclination, — after his undress- 
 ed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or 
 rather unlettered, or.ratherest, unconfirmed fa.shion, 
 — to insert again my baud credo for a deer. 
 
 Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo ; 'twas 
 a pricket. 
 
 Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, his coctus ! — thou 
 monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look ! 
 
 Nath. Sir, he hath nt^ver fed of the dainties that 
 
 are bied in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it 
 
 I were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intellect is not 
 
 1 replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible m 
 
 ' the duller parts j 
 
17G 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 And sucli barren plants are set before us, that we 
 
 thankful should he 
 (Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts 
 
 that do fructify in us more than he. 
 For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet, j 
 or a fool, [a school : 
 
 So, were there a patch set on learning, to see him in 
 But, omiie bene, say I ; being of an old father's mind 
 Many can broitk the weathpr, that love nat the ttijid. 
 
 Dull. Vou two are book-men ; Can you tell by 
 your wit. 
 What was a month old at Cain's birth, that 's not 
 five weeks old as yet ? 
 
 Hoi. Dictynna, good man Dull ; Dictynna, good 
 man Dull. 
 
 Dull. What is Dictynna? 
 
 Nuth. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon. 
 
 Hoi. The moon was a month old, when Adam 
 
 was no more ; [score ; 
 
 And raught not to five weeks, when he came to five- 
 The allusion holds in the exchange. 
 
 Dull. "I'is true indeed ; the collusion holds in the 
 exchange. 
 
 Hoi. God comfort thy capacity ! I say, the allu- 
 sion holds in the exchange. 
 
 Dull. And I say the pollusion holds in the ex- 
 change ; for the moon is never but a month old ; 
 and 1 say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin- 
 cess kiU'd. 
 
 Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal 
 epitaph on the death of the deer ? and, to humour 
 the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess 
 kill'd, a pricket. 
 
 Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge ; so 
 it shall please you to abrogate scurrility. 
 
 Hoi. I will something affect the letter ; for it 
 argues facility. 
 
 The praisef'al princess pierced and prick'd a pretty 
 pleasing pricket ; [^with shooting. 
 
 Some say, a sore ; but not a 50''e, till 7iow made sore 
 The dogs did yell ; put I to sore then sorel jumps from 
 thicket; \ 
 
 Or pricket , sore, or else sorel ; the people fall a hooting. 
 If sore be sore, then L to sore jnakes Jifty sores ; sore LI 
 Of one sore I an hundred makey by adding but 07te 
 more L. 
 
 Nath. A rare talent! 
 
 Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws 
 him with a talent. 
 
 Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ; 
 a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, 
 shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, re- 
 volutions : these are begot in the ventricle of me- 
 mory, nourish'd in the womb of pia mater; and de- 
 liver'd upon the mellowing of occasion: But the 
 gift is good in those in whom it is acute, and I am 
 thankful for it. 
 
 Nath. Sir, I praise the Lord for you ; and so may 
 my parishioners ; for their sons are well tutor 'd by 
 you, and their daughters profit very greatly under 
 you : you are a good member of the commonwealth. 
 
 Hoi. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they 
 shall want no instruction : if their daughters be 
 capable, I will put it to them : But, rir sapit, qui 
 pauca loquitur: a soul feminine saluteth us. 
 
 Ejiter Jaquenetta and Costard. 
 
 Jaq. God give you good morrow, master person. 
 
 Hoi. IMaster person, — quasi pers-on. And if one 
 should be pierced, which is the one 1 
 
 Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is lik- 
 est to a hogshead. 
 
 H(d. Of piercing a hogshead I a good lustre of 
 conceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a flmt, 
 pearl enough for a swine ; 'tis pretty ; it is well. 
 
 .faq. Good master parson, be so good as read me 
 this lettei ; it was given me by Costard, and sent ma 
 from Don Armatho : I beseech you, read it. 
 
 Hoi, Fauste, precor gelidd quando pecus omne sub 
 umbrd 
 Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, good old Wantuan ! 
 1 may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice : 
 
 Vinegia, Vinegia, 
 
 Chi lion te vede, ei mm te pregia. 
 Old Jlantuan ' old Mantuan ! Who understandetb 
 
 thee not, loves thee not Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. — 
 
 Under pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, rather, 
 as Hoiace says in his — What, my soul, verses '. 
 
 Nath. Ay, sir, and very learned. 
 
 Hoi, Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse ; Lege, 
 domi7ie. 
 
 Nath. If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear 
 to love ? 
 
 Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove ; 
 
 Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers 
 bowed. 
 Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes ; 
 
 Where all those pleasures live, that art would 
 comprehend : 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; 
 
 Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee 
 commend : 
 All ignorant that soul, that sees thee mthout wonder; 
 
 (Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts 
 admire ; ) 
 Thy eye .love's lightning bears, thy voice his (ireadf'il 
 thunder, 
 
 Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire. 
 Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrung. 
 That si.-.gs heaven's praise with such an earthly 
 tongue ! 
 
 Hot. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss 
 the accent : let me supervise the canzonet. Here 
 are only numbers ratified ; but, for the elegancy, 
 facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovi- 
 dius Naso was the man : and why, indeed, Naso ; 
 but for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, 
 the jerks of invention? Imiiari, is nothing: so 
 doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the 
 tired horse his rider. Hut damosella virgin, was 
 this directed to you ? 
 
 Jaq. Ay, sir, from one monsieur Biron, one of 
 the strange queen's lords. 
 
 Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. To the 
 snow-white hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline, 
 I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for the 
 nomination of the party writing to the person written 
 unto ; 
 
 Your Ladyship's in all desired employment, Biron, 
 Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with 
 the king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a se- 
 quent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally, 
 or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. — Trip 
 and go, my sweet ; deliver this paper into the royai 
 hand of the king ; it may concern much ; Stay not 
 thy compliment ; I forgive thy duty ; adieu. 
 
 Jaq. Good Costard, go with me. — Sir, God save 
 your life ! 
 
 Cost. Have with thee, my girl. 
 
 [Erewnt Cost, and Jaq. 
 
 Nath. Sir, you have done this in the fear of God, 
 very religiously ; and, as a certain father saith — — 
 
 Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear co- 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 177 
 
 lourable colours. But, to return to the verses ; 
 Did thev please you, sir NathanieH 
 
 Xatk". i\larvelfoas well for the pen. 
 
 Hi)l. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain 
 pupil of mine ; where if, before repast, it shall 
 please you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, 
 on my privilege I have with the parents of the fore- 
 said child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto ; 
 where 1 will prove those verses to be very unlearned, 
 neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I 
 beseech your society. 
 
 Nuth, And thank you too : .for society, (sailh the 
 text.) is the happiness of life. 
 
 Hoi. And, certes, the text most infallibly con- 
 cludes it. — Sir, [to DvLL.] I do invite you too; 
 you shall not say me, nay : pauca verba. Away ; 
 the gentles are at their game, and we will to our 
 recreation. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Another part of the same. 
 
 Enter Birox, w/t/i a paper. 
 
 Biron, The king he is hunting the deer ; I am 
 coursing myself: they have pitch'd a toil ; I am 
 toiling in a pitch ; pitch that defiles ; defile ! a foul 
 word. Well, Set thee down, sorrow ! for so they 
 say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the fool. 
 Well proved, wit ! By the Lord, this love is as mad 
 as Ajax ■. it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep: 
 Well pro\ed again on my side ! I will not love : if 
 I do, hang ?ne ; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye, 
 — by this li^ht, but for her eye, I would not love 
 her ; yes, foi her two eyes. Well, I do nothing in 
 the world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, 
 I do love : and it hath taught me to rhyme, and to 
 be melancholy ; and here is part ol my rhyme, and 
 here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o* my 
 sonnets already ; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, 
 and the lady hath it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, 
 sweetest lady ! By the world, I would not care a pin 
 if the other three were in : Here comes one with a 
 paper ; God give him grace to gioan. 
 
 [Gets lip into a tree. 
 
 Ente" the King, with a paper. 
 
 King. Ah mt ! 
 
 Biron. [Aside.'} Shot by heaven ! — Proceed, 
 sweet Cupid ; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird- 
 bolt under the left pap : — I'faith secrets.— 
 
 A'lK^. [Reads.} So:>weet a kisbthd golden sun gives not, 
 
 To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, 
 As thu e^e-beam$y when their f'esh raps have smote 
 
 The lii^ht of dew that on my cheeks down fmcs : 
 Ao'' ihines the silver mn>m one half so bright 
 
 Through the transparent bosom oj the deep. 
 As doth thu face through tears oj mine give light : 
 
 Thou >hinst in every tear that I do ueep ; 
 No drop but as a coach doth carry thee. 
 
 So ridist thou triumphing in my woe: 
 Do but behold tJie tears that swell in me, 
 
 And f/it'i/ thy glory through my grief will shew : 
 But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
 My tears for glasses, and stilt make me weep. 
 queen of queens, how far dost thou excel ! 
 No thought can think, nor t&ngue oJ rnortal tell. — 
 
 How shall she know my griefs ? I '11 drop the paper ; 
 Sweet leaves, shade folly. Who is he comes here ? 
 
 [6'(e/)s aside. 
 
 Ertter Longaville, with a paper. 
 
 What, Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear. 
 
 Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, ap- 
 pear! [Asid£ 
 Long. Ah me! I am forsworn. 
 Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing 
 papers. [Aside. 
 King. In love, I hope, sweet fellowship in shame ! 
 
 [Aside, 
 Biron. One drunkard loves another of the name 
 
 [Aside. 
 Long, Am I the first that have been perjur'd so 1 
 Biron. [Aside.] I couiJ put thee in comfort; not 
 by two, that I know : 
 Thou mak'st the triumviry. the corner cap of society, 
 The shape of Love's Tyburn that hangs up simpli- 
 city, [move : 
 Long. 1 fear, these stubborn lines lack power to 
 sweet Maria, empress of my love ! 
 These numbers will I tear and write in prose. 
 
 Biron. [Aside.] O, rhymes are guards on wanton 
 Disfigure not his slop. [Cupid's hose : 
 
 Long. This same shall go. — 
 
 He reads the sonnet. 
 
 Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye 
 
 CGainst tvhom the world cannot hold argument,) 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 
 
 Vows for thee broke, deserve "-U punishment. 
 A woman I foreswore ; but, I will prove. 
 
 Thou being a goddess, I foreswore not thee : 
 Ml} vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
 
 Thi} grace being gaind, cures all disgrace in me. 
 Vowis are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 
 
 Then thon,fair sun, which on my earth dost shinCi 
 Ei'hafst this vapour vow ; ni thee it is : 
 
 If broken then, it is no fault of mine ; 
 If by me broke. What fool is not so wise. 
 To lose an oath to win a paradise ? 
 
 Biron. [Aside.] This is the liver vein, which makes 
 flesh a deity : 
 A green goose, a goddess : pure, pure idolatry, [way, 
 God amend us, God amend ! we are much out o* the 
 
 Enter Dumain, with a paper. 
 Long. By whom shall I send this t — Company ! 
 stay. [Stepping aside. 
 
 Biron. [Aside.] All hid, all hid, an old infant play : 
 Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky. 
 And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye. 
 More sacks to the mill ! O heavens I'have my wish ; 
 Dumain traiisform'd: four wood-cocks in a dish ! 
 Dum. most divine Kate ! 
 
 Biron. O most prophane coxcomb ! [Aside, 
 
 Dum. By heaven, the wonder of a mortal eye ! 
 Biron. By earth she is but corporal : there you lie. 
 
 [Aside, 
 Dum. Her amber hairs for foul have amber coted. 
 Biron, An amber-coloured raven was well noted. 
 
 [Aside* 
 Dum. As upright as the cedar. 
 Biron. Stoop, I say ; 
 
 Her shoulder is with child. [Aside, 
 
 Dum. As fair as day. 
 
 Biron. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun must 
 shine [Aside. 
 
 Dum. O that I had my wish ! 
 Loiig. And I had mine ! [Aside* 
 
 King. And I mine too, good lord ! [Aside. 
 
 Biron. Amen, so I had mine : Is not that a good 
 word } [Asidjt, 
 
 Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she 
 Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be. 
 Biron. A fever in your blood, why, then incision 
 U 
 
170 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 Would let Uer out id saucers ; Sweet misprision! 
 
 ^Aside. 
 Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that I have writ. 
 Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary 
 
 wit. lAiide. 
 
 Dum, Oil a day, (alack the day!) 
 
 hove, whose mouth is ever May, 
 
 Spied a blossom, passing fair, 
 
 Playing in the wanton air : 
 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 
 All unseen, ^gan passage Jind; 
 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 
 Wished himself the heaven^s breath. 
 
 Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; 
 
 Air, would I jnight triumph so! 
 
 But alack, my hand is sworn. 
 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet ; 
 
 Youtli so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 
 Do not call it sin in vie, 
 
 Tliat 1 amforswoi-nfor thee : 
 
 Thou for wlioni even Jove would swear, 
 
 Juno but an Ethiop were ; 
 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 
 Turning mortal for thy love. — 
 This will I send ; and something else more plain, 
 That shall express my true love's fasting pain. 
 O, would the King, 13ir6n, and Lon'gaville, 
 Were lovers too ! Ill, to example ill, 
 Would from my forehead wipe a perjur'd note ; 
 For none offend, where all alike do dote. 
 
 Long. Dumain, [advancing.] thy love is far from 
 That in love's grief desir'st society : [charity. 
 
 You may look pale, but I should blush, I kuow. 
 To be o'erheard, and taken napping so. 
 
 King. Come, sir, [advancing.] you blush ; as his 
 
 your case is such ; 
 You chide at him, ofl'ending twice as much : 
 You do not love Maria ; Longaville 
 Did never sonnet for her sake compile ; 
 Nor never lay his wreathed arras athwart 
 His loving bosom, to keep down his heart. 
 I have been closely shrouded in this bush. 
 And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush. 
 I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion ; 
 Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion : 
 Ah me ! says one ; O .Tove I the other cries ; 
 One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes : 
 You would for paradise break faith and troth ; 
 
 [To Long. 
 And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oath. 
 
 [To DUMAIN. 
 
 What will Bir6n say, when that he shall hear 
 A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear 1 
 How will he scorn 1 how will he spend his wit 1 
 How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it? 
 For all the wealth that ever I did see, 
 1 would not have him know so much by me. 
 
 Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. — 
 Ah, good ray liege, 1 pray thee pardon me : 
 
 [Descends from the tree. 
 Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove 
 These worms for loving, that art most in love 1 
 Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears, 
 There is no certain princess that appears ; 
 You'll not be perjured, 'tis a hateful thing ; 
 Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting. 
 But are you not asham'd 1 nay, are you not. 
 All three of you, to be thus much o'ershoti 
 You found his mote ; the king your mote did see ; 
 But I a beam do find in each of thee. 
 O, what a scene of foolery I have seen, 
 
 Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen ! 
 
 me, with what strict patience have I sat. 
 To see a king transformed to a gnat ! 
 
 To see great Hercules whipping a gigg, 
 And profound Solomon to tune ajigg, 
 And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys, 
 .\nd critic Timon laugh at idle toys ! 
 Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumaint 
 And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain 1 
 And where my liege's ? all about the breast ; — 
 A caudle, ho ! 
 
 King. Too bitter is thy jest. 
 
 Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view ? 
 
 Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you : 
 I, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin 
 To break the vow I am engaged in ; 
 
 1 am betray'd, by keeping company 
 
 With moon-like men, of strange inconstancy. 
 When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme ? 
 Or groan for Joan ? or spend a minute's lime. 
 In pruning me 'I When shall you hear that I 
 Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye, 
 A gait, a state, a brow, a breast, a waist, 
 A leg, a limb ? — 
 
 King, Soft ; Whither away so fast? 
 
 A true man, or a tliief, that gallops so! 
 
 Biron, I post i'rora love ; good lover, let me go. 
 
 Enter Jaquenetta and Costard. 
 
 Jaij. God bless the king ! 
 
 King. What present hast thou there'' 
 
 Cost. Some certain treason. 
 
 Kin". What makes treason here ■? 
 
 Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir. 
 
 King. If it mar nothing neither 
 
 The treason, and you, go in peace away together. 
 
 Jaij. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read; 
 Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason, he said. 
 
 King. Biron, read it over. [Giving liim the tetter. 
 Where hadst thou if! 
 
 J119. Of Costard. 
 
 King. Where hadst thou it t 
 
 Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio. [if 
 
 King. How now ! what is in you ! why dost thou tear 
 
 Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy ; your grace needs 
 not fear it. " [let's hear it. 
 
 Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore 
 
 Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name. 
 [Picks up the pieces. 
 
 UiroJi. Ah, you whoreson loggerhead, [(o Costard.] 
 you were born to do me shame.^ 
 Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I confess. 
 
 King. What 1 [up the mess : 
 
 Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to make 
 He, he, and you, my liege, and I, 
 Are pick-purses in love, and we deserve to die. 
 0, dismiss this audience, and I shall tell you more. 
 
 Dum. Now the number is even. 
 
 Biron. True, true ; we are four . — 
 
 Will these turtles be gone ! 
 
 King. Hence, sirs ; away. 
 
 Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors 
 stay. [Exeunt Cost, and Jaquknet- 
 
 Birmi, Sweet lords, sweet lovers, O let us embrace ! 
 As true we are, as flesh and blood can be : 
 The 'sea will ebb and flow, heaven shew his face , 
 
 Young blood will not obey an old decree ; 
 We cannot cross the cause why we were born ; 
 Therefore, of all hands must we be forsworn. 
 
 A'iiig. What, did these rent lines shew some love 
 of thine! [venly Rosaline, 
 
 Biron. Did tliey, quoth you! Who sees the hea- 
 

 i1ifii"'''wii[iiJ]^tfy'-7ii-'*^'^r'V-TrrN'''"'MiM^i'iiiiTMririjfl1.V''^''"^'^.'ifflfiwah .M - -w«to^ I 
 I 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 179 
 
 That, like a rude and savage man of Inde, 
 
 At the first opening of the gorgeous east. 
 Bows not his vassal head ; and, strucken blind, 
 
 Kisses the base around with obedient breast 1 
 What peremptory ea^e-sighted eye 
 Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, 
 I'hat is not blinded by her majesty ! 
 
 A'(;i^. What zeal . what fury, hath inspired thee now 1 
 My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon; 
 She, an attending star, scarce seen alight. 
 
 Biron. I\Iy eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron : 
 O, but for my love, day would turn to night ! 
 Of all complexions the culTd sovereignty 
 Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek ; 
 , Where several worthies make one dignity ; 
 
 Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek. 
 Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues, — 
 
 Fye, painted rhetoric ! 0, she needs it not: 
 To tilings of sale a seller's praise belongs ; 
 
 She passes praise ; thenpraise too shortdoth blot. 
 A wither'd, hermit, five score winters worn, 
 
 Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye : 
 Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born, 
 
 And gives the crutcii the cradle's infancy. 
 O, *tis the sun, that maketh all things shine ! 
 King. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony. 
 BiroH. Is ebony like her ? wood divine ! 
 A wife of such wood were felicity. 
 O, who can give an oath J where is a book ? 
 
 That 1 may swear, beauty dotli beauty lack; 
 If that she learn not of her eye to look : 
 
 No face is fair, that is not full so black. 
 King^ O paradox ! Black is the badge of hell, 
 The hue of dungeons, and the scowl of night •, 
 And beauty's crest becomes the heavens well. 
 
 Biroti, Devils soonest terapt, resembling spirits of 
 O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt, [light. 
 
 It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair. 
 Should ravish doters with a false aspect ; 
 
 And therefore is she born to make black fair. 
 Her favour turns the fashion of the days ; 
 
 For native blood is counted painting now; 
 And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise, 
 Paints itself black, to imitate her brow. 
 Dnm. To look like her, are chimney-sweepers black. 
 Long, And, since her time, are colliers counted 
 bright. [crack. 
 
 King. And Ethiops of their sweet complexion 
 Dum. Dark needs no candles now, for dark is light. 
 Biroti. Your mistresses dare never come in rain, 
 For fear their colours should be wash'd away. 
 King. 'Twere good, yours did ; for, sir, to tell you 
 I'll find a fairer face not wash'd to-day. [plain, 
 Biron. I'll prove her fair, or talk till dooms-day here. 
 King. No devil will fright thee then so much as she. 
 Dum, I never knew man hold vile stuff so dear. 
 Long. Look, here's thy love: my foot and her 
 face see. [67i(?«'i»w^ his shoe, 
 
 Biron, O, if the streets were paved with thine eyes. 
 Her feet were much too dainty for such tread ! 
 Dum. O vile! then as she goes, what upward lies 
 The street should see as she walk'd over head. 
 King. But what of this 1 Are we not all in love ? 
 £tro7i.O, nothing so sure ; and thereby all forsworn. 
 King. Then leave this chat ; and, good Bir6n, now 
 Our loving lawful, andour faith not torn, [prove 
 Dum, Ay, marry, there ; — some flattery for this evil. 
 Long. O, some authority how to proceed ; 
 Some tricks, some quillets, how to cheat the devil. 
 Dum. Some salve for perjury. 
 Biron. U, 'tis more than need! — 
 
 Have at you then, affection's men at arms : 
 
 Consider, what you first did swear unto ; — 
 
 To fast, — to study, — and to see no woman ; — 
 
 Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth. 
 
 Say, can you fast ? your stomachs are too young ; 
 
 And abstinence engenders maladies. 
 
 And where that you have vow'd to study, lords, 
 
 In that each of you hath forsworn his book : 
 
 Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look "i 
 
 For when would you, my lord, or you, or you. 
 
 Have found tlie ground of study's excellence. 
 
 Without the beauty of a woman's face 1 
 
 From women's eyes this doctrine I derive : 
 
 They are the ground, the books, the academes. 
 
 From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire 
 
 Why, universal plodding prisons up 
 
 The nimble spirits in the arteries ; 
 
 As motion, and long-during action, tires 
 
 The sinewy vigour of the traveller. 
 
 Now, for not looking on a woman's face. 
 
 You have in that forsworn the use of eyes • 
 
 And study too, the causer of your vow : 
 
 For where is any author in the world, 
 
 Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye? 
 
 Learning is but an adjunct to ourself, 
 
 And where we are, our learning likewise is. 
 
 Then, when ourselves we see in ladies eyes, 
 
 Do we not likewise see our learning there 1 
 
 O, we have made a vow to study, lords ; 
 
 And in tliat vow we have forsworn our books ; 
 
 For when would you, my liege, or you, or you, 
 
 In leaden contemplation, have found out 
 
 Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes 
 
 Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with 1 
 
 Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ; 
 
 And therefore finding barren practisers. 
 
 Scarce shew a harvest of their heavy toil : 
 
 But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
 
 Lives not alone immured in the brain ; 
 
 But with the motion of all elements, 
 
 Courses as swift as thought in every power , 
 
 And gives to every power a double power, 
 
 Above their functions and their offices. 
 
 It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; 
 
 A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 
 
 A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound. 
 
 When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd ; 
 
 Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, 
 
 Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ; 
 
 Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste : 
 
 For valour, is not love a Hercules, 
 
 Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? 
 
 Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet, and musical. 
 
 As briglit Apollo's lute, strung with liis hair ; 
 
 And. when love speaks, the voice of all the gods 
 
 Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 
 
 Never durst poet touch a pen to write, 
 
 Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs. 
 
 0, then his lines would ravish savage ears. 
 
 And plant in tyrants mild humility. 
 
 From women's eyes this doctrine I derive. 
 
 They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ; 
 
 They are the books, the arts, the academes, 
 
 That shew, contain, and nourish all the world ; 
 
 Else, none at all in ought proves excellent : 
 
 Then fools you were these women to forswear ; 
 
 Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools. 
 
 For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love ; 
 
 Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men ; 
 
 Or for men's sake, the authors of these women ; 
 
 Or women's sake, by whom we men are men ; 
 
 Let us once lose our oaths to find ourselves, 
 
 Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oaths * 
 
 M a 
 
180 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 It is religion to be thus forsworn : 
 For charity itself fulti'ls the law ; 
 And who can sever love from charity? 
 
 King. Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers to the field ! 
 
 Biron. Advance your standards, and upon them, 
 lords ; 
 Pell-mell, down with them ' but be first advis'd, 
 In conflict that you get the sun of them. 
 
 Long. Now to plain dealing ; lay these glozes by ; 
 Shall we resolve to woo these girls of France ? 
 
 King. And win them too : therefore let us devise 
 Some entertainment for them in their tents. [ther ; 
 
 Biron. First, from the park let us conduct them thi- 
 Then, homeward, every man attach the hand 
 Of his fair mistress : in the afternoon 
 We will with some strange pastime solace them, 
 Such as the shortness' of the time can shape ; 
 For revels, dances, masks, and men-y hours. 
 Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers. 
 
 King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted, 
 That will be time, and may by us be fitted. 
 
 Biron. Allans ! Allam ! — Sow'dcockle reap'd no corn; 
 And justice always whirls in equal measure : 
 Lit^ht wenches may prove plagues to men forsworn ; 
 If so, our copper buys no better treasure. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Another part of the same. 
 Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull. 
 Hoi Satis quod sufjicit. 
 
 Nath. I praise God for you, sir : your reasons at 
 dinner have been sharp and sententious ; pleasant 
 without scurrility, witty without affiection, audacious 
 without impudency, learned without opinion, and 
 strange without heresy. I did converse thh quondam 
 day with a companion of the king's, wlio is intituled, 
 nominated, or called, Don Adriano de Armado. 
 
 Hot. Novi hominem tanquam te: His humour is 
 lofty, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his 
 eye ambitious, his gait majestic:^!, and his general 
 behaviour vain, yidiculous, and thrasonical. He is 
 too nicked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it 
 were, too peregrinate, as 1 may call it. 
 
 Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. 
 
 [Takes out his table honh. 
 
 Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity 
 finer than tlie staple of his argument. I abhor such 
 fanatical fantasms, such insociable and point-devise 
 companions ; such rackers of orthography, as to 
 speak, dout, fine, when he should say, doubt ; det, 
 when he should pronounce debt; d, e, b, t ; not 
 d, e, t : he clepeth a calf, cauf ; half, hauf ; neigh- 
 bour, yocadn-, nebour, neigh, abbreviated, ne: This 
 is abhominable, (which he would call abominable,) 
 it insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne vUelligis domine ? 
 to make frantic, lunatic. 
 
 Nath. Laus Deo bone tntelligo. 
 
 Hot. Bone ? bone, for bene : Priscian a little 
 
 scratch'd ; 'twil! serve. 
 
 Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard. 
 
 Nath, Videsne quis venit ? 
 
 ii.i/. Video, et gaudeo. 
 
 Arm. Chiira ! [To Moth. 
 
 }lol. Qiujre chirra, not sirrah ? 
 
 Arm. Men of peace, well encounter'd. 
 
 Hoi. Most military sir, salutation. 
 
 Noth. They have been at a great feast of lan- 
 guages, and stolen the scraps [To Costard aside. 
 
 Cvit, they have lived long in the alms-basket 
 
 of words ! I marvel, thy ma?;ter hath not eaten thee 
 for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head aa 
 honor ijicabilitudinitatibus : thou art easier swallowed 
 than a flap-dragon. 
 
 Moth. Peace ; t!:e peal begins. 
 Arm. Monsieur, [to Hol.] are you notletter'd? 
 Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn-book ; — 
 What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his head 1 
 Hol. Ba, -pueritia, with a horn added. 
 Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn : — You 
 hear his learning. 
 
 Hol. Quis, quis, thou consonant? 
 Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat 
 them ; or the fifth, if I. 
 
 //('/. 1 will repeat them, a, e, i. — 
 
 M<>th. The sheep : the other two concludes it ; o, u. 
 
 Arm. Now, by the salt wave of theMediterraneum, 
 
 a sweet touch, a quick venew of wit: snip, snap, 
 
 quick and home ; it rejoiceth my intellect : true wit. 
 
 Moth. Offer'd by a child to an old man j which is 
 
 wit-old. 
 
 Hol. What is the figure 1 what is the figure ? 
 Moth. Horns. 
 
 Hol. Thou disputest like an infant: go, whip thy g^g. 
 Moth. Lend me your horn to make one, and 1 will 
 whip about your infamy circihn circa i A gig of a 
 cuckold's horn ! 
 
 Cost. An 1 had but one penny in the world thou 
 shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is 
 the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou 
 half-penny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discre- 
 tion. O, an the heavens were so pleased, that thou 
 wert but my bastard ! what a joyful father wouldst 
 thou make me ! Go to ; thou hast it ad dunghiU, at 
 the fingers' ends, as they say. 
 
 Hol. O, I smell false Latin ; dunghill for unguem. 
 Arm. Arts-man, pneanihula ; we will be singled 
 from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at 
 the charge-house on the top of the mountain? 
 Hol. Or, mons, the hill. 
 
 Arm. At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain 1 
 Hol. I do, sans question. 
 
 Arm, Sir, it is the king's most sweet pleasure and 
 affection, to congratulate the princess at her pavilion, 
 in the posteriors of ih\s day; which the rude multi- 
 tude call the afternoon. 
 
 Hol. The postciior of the day^ most generous sir, 
 is liable, congruent, and measurable for the afternoon: 
 the word is well cuU'd, chose ; sweet and apt, 1 do 
 assure you, sir, 1 do assure. 
 
 Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman ; and my 
 familiar, I do assure you, very good friend : — For 
 what is inward between us, let it pass : — I do beseech 
 thee, remember thy courtesy ; — I beseech thee, ap- 
 parel thy head ; — and among otlier importunate and 
 most serious designs, — and of great import indeed, 
 too ; — but let that pass : — fori must tell thee, it will 
 please his grace, (by the world) sometime to lean 
 upon my poor shoulder ; and with his royal finger, 
 thus dally with my excrement, with my mustachio : 
 but, sweet heart, let that pass. By the world, I re- 
 count no fable ; some certain special honours it pleas- 
 eth his greatness to impartto Armado, a soldier, a man 
 of travel, that hath seen the world : but let that pass. 
 — The very all of all is, — but, sweet heart, I do im- 
 plore secrecy, — that the king would have me present 
 the princess, sweet chuck, with some delightful osten- 
 tation, or show, or pageant, or antic, or fire-work. 
 Now, understanding that the curate and your sweet 
 self, are good at such eruptions, and sudden breaking 
 out of mirth, as it were, 1 have acquainted you withal, 
 ; to the end to crave your assistance. 
 
ACT V — SCENE II. 
 
 181 
 
 HvL Sir, you shall present before her the nine 
 ■worthies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some enter- 
 tainment of time, some show in the posterior of this 
 day, to be rendered by our assistance,— the king's 
 command, and this most gallant, illustrate, and 
 learned gentleman. — before the princess ; I say, none 
 so fit as to present the nine worthies. 
 
 Natk. Where will you find men worthy enough to 
 present them ? 
 
 Hot. Joshua, yourself; myself, or this gallant 
 gentleman, Judas Maccabasus ; this swain, because 
 of his great limb or joint, shall pass Pompey the 
 great ; the page, Hercules. 
 
 Arm. Pardon, sir, error; he is not quantity enough 
 for that worthy's thumb : he is not so big as tne end 
 of his club. 
 
 Hoi. Shall I have audience ? he shall present 
 Hercules in minority: his enter and eii( shall be 
 strangling a snake ; aiid I will have aa apology for 
 that purpose. 
 
 Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of the au- 
 dience hiss, you may cry : uell done, Hercules! now 
 thou cnishest the snake ' that is the way to make an 
 oflence gracious ; though few have the grace to do it. 
 
 Ann. For the rest of the worthies ? — 
 
 Hoi, I will play three myself. 
 
 Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman! 
 
 Arm. Shall I tell you a thing 1 
 
 Hot. We attend. 
 
 Arm. We will have, if this fadge not, an antic. 
 [ beseech you, follow. 
 
 HoL Via, goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no 
 word aJl this while. 
 
 Dull. Nor understood none neither, sir. 
 
 Hot. Aliens ! we will employ thee. 
 
 Dull. I'll make one in a dance, or so ; or I will 
 play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them dance 
 the hay. 
 
 Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away. 
 
 [^Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A/iother part of the same. Before the 
 Princess's Pavilion. 
 
 Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, 
 and Maria. 
 
 Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart. 
 If fairings come thus plentifully in : 
 A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! 
 Look you, what 1 have from the loving king. 
 
 Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that? 
 
 Prin. Nothing, but this * yes, as much love in rhyme. 
 As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper. 
 Writ on both sides the leaf, marge nt and all ; 
 That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name. 
 
 lios. That was the way to make his god-head wax ; 
 For he hath been five thousand years a boy. 
 
 Kiitk. Ay, and a shiewd unhappy gallows too. 
 
 Ros. You'll ne'er be friends with him; he kill'd 
 your sister. 
 
 Kath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy ; 
 And so she died : had she been light like you. 
 Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, 
 She might have been a grandam ere she died : 
 And so may you ; for a light heart lives long. 
 
 Ro6. What's your dark meaning, mouse, of this 
 light word ? 
 
 Katk. A light condition in a beauty dark. 
 
 lios. We need more light to find your meaning out. 
 
 Kath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snuff; 
 Therefore, I '11 darkly end the argument. 
 
 liijs. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the dark. 
 
 Kath. So do not you •, for you are a light wench. 
 
 Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you ; and therefore light. 
 
 Kath. You weigh me not, — 0, that's you care not 
 for me. 
 
 Riis. Great reason ; for. Past cure is still past care. 
 
 Prin. Well bandied both; a set of wit well play'd. 
 But Rosaline, you have a favour too : 
 Who sent it I and what is it \ 
 
 Ros. I would, you knew 1 
 
 An if my face were but as fair as yours, 
 ]My favour were as great ; be witness this. 
 Nay, I liave verses too, I thank Biron : 
 The numbers true ; and, were the numb'ring too, 
 I were the fairest goddess on the ground : 
 I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. 
 0, he hath drawn my picture in his letter ! 
 
 Prin. Any thing like ] 
 
 Ros. Much, in tlie letters ; nothing in the praise, 
 
 Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion. 
 
 Kath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book. 
 
 Ros. 'Ware pencils! How? let me not die your 
 My red dominical, my golden letter : [debtor, 
 
 O, that your face were not so full of O's ! 
 
 Kath. A pox of that jest ! and beshrew all shrows ! 
 
 Prin. But what was sent to you from fair Dumain? 
 
 Kath. Madam, this glove. 
 
 Prin, Did he not send you twain ? 
 
 Kath. Yes, madam ; and moreover, 
 Some thousand verses of a faithful lover ; 
 A huge translation of hypocrisy, 
 Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity. 
 
 Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Longaville ; 
 The letter is too long by half a mile. 
 
 Prin. 1 think no less : Dost thou notwish in heart, 
 The cham were longer, and the letter short ? 
 
 Mar. Ay, "or I would these hands might never part. 
 
 Prin. We are wise girls, to mock our lovers so. 
 
 Ros. They are worse fools to purchase mocking so. 
 That same Birun I '11 torture ere I go. 
 O, that I knew he were but in by the week ! 
 How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek ; 
 And wait the season, and observe the times, 
 And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes , 
 And shape his service wholly to my behests ; 
 And make him proud to make me proud that jests ! 
 So potent-like would I o'ersway his state, 
 That he should be my fool, and I his fate. 
 
 Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are 
 catch'd. 
 As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd. 
 Hath wisdom's warrant, and tlie help of school ; 
 And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool. 
 
 Ros. The blood of youth burns not with such excess, 
 As gravity's revolt to wantonness. 
 
 Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note, 
 As fooler)' in the wise, when wit doth dote ; 
 Since all the power thereof it doth apply, 
 To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity. 
 
 Enter Boyet. 
 
 Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face. 
 
 Botjet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter! Where's 
 
 P'in. Thy news, Boyet? [her grace ? 
 
 Bouet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! — 
 
 Arm, wenches, arm ! encounters mounted are 
 Against your peace : Love doth approach disguis'd, 
 Armed in arguments ; you'll be surpris'd : 
 Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ; 
 Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence. 
 
 Prin. Saint Dennis to Saint Cupid! What are they, 
 That charge their breath against us! say, scout, say. 
 
 hoyeU Under the cool shade of a sycamore, 
 
182 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 1 thought to close mine eyes some half an hour : 
 
 When, lo ! to interrupt my purpos'd rot, 
 
 Toward that shade I might behold addrest 
 
 The king and his companions : warily 
 
 1 stole into a neighbour thicket by, 
 
 And overheard what you shall overhear ; 
 
 That, by and by, disguis'd they mil be here. 
 
 Their herald is a pretty knavish page. 
 
 That well by heart hath con'd his embassage : 
 
 Action, and accent, did they teach him tliere ; 
 
 Thus must thou speak, and thus thy hodlj bear: 
 
 And ever and anon they made a doubt, 
 
 Presence majestical would put him out ; 
 
 For, quoth the king. Ail anget shatt thou see ; 
 
 Yetfearnot thou, but speak audaciousiy. 
 
 The boy reply'd, Au angel is not evil ; 
 
 I should havefear'd her, had slie been a devil. 
 
 With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the shoulder: 
 
 Making the bold wag by their praises bolder. 
 
 One rubb'd his elbow, thus ; and fleer'd, and swore, 
 
 A better speech was never spoke before : 
 
 Another with his finger and liis thumb, 
 
 Cry'd, Via ! we u-ill do 't, come what will come : 
 
 The third he caper'd and cried, All goes well: 
 
 The fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell. 
 
 With that, they all did tumble on the ground, 
 
 With such a zealous laughter, so profound, 
 
 That in this spleen ridiculous appears, 
 
 To check their folly, passion's solemn tears. _ 
 
 Prill. But what, but what, come they to visit us? 
 Boi)et. They do, they do ; and are apparel'd thus, — 
 Like Muscovites, or Russians : as I guess, 
 Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance : 
 And every one his love-feat will advance 
 Unto his several mistress ; which they'll know 
 By favours several, which they did bestow. 
 Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be 
 task'd : — 
 For, ladies, we %vill every one be mask'd ; 
 And not a man of them shall have the grace, 
 Despight of suit, to see a lady's face. — 
 Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shall wear ; 
 And then the king will court thee for his dear ; 
 Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine ; 
 So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. — 
 And change your favours too ; so shall your loves 
 Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes. 
 
 Ros. Come on then ; wear the favours most in sight. 
 Kath. But, in this changing, what is your intent? 
 Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross tlieirs : 
 They do it but in mocking merriment ; 
 And mock for mock is only my intent. 
 Their several counsels they unbosom sliall 
 To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal. 
 Upon the next occasion that we meet. 
 With visages display'd to talk and greet. 
 
 Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't? 
 Prin. No ; to the death, we will not move a foot: 
 Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace : 
 But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face. 
 Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's 
 heart. 
 And quite divorce his memory from his part. 
 
 Prill. Therefore 1 do it; and, I make no doubt. 
 The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out. 
 There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown ; 
 To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own : 
 So shall we stay, mocking intended game ; 
 And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame. 
 
 \^Trumpels sound within. 
 
 Bctyrt. The trumpet sounds ; be mask'd, the 
 
 maskers come. [T/ie ladies mask. 
 
 Enter the Kino, BinoN, Loncaville, and Dtji.ii.s, 
 in Russian habits, and masked; MoTii, Musicians, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Moth. All hail the richest beauties on the earth! 
 Bouet. Beauties no richer than rich taffata. 
 Molh. A holii parcel of the fairest dames, 
 
 [The ladies turn their backs to him. 
 That ever turn'd their — hacks — to nmrtal views ! 
 Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes. 
 Moth. That evertnrn'd their eyes to mortal views. 
 Out — 
 
 Boi/t't. True ; out, indeed. 
 
 JUiilA. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits, vouchsafe 
 Not to behold — 
 
 Biron. Once to behold, rogue. 
 
 Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes^. 
 
 _ with uour sun-beamed eyes — 
 
 Bouet. They will not answer to that epithet, 
 You were best call it, daughter-beamed eyes. 
 
 Moth. They do not mark me, and that brings me out, 
 Biron. Is this your perfectness 1 be gone, you rogue. 
 Ros. What would these strangers ? know their 
 minds, Boyet ; 
 If they do speak our language, 'tis our will 
 That some plain man recount their purposes • 
 Know what they would. 
 
 Boifet. What would you with the princess ^ . 
 Biron. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 
 Ros. What would tliey, say they? 
 Bouet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation. 
 Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be gone 
 Bouet. She says, yon have it, and you may be gone. 
 King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles, 
 To tread a measure with her on this grass. 
 
 Botiet. They say that they have measur'd many a 
 To tread a measure with you on this grass. [mile, 
 
 Ros. It is not so : ask them, iiow many inches 
 Is in one mile : if they have measur'd many. 
 The measure then of one is easily told. 
 
 Bouet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles.. 
 And many miles ; the princess bids you tell, 
 How many inches do fill up one mile. 
 
 Biron. 'I'ell her, we measure them by weary steps. 
 Boyet. She hears herself. 
 
 Ros, How many weary steps. 
 
 Of many weary miles you have o'ergone, 
 Are number'd in the travel of one mile ? 
 
 Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you ; 
 Our duty is so rich, so infinite, 
 That we may do it still without accompt. 
 Vouchsafe to shew the sunshine of your face, 
 That we, like savages, may worship it. 
 
 Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too. 
 King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do '. 
 Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine. 
 (Those clouds remov'd,) upon our watery eyne. 
 
 Ros. O vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ; 
 Thou now request's! but moonshine in the water. 
 King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe one 
 change : 
 Thou bid'st me beg ; this begging is not strange. 
 Ros. Pl<iy, music, then : nay, you must do it soon. 
 
 [Music ptntfs. 
 Not yet; — no dance : — thus change I like the moon. 
 King. Will you not dance? How come you thus 
 estrang'd ? [chang'd. 
 
 Ros. You took the moon at full ; but now she 's 
 King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man. 
 The music plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it. 
 Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it. 
 King. But your legs should do \U 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 183 
 
 Ros. Smce you are strangers, and come here by 
 chance, 
 We'll not be nice: take hands ; — we will not dance. 
 
 Kin>^. Why take we hands then ? 
 
 }ios. Only to part friends : — 
 
 Court'sy, sweethearts ; and so the measure ends. 
 
 Kint;. More measure of this measure ; be not nice. 
 
 Jii's. We can afford no more at such a price. 
 
 King. Prize you yourselves; What buys your com- 
 
 Ros. Your absence only. [pany? 
 
 King. That can never be. 
 
 Hos, Then cannot we be boui^ht : and so adieu ; 
 Twice to your visor, and hall" once to you ! 
 
 King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat. 
 
 Ros. In private then. 
 
 King. I am best pleas'd with that. 
 
 [They converse apart. 
 
 Biran. Wbite-handed mistress, one sweet word 
 with tliee. 
 
 Frin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there is three. 
 
 Binm. Nay then, two treys, ( an if you grow so nice.) 
 Methegtin, wort, and malmsey; — Well run, dice? 
 There 's half a dozen sweets. 
 
 Frin, Seventh sweet, adieu ! 
 
 Since you can cog, I '11 play no move with you. 
 
 Biron. One word in secret. 
 
 Prin. Let it not be sweet. 
 
 Biron. Thou griev'st my gall. 
 
 Frin. Gain bitter. 
 
 Birun^ Therefore meet. 
 
 [T/ifi/ converse apart. 
 
 Dum, Will you vouchsafe with me to change a 
 
 Mur. Name it. [word? 
 
 Dum. Fair lady, — 
 
 Mar, Say you so 1 Fair lord, — 
 
 Take that for your fair lady. 
 
 Dum. Please it you. 
 
 As much in private, and I '11 bid adieu. 
 
 [T/ieji/ converse apart. 
 
 JTnffi.What.wasyourvisormadewithout a tongue? 
 
 Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask. 
 
 Kath. O, for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I long. 
 
 Long. You have a double tongue within your mask, 
 And would afford my speechless visor half. 
 
 Kath, Veal, quoth the Dutchman ; — Is not veal a 
 
 Lo?ig. A calf, fair lady t [calf ? 
 
 Kath. No, a fair lord calf. 
 
 Long, Let's part the word. 
 
 Kath. iSo, I'll not be your half; 
 
 Take ail, and wean it ; it may prove an ox. 
 
 Long. Look, how you butt yourself in these sharp 
 Will you give horns, chaste lady \ do not so. [mocks ! 
 
 Kath, Then die a calf, before your horns do grow. 
 
 Long. One word in private with you, ere I die. 
 
 Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you cry, 
 [Theu converiP apart. 
 
 Boi/et. The tongues ofmocking wenches are as keen 
 As is the razor's edge invisible, 
 Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ; 
 
 Above the sense of sense: so sensible 
 Seemeth their conference ; their conceits have wings, 
 Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter 
 things. [break off". 
 
 Ros JNot one word more, my maids ; break off*, 
 
 Biyo7i. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff, 
 
 KiTig. Farewell, mad wenches; you have simple 
 wits. 
 
 [Eacunt King, Lords, Moth, Music, &" Attendants, 
 
 Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. — 
 Are these the breed of wits so wonder'd at ? 
 
 Boyct. Tapers they are, with youi' sweet breaths 
 puff'd out. 
 
 I Ros. Well-liking wits they have ; gross, gross; fal 
 
 Print O povertv in wit, kingly-poor flout ! [fat. 
 Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night"; 
 
 Or ever, but in visors, shew their faces? 
 This pert Biron was out of countenance quite. 
 
 Ros. ! they were all in lamentable cases ! 
 The king was weeping-ripe for a good word. 
 
 Frin. Biron did swear himself out of all suit. 
 
 Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword : 
 No point, quoth I ; my servant straight was imte. 
 
 hath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart; 
 And trow you, what he calTd me? 
 
 Frin. Qualm, perhaps. 
 
 Kaih. Yes, in good faith. 
 
 Frin. Go, sickness as thou art: 
 
 Ros. Well, betterwits have worn plain statute-caps. 
 But will you hear ? the king is my love sworn. 
 
 Frin. And quick Bir^n hath plighted faith to me. 
 
 A(i(/). And Longaville was for my service born. 
 
 ]\lar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree. 
 
 Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give uar : 
 Immediately they will again be here 
 In their own shapes ; for it can never be. 
 They will digest this harsh indignity. 
 
 Frin. Will they return ? 
 
 Bi>yet. They ^vill, they will, Godknows, 
 
 And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows : 
 Therefore, change favours; and, when they repair. 
 Blow like sweet roses in this summer air. [stood. 
 
 Fri}i. How blow? how blow? speak to be under- 
 
 Boyet, Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud: 
 Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shewn. 
 Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown. 
 
 Frin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do. 
 If they return in their own shapes to woo ? 
 
 Ros. Good madam, if by me you '11 be advis'd. 
 Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd : 
 Let us complain to them what fools were here, 
 Disguis'd like i^luscovites, in shapeless gear; 
 And wonder what they were ; and to what end 
 Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd, 
 And their rough carriage so ridiculous, 
 Should be presented at our tent to us. 
 
 Boyet. Ladies, withdraw : the gallants are at hand. 
 
 Prin. Whip to our tents, as roes run over land. 
 
 ^Exeunt PniNCEss, Ros. Kath. and Maria. 
 
 Entd' the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain, 
 in their proper habits. 
 
 King. Fair sir, God save you ! Where is the prin- 
 cess-? 
 
 Boyet. Gone to her tent: Please it your majesty, 
 Command me any service to her thither? 
 
 King. That shevouchsafe me audience for one word. 
 
 Boyet. I will ; and so will she, 1 know, my lord. 
 
 '[Erit. 
 
 Biron. This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas; 
 And utters it again wlien God doth please ; 
 He is wit's pedlar ; and retails his wares 
 At wakes, and wassels, meetings, markets, fairs j 
 And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know. 
 Have not the grace to grace it with sucli show. 
 This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve ; 
 Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve : 
 He can carve too, and lisp : Why, this is he, 
 That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy ; 
 Tiiis is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, 
 That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice 
 In honourable terms ; nay, he can sing 
 A mean most meanly ; and, in ushering. 
 Mend him who can : the ladies call him, sweet; 
 The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet : 
 
184 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 This is the flower that smiles on every one, 
 To shew his teeth as white as whales' bone : 
 And consciences, that will not die in debt, 
 Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet. 
 
 King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my heart, 
 That put Armado's page out of his part ! 
 
 Enter the Princess, ushered by Boyet ; Rosaline^ 
 Maria, Katharine, and Attendants. 
 
 Bi^n. See where it comes! — Behaviour, what 
 wert thou. 
 Till this man shew'd thee 1 and what art thou now? 
 King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day ! 
 Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul, as I conceive. 
 King. Construe my speeches better, if you may. 
 Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave. 
 King. We came to visit you ; and purpose now 
 To lead you to our court : vouchsafe it then, 
 Prin. This field shall hold me-, and so hold your 
 Nor God, nor I, delight in perjur'dnien. [vow: 
 King. Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ; 
 
 The virtue of your eye must break mv oath. 
 Prin. You nick-name virtue : vice you should have 
 spoke ; 
 For virtue's office never breaks men's troth. 
 Now, by my maiden honour, yet as pure 
 
 As the unsullied lily, I protest, 
 A world of torments though 1 should endure, 
 
 I would not yield to be your house's guest : 
 So much I hate a breaking cause to be 
 Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity. 
 King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here. 
 
 Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame. 
 Prin. Not so, my lord, it is not so. I swear ; 
 We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game ; 
 A mess of Russians left us but of late. 
 King. How, madam? Russians? 
 Prin. Ay. in truth, my lord ; 
 
 Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state. 
 
 Ros. Madam, speak true: — It is not so, my lord j 
 My lady (to the manner of the days,) 
 In courtesy, gives undeserving praise. 
 We four, indeed, confronted here with four 
 In Russian habit ; here they staid an hour, 
 And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord. 
 They did not bless us with one happy word. 
 I dare not call them fools ; but this I think. 
 When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink. 
 Biron. This jest is dry to me. — Fair, gentle sweet, 
 Your wit makes wise things foolish ; when we greet 
 With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye, 
 By light we lose light : Your capacity 
 Is of that nature, that to your huge store 
 "Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor. 
 Ros. This proves you wise and rich, for in my eye — 
 Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty. 
 Ros. But that you take what doth to you belong, 
 It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue. 
 Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess, 
 Ros. All the fool mine ? 
 
 Biron. I cannot give you less. 
 
 Ros. Which of the visors was it, that you wore ? 
 Biron. Where? when? what visor? why demand 
 
 you this ? 
 Ros. There, then, that visor ; that superfluous case. 
 That hid the worse, and shew'd the better face. 
 King. We are descried : they'll mock us now down- 
 Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest, [right. 
 Pri. Amaz'd, my lord, why looks your highness sad? 
 Ros. Help, hold his brows! he'll swoon ! Why 
 look you pale ? — 
 Sea-sickf I think, coming from Muscovy. 
 
 Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for per- 
 
 Can any face of brass hold longer out ? [jury. 
 Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ; 
 
 Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout ; 
 Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance ; 
 
 Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit ; 
 And I will wish thee never more to dance, 
 
 Nor never more in Russian habit wait. 
 
 ! never will 1 trust to speeches penn'd. 
 
 Nor to the motion of a schoolboy's tongue ; 
 Nor never come in visor to my friend ; 
 
 Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song: 
 Taflfata phrases, silken terms precise, 
 
 Three pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation, 
 Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies 
 
 Have blown me full of maggot ostentation : 
 
 1 do forswear them : and 1 here protest, 
 
 By this white glove, (how white the hand, God 
 knows I ) 
 Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express 'd 
 
 In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes : 
 And, to begin, wench, — so God help me, la ! — 
 My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw. 
 Ros. Sans sans, I pray you. 
 Biron. Yet I have a trick 
 
 Of the old rage : — bear with me, I am sick ; 
 I '11 leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see ; — 
 Write, Lord have mercy on us, on those three-, 
 They are infected, in their hearts it lies ; 
 They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes j 
 These lords are visited ; you are not free, 
 For the Lord's tokens on you do I see. [us. 
 
 Prin. No, they are free, tiiat gave these tokens to 
 Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us; 
 Ros. It is not so ; For how can this be true. 
 That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ? 
 
 Biron, Peace ; for I will not have to do with you. 
 Pi.os. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend. 
 Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end. 
 King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude trans- 
 Some fair excuse. [gressioa, 
 
 Prin. The fairest is confession. 
 
 Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd? 
 King. Madam, I was. 
 
 Prin. And were you well advis'd? 
 
 King. I was, fair madam. 
 
 Prin. When you then were here 
 
 What did you whisper in your lady's ear? [her. 
 
 King. That more than all the world I did respect 
 
 Prill. When she shall challenge this, you will 
 
 King. Upon mine honour, no. [reject her, 
 
 Prin. Peace, peace, forbear ; 
 
 Your oath once broke, you force not to forswear. 
 
 King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine, 
 
 Prin. I will : and therefore keep it : — Rosaline, 
 
 What did the Russian whisper in your ear I 
 
 Ros. Madam, he swore that he did hold me dear 
 As precious eye-sight ; and did value me 
 Above this world : adding thereto, moreover. 
 That he would wed me, or else die my lover. 
 
 Prin. God give thee joy of him! the noble lord 
 Mosl honourably doth uphold his word. [troth. 
 
 King. What mean you, madam? by ray life, my 
 I never swore this lady such an oath. 
 
 Ros. By heaven you did ; and to confirm it plain. 
 You gave me this : but take it, sir, again. 
 
 King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give ; 
 I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve. 
 
 Prin. Pardon me. sir, this jewel did she wear ; 
 And lord Bin'm, 1 thank him, is my dear : — 
 What ; will you have me, or your pearl again ? 
 Biron. Neither of either j I remit both twaia.— » 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 185 
 
 I see the trick on't ; — Here was a consent, 
 
 ('Knowing aforeliand of our merriment,) 
 
 To (lash it like a Christmas comedy : 
 
 Some carry-tale, some please man, some slight zany, 
 
 Some mumble news, some trencher-knight, some 
 
 Dick,— 
 That smiles his cheek in years; ami knows the trick 
 To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, — 
 Told our intents' before : which once disclosed, 
 The ladies did change favours ; and then we, 
 Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she. 
 Now, to our perjury to add more tenor, 
 We are again forsworn: in will, and error. 
 Much upon this it is : And might not you. [TuBoyet. 
 Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue ? 
 Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire, 
 
 And laugh upon the apple of her eye 1 
 And stand between her back, sir, and the fire. 
 
 Holding a trencher, jesting merrily"! 
 You put our page out : Go, you are allow 'd ; 
 Die when you will, a smock, shall be your shroud. 
 You leer upon me. do youl there's an eye, 
 Wounds like a leaden sword. 
 
 Boiiet. Full merrily 
 
 Hath this brave manage, this career, been run. 
 
 Bi'ro/i. Lo,he is tilting straight! Peace; I have done. 
 
 lE,nt€r Costard. 
 
 Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray. 
 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, they would know, 
 Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no. 
 Blron. What, are there but three t 
 Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine, 
 
 For every one pursents three. 
 
 Biron. And three times thrice is nine, [is not so : 
 
 Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir ; I hope, it 
 
 You cannot beg us, sir. I can assure you, sir ; we 
 
 know what we know : 
 I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, — ■ 
 
 Biron* Is not nine. 
 
 Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil 
 it doth amount. 
 
 Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for nine. 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, it were pity you should get 
 j'our living by reckoning, sir. 
 Biron. How much is it ? 
 
 Cost. O Lord, sir, the parties themselves, the 
 actors, sir, will shew whereuntil it doth amount : for 
 my own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one 
 man, — e'en one poor man ; Pompion the great, sir. 
 Biron, Art thou one of the worthies? 
 Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of 
 Pompion the great : fur mine own part, I know not 
 tlte degree of the worthy ; but 1 am to stand for him. 
 Biron. Go, bid them prepare. 
 Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will take 
 some care. [Eiii Costard. 
 
 King. Bir6n, they will shame us, let them not 
 approach. [some policy 
 
 Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord : and 'tis 
 To have one show worse than the king's and his 
 King. I say, they shall not come. [company- 
 
 Prin. Nay.my goodlord, letmeo'erruleyou now? 
 That sport best pleases, that doth least know how : 
 Where zeal strives to content, and the contents 
 Die in the zeal of them which it presents. 
 Their form confounded makes most form in mirth ; 
 "When great things labouring perish in their birth. 
 Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord. 
 
 Enter Armado. 
 Arm. Anointedj I implore so much expense of thy 
 
 royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words. 
 [Armado converses with t/« King, and deliven 
 hinj a paper. 
 Prin. Doth this man serve God? 
 Biron. Why ask you ? 
 
 Prin. He speaks not like a man of God's making. 
 Arm. That's all one, my fair, sweet, honey-mo- 
 narch : for, I protest, the school master is exceeding 
 fantastical; too, too vain; too, too vain; But we 
 will put it, as they sav, to fortana delta guerrd^ 1 
 wish you the peace of mind, most royal couplement ! 
 
 [Exit Armado. 
 King. Here is Uke to be a good presence of wor- 
 thies : He presents Hector of Troy; the swain, 
 Pompey the Great; the parish curate, Alexander ; 
 Armado's page, Hercules; the pedant, Judas Wa- 
 chabiEus. 
 
 And if these four worthies in their first show thrive, 
 These four will change habits, and present the other 
 five. 
 Biron. There is five in the first show. 
 King. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so. 
 Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-priest 
 the fool, and the boy :^ 
 
 Abate a throw at novum ; and the whole world again, 
 
 Cannot prick out five such, take each one in his vein. 
 
 King. The ship is under sail, and here she comes 
 
 amain. 
 
 [Seats brought for the Kino, Princess. S^c, 
 
 Pageant of the Nine Worthies. 
 Eiiter Costard armV,y"(ir Pompey. 
 
 Cost. I Pompey am, 
 
 Bouet, You lie, you are not he 
 
 Cost. I Pompey am^ 
 
 Borjet. With libbard's head on knee. 
 
 Biron. Well said, old mocker ; I must needs be 
 friends with thee. 
 
 Cost. I Pompeu am, Pompey surnam'd the big, — 
 
 Dum. The great. 
 
 Cost. It is great, sir ; — Pompey surnam' d the gi-eat ; 
 That oft in field, with targe and shield, did make my 
 foe to sweat : [chance ; 
 
 And travelling along this coast, I here am come by 
 A]id lay mu arms before the legs of this sweet lass of 
 France. [done. 
 
 If your ladyship woiild say, Thanhs, Pompey, I had 
 
 Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey. 
 
 Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but, I hope, I was 
 perfect : I made a little fault in, great. 
 
 Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves the 
 best worthy. 
 
 Enter Nathaniel arm\i,for Alexander. 
 Kath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's 
 commander ; [i"S ""o''^ • 
 
 By east, nes(, iu*rth, and south, I spi-ead my conquer- 
 My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alisander. 
 Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not ; for It 
 stands too right. [smelling: knight. 
 
 Biron. Your nose smells, no, in this, most tender- 
 Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd ■ Proceed, good 
 Alexander, [co7>imander ; 
 
 Nath. When iii the world I liv*d, J was the world's 
 Bn^ef, Most true, 'tis right; you wereso, AUsander. 
 Biron. Pompey the great, 
 
 Cost. Your servant, and Costard. [sander. 
 
 Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali- 
 
 Cost. 0, sir, [(0 Nath.] you have overthrown 
 
 Alisander the conqueror! You will be scraped out 
 
 of the painted cloth for this: your lion, that holds 
 
 his poU-axe sitting on a close stool, will be given to 
 
186 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 A-jax ; lie will bo the ninth worthy. A comiueror, 
 and afeard to speak ! nm away for shame, Alisander. 
 [Naih. retires.] There, an't shall please you ; a fool- 
 ish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and soon 
 dash'd I He is a marvellous good neighbour, insooth ; 
 and a very good bowler : but, for Alisander, alas, 
 you see, how 'tis ; — a little o'erparted : — But there 
 are worthies a coming will speak their mind in some 
 other sort. 
 
 Yrin. Stand aside, good Pompey. 
 
 Enter HoLOrF.UNES arind,for .]vDA3;and jMoth 
 
 ann'd,fnr Hercules. 
 Hoi. Great Hercules is presented bii this imp, 
 Whosechib hilled Cerberus, that three-heuded canus; 
 And, when he was a hube, a child, a shrimp. 
 
 Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus: 
 Quoniam, lie seemetb in minorittj ; 
 Ergo, I come with this apolagit. — 
 Keep some state in thyeiit, and vanish. [Eiit Moth. 
 Hoi. Judas, I am, — 
 Ditm. A Judas ! 
 Hoi. Not Iscariot, sir. 
 Judas I am, ycieped Machaba-ns. 
 
 Dam. Judas Machabffius dipt, is plain Judas. 
 Biron. A kissing traitor : — How art thou prov'd 
 Hoi. Judas, 1 am,~ [Judas 1 
 
 Bum.. The more shame for you, Judas. 
 Hoi. What mean you, sir 1 
 Boiiet. To make Judas hang himself. 
 Hal. Begin, sir ; you are my elder. [elder. 
 
 Biron. Well follow'd: Judas was hanged on an 
 Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance. 
 Biron. Because thou hast no face. 
 Hoi. What is thisi 
 Boiiet. A cittern head. 
 Diim. The head of a bodkin. 
 Biron. A death's face in a ring. 
 Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen. 
 Boyet. The pummel of Caesar's faulcliion. 
 Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask. 
 Biron. St. George's half cheek in a brooch. 
 Onm. Ay, and in a brooch of lead. 
 Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-drawer: 
 And now, forward ; for we have put thee in coun- 
 tenance. 
 Hoi. You have put me out of countenance. 
 Biron. False : we have given thee faces. 
 Hoi. But you have out-fac'd them all. 
 Biron, An thou wert a lion, we would do so. 
 Boiiet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go. 
 And so adieu, sweet Jude ! nay, why dost thou stay^ 
 Dum. For the latter end of his name. 
 Biron. For the ass to the Jude ; — give it him : — 
 
 Jud-as, away. 
 
 Hoi. This is not generous, not gentle, not humble. 
 
 Boi/et. Alight for monsieur Judas: it grows dark, 
 
 he may stumble. [baited! 
 
 Prin. Alas, poor Machabaeus, how hath he been 
 
 Enter AuMADO arm^d,for Hector. 
 liiron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes 
 Hector in arms. 
 
 Dum. Though my mocks come home by me, I will 
 DOW be merry. 
 
 King. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this. 
 
 Boijet. But is this Hector 1 
 
 Dutn. I think. Hector was not so clean-timbered. 
 
 hong. His leg is too big for Hector. 
 
 Dum. More calf, certain. 
 
 Bouet. No ; he is best indued in the small. 
 
 Biron. This cannot be Hector. 
 
 Dum. He's a god or a painter ; for he makes faces. 
 
 Arm. The armipotent Mars, of lances the almiihty, 
 Gave Hector a gift, — 
 Dum. A gilt nutmeg. 
 Biron. A lemon. 
 Long. Stuck with cloves. 
 Dum. No, cloven. 
 Arm. Peace ! 
 The armipotent Mars, of lances the almightii. 
 
 Gave Hector a gift, the heir of llion ; 
 A man so breoth\l, that certain he loould fight, ^ea 
 
 From morn till night, out of his pavilion, 
 I am that flower, — 
 
 Dum. That mint. 
 
 Long. That columbine. 
 
 Arm. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue 
 Long, I must rather give it the rein, for it runs 
 against Hector. 
 
 Dum. Ay, and Hector's a greyhound. 
 Arm. The swee: war-man is dead and rotten ; 
 sweet chucks, beat not the bones of the buried : 
 when he breath'd, he was a man — But I will forward 
 with my device : Sweet royalty, [to the PniNcess.] 
 bestow on me the sense of hearing. 
 
 [Biron whispers Costard. 
 Prin. Speak, brave Hector : we are much delighted. 
 Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper. 
 Boi/et. Loves her by the foot. 
 Dum. He may no by the yard. 
 Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal, — 
 Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is 
 gone ; she is two iionths on her way. 
 Ar7n. What meanest thou 1 
 
 Cost. Faith, unless you play the honest Trojan, 
 the poor wench is cast away : she's quick j the child 
 brags in her belly already ; 'tis yours. 
 
 Arm. Dost thou infamonize me among potentates ? 
 
 thou shalt die. 
 Cost. Then shall Hector be whipp'd, for Jaque- 
 netta that is quick by him ; and haug'd for Pompey 
 that is dead by him. 
 
 Dnm. Most rare Pompey ! 
 Boijct Renowned Pompey ! 
 
 Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great 
 Pompey ! Pompey the huge ! , 
 
 dim. Hector trembles. 
 
 Biron. Pompey is mov'd : — More Ates, more 
 Ates ; stir them on ! stir them on ! 
 Dum. Hector will challenge him. 
 Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in's 
 belly than will sup a Ilea. 
 
 Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee. 
 Cost. 1 will not light with a pole, like a northern 
 man ; 1' 11 slash ; 1' 11 do it by the sword : — I pray 
 you, let me borrow my arms again. 
 Dam. Room for the incensed worthies. 
 Cost. I '11 do it my shirt. 
 Dum. Most resolute Pompey ! 
 Moth. Master, let me take you a button-hole lower. 
 Do you not see, Pompey is uncasing for the combat? 
 What mean you 1 you will lose your reputation. 
 
 Arm. Gentlemen, and soldiers, pardon me ; I will 
 not combat in my shirt. 
 
 Dum. You may not deny it ; Pompey hath made 
 the challenge. 
 
 Arm. Sweet bloods, I both may and will. 
 Biron. What reason have you for't ? 
 Arm. The naked truth of it is, I have no shirt ; 
 I go woolward for penance. 
 
 Boyet. True, and it was enjoin'd him in Rome for 
 wantof linen : since when, I'll be sworn, he wore 
 none, but a dish-clout of Jaquenetta's ; and that 'a 
 wears next his heart, for a favour. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 187 
 
 Enter Mercade. 
 
 Mer. God save you, madam ! 
 Prill. Welcome, Mercade ; 
 But that thou interrupt'st our merriment. 
 
 Mer. 1 am sorry, madam ; for the news I bring. 
 Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father— 
 Prui. Dead for my life. 
 Met: Kven so ; my tale is told 
 Bii-on. Worthies, away; the scene begins to cloud. 
 Arm. For mine own part, 1 breathe free breath : 
 I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole 
 of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier. 
 [Eieunt Worthies. 
 King. How fares your majesty! 
 Priu. Boyet, prepare ; 1 will away to-night. 
 King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay. 
 Prin, Prepare, 1 say. — I tliankyou, gracious lords. 
 For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat, 
 Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe 
 In your rich wisdom, to excuse, or hide, 
 The liberal opposition of our spirits : 
 If over-boldly we have borne ourselves 
 In the converse of breath, your gentleness 
 Was guilty of it. — Farewell, worthy lord ! 
 A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue ; 
 Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks 
 For my great suit so easily obtain'd. 
 
 King. The extreme parts of time extremely form 
 All causes to the purpose of his speed ; 
 And often, at his very loose, decides 
 That which long process could not arbitrate : 
 And though the mourning brow of progeny 
 Forbid the smiling courtesy of love, 
 riie holy suit which fain it would convince ; 
 Vet, since love's argument was first on foot, 
 Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it 
 From what it purpos'd; since to wail friends lost, 
 Is not by much so wholesome, profitable, 
 As to rejoice at friends but newly found. 
 
 Prin. 1 understand you not ; my griefs are double. 
 Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of 
 And by these badges understand the king, [grief; — 
 For your fair sakes have we neglected time, 
 Plav'd foul play uith our oaths ; your beauty, ladies, 
 Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours 
 Even to the opposed end of our intents : 
 And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, — 
 A<- love is full of unbefitting strains ; 
 All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ; 
 Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye 
 Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of forms. 
 Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll 
 To every varied object in his glance : 
 Which party-coated presence of loose love 
 Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes. 
 Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities, 
 Those heavenly eves, that look into these faults, 
 Suggested us to make : Therefore, ladies, 
 Our love being yours, the error that love makes 
 Is likewise yours : we to ourselves prove false, 
 By being once false for ever to be true 
 To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you : 
 And even that falsehood, in itself a sin, 
 Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace. 
 
 Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love ; 
 Your favours, the embassadors of love ; 
 And in our maiden council, rated them 
 At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy, 
 As bombast, and as lining to the time : 
 But more devout than this, in our respects, 
 Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves 
 
 In their own fashion, like a merriment. 
 
 Dum. Our letters, madam, shew'dmuch more than 
 
 Lo7ig. So did our looks, [jet.t. 
 
 Ufls, We did not quote them so. 
 
 King. TCow, at the latest minute of the hour, 
 Grant us your loves. 
 
 Prin. A time, methinks, too short 
 
 To make a worldwithout-end bargain in ; 
 No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much, 
 Full of dear guiltiness ; and, therefore this, — 
 If for my love (as there is no such cause) 
 Vou will do aught, this shall you do for me : 
 Vour oath 1 will not trust ; but go with speed 
 To some forlorn and naked hermitage, 
 Remote from all the pleasures of the world ; 
 There stay, until the twelve celestial signs 
 Have brought about their annual reckoning : 
 If this austere insociable life 
 Change not your offer made in heat of blood ; 
 If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds, 
 Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love. 
 But that it bear this trial, and last love ; 
 Then, at the expiration of the year, 
 Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts, 
 And, by this virgin palm, now kissing thine, 
 I will be thine ; and, till that instant, shut 
 My woeful self up in a mourning house ; 
 Raining the tears of lamentation, 
 For the remembrance of my father's death. 
 If this thou do deny, let our hands part ; 
 Neither intitled in the other's heart. 
 
 King. If this, or more than this, I would deny, 
 To flatter up these powers of mine with rest, 
 The sudden hand of death close up mine eye ! 
 Heuce ever then my heart is in thy breast. 
 
 Biron. And what to me, my love ? and v.liat to me ? 
 
 Eos. Vou must be purged too, your sins are rank ; 
 V-ou are attaint with faults and perjury ; 
 Therefore, if you mv favour mean to get, 
 A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest. 
 But seek the weary beds of people sick. 
 
 Duin, But what tome, my love ? but what to me? 
 
 Kath. A wife ! — A beard, fair health, and honesty ; 
 W^ith three-fold love I wish you all these three. 
 
 Vnm. O, shall 1 say, I thank you, gentle wife? 
 
 Kath. Not SO. my lord ; — a twelvemonth and a day 
 I' 11 mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say : 
 Come when the king doth to my lady come, 
 Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some. 
 
 Diim. I 'II serve thee true and faithfully till th^n. 
 
 Kath. Vet swear not, lest you be forsworn again. 
 
 Long. What says Maria? 
 
 M<ir. At the twelvemonth's end 
 
 I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend. 
 
 Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is long 
 
 Mar. The liker you ; few taller are so young. 
 
 Biron. Studies my lady 1 mistress, look on me, 
 Behold the window of my heart, mine eye. 
 What humble suit attends thy answer there ; 
 Impose some service on me for thy love. 
 
 Ros. Oft have I heard of you. my lord Bin'm, 
 Before I saw you : and the world's large tongue 
 Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks ; 
 Full of comparisons and wounding flouts ; 
 Which you on all estates will execute, 
 That lie within the mercy of your wit : 
 To weed this woi-mwood from your fruitful brain ; 
 And, therewithal, to win me, if you please, 
 (Without the which I am not to be won.) 
 You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day 
 Visit the speechless sick, and still converse 
 VVith groaning wretches ; and your task shall be. 
 
188 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST. 
 
 With all the fierce endeavour of your wit, 
 To enforce the pained impotent to smile. 
 
 Bivon.Tomove wild laughter in the throat of death? 
 It cannot be ; it is impossible : 
 Mirth cannot move a soul in agony, • 
 
 Ros. Why, that *s the way to choke a gibing spirit, 
 Whose influence is begot of that loose grace, 
 Which shallow laughing hearers give to fuols: 
 A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
 Of him that hears it, never in the tongue 
 Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears, 
 Deafd with the clamours of their own dear groans, 
 Will hear your idle scorns, continue then, 
 And I will have you, and that fault withal ; 
 But. if they will not, throw away that spirit. 
 And I shall find you empty of that fault, 
 Kight joyful of your reformation. 
 
 Biron. A twelvemonth? well, befal what will belal, 
 I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital. 
 
 Pri7u Ay, sweet my lord ; and so I take my leave. 
 
 [To the King. 
 
 King. No, madam : we will bring you on your w-ay. 
 
 Bimn. Our wooing doth not end like an old play ; 
 Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy 
 Might well have made our sport a comedy. 
 
 King, Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day, 
 And then 'twill end. 
 
 Biron. That's too long for a play. 
 
 Enter Armado. 
 
 Arm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, — 
 
 Pi-in. Was not that Hector? 
 
 Dum. The worthy knight of Troy, 
 
 Arm. I will kiss thy royal finger, and take leave : 
 I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold 
 the plough for her sweet love three years. But most 
 esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue that 
 the two learned men have compiled, in praise of the 
 owl and tlie cuckoo? it should have followed in the 
 end of our show. 
 
 King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so. 
 
 Arm, Holla ! approach. 
 
 Enter Holofernes, Nathaniel, Moth, Costakd, 
 
 and others. 
 This side is Hiems, winter j this Ver, the spring ; the 
 
 one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the cuckoo. 
 Ver, begin. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Spriiig. I. Tr/fcji daisies pied, and violets blue, 
 And ladit'smocks ail silver-white, 
 And cuckoo-hiids of' yellow hue. 
 
 Do paint the meadows with delight. 
 The cnckoo then, on everv tree^ 
 Mocks married men,Jor thus sings he^ 
 
 Cuckoo ; 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear, 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 TI. When shepherds pipe on oaten straws. 
 
 And J7ie>'rij larks are ploughmen's clocks, 
 Tt hen turtles trend, and rooks and daws. 
 
 And maidens bleach their summer smnchSy 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 
 
 Cuckoo ; 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — word of fear, 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 Winter. III. When isicles hang by the wall. 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail. 
 And Tom hears logs into the hall. 
 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail. 
 When blood is nipp'd, and uays befoul, 
 Then nightly sings the staring tml. 
 
 To -who ; 
 Tu-whit, tO'who, a merxy note. 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 IV. When all aloud the wind doth blow. 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saic. 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow, 
 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
 V/ken roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To- who ; 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 Ann. The words of Mercury are harsh after the 
 songs of ApoUo. You, that wuy j we, this way. 
 
 [ Eiennt. 
 
 In tbis play, which all the editors have concurred to censure, i told they were, to a maiden queen. But there are scattered 
 end some have rejected as unworthy of nurpoel, it must be con- , through the whnle many sparks of genius: nor is there any 
 
 fessed that there are many passages mean, childish, and vulgar; play that has more evident marks of the handof Shakspeare.— 
 which ought uoi to have been exhibited, as we are I Johnson. 
 
 aiid some which c 
 
MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 This play was entered at Stationers' Hall on the22d of July, 
 15\*&; but must have been exhibited before that time, as it 
 was mentioned by Meres, in the Hit's I'reasury, which was 
 published early in the same year. 1 he fiist known edition of 
 this comedy is the quarto, " printed by J. K. for Ihomas 
 Heyes, It<H)." It was most probably written in i5')~ . Jlr. 
 Malone places itthrte years earlier; but he has no authority 
 to support his hypothesis, but a simile of Portia's — 
 " rhy music is 
 " Iven as the flourish when true subjects bow 
 '* To a new crowned monarch." 
 This passage he supposes to refer to the recent coronation of 
 Ileory the Fourth of France, of which a description was pub- 
 lished in this country immediately after the eveot. 
 
 The principal incidents of the plot are taken from a story In 
 the Pecofuneoi SerCJiovaaui Fioreotino, ano^'elist who wrote 
 in 1378. [ihe first novel of the fourth day.] The story has 
 been published in Ent^liih. 1 he circumstance of ihe caakels 
 is from an old translation of the Gena Komanorum, first 
 printed by Wynkya de Worde. 
 
 It has been supposed that there was a play on the subject pre- 
 vious to this of our author, and on which he mi^ht have 
 grounded his work, f his notion has been supgesied Ijy a 
 passage in Stephen Gosson's HchtM}! of Abuse, which speaks of 
 " the Jew shewn at the Bull, represeniiiii,' the greeuiness of 
 worldly choosers, and the bloody minds of usurers ;" but 
 these words aprly with equal propriety to the Jtie of Marloa, 
 and to the Hhyhci. of Shakspeare. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Duke op Venice. 
 
 Prince of Monocco, ) . -^ • 
 
 T) A > suitors to Fortia. 
 
 Fringe of Arragon, S 
 
 An^tomo, the Merchant o/" Venice. 
 
 Bassanio, his friend* 
 
 Salanio, Salarino, Gratian'O, friends to Antonio 
 
 and Bassanio. 
 Lorenzo, in love with Jessica. 
 SuYLOCK, a Jew, 
 Tubal, a Jeiv, his friend. 
 
 Launcelot Gobdo, a clown, servant to Shylock. 
 Old GonBo, father to Launcelot. 
 Salerio, a messenger from Venice. 
 Leonardo, sei^vant to Bassanio. 
 Balthazar, Stephano, servants to Portia. 
 Portia, a rich heiress. 
 Nerissa, her waiting-maid. 
 Jessica, daughter to Shylock. 
 
 Mag-n{/iV(7es<j/" Venice, Officers of the Court of Justice^ 
 Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, — partly at Venice, and partlu at Bf.lsiont, 
 the Seat <)/' Portia, on the Continent. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE L— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Salanio. 
 
 Aiit. In sooth, I know not %vhy I am so sad; 
 It wearies me ; you say. it wearies you ; 
 But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
 What sturi' 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
 I am to leain ; 
 
 And such a want-wit sadness makes of me, 
 That 1 have much ado to know myself. 
 
 Sahr, Your mind is tossing on the ocean ; 
 There, wliere your argosies with portly sail, — 
 Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood. 
 Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, — 
 Do overpeer the petty traffickers, 
 That curt'sy to them, do them reverence, 
 As they fly by them with their woven wings. 
 
 Salun. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth. 
 The better part of my aflectioas would 
 Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
 Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ; 
 Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads j 
 And every object, that might make me fear 
 Misfortune to mv ventures, out of doubt. 
 Would make me sad. 
 
 S&lar. My wind, cooling my broth. 
 
 Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
 
 What hann a wind too great might do at sea- 
 
 I should not see the sandy hour glass run, 
 
 But I should think of shallows and of flats ; 
 
 And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand. 
 
 Vailing her high-top lowei than her ribs. 
 
 To kiss her burial. Should I go to church. 
 
 And see the holy edifice of stone. 
 
 And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks'! 
 
 Which touching but my gentle vessel's side. 
 
 Would scatter all her spices on the stream ; 
 
 Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks j 
 
 And. in a word, but even now worth this, 
 
 And now worth nothing 1 Shall I have the thought 
 
 To think on this ; and shall 1 lack the thought, 
 
 That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad ? 
 
 But tell not me ; I know Antonio 
 
 Is sad to think upon his merchandize. 
 
 Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it, 
 My ventures are not in one bottom trusted, 
 Nor to one place ; nor is ray whole estate 
 Upon the fortune of tJiis present year : 
 Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad. 
 
 Salan. Why then you are in love. 
 
 Ant. Fye, fye ! 
 
 Salan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you 
 are sad, 
 Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy 
 For you to laugh, and leap, and say, you are merry. 
 Because you are not sad. Now, by two headed Janus, 
 Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time : 
 Some that will evermore peep through their eyes. 
 And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper : 
 And other of such vinegar aspect, 
 That they'll not shew their teeth in way of smile, 
 Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano. 
 
 Salan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kins- 
 Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ; [man, 
 
 W^e leave you now with betttr company. 
 
 Salar. I would have staid till I had made you merry. 
 If worthier friends had not prevented me. 
 
 Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
 I take it, your own business calls on you. 
 And you embrace the occasion to depart. 
 
 Salar. Good morrow, niv good lords. [Say, when? 
 
 Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ? 
 You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ? 
 
 SaUir. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
 [Eieujit Salarino and Salanio, 
 
 Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found 
 Antonio, 
 We two will leave you : but, at dinner time, 
 I pray you, have in mind where we must meet. 
 
190 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Bass, T will not fail you. 
 
 Gra, You look not well, signior Antonio ; 
 You have too much respect upon the world: 
 They lose it, that do buy it with much care. 
 Believe me, you are marvellously cliang'd. 
 
 Ant. I hold the v/orld but as the world, Gratiano ; 
 A stage, where every man must play a part, 
 And mine a sad one. 
 
 Gra, Let me play the Fool : 
 
 With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles corae ; 
 And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
 Than ray heart cool with mortifying groans. 
 Why should a man, whose blood is waiTO within, 
 Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 
 Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice 
 By being peevish 1 I tell thee what, Antonio, — 
 1 love thee, and it is my love that speaks j — 
 There are a sort of men. whose visages 
 Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ; 
 And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
 With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
 Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit j 
 As who should say, i am Sir Oracle^ 
 And, \ihen I ope tny lips, let no dog bark ! 
 O, my Antonio, I do know of these, 
 That therefore only are reputed wise, 
 For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure, 
 If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, 
 "Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools. 
 I '11 tell thee more of this another time : 
 But fish not, with this melancholy bait, 
 For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. — • 
 Come, good Lorenzo : Fare ye well, a while ; 
 I'll end my exhortation after dinner. 
 
 Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time. 
 I must be one of these same dumb wise men, 
 For Gratiano never lets me speak. 
 
 Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more, 
 Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 
 
 Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear. 
 
 Gra, Thanks., i' faith ; for silence is only com- 
 mendable 
 In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 
 \^Eieiint Gratiano and Lorenzo. 
 
 Ant, Is that any thing nowl 
 
 Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing, 
 more than any man in all Venice : His reasons are 
 as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff'; 
 you shall seek all day ere you find them ; and, when 
 you have them, they are not worth the search. 
 
 Ant. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this same, 
 To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage. 
 That you to-day promls'd to tell me of? 
 
 Bass. *Tis not unknown to you, Antonio, 
 How much I have disabled mine estate, 
 By something shewing a more swelling port 
 Than my faint means would grant continuance : 
 Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd 
 From such a noble rate ; but my chief care 
 Is, to come fairly off from tlie great debts, 
 Wherein my time, something too prodigal, 
 Hath left me gaged : To you, Antonio, 
 I owe the most, in money, and in love ; 
 And from your love I liave a warranty 
 To unburthen all my plots, and purposes, 
 How to get clear of all the debts I owe. 
 
 Ant. 1 pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it ; 
 And, if It stand, as you yourself still do, 
 Within the eye of honour, be assur'd, 
 My purse, my person, my extremest means, 
 Lie all unlock'd to your occasions, 
 
 Bass. Inmy school-days, when I had lost one shaft, 
 
 I shot his fellow of the self-same flight 
 
 The self-same way, with more advised watch, 
 
 To find the other forth ; and by advent'ring both, 
 
 I oft found both : I urge this childish proof, 
 
 Because what follows is pure innocence. 
 
 I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth, 
 
 That which I owe is lost : but if you please 
 
 To shoot another arrow that self way 
 
 Which you did shoot the first, 1 do not doubt, 
 
 As I will watch the aim, or to find both, 
 
 Or bring your latter hazard back again. 
 
 And thankfully rest debtor for the first. [time, 
 
 Ant. You know me well ; and herein spend but 
 To wind about my love with circumstance ; 
 And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong, 
 In making question of my uttermost. 
 Than if you had made waste of all I have: 
 Then do but say to me what I should do, 
 That in your knowledge may by me be done, 
 And I am prest unto it ; therefore, speak. 
 
 Buss. In Belmont is a lady richly left. 
 And she is fair, and, fairer than that word, 
 Of wond'rous virtues ; sometimes from her eyes 
 I did receive fair speechless messages : 
 Her name is Portia ;- nothing undervalued 
 To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia. 
 Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ; 
 For the four winds blow in from every coast 
 Renowned suitors : and her sunny locks 
 Hang on her temples like a golden fleece ; 
 \Vhich makes her seal of Belmont, Colchos' strand. 
 And many Jasons come in quest of her. 
 
 my Antonio, had I but the means 
 Tm hold a rival place with one of them, 
 
 1 have a mind presages me such thrift. 
 That I should questionless be fortunate. 
 
 Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes arc at sea; 
 Nor have I money, nor commodity 
 'I'o raise a present sura ; therefore go forth. 
 Try what my credit can in Venice do ; 
 That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost. 
 To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia. 
 Go, presently inquire, and so will I, 
 Where money is ; and 1 no question make, 
 To have it of my trust, or for my sake. ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCI;NE II.— Belmont. A Boom in Portia's House, 
 Enter Portia and Nerissa. 
 
 Por. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a- 
 weary of this great world. 
 
 Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mise- 
 ries were in the same abundance as your good for- 
 tunes are : And yet, for aught I see, they are as sicfc 
 that surfeit with too much, as they that starve with 
 nothing : It is no mean happiness therefore, to be 
 seated in the mean ; superfluity comes sooner by 
 white hairs, but competency lives longer. 
 
 Por, Good sentences, and well pronounced, 
 
 Ner. They would be better, if well followed. 
 
 Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were 
 good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor 
 men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine 
 that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach 
 twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the 
 twenty to follow mine own teaching. The brain may 
 devise laws for the blood ; but a hot temper leaps 
 over a cold decree : such a hare is madness the youth, 
 to skip o'er the meshes of good counsel the cripple. 
 But this reasoning is not in the fashion to choose mo 
 a husband : — O me, the word choose ! I may neither 
 choose whom I would, nor refuse whom 1 dislike ; 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 191 
 
 SO is the will of a living daughter curb'd by the will 
 of a dciid father : — Is it aot hard, Nerissa, that I 
 cannot choose one, nor refuse none ? 
 
 A'er. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy 
 men, at their death, have good inspirations ; there- 
 fore, the lottery, that he liath devised in these three 
 chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who 
 chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, n^ doubt, 
 never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you 
 shs.Il rightly love. But what warmth is there in your 
 affection towards any of these princely suitors that 
 are already come 1 
 
 Par, I pray thee, overname them ; and as thou 
 namest them, I will describe them ; and according 
 to iny description, level at my affection. 
 
 JVVr. First, there is the Neapolitan prince. 
 
 Por. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing 
 but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great appro- 
 priation to his own good parts, that he can shoe him 
 hiniself: I am much afraid, my lady his mother 
 played false with a smith. 
 
 Ner. Then, is there the county Palatine. 
 
 Por. He doth nothing but frown ; as who should 
 say, And if yon wilt not have me, choose: he iiears 
 merry tales, and smiles not : I fear, he will prove 
 the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being 
 so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had 
 rather be married to a death's head with a bone m 
 his mouth, than to either of these, God. defend nie 
 from these two ! 
 
 Ker. How say you by the French lord, Monsieur 
 Le Bon ^ 
 
 Por, God made him, and therefore let him pass 
 for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a 
 mocker ; But, he! why, he hath a horse better than 
 the Neapolitan's ; a better bad habit of frowning 
 than the count Palatine : he is every man in no man : 
 if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering; he will 
 fence with his own shadow : if I should marry him, 
 I should marry twenty husbands : If he would de- 
 spise me, I would forgive him ; for if he love me to 
 madness, I shall never requite him, 
 
 Ner. AVhat say you then to Faulconbridge, the 
 young baron of England ! 
 
 Por, You know, I say nothing to him ; for he un- 
 derstands not me, nor 1 him : he hath neither Latin, 
 French, nor Italian; and you will come into the 
 court and swear, that I have a poor pennyworth in 
 the English. He is a proper man's picture ; But, 
 alas ! who can converse witli a dumb show } How 
 oddly he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet 
 in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in 
 Germany, and his behaviour every where. 
 
 Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his 
 neighbour? 
 
 Por. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him ; 
 for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, 
 and swore he would pay him again, when he was 
 able : I think, the Frenchman became his surety, 
 and sealed under for another. 
 
 Ner. How like you the young German, the duke 
 of Saxony's nephew ? 
 
 Por, Very vilely in the morning, when he is 
 sober j and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is 
 drunk : when he is best, he is a little worse than a 
 man ; and when he is worst, he is little better than 
 a beast : and the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I 
 shall make shift to go without him. 
 
 Ner. If he should off'er to choose, and choose the 
 right casket, you should refuse to perform your fa- 
 ther's will, if you should refuse to accept him. 
 
 Por. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee, 
 
 set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary 
 casket : for, if the devil be within, and that tempta- 
 tion without, I know he will choose it. I will do 
 any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a spunge. 
 
 Ner. You need not fear, lady, the having any of 
 these lords ; they have acquainted me with their de- 
 terminations : which is, indeed, to return to their 
 home, and to trouble you with no more suit; unless, 
 you may be won by some other sort than your fa- 
 tlier's imposition, depending on the caskets. 
 
 Por, If I live to be as old as Sibylla, 1 will die 
 as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the man- 
 ner of my father's will : I am glad this parcel of 
 wooers are so reasonable ; for there is not one among 
 them but I dote on his very absence, and 1 pray God 
 grant them a fair departure. 
 
 A'er. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's 
 time, a Venetian, a sciiolar, and a soldier, that came 
 hither in company of the Marquis of Montferratl 
 
 Por, Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, so 
 was he called. 
 
 Ner. True, madam ; he, of all the men that ever 
 my foolish eyes looked upon, was the best deserving 
 a fair laily. 
 
 Por, I remember him well ; and I remember him 
 worthy of thy praise. — How now! what news X 
 
 Entei- a Servant. 
 
 Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam, 
 to take their leave : and there is a fore-runner come 
 from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; who brings 
 word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night. 
 
 Por. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so good 
 heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I should 
 be glad of his approach : if he have the condition of 
 a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I had rather 
 he should shrive me than wive me. Come, Nerissa.— 
 Sirrah, go before. — Whiles we shut the gate upon 
 one wooer, another knocks at the door. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE, III. — Venice. A public Place, 
 Enter Bassanio and Shylock. 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats. — well. 
 
 Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 
 
 Shy. For three months, — well. [be bound. 
 
 Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall 
 
 Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well. 
 
 Bass. May you stead me? Will you pleasure me ? 
 Shall I know your answer? [Antonio bound. 
 
 SJiy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and 
 
 Bass. Your answer to that. 
 
 Shy. Antonio is a good man. [trary t 
 
 Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the con- 
 
 57(1/. Ho, no, no, no, no; — my meaning, in say- 
 ing he is a good man, is to have you understand me, 
 that he is sufficient ; yet his means are in supposition : 
 he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the 
 Indies; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he 
 
 hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England, 
 
 and other ventures he hath.squander'd abroad; But 
 ships are but boards, sailors but men : there be land- 
 rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land-thieves; 
 I mean, pirates; and then, there is the peril of wa- 
 ters, winds, and rocks : The man is, notwithstanding, 
 sufficient ; — three thousand ducats j — I think, I may 
 take his bond. 
 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. I will be assured, I may; and, that I may 
 be assured, I will bethink me : May I speak with 
 Antonio 1 
 
 Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 
 
192 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Shif. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of t!ie habitation 
 which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil 
 into ; I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with 
 you, walk with you, and so following : but I will not 
 eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with you. 
 What news on the Rialto 1 — Who is lie comes here ? 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Baas. This is signior Antonio. 
 Shy. [Abitii'.] IIow likeafawningpublican he looks! 
 I hate him, for he is a Christian : 
 But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
 Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
 On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
 Which he calls interest : Cursed be my tribe, 
 If I forgive him ! 
 
 Bass. Shylock, do you hear"! 
 
 Shy. I am debating of my present store : 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, 
 I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
 Of full three thousand ducats : What of that? 
 Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tril>e, 
 Will furnish me : but soft ; How many months 
 Do you desire? — Rest you fair, good signior : 
 
 [To Antonio. 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 
 
 Am. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow, 
 By taking, nor by giving of excess, 
 Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 
 I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd. 
 How much you would 1 
 
 Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Ant. And for three months. i 
 
 Shy. I had forgot, ^three months, you told me so. 
 
 Well then, your bond; and, let me see, But 
 
 hear you : 
 Methought, you said, you neither lend, nor borrow, 
 Upon advantage. 
 
 Ant. I do never use it. 
 
 Shy. When Jacob graz'd his uncle Laban's sheep. 
 This Jacob from our holy Abraham was 
 (As his wise mother wrought in his behalf,) 
 The third possessor ; ay, he was the third. 
 
 Ant. And what of him ? did he take interest ? 
 Sky. No, not take interest ; not, as you would say, 
 Directly interest : mark what Jacob did. 
 When Laban and himself were compromis'd, 
 That all the eanlings which were streak'd, and pied. 
 Should fall, as Jacob's hire ; the ewes, being rank, 
 In the end of autumn turned to the rams : 
 And when the work of generation was 
 Between these woolly breeders in the act, 
 The skilful sheplierd peel'd me certain wands, 
 And, in the doing of the deed of kind, 
 He stuck them up before the fulsome ewes ; 
 Who, then conceiving, did in eaning time 
 Fall party-colour'd lambs, and those were Jacob's. 
 This was a way to thrive, and he was blest ; 
 And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 
 
 Ant. This was a venture, sir, that Jacob serv'd for; 
 A thing not in his power to bring to pass. 
 But sway'd, and fashion'd, by the hand of heaven. 
 Was this inserted to make interest good ? 
 Or is your gold and silver, ewes and rains'^ 
 
 Shy. I cannot tell ; I make it breed as fast : — 
 But note me. signior. 
 
 Atit. [aside,] Mark you this, Bassanio, 
 
 The devil can cite scripture for his purpose. 
 An evil soul, producing holy witness. 
 Is like a villain with a smiling cheek ; 
 A goodly apple rotten at the heart ; 
 O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath! 
 
 67(1/. Three thousand ducats — 'tis a good round sum 
 Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate 
 
 Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you? 
 
 Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft. 
 In the Rialto you have rated me 
 About my monies, and my usances: 
 Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ; 
 For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
 Vou call me— ^misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
 And spit upp.n my Jewish gaberdine. 
 And ail for use of that which is mine own. 
 Well then, it now appears, you need my help ; 
 Go to then ; you coine to me, and you say, 
 Shitlock^ ne icotild have monies ; Vou say so ; 
 Vou, that did void your rheum upon my beard. 
 And foot me, as you spur a stranger cur 
 Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. 
 AVhat should I say to you ? .Should I not say, 
 Hath a dog money ? h it possible, 
 A cur can (end three thousand ducats ? or 
 Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key. 
 With "bated breath, and whispering humbleness. 
 
 Say this, 
 
 Fair sir, you spit on me on IVednesday last: 
 iou spurn il me such a day ; another time 
 You caird 7ne — do^ ; and for these courtesies 
 I'll lend you thus much mimifs. 
 
 Ant. I am as like to call thee so again. 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 As to thy friends; (for when did friendship take 
 A breed for barren metal of his friend ?) 
 But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
 Who, if he break, thou may'st with better face 
 Exact the penalty. 
 
 Shy. Why, look you, how you storm! 
 
 I would be friends with you, and have your love. 
 Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with. 
 Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
 Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me . 
 This is kind 1 offer. 
 
 Ant. This were kindness. 
 
 Shy. This kindness will I shew : — 
 
 Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
 Vour single bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
 If you repay me not on such a day, 
 In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are 
 Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
 Be nominated for an equal pound 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
 In what part of your body pleaseth me. 
 
 Ant. Content, in faith ; I'll seal to such a bond. 
 And say, there is much kindness in the Jew. 
 
 Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me, 
 I'll rather dwell in my necessity. 
 
 Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it 
 Within these two months, that's a month before 
 This bond expires, I do expect return 
 Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 
 
 Shy. father Abraham, what these Christians are j 
 Whose own Kard dealings teaches them suspect 
 The thoughts of otiiers ! Pray you, tell me this ^ 
 If he should break his day, what should I gain 
 By the exaction of the forfeiture ? 
 A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man, 
 Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 
 As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 193 
 
 To buy his favour, t extend this friendship ; 
 
 If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
 
 And, for my love, I pray you, mong me not. 
 
 Ant. Yes, Shylock, Iwill seal unto this bond. 
 
 Shu. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
 Give him direction for this merry bond. 
 And I will go and purse the ducats straight ; 
 See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
 Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
 1 will be with you. [£iit. 
 
 Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew . 
 
 This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows kind. 
 
 Btiss. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind. 
 
 Ant. Come on ; in this there can be no dismay, 
 My ships come home a month before the day, 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT 11. 
 
 SCEXE I, — Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets, Enter the Prince of BIorocco, 
 and his Train ; Portia, Nerissa, and other of her 
 Attendants. 
 
 Mor, IMislike me not for my complexion, 
 Tlie shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun. 
 To whom I am a neighbour, and near bred. 
 Bring me the fairest creature northward born, 
 Where Piioebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles, 
 And let us make incision for your love, 
 To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine. 
 I tell thee, lady, this aspect of mine 
 Hath fear'd the valiant ; by my love, I swear, 
 The best-regarded virgins of our clime 
 Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hue, 
 Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen. 
 
 Por. In terms of choice I am not solely led 
 By nice direction of a maiden's eyes : 
 Besides, the lottery of my destiny 
 Bars me the right of voluntary choosing : 
 But, if my father had not scanted me. 
 And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself 
 His wife, who wins me by that means I told you. 
 Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair, 
 As any comer I have look'd on yet, 
 For my afi'ection. 
 
 ilfi>r. Even ibr that I thank you ; 
 
 Therefore, I pray you. lead me to the caskets, 
 To try my fortune. By this scimitar, — 
 That slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince, 
 That won three fields of Sultan Solyraan, — 
 I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look, 
 Out-br.ive the heart most daring on the earth. 
 Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she bear, 
 Yea. mock the lion when he roars for prey, 
 To win thee, lady : But, alas the while ! 
 If Hercules and Lichas, play at dice 
 Which is the better man, the greater throw 
 May turn by fortune from the weaker hand : 
 So is Alcides beaten by his page ; 
 And so may I, blind fortune leading me, 
 Miss that which one uuworthier may attain, 
 And die with grieving. 
 
 Por. You must take your chance , 
 
 And either not attempt to choose at all, 
 Or swear before you choose, — if you choose wrong, 
 Never to speak to lady afterward 
 In way of marriage ; therefore be advis'd. 
 
 Mor. Nor will not; come, bringmeuntomychance. 
 
 Par. First forward to the temple ; after dinner 
 
 Your hazard shall be made. 
 
 Jtftfr. Good fortune then I [Cornets. 
 
 To make me bless't, or cursed*st among men. \^Bieunt, 
 
 SCENE II.— Venice. A Street. 
 
 Enter Launcelot Gobbo. 
 
 Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to 
 run from this Jew, my master : The fiend is at mme 
 elbow ; and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo, Launce- 
 lot Gobho, good Launcelot, or good Gobho, or good 
 LauJicelot Gobbo, itseiiour legs, take thestart, run away ." 
 IMy conscience says, — no ; take heed, honest Launce* 
 tot; take heed, honest Gobbo ; or as aforesaid, honest 
 Lau7icelot Gobbo ; do not run ; scorn running with thy 
 heels : Well, the most courageous fiend bids me pack ; 
 via! says the fiend; await! says the fiend, /or the 
 heavens ; rouse up a brave miiid, says the fiend, and 
 rutu Well, my conscience, hanging about the neck 
 of my heart, says very wisely to me, — mu honest 
 friend, Launceht, beingan honeU mans son, or rather 
 an honest woman's son ; — for, indeed, my father did 
 something smack, something grow to, he had a kind 
 of taste : — well, my conscience says, Lai(?ict'/of. budge 
 not; budge, sa\s the fiend; budge not,sa.ys my con- 
 science : Conscience, say I. you counsel well ; fiend, 
 say I, you counsel well ; to be ruled by my conscience, 
 I should stay with the Jew ray master, who, (God 
 bless the mark !) is a kind of devil ; and, to run away 
 from the Jew, 1 should be ruled by the fiend, who, 
 saving your reverence, is the devil himself: Certainly, 
 the Jew is the very devil incarnation : and, in my 
 conscience, my conscience is but a kind of hard con- 
 science, to offer to counsel me to stay with the Jew : 
 The fiend gives the more friendly counsel : I will run, 
 fiend ; my heels are at your commandment, I will run. 
 
 Enter Old Gobbo, with a basket. 
 
 Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you ; which 
 is the way to master Jew's ? 
 
 Laun. [Aside.] O heavens, this is my true begot- 
 ten father 1 who, being more than sand-blind, high- 
 gravel blind, knows me not: — 1 will 117 conclusions 
 with him. 
 
 Gob. blaster young gentleman, I pray you, which 
 is the way to master Jew's ? 
 
 Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next turn- 
 ing, but. at the next turning of all, on your left ; 
 marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but 
 turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. 
 
 Gob. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to it. 
 Can you tell me whether one Launcelot, that dwells 
 with him, dwell with him. or no \ 
 
 Laun. Talk you of young master Launcelot ? — 
 Mark me now; [aside.'] now will I raise the waters: 
 — Talk you of young master Launcelot ] 
 
 Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son : his 
 father, though I say it. is an honest exceeding poor 
 man, and, God be thanked, well to live. 
 
 Laun. Well, let his father be what he "ill, we 
 talk of young master Launcelot. 
 
 Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir. 
 
 Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I be- 
 seech you ; Talk you of young master Launcelot? 
 
 Gob. Of Launcelot, ant please your mastership. 
 
 Laun. £j-^o, master Launcelot ; talk not of master 
 Launcelot, father ; for the young gentleman (accord- 
 ing to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the 
 sisters three, and such branches of learning), is, in- 
 deed, deceased ; or, as you would say, in plain terras, 
 gope to heaven. 
 
 N 
 
194 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very 
 staff" of my age, my very prop. 
 
 Liiun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post, a 
 start", or a prop ? — Do you know me, father ? 
 
 Gob. Alack the day, 1 know you not, young gen- 
 tleman : but, I i)ray you, tell me, is my boy, (God 
 rest his soul!) alive or dead? 
 
 Laun. Do yoa not know me, father? 
 
 Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not. 
 
 Laim. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you might 
 fail of the knowing me : it is a wise fatlier, that knows 
 his own child. Well, old man, 1 will tell you news 
 of your son: Give me your blessing: truth will come 
 to light ; murder cannot be hid long, a man's son 
 may ; but, in the end, truth will out. 
 
 Go6, Pray you, sir, stand up j 1 am sure, you are 
 not Launcelot, my boy. 
 
 Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about it, 
 but give me your blessing ; I am Launcelot, your boy 
 that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. 
 
 Gob. I cannot think, you are my son. 
 
 Laun. I know not what 1 shall think of that: but 
 I cim Launcelot, the Jew's man : and, I am sure, 
 JMargery, your wife, is my mother. 
 
 Gob, Her name is Margery, indeed: I'll be sworn, 
 if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own flesh and 
 blood. Lord worshipp'd might he be ! what a beard 
 hast thou got? thou hast got more hair on thy cliin, 
 than Dobbin my thill-horse has on his tail. 
 
 Laun. It should seem then, that Dobbin's tailgrows 
 backward ; I am sure he had more hair on his tail, 
 than I have on my face, when I last saw him. 
 
 Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost thou 
 and thy master agree? 1 have brought him a present j 
 How 'gree you now ? 
 
 Laun. Well, well; but, for mine own part, as I 
 have set up my rest to run away, so 1 will not rest 
 till I have run some ground : my master's a very Jew ; 
 Give him a present! give him a halter: lamfamish'd 
 in his service; you may tell every finger 1 have with 
 my ribs. Father, I am glad you are come ; give me 
 your present to one master Bassanio, who, indeed, 
 gives rare new liveries ; if 1 serve not him, I will run 
 as far as God has any ground. — O rare fortune ! here 
 comes the man;— to him, father; for I am a Jew, if 
 I serve the Jew any longer. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and other 
 Followers. 
 
 Bass. You may do so : — but let it be so hasted, 
 tliat supper be ready at the farthest by five of the 
 clock: See these letters deliver'd ; put the liveries 
 to making ; and desire Gratiano to come anon to my 
 lodging. [Exit a Servant. 
 
 Laun. To him, father. 
 
 Gob. God bless your worship! 
 
 Bass. Gramercy ; Would'st thou aught with me? 
 
 Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, 
 
 Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's man j 
 that would, sir, as my father shall specify, 
 
 Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would 
 say, to serve 
 
 Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve 
 the Jew, and 1 have a desire, as my father shall spe- 
 cify, 
 
 Gob, His master and he, (^saving your worship's 
 reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins ; 
 
 Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the Jew 
 having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my father, 
 being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto you, 
 
 Gob. I nave here a di^h of doves, that I would 
 bestow upon your worship; and my suit is, ■ 
 
 Laun, In very brief, the suit is impertinent to my- 
 self, as your worship shall know by this honest old 
 man ; and, though 1 say it, though old man, yet, pool 
 man, my father. 
 
 Bass. One speak for both ; — What would you ? 
 
 Laun. Serve you, sir. 
 
 Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir. 
 
 Bass. I know tliee well, thou hast obtain'd thy suit: 
 Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this daVi 
 And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment, 
 To leave a rich Jew's service, to become 
 The follower of so poor a gentleman. 
 
 Laun. The old proverb is very well parted between 
 my master Shylock and you, sir ; you have the grace 
 of God, sir, and he hath enough. [son : — 
 
 Bass. Thou speak'st it well ; Go, father, with thy 
 Take leave of thy old master, and inquire 
 My lodging out : — give him a livery \Tohis Followers. 
 More guarded than his fellows' : See it done. 
 
 Laun. Father, in: — I cannot get a service, no; — 
 I have ne'er a tongue in my head. — Well ; [hnhing 
 on his palm.'] if any man in Italy have a fairer table, 
 which doth offer to swear upon a book. — 1 shall have 
 good fortune ; Go to, here's a simple line of life ! 
 here's a small trifle of wives : Alas, fifteen wives is 
 nothing ; eleven widows, and nine maids, is a simple 
 coming in for one man : and then, to 'scape drown- 
 ing thrice ; and to be in peril of my life with the edge 
 of a feather-bed ; — here are simple 'scapes ! Well, if 
 fortune be a woman, she's j. good wench for this gear. 
 — Father, come ; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the 
 twinkling of an eye. 
 
 [Exeunt Launcelot and Old Gobbo. 
 
 Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this; 
 These things being bought and orderly bestow'd, 
 Return in haste, for I do feast to-night 
 My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go. 
 
 Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein. 
 
 Enter Gkatiano, 
 
 Gra. Where is your master? 
 
 Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks. [Exit Leonardo, 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, 
 
 Bass, Gratiano ! 
 
 Gra. I have a suit to you. 
 
 Bass. You have obtain'd it, 
 
 Gra. You must not deny me ; I must go with you to 
 Belmont. [tiano j 
 
 Bass. Why, then you must ; — But hear thee, Gra- 
 Thou art too wild, too rude, and hold of voice; — 
 Parts, that become thee happily enough, 
 And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ; 
 But where thou art not known, why, there they shew 
 Something too liberal : — pray thee take pain 
 To allay with some cold drops of modesty 
 Thy skipping spirit ; lest, through thy wild behaviour, 
 I be misconstrued in the place 1 go to. 
 And lose my hopes. 
 
 Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me: 
 
 If I do not put on a sober habit, 
 Talk with respect, and swear but now and then, 
 Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ; 
 Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes 
 Thus, with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen; 
 Use all the observance of civility, 
 Like one well studied in a sad oslent 
 To please his grandam, never trust me moie. 
 
 Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 
 
 Gra. Nay, buti bar to-night; you shall not gage mo 
 By what we do to-night, 
 
 Bass. No, that \Tcre pity ; 
 
 I would entreat you rather to put on 
 
ACT II.— SCENE V. 
 
 195 
 
 Your baldest suit of mirth, for we have friends 
 That purpose merriment : But fare you well, , 
 I have some business. 
 
 Ora. .\ud I must to Lorenzo, and the rest ; 
 But we will visit you at supper-time. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — 7711? same. A Room in Shylock's House. 
 Enter Jessica and Laiincelot. 
 
 Jes. I am sorry, thou wilt leave my father so; 
 Our house is hell, and thou, a meiry devil. 
 Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness ; 
 But fare thee well : there is a ducat for thee. 
 And, Launcelot, soon at supper shall thou see 
 Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest : 
 Give him this letter, do it secretly. 
 And so farewell : I would not have my father 
 See me talk with thee. 
 
 LtiKu. Adieu! — tears exhibit my tongue. — Most 
 beautiful Pagan, most sweet .lew! If a Christian do 
 not play the knave, and get thee, I lun much de- 
 ceived : But, adieu ! these foolish drops do somewhat 
 drown my manly spirit; adieu! [£i{t. 
 
 Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. 
 Alack, what heinous sin is it in me. 
 To be asham'd to be my father's child '. 
 But though I am a daughter to his blood, 
 I am not to his manners ; Lorenzo, 
 If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife ; 
 Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [En't, 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Same. A Street. 
 Enter Gbatiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and Salanio. 
 
 Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time; 
 Disguise us at my lodging, and return 
 All in an hour. 
 
 Gra. We have not made good preparation. 
 
 Salai: We have not spoke as yet of torch-bearers. 
 
 SdlaH. ' Tis vile, unless it may be quaintly order'd ; 
 ^ And better, in ray mind, not undertook. 
 
 Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we have two hours 
 To furnish us ; — 
 
 Enter Launcelot, mth a letter. 
 
 Friend Launcelot, what's the news ? 
 
 Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it 
 shall seem to signify. 
 
 Lor. 1 know the hand: in faith, 'tis a fair hand ; 
 And whiter than the paper it writ on. 
 Is the fair hand tliat writ. 
 
 Gra. Love-news, in faith. 
 
 Laun. By TOur leave, sir. 
 
 Lor. Whither goest thou ? 
 
 L<iun. Starry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew to 
 sup to-night with my new master the Christian. 
 
 Lor. Hold here, take this: — tell gentle Jessica, 
 I will not fail her ;— speak it privately ; go. — 
 Gentlemen, [Eiit Launcelot. 
 
 AVill vou prepare yo\i for this masque to-night! 
 I am provided of a torch-bearer. 
 
 Salar. .-Vy. marry, I'll be gone about it straight 
 
 Satan. And so will I. 
 
 Lor. Meet me, and Gratiano, 
 
 At Gratiano's lod^ng some hour hence. 
 
 Sttiar. 'Tis good we do so. 
 
 [Erennt Salar. and Salan. 
 
 Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ! 
 
 lAir. 1 must needs tell thee all : She hath directed, 
 How 1 shall take her from her father's house ; 
 What gold, and jewels, slie is liirnish'd with ; 
 What page's suit she hath in readiness. 
 
 If e'er the Jew her father come to heaven, 
 
 It will be for his gentle daughter's sake : 
 
 And never dare misfortune cross her foot. 
 
 Unless she do it under this e-xcuse, — 
 
 That she is issue to a faithless Jew. 
 
 Come, go with me ; peruse this, as thou goest: 
 
 Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Eieunl. 
 
 SCENE v.— The same. Before Shylock's House. 
 Enter SnvLOCK and Launcelot. 
 
 Shi), Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy 
 judge, 
 The difference of old Shylock and Bassanio : — 
 "What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize, 
 .A.S thou hast done with me ; — What, Jessica! — 
 .\nd sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; — 
 Wily, Jessica, I say! 
 
 Laun. Why. Jessica! 
 
 Shti. Who bids thee call ! 1 did not bid thee call, 
 
 Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could 
 do nothing without bidding. 
 
 Enter Jessica. 
 Jes. Call you ? What is your will 1 
 Sktj. I am bid forth to supper, Jessica ; 
 There are my keys: — But wherefore should I go? 
 I am not bid for love ; they flatter me : 
 But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon 
 The prodigal Christian. — Jessica, my girl. 
 Look to my house : — I am right loath to go ; 
 There is some ill a brewing towards my rest. 
 For I did dream of money-bags to-night. 
 
 Laun. I beseech you, sir, go on; my young master 
 doth expect your reproach. 
 Shy. So do I his. 
 
 Lauii. .\nd they have conspired together, — I will 
 not say, you shall see a masque ; but if you do, then 
 it was not for nothing that my nose fell a bleeding 
 on Black-Monday last, at six o'clock i'the morning, 
 falling out that year on Ash-Wednesday, was four 
 year in the afternoon. [sica : 
 
 Shif. What; are there masques? Hearyou me. Jes- 
 Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum, 
 .\nd the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife. 
 Clamber not you up to the casements then. 
 Nor thrust your head into the public street. 
 To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces. 
 But stop my house's ears, I mean ray casements ; 
 Let not the sound of shallow fopperj' enter 
 i\Iy sober house. — -By Jacob's staff, I swear, 
 I have no mind of feasting forth to-night ; 
 But I will go. — Go you before me, sirrah ; 
 S,iy, I win come. 
 
 Laun. I will go before, sir. — 
 
 Mistress, look out at window, for all this ; [aside. 
 
 There will come a Christian by. 
 
 Will be worth a Jewess' eye. [E.ri( Laun. 
 
 Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring, ha 1 
 
 Jes. His words were, Farewell, mistress ; nothihg 
 
 else. 
 Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder. 
 Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day 
 More than the wild cat ; drones hive not with me ; 
 Therefore I part with him ; and part with him 
 To one that 1 would have him help to waste 
 His borFow'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in ; 
 Perhaps, I will return immediately ; 
 Do, as I bid vou. 
 
 Shot doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ; 
 A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. [Exit. 
 
 Je&. Farewell ; and if mv fortune be not crost, ^ 
 
 I have a father, you a daughter, lost. [Exit 
 
 N^2 
 
196 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 SCENE Yl.—ne tame. 
 Enter Gbaiiano and Salarino, natqued. 
 
 Ora. I'liis is llie pent-house, under which Lorenzo 
 Desir'd us to make titaad. 
 
 Halar. His hour is almost past. 
 
 Cra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour, 
 For lovers ever run before the duck. 
 
 HhImt. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly 
 To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont. 
 To keep obliged faith unforfeited! 
 
 (jra. 'J'hat ever holds : who risetli from a feast. 
 With that keen appetite that he sits down ■? 
 Where is the horse that doth untread again 
 His tedious measures with the unbaled fire 
 That he did pace them first ? All things that are, 
 Are with more spirit chased than enjoy 'd. 
 How like a younker, or a prodigal, 
 The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 
 Hugg'd and embiaced by the strumpet wind ! 
 How like the prodigal doth she return ; 
 With over-weathcr'd ribs, and ragged sails, 
 Lean, rent, and beggar 'd by the strumpet wind ! 
 
 'Enter Ix)iienzo. 
 Saiar. Here comes Lorenzo ; — more of this here- 
 after. 
 Eor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long 
 Not I, but my aflairs, have made you wait : [abode: 
 When you shall please to play the thieves for wives, 
 I 'II watch as long for you then. — Approach ; 
 Here dwells my father Jew : — Ho ! who's within ■) 
 
 Enter ii%%Kk, above, in hay's clothes. 
 
 Jes. Who are you ! Tell me, for more certainty. 
 Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue. 
 
 Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love. 
 
 Jes. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed ; 
 For who love I so much ? and now who knows. 
 But you, Lorenzo, whether 1 am yours 1 [thou art. 
 
 Lm-. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that 
 
 Jes. Here, catch this casket ; it is worth the pains, 
 I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me. 
 For 1 am much asham'd of my exchange : 
 But love is blind, and lovers cannot see 
 The pretty follies that themselves commit ; 
 For if they could, Cupid himself would blush 
 To see me thus transformed to a boy. 
 
 Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer. 
 
 Jea. What, must I hold a candle to my shames ? 
 They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light. 
 Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love ; 
 And I shouhl be obscur'd. 
 
 Lor. Ho are you, sweet. 
 
 Even in the lovely garnish of a boy. 
 But corue at once ; 
 
 For the close night doth play the run-away. 
 And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast. 
 
 Je»- I will make fast the doors, and gild myself 
 With some more ducats, and be with you straight. 
 \ KiUfJfvm ubuve. 
 
 Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew. 
 
 ].or. Beshrew me, but I love her hearlily : 
 For she is wise, if I can judge of her ; 
 And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
 And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself ; 
 And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true. 
 Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 
 
 Enter JiiSSicA, hetow. 
 What, art thou come'!— On, gentleman, away ; 
 Our masquing mates by this time for us stay. 
 
 [J^'rit, ivUk Jessica and BALAniNo* 
 
 Enter Astoxio. 
 
 Ant. Who's there? 
 
 Ora. .Signior Antonio? 
 
 Ant. P'ye, fye, Uratiano ! where are all the rest? 
 'Tis nine o'clock : our friends all stay for you : — 
 No masiiue to-night ; the wind is come about, 
 liassanio presently will go aboard ; 
 I have sent twenty out to seek for you. 
 
 Gru. 1 am glad on't ; I desire no more delight, 
 Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. lUteunt. 
 
 SCENIC VIl. 
 Belmont. A Room in I'ortia's House. 
 
 Flouriih of Cornet: Enter Pohtia, with the Pninci 
 or Morocco, and both their Trains, 
 
 Por. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover - 
 The several caskets to this noble prince : — 
 Now make your choice. 
 
 War. 'I'he first, of gold, n ho this inscription bears ;— 
 Who chooteth me, tihatl eain uhat many men deaire. 
 The second, silver, which this promise carries ; — 
 Who chooieth vie, ahalt get as jnuch as he deserves. 
 This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ;— 
 Who chooseth me, jnmt give and hazard all he hatk. 
 How shall I know if I do choose the right 1 
 
 I'or. The one of them contains my picture, prince ; 
 If you choose that, then I am yours withal. 
 
 Mor. Some god direct my judgment ! Let me see, 
 I will survey the inscriptions back again : 
 What says this leaden casket ? 
 Who chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath, 
 .Must give— For what! for lead? hazard for lead? 
 This casket threatens ; Men, that hazard all. 
 Do it in hojje of fail- advantages ; 
 A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ; 
 I 'II then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead. 
 What says the silver, with her virgin hue? 
 Who chooseth me, shall get us much as he deseruet. 
 As much as he deserves? — Pause there, Morocco, 
 And weigh thy value with an even hand : 
 If thou be'st rated by thy estimation. 
 Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough 
 May not extend so far as to the lady ; 
 And yet to be afeard of my deserving, 
 Were but a weak disabling of myself. 
 As much as I deserve! — Why, that's the lady : 
 I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes. 
 In graces, and in qualities of breeding; 
 Jiut more than these, in love 1 do deserve. 
 What if 1 slray'd no further, but chose here ! — 
 Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold : 
 Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire. 
 Why, that's the lady : all the world desires her : 
 From the four corners of the earth they come. 
 To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint. 
 The llyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds 
 Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now. 
 For princes to come view fair Portia : 
 The wat'ry kingdom, whose anihilious head 
 Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar 
 To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come, 
 As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia. 
 (Jne of these three contains her heavenly picture, 
 Is't like, thatleail contains her? "I'were damnation. 
 To think so base a thought : it were too gross 
 To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave. 
 Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd, 
 Being ten times undervalued to try'd golil ? 
 O sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem 
 Was set in worse than gold. 'I'hey have in England 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IX. 
 
 197 
 
 A coin, that bears the figure of an angel 
 Staini<eil in gold ; but tlial's instulp'd upon ; 
 I>ut here an angel in a goUien I'evl 
 
 Lies all within Deliver me the key : 
 
 Here do 1 choose, aud thrive 1 as I may ! 
 
 Por. There, take it, priuw, and if my form lie there. 
 Then I ara vovirs. [He mtUvks thi gMen cxtskit. 
 
 Ati'r. O iell ! what have «e here ! 
 A carrion death, withiu whuse erawty eye 
 There is a written soroU ! 1 11 reaa the writing. 
 
 All tiMl glistfrs is tit't sM, 
 Ofien hai-f v<*u Aetinj that ti*Ul : 
 Slattv a ituiH his iti'f h<ith 5i>Ai, 
 But my <futside to behM: 
 OtUitid litmhs di> u\'rms iitfotd. 
 i(iu( ycu 6ee't tw u'ise us Md, 
 Young in limbs, in judgment oldt 
 I'eur attsw^r had not tte» i«scroi'd; 
 Fare tiou uv/f ; tfi*ur $uit is eoid. 
 
 Cold, indeed ; and labour lost : 
 
 Then, farewell, heat ; arJ, welcome, frost. — 
 Portia, adieu ! 1 have too s;riev'd a heart 
 To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. [Eiit, 
 i'lT. A gentle riddance Draw the curtains, 
 
 Let all of his complexion choose me so. [ Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— Venice. A Stiw(. 
 Entttr Sii.»BtNO and Salamo. 
 
 Salar. Why man, 1 saw Bassanio under sail ; 
 \Vith him is Graliauo gone along ; 
 And in their ship. I am sure. Lorenzo is not. 
 
 >".i/,ift. The villain. 'ew with outcries rAis'd the duke; 
 Who went with him to seareh liassanio's ship. 
 
 Ni/iir. He came too late, the ship was under sail: 
 l^ut there the duke was given to understand. 
 That in a gondola were seen together 
 Lorenzo and his amorous .lessioa ; 
 Besides. Antonio certify 'd the duke. 
 They were not with Uassanio in his ship. 
 
 $<i^in. I never hearvl a passion so confus'd, 
 So strange, outrageous, and so variable. 
 As the dog .Tew did utter in the streets : 
 Stu daughter ! — 1> mi/ dufats! — mi/ duftght^r ! 
 FUd with ti Chvistiait ? — () mv K-hriituiu diu-atsf — 
 Justice f tke taw .' my 'fucdts aHd wi/ daughter t 
 A HitM ha^, two tfaUd hags .^"dmMts, 
 Or d>'tibl9 ducats, stoi'iijroin mtt ^y wy dau^htfr f 
 Audj^vih ; tux* itoms. tu-o rii-h aud preciaus iti)KfSt 
 Sttd'u ^y wy dau^htfr ! Jutiii-e ! Hud the gtrl ! 
 6"A« hulh the stoues wp,iu her, nud the ducuti ! 
 
 S.ikir. Why, all the boys in \enice lollow him, 
 Crving. — his stones, his daughter, and his ducats. 
 
 Salau. Let gooil .\ntonio look he keep his day. 
 Or he shall pay for this. 
 
 S<.iiar. Marry , well remember'd : 
 
 I reason 'd with a Frenchman yesterdav •, 
 \\ lio told me. — in the narrow seas, that part 
 The French aud Fnglish, there miscarried 
 A vessel of our country, richly fraught : 
 I thought upon Antonio, when he told me ; 
 And wi.-.h'd in silence, that it were not his. 
 
 Sii.'.ru. Youwerebest to tell Antonio what you hear; 
 Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him. 
 
 SitLr. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth. 
 I saw Tiassanio and .\nloiiio part : 
 Bassanio told him. he would make some speed 
 Of his return ; he answered— D*> not s<», 
 Mal'ber net ^ii*iij^jiyyr my jiifce, KtiMiKiL'. 
 But itaif the terjf rifling ojf the time ; 
 
 And fur t*f Jetc's Jiwd, uAic^ he kath i-t' me, 
 
 L^r it NO* enter iu yo<*r mind ot Une: 
 
 Be mfrry; aud emyloti your oXi*>'«t t^cajAts 
 
 Ti) ^vurtshiv, <iv(i wM'UiV .QttfNtji trf ioi-e 
 
 As shall wuK-^tieutty beivaie yfu there : 
 
 And even there, his eye heiu* bi^ with tears. 
 
 Turning his face, he put his hand behind him. 
 
 .Vud with aH'ection wondrous sensible 
 
 He wrung Bassauio's hand, and so they parte*!. 
 
 Salau. I think, he only loves the world for hiia. 
 I prtty thee, let us go. and find him out, 
 -Vnd quicken his embraced heaviness 
 With some delight or other. 
 
 S<i(iir, Do vve so. [E«in<t. 
 
 SCENE IX Belmont.— .< Rcem in Portia's Ha»s« 
 
 Ent«r Nkhissa, K'ilik a Ser\'ant. 
 Xer. Quick, quick, 1 pray thee, draw the curtain 
 The prince of Arra^on hath ta'eii his oath, [straight, 
 .■Vnd comes to his election presently. 
 
 Flourish of Cornets. EHler the Prisck or ArkacO!<, 
 Portia, aud their Travus. 
 
 Por. Behold, there staiul the caskets, noble prince; 
 If you choose that wherein 1 am coutain'd. 
 Straight shall our nuptial rites be soleinniz'd ; 
 But if you fail, without more speech, ray lorvl. 
 You must be gone from hence uumeiliately. 
 
 Ar. 1 am enjoined by oath to observe three thii^; 
 Firs.t. never to unfold to any one 
 Which casket 'twas 1 chose ; next, if I fail 
 Of the right casket, never in my life 
 To woo a maid in way of marriage ; lastly. 
 If I do fail iu fortune of my choice. 
 Immediately to leave you and be gone. 
 
 For, To these injunctions every one doth swear. 
 That comes to haianl for ray w'orihless self. 
 
 Ar. Aud so have I address 'd me ; Fortune now 
 To my heart's hope ! — Gold, silver, and base lead. 
 Who ehooseth me, must gii'e aud haiat-d all he hath ' 
 You shall lo\>k fairer, ere 1 give, or hazard. 
 What says the golden chest ! ha ! let nie see : — 
 Who choiKtesh me, shutl ^ain tchat maitij men desire. 
 What many raen desire. — That many may be meant 
 By the I'oo) multitude, that choose by show. 
 Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach ; 
 Which pries not to the interior, but. like the martlet. 
 Builds in the weather on the outwaul wall. 
 Even in the foree and road of casualty. 
 I will not choose what many men desire. 
 Because I will not jump with common spirits, 
 .Vnd rauk me with tne barbareus multit\ides. 
 Why. then to thee, tlwu silver tte«&ure- house; 
 Tell me once more what title thou dost bear : 
 Who chooseth me, shait ^et as mueh as he deserxvs ■ 
 And well said too ; For who shall go about 
 To cozen fortune, and be honourable 
 Without the stamp of merit ! Let none presume 
 To wear an undeserved dignity. 
 O, that estates, degrees, and offices. 
 Were not deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honour 
 Were purehas'd by the merit of the wearer ! 
 How many then should cover, that stand bare ! 
 How many be commanded, that command ? 
 How mucn low peasantry would then be glean'd 
 From the true seed of honour ? and how much honour 
 Pick'd from the chart" and ruin of the times, 
 To be new varnish'd ! Well, but to my choice; 
 Who chih^th me, shati ^ef *.* muck as he deserves: 
 I will assume desert ; — Give me a key for this. 
 And instantly unlock my fortunes heie. 
 
J 98 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Por, Too long a pause for tliat which you fiud 
 there. 
 
 Ar. What's here ? the portrait of a blinking idiot, 
 Presenting me a sclieiliile ? 1 will read it. 
 How much unlike art thou to Portia? 
 How much unlike my hopes and niy desemngs ? 
 Who chooseth me, shall have us vntch as, he deserves. 
 Did I deserve no more than a fool's head? 
 Is that my prize ? are my deserts no betler ? 
 
 Por. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices, 
 And of opposed natures. 
 A)\ What is here? 
 
 The fire seven times tried this ; 
 Seven times tried that judgment is. 
 That did never choose amiss : 
 Some there be, that shadows hiss ; 
 Such have bat a shadow^s bliss: 
 There heJhoU alive, I wis, 
 Silver'd o'er ; and so was (his. 
 Take what unfe you will to bed, 
 J will ever be your head : 
 So begone, sir, you are sped. 
 
 Still more fool I shall appear 
 
 By the time I linger here : 
 
 With one fool's head I came to woo, 
 
 But I go away with two. — 
 
 Sweet, adieu ! I'll keep my oath. 
 
 Patiently to bear my wroth. 
 
 [Eieant Arragon aiid Train. 
 Por. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. 
 O these deliberate fools ! when they do choose. 
 They have the wisdom by their wit to lose. 
 
 Aer. The ancient saying is no heresy ; 
 Hanging and wiving goes by destiny. 
 Por, Come, draw the curtain, jVerissa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Where is my lady ? 
 
 Por, Here ; what would my lord? 
 
 Se^v. Madam, there is alighted at your gate 
 A young Venetian, one that comes before 
 To signify the approaching of his lord : 
 From whom he bringeth sensible regreets ; 
 To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath. 
 Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen 
 So likely an ambassador of love : 
 A day in April never came so sweet, 
 To shew how costly summer was at hand, 
 As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord. 
 
 Por. No more, I pray thee ; I am half afeard, 
 Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee, 
 Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him. — 
 Come, come, Nerissa; for 1 long to see 
 Quick Cupid's post, that comes so mannerly. 
 
 Ner, Bassanio, lord love, if thy will it be ! 
 
 \^Exeu7it. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Venice. A Street. 
 Enter Sai.anio and Salahino. 
 
 Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto ? 
 
 Solar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that 
 Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreckM on the 
 narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I think they call the 
 place; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the 
 carcases of many a tall ship lie buried, as they say, 
 if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word. 
 
 i'aiun. 1 would she were as lying a gossip in that, 
 
 as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours be- 
 lieve she wept for the death of a third husband : But 
 it is true, — without any slips of prolixity, or cross- 
 ing the plain high-way of talk, — that the good An- 
 tonio, the honest Antonio, that I had a title 
 
 good enough to keep his name company ! — 
 
 Salar. Come, the full stop. 
 
 Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou ? — Why the end is, 
 he hath lost a ship. 
 
 Satar. I would it might prove the end of his losses ! 
 
 Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the devil 
 cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the likeness 
 of a Jew. — 
 
 Enter Shylock. 
 
 How now, Shylock 1 what news among the mer- 
 chants ? 
 
 Shi). You knew, none so well, none so well as 
 you, of my daughter's flight, 
 
 Salar. That's certain ; I, for my part, knew the 
 tailor that made the wings she flew withal. 
 
 Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the 
 bird was fledg'd ; and then it is the complexion of 
 them all to leave the dam. 
 
 Shy. She is damn'd for it. 
 
 Salar. That's certain, if the devil may be her judge. 
 
 Shy. My own flesh and blood to rebel ! 
 
 Salan. Out upon it, old carrion ! rebels it at these 
 years "! 
 
 Shy. I say, my daughter is my flesh and blood. 
 
 Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh 
 and hers, than between jet and ivory ; more between 
 your bloods, than there is between red wine and 
 rhenish : But tell us, do you hear whether Aatonio 
 have had any loss at sea or no 1 
 
 Shy. There I have another bad match : a bank- 
 rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce shew his head on 
 the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used to come so smug 
 upon the mart ; let him look to his bond : he was 
 wont to call me usurer ; — let him look to his bond 1 
 he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ! 
 — let him look to his bond. 
 
 Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not 
 take his flesh ; What's that good for ■! 
 
 Shy. To bait fish willial : if it will feed nothing 
 else, it will feed ray revenge. He hath disgraced me, 
 and hindered me of half a million ; laughed at my 
 losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, 
 thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated 
 mine enemies ; and what's his reason? 1 am a Jew: 
 Hath not a Jew eyes ? hatli not a Jew hands, organs, 
 dimensions, senses, affections, passions 1 fed with 
 the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject 
 to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
 warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, 
 as a Christian is 1 if you prick us, do we not bleed ? 
 if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you poison us, 
 do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not 
 revenge ? if we are like you in the rest, we will re- 
 semble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what 
 is his humility! revenge ; If a Christian wrong a 
 Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian ex- 
 ample 1 why, revenue. The villany you teach me, 
 I will execute ; and it shall go hard, but 1 will bette.- 
 the instruction. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his 
 house, and desires to speak with you both. 
 
 Salar. We have been up and down to seek him. 
 
 Enter Tubal. 
 Salan. Here comes another of the tribe ; a thitj 
 
•!i* 
 
 _C^iS- *-.-.y./^VWi" 
 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 199 
 
 cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn 
 Jew. [Exeunt Sai-an. Salar. and Servant. 
 
 6Ay. How now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? 
 hast thou found my daughter 1 
 
 Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but 
 cannot find her. 
 
 Shij. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond 
 gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! 
 The curse never fell upon our nation till now ! I 
 never felt it till now : — two thousand ducats in that ; 
 and other precious, precious jewels. — I would my 
 daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels in her 
 ear! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and the 
 ducats in her coffin ! No news of them 1 — Why, so ; 
 — and I know not what's spent in the search : Why, 
 thou loss upon loss I the thief gone with so much, 
 and so much to find the thief; and no satisfaction, 
 no revenge ; nor no ill luck stirring, but what lights 
 o' ray shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my breathing ; no 
 tears, but o' my shedding. 
 
 Tuh. Yes, other men have ill luck too ; Antonio, 
 as 1 hearti in Genoa, — 
 
 6/iv. What, what, what! ill luck, ill luck? 
 
 Tub. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from 
 Tripolis. 
 
 Shi}. I thank God, I thank God :— Is it true ? is 
 it true ? 
 
 Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped 
 the wreck. 
 
 Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good news, 
 good news : ha! ha! — Where? in Genoa? 
 
 Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, 
 one night, fourscore ducats ! 
 
 Shy, Thou stick'st a dagger in me: 1 shall 
 
 never see my gold agciiu : Fourscore ducats at a sit- 
 ting I fourscore ducats ! 
 
 Tui, There came divers of Antonio's creditors in 
 my company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose 
 but break. 
 
 Shy. I am very glad of it: I'll plague him ; I'll 
 torture him ; I am glad of it. 
 
 Tub. One of them shewed me a ring, that he had 
 of your daughter for a monkey. 
 
 Sliy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me, Tubal : 
 it was my turquoise ; I had it of Leah, when I was 
 a bachelor ; I would not have given it for a wilder- 
 ness of monkeys. 
 
 Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone. 
 
 Sliy. Nay, that's true, that's very true: Go, Tu- 
 bal, fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight before ; 
 I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ; for were 
 he out of Venice, I can make what merchandize I 
 will : Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue ; 
 go, good Tubal ; at our synagogue. Tubal, ■ [Eieunt. 
 
 Belmont. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 A Room in Portiai's House. 
 
 Kilter Bassanio, PonxrA, Gratiano, Nerissa, and 
 Attendants. The caskets are set out. 
 For. I pray you, tarry; pause a day or two. 
 Before you hazard ; for, in choosing wrong, 
 I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while : 
 There's something tells me. (but it is not love,) 
 I would not lose you ; and you know yourself, 
 Hate counsels not in such a quality : 
 But lest you should not understand me well, 
 (And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,) 
 1 would detain you here some month or two. 
 Before you venture for me. I could teach you, 
 How to choose right, but then I am forsworn ; 
 So will 1 never be : so may you miss me ; 
 
 But if you do, you *11 make me wish a sin. 
 That I had been forsworn. Beshrew your eyes, 
 They have o'er-look'd me, and divided me ; 
 
 One half of me is yours, the other half yours, 
 
 Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then yours. 
 And so ail yours : O ! these naughty times 
 Put bars between the owners and their rights ; ' 
 And so, though yours, not yours. — Prove it so> 
 Let fortune go to hell for it, — not I. 
 I speak too long ; but 'tis to peize the time ; 
 To eke it, and to draw it out in length. 
 To stay you from election. 
 
 Bass. Let me choose ; 
 
 For, as I am, I live upon the rack. 
 
 I'or. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then confess 
 What treason there is mingled with your love. 
 
 Buss. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust, 
 W'hich makes me fear the enjoying of my love ■ 
 There may as well be amity and life 
 'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love. 
 
 Pot'. Ay, but I fear, you speak upon the rack, 
 Where men enforced do speak any thing. 
 
 Bass* Promise me life, and I 'U confess the truth, 
 
 Por. Well then, confess, and live. 
 
 Bass. Confess, and love, 
 
 Had been the very sum of my confession ; 
 
 happy torment, when my torturer 
 Doth teach me answers for deliverance ! 
 But let me to my fortune and the caskets. 
 
 Por. Away then : I am lock'd in one of mem • 
 If you do love me, you will find me out. — 
 Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. — • 
 Let music sound, while he doth make his choice , 
 Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 
 Fading in music : that the comparison 
 May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream, 
 And wat'ry death-bed for him : He may win ; 
 And what is music then ? then music is 
 Even as the flourish when true subjects bow 
 To a new-crowned monarch : such it is. 
 As are those dulcet sounds in break of day, 
 That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear. 
 And summon him to marriage. Now he goes. 
 With no less presence, but with much more love, 
 Than young Alcides, wlien he did redeem 
 The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy 
 To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice. 
 The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives, 
 With bleared visages, come forth to view 
 The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules I 
 Live thou, I live ; — With much mucii more dismay 
 
 1 view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray. 
 
 Music, whibt Bassanio comments on the caskets 
 to himself. 
 
 SONG, 1. Tell me where is fancy bred, 
 
 Or in the heart, or in the head? 
 How begot, how nourished ? 
 
 Reply. 2. It is engeuderd in the eifcs. 
 
 With gazing fed ; and fancu dies 
 In the cradle where it lies : 
 
 Let us all ring fancii's knell ; 
 I'll begin it, Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 All. ^'"^1 t/t"ig, bell. 
 
 Bass. — So may the outward shows be least them- 
 The world is still deceiv'd with ornament. [selves; 
 In law, what plea so tainted and coirupt. 
 But, being season'd with a gracious voice. 
 Obscures the show of evil ? In religion. 
 What damned error, but some sober brow 
 Will bless it. and approve it with a text. 
 
200 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Hiding the grossness with fair ornameut"! 
 There is no vice so simple, but assumes 
 Some mark of virtue. on his outward parts. 
 How many cowards, whose hearts are ail as false 
 As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins 
 Tlie beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars ; 
 Who" inward search'd, have livers white as milk? 
 And these assume but valour's excrement, 
 To render them redoubted. Look on beauty, 
 And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight ; 
 Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
 Making them lightest that wear most of it : 
 So are tliose crisped snaky golden locks, 
 Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, 
 Upon supposed fairness, often known 
 To be the dowry of a second head, 
 The scull that bred them, in the sepulchre. 
 Thus ornament is but the guiled shore 
 To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf 
 Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word, 
 The seeming truth which cunning times put on 
 To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold, 
 Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee : 
 Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge 
 'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead, 
 Which rather threat'nest, than doth promise aught, 
 Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence, 
 And here choose I ; Joy be the consequence ! 
 Par. How all the other passions fleet to air. 
 As dou^ul thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair, 
 And shudd'ring fear and gieen-ey'd jealousy. 
 
 love, be moderate, allay thy ecstacy. 
 
 In measure rain thy joy, scant this excess ; 
 
 1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less. 
 For fear I surfeit ! 
 
 Bass, What find I here? [Opening the leaden casket. 
 , Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god 
 Hath come so near creation? Move these eyes? 
 Or, whether, riding on the balls of mine, 
 Seem they in motion '. Here are sever'd lips, 
 Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar 
 Should sunder such sweet friends : Here in her hairs 
 The painter plays the spider ; and hath woven 
 A golden mesh to entrap the liearts of men, 
 Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes, — 
 How could he see to do them? having made one, 
 Methinks, it should liave power to steal both his. 
 And leave itself unfurnish'd : Yet look, how far 
 The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow 
 In underprizing it, so far this shadow 
 Doth limp behind the substance. — Here's the scroll, 
 The continent and summary of my fortune, 
 
 VuiL that choose not hi} the vietv, 
 Chance us fair, and choose as true! 
 Since this fortune fails to you, 
 Be content, and seek no netv* 
 If you be well pleased with this, 
 And hold your fortune for your bliss. 
 Turn you where your lady is. 
 And claim her with a loving kiss, 
 
 A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave : 
 
 I come by note, to give and to receive. [Kissing her. 
 
 Like one of two contending in a prize, 
 
 That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes. 
 
 Hearing applause, and universal shout, 
 
 Giddy in spirit, still gazing in a doubt 
 
 Whether those peals of praise be his or no j 
 
 So thrice fair lady, stand I, even so ; 
 
 As doubtful whether what I see be true, 
 
 Until confirm'd, sign'd, ratified by you. 
 
 Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand. 
 
 Such as I am : ihough, for myself alone, 
 
 I would not be ambitious in my wish, 
 
 To wish myself much better ; yet, for you, 
 
 I would be trebled twenty times myself; 
 
 A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times 
 
 More rich ; 
 
 That only to stand high on your account, 
 
 I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends. 
 
 Exceed account; but the full sum of me 
 
 Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross. 
 
 Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd : 
 
 Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 
 But she may learn ; and happier than this, 
 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 
 Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
 
 Commits itself to yours to be directed, 
 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
 
 Myself, and what is mine, to you, and yours 
 
 Is now converted : but now 1 was the lord 
 
 Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
 
 Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now, 
 
 This house, these servants, and this same myself. 
 
 Are yours, my lord ; I give them with this ring j 
 
 Which when you part from, lose, or give away, 
 
 Let it presage the ruin of your love. 
 
 And be my vantage to exclaim on you, 
 
 Bass, Madam, you have bereft me of all words, 
 Only my blood speaks to you in my veins : 
 And there is such confusion in my powers, 
 As, after some oration fairly spoke 
 By a beloved prince, there doth appear 
 Among the buzzing pleased multitude ; 
 Where every something, being blent together. 
 Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy, 
 Express'd, and not express'd : But when this ring 
 Parts fiom this finger, then parts life from hence; 
 0, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead. 
 
 Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time. 
 That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper. 
 To cry, good joy ; Good joy, my lord and lady ! 
 
 Gra. 5ly lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady, 
 I wish you all the joy that you can wish ; 
 For I am sure, you can wish none from me: 
 And, when your honours mean to solemnize 
 The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you. 
 Even at that time I may be married too. 
 
 Bass, With all my heart, so thou canst got a wife 
 
 Gra. I thank your lordship ; you have got me one 
 My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours : 
 You saw the -mistress, I beheld tlie maid ; 
 You lov'd, I lov'd ; for intermission 
 No more pertains to me, my lord, than you. 
 Your fortune stood upon the caskets there ; 
 And so did mine too, as the matter falls • 
 For wooing here, until I sweat again ; 
 And swearing, till my very roof was dry 
 With oaths of love ; at last, — if promise last, — - 
 I got a promise of this fair one here, 
 To have her love, provided that your fortune 
 Achiev'd her mistress. 
 
 Por. Is this true, Nerissa ? 
 
 Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand pleas'd withal. 
 
 Bass. And do you, Gmtiano, mean good faith ? 
 
 Gra, Yes, faith, my lord. [marriage. 
 
 Bass, Our feast shall be much honour'd in your 
 
 Gra. We'll play with them, the first boy for a 
 Ihousand ducats, 
 
 Ner, What, and stake down? 
 
 Gra. No ; we shall ne'er win at that sport, and 
 
 stake down. 
 
 But who comes here ? Lorenzo, and his infidel) 
 What, and my old Venetian friend, Salerio? 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 201 
 
 Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio. 
 
 Bass. Lorenzo, and Salerio, welcome hither ; 
 If that the youth of my new interest here 
 Have power to bid you welcome ; — By your leave, 
 I bid my very friends and countrymen, 
 Sweet Portia^ welcome. 
 
 por. So do I, my lord j 
 
 They are entirely welcome. 
 
 Lor. 1 thank your honour : — For ray part, my lord, 
 Aly purpose was not to have seen you here ; 
 But meeting with Salerio by the way, 
 He did entreat me, past all saying nay» 
 To come with him along. 
 
 Side. I did, my lord, 
 
 And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio 
 Commends him to you. [Gaes Bassanio a letter. 
 
 Bass. Ere 1 ope his letter, 
 
 I pray you tell me how my good triend doth. 
 
 Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind ; 
 Nor well, unless in mind : his letter there 
 Will shew you his estate. 
 
 Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon' stranger; bid her welcome. 
 Your hand, Salerio ; What's the news from Venice 1 
 How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio ] 
 I know, he will be glad of our success ; 
 VVe are tlie Jasons, we have won the fleece, [lost ! 
 
 Sale. 'Would you had won the fleece that he hath 
 
 For. There are some shrewd contents in yon' same 
 That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek ; [paper. 
 Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world 
 Could turn so much the constitution 
 Of any constant man. What, worse and worse 1 — 
 A'^ith leave, liassanio ; 1 am half yourself, 
 And I must freely have the half of any thing 
 That this same paper brings you. 
 
 Bass. sweet Portia, 
 
 Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words. 
 That ever blotted paper \ Gentle lady, 
 When I did first impart my love to you, 
 I freely told you, all the w^ealth 1 had 
 Ran in my veins, 1 was a gentlenian ; 
 And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady, 
 Rating myself at nothing, you shall see 
 How much I was a braggart : When 1 told you - 
 My state was nothing, 1 should then have told you 
 That I was worse than nolliing ; for. indeed, 
 I have engag'd myself to a dear friend, 
 Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy, 
 To feed ray means. Here is a letter, lady ; 
 The paper as the body of my friend, 
 And every word in it a gaping wound, 
 Issuing life-blood. But is it true, Saierio ? 
 Have all his ventures fail'd ? What not one hit^ 
 From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England, 
 From Lisbon, Barbary, and India ; . 
 
 And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch 
 Of merchant-marring rocks 1 
 
 Side. Not one, my lord. 
 
 Besides, it should appear, that if he had 
 The present money to discharge the Jew, 
 He would not take it : Never did I know 
 A creature, that did bear the shape of man. 
 So keen and greedy to confound a man : 
 He plies the duke at morning, and at night ; 
 And doth impeach the freedom of the state. 
 If they deny him justice : twenty merchants. 
 The duke himself, and the magnificoes 
 Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ; 
 But none can drive him from the envious plea 
 Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond. 
 
 Jes. When I was with him, I have heard him Bwear, 
 
 To Tubal, and to Chus, his countryraen. 
 That he would ratlier have Antonio's flesh. 
 Than twenty times the value of the sum 
 That he did owe him ; and I know, my lord. 
 If law, authoritv. and power deny not. 
 It will go hard with poor Antonio. 
 
 For. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble 1 
 
 Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man. 
 The best condition'd and unwearied spirit 
 In doing courtesies ; and one in whom 
 The ancient Roman honour more appears, 
 Than any that draws breath in Italy. 
 
 For. What sum owes he the Jew 1 
 
 Bass, For me, three thousand ducats. 
 
 For. What, no raoret 
 
 Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond ; 
 Double six thousand, and then treble that. 
 Before a friend of tliis description 
 Shall lose a hair through Bassanio's fault. 
 First, go with me to cliurch, and call me wife: 
 And then away to Venice to your friend ; 
 For never shall you lie by Portia's side 
 With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold 
 To pay the petty debt twenty times over ; 
 When it is paid, bring your true friend along : 
 I\Iy maid Nerissa, and myself, mean time. 
 Will live as maids and widows. Come, away; 
 For you shall hence upon your wedding-day : 
 Bid your friends welcome, shew a merry cheer : 
 Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. 
 But let me hear the letter of your friend. 
 
 Bass. [Reads.] Stceet Bassanio, mti ships have all 
 miscarried, mij creditors grow cruely mu estate is very 
 low, mil bond *o the Jew is forfeit; and since, in paxj- 
 i"g it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are cleared 
 between liou and I, if I might but see yoit at mu death: 
 notwithstanding, use your pleasure : if your love do 
 not persuade you to come, let not my letter. 
 
 For. love, despatch all business, and be gone. 
 
 Bdis. Since I have your good leave to go away, 
 I will make haste : but, till 1 come again, 
 No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay. 
 
 No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IIL— Venice. A Street. 
 
 Enter Siivlock, Salanio, Antonio, and Gaoler. 
 
 Shii. Gaoler, look to him ; Tell not me of mercy ; 
 
 This is the fool that lent out money gratis ; — 
 Gaoler, look to him. 
 
 Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock. 
 
 Shn. I'll have my bond ; speak not against my bond j 
 I have sworn an oath, that 1 will have my bond : 
 Thou call'dat me dog, before thou had'st a cause : 
 But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs : 
 The duke shall grant me justice. — I do wonder, 
 Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond 
 To come abroad with him at his request. 
 
 Aiit. I pray thee, hear me speak. 
 
 Shy. I Ml have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak: 
 I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
 I'll not be made a soft and dull-ey'd fool, 
 To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 
 To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 
 I '11 have no speaking ; I will have my bond. 
 
 [Exit SUYLOCK. 
 
 Salan. It is the most impenetrable cur, 
 That ever kept with men. 
 
 Ant. Let him alone ; 
 
 I Ml follow him no more with bootless prayers. 
 j He seeks ray life ; his reason well I know ; 
 I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures 
 
202 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 Many that have at times made moan to me ; 
 Therefore he hates me. 
 
 Salan. I am sure, tile duke 
 
 Will never grant this forfeiture to hold. 
 
 Ajtt, The duke cannot deny the course of law j 
 For the commodity that strangers have 
 With us in Venice, if it be denied. 
 Wilt nmch impeach the justice of theetatej 
 Since that the trade and profit of the city 
 Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go: 
 These griefs and losses have so 'bated me, 
 That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh 
 
 To-morrow to my bloody creditor. 
 
 Well, gaoler, on : — Pray God, Bassanio come 
 
 To see me pay his debt, and then 1 care not ! lEieinit, 
 
 SCENE IV.— Belmont. A Room in Portia's House. 
 
 Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, 
 and Balthazar. 
 
 Lor. IMadam, although I speak it in your presence, 
 You have a noble and a true conceit 
 Of god-like amity ; which appears most strongly 
 In bearing thus the absence of your lord. 
 But, if you knew to whom you shew this honour, 
 How true a gentleman you send relief, 
 How dear a lover of my lord your husband, 
 I know, you would be prouder of the work. 
 Than customary bounty can enforce you. 
 
 Por. I never did repent for doing good. 
 Nor shall not now : for in companions 
 That do converse and waste the time together. 
 Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love, 
 There must be needs a like proportion 
 Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit ; 
 Which makes me think that this Antonio, 
 Being the bosom lover of my lord, 
 JIust needs be like my lord : If it be so. 
 How little is the cost 1 have bestow'd. 
 In purchasing the semblance of my soul 
 From out the state of hellish cruelty 1 
 This comes too near the praising of myself ; 
 Therefore, no more of it : hear other things. — 
 Lorenzo, I commit into your hands 
 The husbandry and manage of my house. 
 Until my lord's return : for mine own part, 
 I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow. 
 To live in prayer and contemplation. 
 Only attended by Nerissa here. 
 Until her husband and my lord's return : 
 There is a monastery two miles off. 
 And there we will abide. I do desire you, 
 Not to deny this imposition ; 
 The which my love, and some necessity. 
 Now lays upon you. 
 
 Lor. Madam, with all my heart, 
 
 I shall obey you in all fair commands. 
 
 Por. JMy people do already know my mind. 
 And will acknowledge you and .lessica 
 In place of lord Bassanio and myself. 
 So fare you well, till we shall meet again. 
 
 XiT. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on you! 
 
 Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content. 
 
 Por, I thank you for your wish, and am well pleas'd 
 To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. — 
 
 \_Exeunt Jessica and Lorenzo. 
 Now, Balthazar, 
 
 As I have ever found thee honest, true. 
 So let me find thee still : Take this same letter, ' 
 And use thou all the endeavour of a man. 
 In speed to Padua ; see thou render this 
 Into my cousin's hand, doctor BcUario ; 
 
 And, look, what notes and garments he doth give thee. 
 Bring them, I pray thee, with imagin'd speed 
 Unto the tranect, to the common ferry 
 Which trades to Venice :— waste no time in words. 
 But get thee gone ; I shall be there before thee. 
 
 Balth. Madam, I go with all convenient speed. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Por. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand, 
 That you yet know not of : we'll see our husbands. 
 Before they thiuk of us. 
 
 Ner. Shall they see us ■! 
 
 Por. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit. 
 That they shall think we are accomplished 
 With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager. 
 When we are both accouter'd like young men, 
 I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two. 
 And wear my dagger with the braver gi-ace ; 
 And speak, between the change of man and boy. 
 With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps 
 Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays. 
 Like a fine bragging youth . and tell quaint lies. 
 How honourable ladies sought my love. 
 Which I denying, they fell sick and died ; 
 I could not do with all : then I'll repent. 
 And wish, for all that, that 1 had not kiU'd them . 
 And twenty of these puny lies I'll tell. 
 Thai men should swear, I have discontinued school 
 Above a twelvemonth ; — I have within my mind 
 A thousand raw tricks of these Dragging Jacks, 
 Which I will practise. 
 
 Ner. Why, shall we turn to men? 
 
 Por. Fye ! what a question's tliat. 
 If thou wert near a lewd interpreter "! 
 But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device 
 When I am in my coach, which stays for us 
 At tlie park gate ; and therefore haste away. 
 For we must measure twenty miles to day. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.—The same. A Garden. 
 E«(e?' Launcelot and Jessica. 
 
 Laun. Yes, truly ; — for, look you, the sins of the 
 father are to be laid upon the children ; tlierefore, 
 I promise you, I fear you. I was always plain with 
 you, and so now I speak my agitation of the matter: 
 Therefore, be of good cheer ; for, truly, I think, 
 you are damn'd. There is but one hope in it that 
 can do you any good ; and that is but a kind of 
 bastard liope neither. 
 
 Jes. And what hope is that, I pray thee 1 
 
 Laun. Marry, you may partly hope that your father 
 got you not, that you are not the Jew's daughter. 
 
 Jes. That were a kind of bastard hope, indeed ; 
 so the sins of my mother should be visited upon me. 
 
 Laun. Truly then I fear you are damned both by 
 father and mother : thus when 1 shun Scylla, your 
 father, I fall into Charybdis, your mother ; well, 
 you are gone both ways. 
 
 Jes. I shall be saved by my husband ; he hath 
 made me a Christian. ^ 
 
 Laun. Truly, the more to blame he : we wens 
 Christians enough before ; e'en as many as could 
 well live, one by another : This making of Chris- 
 tians will raise the price of hogs ; if we grow all to 
 be pork-eaters, we shall not shortly nave a rasher on 
 the coals for money. 
 
 Enter Lorenzo. 
 
 Jes. I '11 tell my husband, Launcelot, what you 
 say ; here he comes. 
 
 Lor. I shall grow jealous of you shortly, Laun- 
 celot, if you thus gel my wife into corners. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 203 
 
 Jes. Nay, you need not fear us, Lorenzo ; Launce- 
 lot and I are out : he tells me Hatly, there is no 
 mercy for me in heaven, because 1 am a Jew's 
 daughter ; and he says, you are no good member of 
 the commonwealth , for, in converting Jews to 
 Christians, you raise the price of pork. 
 
 Lor. 1 shall answer that better to the common- 
 wealth, than you can the getting up of the negro's 
 belly ; the Moor is with child by you, Launcelot. 
 
 [.■utti. It is much, that the Moor should be more 
 than reason : but if she be less than an honest wo- 
 man, she is, indeed, more than I took her for. 
 
 -Lor. How every fool can play upon the word ! 
 I think, the best grace of wit will shortly turn into 
 silence ; and discourse grow commendable in none 
 only but parrots. — Go in, sirrah ; bid them prepare 
 for dinner. 
 
 Laun, That is done, sir, they have all stomachs. 
 
 Lov. Goodly lord, what a wit-snapper are you ! 
 then bid them prepare dinner. 
 
 Luiin, That is done, too, sir : only, cover is the 
 word. 
 
 Loi\ Will you cover then, sir. 
 
 Laun. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty. 
 
 Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt 
 thou shew the whole wealth of thy wit in an instant? 
 I pray thee, understand a plain man in his plain 
 meaning ; go to thy fellows ; bid them cover the 
 table, serve in the meat, and we will come in to 
 dinner. 
 
 Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in ; 
 for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your com- 
 ing in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and 
 conceits shall govern. [Eiit Launcelot. 
 
 Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited! 
 The fool hath planted in his memory 
 An anny of good words ; And 1 do know 
 A many fools, that stand in better place, 
 Gainish'd like him, that for a tricksy word 
 Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica? 
 And now, good sweet, say thy opinion, 
 How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife 1 
 
 Jes. Past all expressing : It is very meet. 
 The lord liassanio live an upright life ; 
 For, having such a blessing in his lady, 
 He finds the joys of heaven here on earth ; 
 And, if on earth he do not mean it, it 
 Is reason he should never come to heaven. 
 "W^hy, if two gods should play some heavenly match, 
 And on llie wager lay two earthly women, 
 And Portia one, there must be something else 
 Pawn'd with the other ; for the poor i-ude world 
 Hath not her fellow. 
 
 Lor. Even such a husband 
 
 Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife, 
 
 Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that. 
 Lor. I will anon ; first, let us go to dinner, 
 
 Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while 1 have a stomach. 
 Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk ; 
 Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things 
 1 shall digest it. 
 
 Jes. Well, ITl set you forth. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — Venice. A Court of Justice. 
 
 Enter the Duke, the Magnificoes ; Antonio, Bassa- 
 Nio, Ghatiano, Salahino, Salanio, aitd others* 
 Dukfi, What, is Antonio here 1 
 Ant, Ready, so please your gnvce. 
 
 Duke. T am sorry for thee ; thou art come to an- 
 A stony adversary, an iniiuman wretch fswer 
 
 Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
 From any dram of mercy. 
 
 Ant. I have heard, 
 
 Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
 His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate, 
 And that no lawful means can carry me 
 Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose 
 IMy patience to his fury ; and am arm'd 
 To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
 The very tyranny and rage of his. 
 
 Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into the court. 
 
 Satan. He 's leady at the door : he comes, my lord. 
 
 Enter Shylock. 
 Duke. IMake room, and let him stand before our 
 Shylock, the world thinks, and I think .so too, [face. — 
 That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
 To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thouglit, 
 Thou 'It shew thy mercy and remorse, more strange 
 Than is thy strange apparent cruelty : 
 And where thou now exact'st the penalty, 
 (Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,) 
 Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, 
 But touch'd with human gentleness and love, 
 Forgive a moiety of the principal ; 
 Glancing an eye of pity on his losses 
 That have of late so huddled on his back. 
 Enough to press a royal merchant down. 
 And pluck commiseration of his state 
 From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint, 
 From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd 
 To offices of tender courtesy. 
 We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 
 
 Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose j 
 And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn, 
 To have the due and forfeit of my bond : 
 If you deny it, let the danger light 
 Upon your charter, and your city's freedom. 
 You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 
 A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
 Three thousand ducats: I'll not answer that ■ 
 But, say, it is my humour ; Is it answer'd? 
 What if my house be troubled with a rat. 
 And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats 
 To have it ban'd ? What, are you answer'd yet? 
 Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ; 
 Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat ; 
 And others, when the bagpipe sings i' the nose, 
 Cannot contain their urine ; for affection, 
 Rlistress of passion, swuys it to the mood 
 Of what it likes, or loaths : Now, for your answer. 
 As there is no firm reason to be render'd. 
 Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 
 Why he, a harmless necessary cat ; 
 Why he, a swollen bagpipe ; but of force 
 Must yield to such inevitable shame. 
 As to offend, himself being offended ; 
 So can I give no reason, nor I will not, 
 More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing, 
 I bear Antonio, that 1 follow thus 
 A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd? 
 
 Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man. 
 To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 
 
 Shti. I am not bound to pleasethee with my answer. 
 
 Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not Jove' 
 
 Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 
 
 Bass. Every offence is not a hate at first, [twice? 
 
 Shy. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting thee 
 
 Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew; 
 , You may as well go stand upon the beach, 
 
204 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 And bid tlie main flood bate his usual height ; 
 You may as well use question with the wolf, 
 Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
 You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
 To wag their high tops, and to make no noise, 
 When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ; 
 You may as well do any thing most hard, 
 As seek to soften that (than which what's harder?) 
 His Jewish heart ; — Therefore, I do beseech you, 
 ]\Iake no more offers, use no further means, 
 Uut, with all brief and plain conveniency. 
 Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 
 
 Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 
 V Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats, 
 Were in six parts, and ever part a ducat, 
 I would not draw them, I would have my bond. 
 
 Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring 
 none ! 
 
 Shit. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong 1 
 Y'ou have among you many a purchas'd slave. 
 Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules, 
 You use in abject and in slavish parts. 
 Because you bought them : — Shall I say to you, 
 I>et them be free, marry them to your heirs } 
 Why sweat they under burdens ? let their beds 
 Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates 
 Be season'd with such viands 1 You will answer, 
 The slaves are ours : — So do I answer you ; 
 The pound of flesh, which I demand of him. 
 Is dearly bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it: 
 If you deny me, fye upon your law ! 
 There is no force in the decrees of Venice : 
 I stand for judgment : answer ; shall I have it ? 
 
 Duhe. Upon my power, I may dismiss tliis court, 
 Unless Bellario, a learned doctor. 
 Whom I have sent for to. determine this, 
 Come here to-day. 
 
 Salar. My lord, here stays without 
 
 A messenger with letters from the doctor. 
 New come from Padua. 
 
 Duke. Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. 
 
 Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man ! cou- 
 rage yet ! 
 The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and all, 
 Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood. 
 
 Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock, 
 Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of fruit 
 Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me : 
 You cannot better be eraploy'd, Bassanio, 
 Than to live still, and write mine epitaph. 
 
 Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. 
 
 Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario t 
 
 Ner. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your 
 grace. [Presents a letter. 
 
 Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly? 
 
 Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. 
 
 Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
 Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can, 
 No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
 Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee ? 
 
 Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 
 
 Gra. O, be thou damn'd, inexorable dog I 
 And for thy life let justice be accus'd. 
 Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith. 
 To hold opinion with Pythagoras, 
 That souls of animals infuse themselves 
 Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit 
 Govern'd a wolf, who, liano;'d for human slaughter. 
 Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet, 
 And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam, 
 Infus'd itself iu thee ; for thy desires 
 
 Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous. 
 
 Shy, Till thou can'st rail the seal from off ray boad^ 
 Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud ; 
 Repair thy wit, good youth ; or it will fall 
 To cureless ruin, I stand here for law. 
 
 Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
 A young and learned doctor to our court : — 
 Where is he ? 
 
 Ner. He attendeth here hard by. 
 
 To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 
 
 Duke. With all my heart : — some three or foul 
 of you. 
 Go give him courteous conduct to this place. — 
 Meantime, the court shall hear Bellario's letter. 
 
 [Clerk reads.'] Your grace shall understand, that, 
 at the receipt of' your letter, 1 am very sick: but in the 
 instant that your messenger came, in loving visitation 
 was with me a young doctor of Rome, his luime is Bal- 
 thasar : I acquainted him with the cause in contraversif 
 between the Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned 
 o'er many books together: he isj'urnish'dwith mif opi' 
 nion; which, better'd with his own learning, {the great- 
 ness whereof I cannot enough commend,) comes with 
 him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace's request 
 in my stead. 1 beseech you, let his tack of years bene 
 impediment to let him lack a reverend estimation ; for 
 I never knew so young a body ivith so old a head. I 
 leave him to your gracious acceptance^ whose trial shaii 
 better publish his commendation. 
 
 Duke. You hear the learned Bellario, what he 
 And here, I take it, is the doctor come. — [writes! 
 
 Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. 
 
 Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario t 
 
 Par. I did, my lord. 
 
 Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 
 
 Are you acquainted with the difi'erence 
 That holds this present question in the court? 
 
 For. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
 Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 
 
 Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth? 
 
 For. Is your name Shylock ? 
 
 Shy. Shylock is my name. 
 
 Pen: Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
 Yet in such a rule, that the Venetian law 
 Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. — 
 You stand within his danger, do you not? 
 
 [To Antonio. 
 
 Atit. Ay, so he says. 
 
 Por, Do you confess the bond? 
 
 Ant. I do. 
 
 Por. Then must the Jew be merciful. 
 
 Shy. On what compulsion must 1 ? tell me that. 
 
 Por. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
 It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
 His sceptre shews the force of temporal power. 
 The attribute to awe and majesty. 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
 But mercy is above this scepter'd sway. 
 It is enthroned in tlie hearts of kings. 
 It is an attribute to God himself ; 
 And earthly power doth then shew likest God's 
 When mercy seasonsjustice. Therefore, Jew, 
 i Though justice be thy plea, consider this — 
 That in the course of justice, none of us 
 I Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
 1 And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 205 
 
 The deeds of mercy I have spoke thus much, 
 To iiiitigate the justice of thy plea ; 
 Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
 Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 
 
 Shii. i\Iy deeds upon my head ! 1 crave the law, 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 
 
 Por. Is he not able to discharge the monev? 
 
 Bass. Ves, here 1 tender it for him in the court; 
 Yea, thrice the sum : if that will not suffice, 
 I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
 On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart: 
 If this will not suffice, it must appear 
 That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, 
 Wrest once the law to your authority : 
 To do a great right do a little wrong ; 
 And curb this cruel devil of his will. 
 
 Por. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice 
 Can alter a decree established : 
 Twill be recorded for a precedent ; 
 And many an error, by the same example, 
 Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 
 
 Shi/. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 
 O wise young judge, how do I honour thee ! 
 
 Por. i pray you, let me look upon the bond. 
 
 Shy. Here it is most reverend doctor, here it is. 
 
 Por. Shylock, there's thrice thy money otier'd thee, 
 
 Sku. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven: 
 Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
 No, not for Venice. 
 
 Por. Why, this bond is forfeit ; 
 
 And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
 A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
 Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ; 
 Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 
 
 Shy. When it is paid according to the tenour. — 
 It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ; 
 You know the law, your exposition 
 Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
 AVliereof you are a well-deserving pillar. 
 Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear, 
 There is no power in the tongue of man 
 To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 
 
 Ant. Most heartily 1 do beseech the court 
 To give the judgment. 
 
 Por, "Why then, thus it is. 
 
 You must prepare your bosom for his knife- 
 
 Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 
 
 Por. For the intent and purpose of the Taw 
 Hath full relation to the penalty, 
 Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 
 
 Sky, 'Tis very true : wise and upright judge ! 
 How much move elder art thou than thy looks ! 
 
 Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 
 
 Shy. Ay, his breast : 
 
 So says the bond ; — Doth it not, noble judge 1 — 
 Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 
 
 Por. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh 
 The flesh 1 
 
 Shy. I have them ready. [charge, 
 
 Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your 
 To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed do death. 
 
 Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ? 
 
 Por. It is not so express'd ; But what of that ? 
 *Twere good you do so much for charity. 
 
 Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 
 
 Por. Come, merchant, have you any thing to sayt 
 
 Ant But little ; I am arm'd, and well preparM. — 
 Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well ! 
 Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
 For herein fortune shews herself more kind 
 Than is her custom : it is still her use. 
 To let the wretched man out-live his wealth, 
 
 To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow, 
 An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance 
 Of such a miseiy doth she cut me off". 
 Commend me to your honourable wife: 
 Tell her the process of Antonio's end, 
 Say, how I loved you, speak me fair in death ; 
 And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge, 
 Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
 Repent not you that you sliall lose your friend, 
 And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
 For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
 I '11 pay it instantly with all my heart. 
 
 Buss. Antonio, I am married to a wife. 
 Which is as dear to me as life itself ; 
 But life itself, my wife, and all the world, 
 Are not witii me esteem'd above thy life ; 
 I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
 Here to this devil, to deliver you. 
 
 Por. Your wife would give you little thanks for that, 
 If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 
 
 Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest I love ; 
 I would she were in heaven, so she could 
 Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 
 
 Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
 The wish would make else an unquiet house. 
 
 Shy. These be the Christian husbands : I have a 
 'W'ould, any of the stock of Barrabas [daughter ; 
 Had been her husband, rather than a Christian ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence. 
 
 Por. A poundof that same merchant's flesh is thine; 
 The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
 
 Shy. Most rightful judge ! 
 
 Por. And you must cut this flesh fromofll'his breast j 
 The law allows it, and the court awards it. 
 
 Shy. Most learned judge! — A sentence; come^ 
 prepare. 
 
 Por. Tarry a little ; — there is something else. — 
 This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 
 The words expressly are a pound of flesh : 
 Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
 But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
 One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
 Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 
 Unto the state of Venice. 
 
 Gra. O upright judge! — Mark, Jew; — learned 
 
 Shy. Is that the law ? [judge ! 
 
 Pin-. Thyself shall see the act : 
 
 For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd. 
 Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st. 
 
 Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — a learned 
 judge !^ 
 
 Shy. I take this offer then, — pay the bond thrice, 
 And let the Christian go. 
 
 Bass. Here is the money. 
 
 Por. Soft; 
 The Jew shall have all justice; — soft; — no haste; — 
 He shall have nothing but the penalty. 
 
 Gra. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge! 
 
 Por. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off" the flesh. 
 Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more. 
 But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st moie. 
 Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
 As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
 Or the division of the twentieth part 
 Of one poor scruple : nay, if the scale do turn 
 But in the estimation of a hair, — 
 Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate 
 
 Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew! 
 Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 
 
 Por. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. 
 
 Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. 
 
206 
 
 MERCHANT OP VENICE. 
 
 h'M. I r,r»« it ri>a/i7 for the* ; h«re it ». 
 f'/'. iU. ua.i, .■»r;n <; it It. ii^. </j»wi iy«rt ; 
 H* i&ali ».*'* r.->it V , ,;>*,, and tin wamL 
 Gra. A Om, » ««r'rt>d Daniel I— 
 
 fvr. Tlf/t! sJalt lore BodMaig tat tfcelMfrilMe, 
 To be K> taken at tlw f«rit, Jev. 
 
 Mjr. Wlirylikeatte devil ^e Ma gM4«(i(1 
 II) ttajr Ml lo«j(er qs«sti<.«. 
 
 /"'T. T*ny, Jew ; 
 
 TV Itnr kalli vet vttAktu lw>M </ti jros. 
 ^t , ' 'ianat, — 
 
 U -a, 
 
 '/hi ,. iu:t»j«», 
 
 H^ A tmj ttttitsm, 
 
 Tt^ • 'h^! -tiMvM h« dotb contrive. 
 
 Ski ,:;lhf,oOttfh»U 
 
 Ct>'. -tit Mate i 
 
 AiW '.'-<: i,r,^:^,>;ri n-f. f.ei m lie «»e»«7 
 Of t>ae Me« «al)r, 'gaiatt all «(lter Toiee. 
 In wf.;- -. •v?»/ii«!«iei»t, 1 ««jr, dwys (Uad'tt : 
 fo: ,1 tntakat yiOKfAa^ 
 
 Ti.. r-rA !^r-^.\^ •t.-, , 
 
 o/ ; 
 
 I^owm, ^leuiloie, aii i^ v.^ -ice. 
 
 A:.. . ibe Mate, fidff: 
 
 n-. • •.,•-( ; 
 
 ;^. . 
 
 W,', 
 
 T>.p. 
 
 W; 
 
 /- 
 
 Gj^ff. A 
 
 Avt. «'. 
 To 
 la 
 T>^ . 
 
 7),a- 
 
 Tw. 
 
 T).' 
 »»• 
 ff.- 
 i. 
 T>rt 
 
 A**, 1 ■ 
 
 ^jr, I f»a7 yM sfi • 
 I »fl Dtft well i i«r>d V 
 SuA\ will Hi(» it, 
 
 /;uJs«. O^ •*.''^ {;'«<!, f/^f il/> it, ffaiW* ; 
 
 (jiit. I- ' have two jfwl- 
 
 Had i bi>' -<»«>iaw) l^nmwe, 
 
 To IVfiog t/.** V/ '.!>'; ya.,-.»i, r,'.'. i.ri*, font. 
 
 f/i/i! Hurl /Kit, 
 
 //«/)!«. *-•' ' "T.'f'aJ 7/m h//m« wit/i r/«5 to 'jiftner. 
 
 Vitr, J tiire 7'/<i/ ;;/»;« of («rd«a ; 
 
 I vnrtt ar< . ' imnii fiAai, 
 
 AtA it i* ia««i, 1 ^laetMj Mt (oftib 
 
 r, _ ' • - ---rr, tf.aSyiww )ei»a»««en'e4ijr«P0 «*t 
 
 •• ,»■"•. r/. ' ;i v.nnd to Inm, 
 ( A*' ■ ' ',«, «ni^ Train. 
 
 Ban. Mom ••' -ivt nty intatt, 
 
 H*»eby*',.- '■ v^juitted 
 
 Thi^^ »-., r. i*w. 
 
 We ' ','(.»!, 
 
 In kwe 4«i **»»!** u» ;< 
 
 \ I yi-. 
 ;1 w,- . , 
 
 hvu. Ufjij i,t ,luiiiin; 
 
 Take M>»<e ik«^,- ■,, 
 
 -Vot a» a /<!e : ;r.-> . /r^/ jiia, 
 
 yitA Vi lieiij fi«e, ; 
 
 {"or. Vwi j/r<;,; . . . "• ( ^ »r»ld. 
 
 ' (jrrt toe jvii ^IfyvM, J <e ; 
 
 I And, for jrvoT k«e, 1 ',, ^ ^ ^ 
 
 1)0 oot dia» 1/a/;/ yyit ;.«i..j , i 1, Uu« m> u,Mt ; 
 And j"»» in Ujth itiall w<id>r(i7 b* tlii*. 
 
 Ham. l}i]i nr.y •hzUitti 
 
 j 1 will not »ltwr<« • ;i«. 
 
 /'w, I wii; fca, , •• / (hij ; 
 
 I And imm, metiiinki, I ■■ 
 
 ' hi'!, fy.ine'-t it^tif. ■ ia titi tktt 
 
 ' 'in? in Ver.ic* fn- 1 ^.v* >oo, [value. 
 '/Tit )/v f/r/i/:)awfAii//n i 
 
 Yos 
 
 Yon tevt. 
 
 ■fftr* : 
 
 Ilk, 
 
 ill iftrt (avcnr. 
 
 '«<i, Jew,«iiat<k/*tt}>oa >«f ? 
 
 ' ■ " adeed i/t ph. 
 
 ■ill It'/tii Itenee ; 
 
 • .',.• tiie, 
 
 '•er sell, iiin ri'e, f>«» l"»e it, 
 ' ' ;. f/ 9»»e tfceir 
 
 Am: .r;, [!(''t>. 
 
 ' A •.•: . . . . '.frij rinjf, 
 
 - '/I h^/M OBt rmaiiy lot vet, 
 ' Ut Bie. Well, j«ai/;e 1/e with yno ! 
 
 [KtJTHnt y'tfllA and StUtmlL. 
 
 Ant. My lord hmnuio. let him hare (lie »in<{ ; 
 
 (>?! ' ■ •■• ' 
 
 /le • ,t, 
 
 /; -;,.;n, 
 
 Oi»e a/Kl t/r(ri^ r»rrf., i( iv/o ean'tl, 
 
 UmI'/ -jse: — away, »iake katte. 
 
 [f.iil Otttritno, 
 Omm. Jim »nA I will thittier ytevmiU ; 
 \nA in tiM nitmutfj tarlt will we Ix/tfi 
 Fly,t«wa/d Bebw/r/t; Omut, AiiUmui. [Kttum. 
 
 aCKXE IJ,— n« ww^, A Htrui. 
 RnUrr V'nni/k ami Jir,»itiiA. 
 For. IwpntK tfie Jew's h'/n«« <wt, jrive bim t>»!« 
 
 -' ■-'>■'■■'■■ - "> (d«.(. 
 
 //lrf*r OnATIAIfO. 
 
 My ■ 
 
 Hat*' , .» , - .- .--ih etJtrrat 
 
 • yoBf fmifuij at 'linner. 
 ! J''". Tl»al rannot be : 
 
 , Tbii rinjr I do «<««}/( i»o(t tl^liftilly, 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 HOI 
 
 Anvl so, I pruv you. t«ll him : Ftirthcm»w. 
 1 pruv \-ou, iJKcw mv vwuih <>1<1 Shvlivk's hous*. 
 
 tlrli.' n»l will lai. 
 
 \Vr. Sr. 1 w\>v>U s(y*k «nlh you : — i 
 
 1 '11 sw if I can sft wy h«st>*n.rs rini:, [ T^ lV>Rri*, i 
 AVhich I >lid nuk* him s»-Mr to Iw^ ft'it ovur. 
 
 Ptv. Vhou ni*y'st, 1 wurrsui ; Wf sl>all h«v« M 
 $w«i*rin$, 
 Th»( th«v aia jirt 0*8 rinj;s «»r»y to m*n : 
 Hill »-»'(! o«if»c« th*in. »nJ outswfsr llwm tvw, 
 .\w«v, mile h«stp ; lhoukno»'st whi-iv \ will t*m\ 
 
 AVk Come. <v>>>>l «' "''' >'"•' *'»"« mo w th>s 
 l)dus«l [Ki»i«». 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 STKNK l— Belmont. .Uimtif w l\>«>*"s Ho«». 
 
 K•l^f^ IA^RK^-tO «l».5 .l»»svo». 
 
 /.«■. Th<> moon shin«s brijrhl : — In such * nigl>t 
 •Si iliis. 
 When the swwl x<rimi di<l jjMitly kiss the tJ««s. 
 AnJ Ihcy Ji>l m«ko no noia? ; in $<h.-h * n^^\t. 
 IVmIms. nicihinks, nioiin^^l (he W^an walls, 
 A 11,1 sith'd his soul towAnl the l,ii«cijtn t«nts, 
 W hvra Cr««»id !»}■ tii»t nijtht. 
 
 Jfs. " In such * nvjg^t, 
 
 Pid rhisl)0 t<wH\>Uy oVvlriii the view ; 
 Ami s*w the lion's shmlow ew himself. 
 All,! n»n >lisiniiy'J»»ay. 
 
 i ,i\ In such » nijlit. 
 
 Si.vvl Oitlo »ilh « willow in lier h*nil 
 I' (vn ilie wiKl sea-hanks, ami wav'd het love 
 Vo ivme aji*'<> **> CailUagts 
 
 ./fs In such * nijht, 
 
 Mrtlea saiher'd the «nch»nt«l her^s 
 Thai vIm renew oUl .tson. 
 
 J.v, In such « nisht. 
 
 llivl .'ossic* steal from the wealthy .'ew : 
 AhJ with an unlhril) K«-« <1>J run tWt» Venice, 
 As far as IVlniont. 
 
 ,1«, In such a nijtht, 
 
 llivl WHiRi; l^wnw swvar he lovj her wtpU ; 
 Sti^arinj! Iter soul with many >vi»« of favth. 
 Anil ncVf * inie one. 
 
 /«»■. Aiht in such a nijltt. 
 
 Pivl nivtly ,lessi<«. like a litlle .shnew. 
 Slamlcr her lo«. ami he forjrax-e it lier. 
 
 Je». I wvulil ont-nishi you. tUl no Ikvly c»une ; 
 Rul, haik, I hear the khu'ihc oi a man. 
 
 I,>r. Who cvwies so fast in silence of the nijltll 
 .VfepH, .\ iViemI, lyvu, fttcml I 
 
 1m: \ fiieiul *. what friciKl t your name, I (way 
 Strj<li. Sh'jihiino is my name ; ami I hiing worvl, 
 My niistivss will befoiv the hivak of >lay 
 Ue here at l^lmont . she >loih sliay alwut 
 Uy holy ciwsses, whew site kneels ami ivr«)-s 
 Kor happy wwlKvk houi*. 
 
 /or, \\*tio comes with her t 
 
 .<«e(>*. None, but a holy heiiuit. ami hev inaivl. 
 I pray )vu, IS my master XTt ivtiiniM! 
 
 / .M." Ue is not, nor «v ii*M> not heanl fi\un him. — 
 Itiu (JO we in, 1 pnnj thee, .texsica. 
 And ceiviuoniously let ns iMvi»aif 
 Suue wfUvme for the inistivss of ihc house. 
 
 ^\f»r l.jivwuoT. 
 I^Kn, Sola, sola, teii ha. ho, sol*, sola ! 
 I.y. Who calls! 
 
 Iji««. Sola! dKl\»use«iB»s«iML«»inio,«ii<iuu.«- 
 trass Lorento ! sola, sola ! 
 
 I .T. l-eax-e hollaing, man ; ImK. 
 
 Ijixv. ^ila ! »^le^• t w^lel« I 
 
 r.^r. Here. 
 
 Ijtun, Veil him, their's a iv>st come frvwi my was- 
 ter, with his hora lull of joivl news ; my master will 
 be here eix> mixming. [ '■-"f- 
 
 f.,w. Swe^t soul, let's in, a-,i.l there expect their 
 coming. 
 And yet no matter : — Why should «« go in t 
 My t>ien»l $«>ph*no. signify. 1 j»»y yon, 
 W'ilhin the house, yvur mistress is at hand : 
 And biins your music forth niu» the aw>— f Kj»t Si» 
 Mow sxxvet the nnXM. ' ' - -'.uk! 
 
 Heno will wv sii. a; .'. 
 
 Onpep in our ears ; >... ,^. . .. .;t. 
 
 I'econw the touches of sw .- 
 
 Sit. .'essica; l.ook how ihi ■>;! 
 
 Is thick inlaiil with witities ot V>;-,i!n jLv'.d ; 
 There's nvn the smallest orb, which tlkou bekoM'at, 
 llv.t in his motion hi. ' < ijts, 
 
 Still ouirinji to the ^ .r.ibins : 
 
 Such nanaony is in - !s ; 
 
 l>ut, whilst this nuuWy wstupe ot\Way 
 lX>!h jrtvvssly close it in, wv cannot heat it— 
 
 K»(er Musicians. 
 
 Come, ho, and wiake Itiana with a hytnn; 
 With sweetest touch«s p»e^x^e wur mistress' ear, 
 •iml draw her home with music. 
 J«. 1 am nentr «»errv, vrhou I hear sweet music. 
 
 !«-. The reason i< -< are att»«ti«; 
 
 Wir do but nose a \> -;i heivi. 
 
 Or race of jvuthful ,. <\1 colts, 
 
 Kelchinjr iivad b<winds. iieiiowini, and nciihinj; loud. 
 Which is the hot c\>ndiii.n »M" their hUvvl ; 
 If they but hear jvrchamNc a trunniet sound, 
 1 tir anV air of music unich their e«i«, 
 I You s"haU i>crv-ci\-<> tl-cm make a mutual stand, 
 
 I Their sa\aje ews txiia'd lo a hivMcsi j:afe, 
 Uv ihe sweet jiow-er of music : Vheix-toiv. the jvoet 
 Oul fciitn that Orpheus drew ti-ees. stones, and fio«>ds; 
 I Since nouijht so si\vkish, har\l. and full of laj*. 
 I Uut music for the tunc doth chaiij:* his natutn ; 
 I The man that hath no music in himself. 
 Nor IS not mo\M with ^Vllc.^rvi of sweet sounds. 
 Is lit t\^r treasons. sti-«tajit>ins. and sjwls; 
 The motions of his spiiil aiv dull as nvj^ht, 
 .\nd his atHvtions dark as Krebus c 
 Let no such man 1h' truste>l.- Matt the musk, 
 
 Kutfe IVnrix *«i<i Nvnissa. at * liist*'*!*. 
 
 f\w. That lijht we see. is humiivf in >«y hall. 
 How far that Utile candle ihrvxw* his beams', 
 Si> shines a svvvl \Uh\1 in a nauj;hly wwld. [candle. 
 
 Act-, When the nuwn shone, w-e di>l not see the 
 
 IW, S>x doth the (iivahpr jtloty dim the less ; 
 .\ substitute shines btijthlly a" a kins, 
 r«lil a kini; l>e b\ , and then hiv Male 
 Kinplies Itself, as dovli an inland buvk 
 lnu> the n»«in of waici^ Music! haii ! 
 
 i\Vi\ It is )t>«r TOUMC. madam, of the House, 
 
 IV. Xolhins is svi^il. I see. without respect ; 
 Methinks. it sounds much swe»>ter ihan by day, 
 
 .\o'. Silen>"e be,vt\wxs ihal xiilue on it. mavlam. 
 
 /\>i. Tlie cwiw doih sinji as sweellv as the laik, 
 ' When neither is aileii.le,! ; and, I ihink, 
 • The nijjhlinjiale, if she Nli,<«ld sinj by day, 
 1 \\ hen e\t-n p'Hwe is ca.-klinj;, w\>uld be lho>nfht 
 I No lietter a musician than the wren. 
 
200 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 How many things by season season'd are 
 To their rigiit praise, and true perfection! — 
 Peace, hoa I the moon sleeps with Endymion, 
 And would not be awak'd ! [iUust'c ceases* 
 
 Lor. That is the voice, 
 
 Or I ain much deceiv'd, of Portia. [cuckoo, 
 
 For. He knows me as the blind man knows the 
 By the bad voice. 
 
 Lor. Dear lady, welcome home. 
 
 For. We have been praying for our husbands* 
 welfare, 
 Which speed, we hope, the better for our words. 
 Are they returo'dl 
 
 Lor, ' Madam, they are not yet ; 
 
 But there is come a messenger before, 
 To signify their coming. 
 
 For. Go in, Nerissa, 
 
 Give order to my servants, that they take 
 No note at all of our being absent hence ; — 
 Nor you, Lorenzo ; — Jessica, nor you. 
 
 [A tucket sounds. 
 
 Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet : 
 We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not. 
 
 For. This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick. 
 It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day, 
 Such as the day is when the sun is hid. 
 
 Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, 
 and their FoUowers. 
 
 Bass, We should hold day wiih the Antipodes, 
 If you would walk in absence of the sun. 
 
 For. Let me give light, but let me not be light ; 
 For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, 
 And never be Bassanio so for me ; 
 But God sort all ! — You are welcome home, my lord. 
 
 Bass. I thank you, madam : give welcome to my 
 This is the man, this is Antonio, [friend. — 
 
 To whom I am so infinitely bound. 
 
 For. You should in all sense be much bound tohim, 
 For, as I hear, he was much bound for you. 
 
 Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of. 
 
 For. Sir, you are very welcome to our house : 
 It must appear in other ways than words, 
 Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy. 
 
 [Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart. 
 
 Gra. By yonder moon, 1 swear you do me wrong j 
 In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk : 
 Would he were gelt that had it, for my part, 
 Since you do take it, love, so much at heart. 
 
 For. A quarrel, ho, already? what's the matter? 
 
 Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring 
 That she did give me ; whose posy was 
 For all the world, like cutler's poetry 
 Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me 7wt. 
 
 Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value? 
 You swore to me, when 1 did give it you. 
 That you would wear it till your hour of death ; 
 And that it should lie with you in your grave : 
 Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths. 
 You should have been respective, and have kept it. 
 Gave it a judge's clerk ! — but wtll 1 know. 
 The clerk will ne'er wear hair on iiis face, that had it. 
 
 Gra, He will, an if he live to be a man. 
 
 Ker. Ay. if a woman live to be a man, 
 
 Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, — 
 A kind of boy ; a little scrubbed boy, 
 No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk ; 
 A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee ; 
 I could not for my heart deny it him. 
 
 For, You were to blame, 1 must be plain with you, 
 To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ; 
 A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger, 
 
 And riveted so with faith unto your flesh, 
 I gave my love a ring, and made him swear 
 Never to part with it; and here he stands ; 
 I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it, 
 Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth 
 That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano, 
 You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief j 
 An 'twere to me, 1 should be mad at it. 
 
 Bass. Why, 1 were best to cut my left hand off, 
 And swear, 1 lost the ring defending it. [Asid^. 
 
 Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away 
 Unto the judge that begg'd it, and, indeed, 
 Deserv'd it too ; and then the boy, his clerk, 
 That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine : 
 And neither man, nor master, would take aught 
 But the two rings. 
 
 For. What ring gave you, my lord^ 
 
 Not that, I hope, which you receiv'dof me. 
 
 Bass. H I could add a lie unto a fault, 
 I would deny it ; but you see, my finger 
 Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone. 
 
 For. Even so void is your false heart of truth. 
 By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed 
 Until I see the ring. 
 - Ner. Nor I in yours, 
 
 Till I again see mine. 
 
 Bass. Sweet Portia, 
 
 If you did know to whom I gave the ring. 
 If you did know for whom 1 gave the ring, 
 And would conceive for what 1 gave the ring, 
 And how unwillingly 1 left the ring. 
 When naught would be accepted but the ring. 
 You would abate the strength of your displeasure. 
 
 For. If you had known the virtue of the ring. 
 Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 
 Or your own Imnour to contain the ring, 
 You would not then have parted with the ring. 
 What man is there so much unreasonable. 
 If you had pleas'd to have defended it 
 ^Vith any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty 
 To urge the thing held as a ceremony ? 
 Nerissa teaches me what to believe ; 
 I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring. 
 
 Bass. No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul. 
 No woman had it, but a civil doctor. 
 Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me. 
 And begg'd the ring ; the which I did deny him. 
 And sufler'd him to go displeas'd away j 
 Even he that had held up the very life 
 Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady 
 I was enforc'd to send it after him ; 
 I was beset with shame and courtesy : 
 My honour would not let ingratitude 
 So much besmear it : Pardon me, good lady ; 
 For by these blessed candles of the night, 
 Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd 
 The ring of me to give the worthy doctor. 
 
 For. Let not that doctor e'er come near my bouse : 
 Since he hath got the jewel tliat I lov'd, 
 And that which you did swear to keep for me, 
 I will become as liberal as you ; 
 I'll not deny him any thing I have. 
 No, not my body, nor my husband's bed j 
 Know him I shall, I am well sure of it : 
 Lie not a night from home ; watch me, like Argus: 
 If you do not, if I be left alone. 
 Now, by mine honour, which is yet mine own, 
 I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow. 
 
 Ner. And I his clerk ; therefore be well advis'd, 
 How you do leave me to mine own protection. 
 
 Gra. Well, do you so: let not me take him then; 
 For, if I do, I'll mar the young clerk's pen. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 209 
 
 Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels. 
 
 Por, Sir, grieve not you ; you are welcome not- 
 withstanding, 
 
 Bass. Portia, forgive me tiiis enforced wrong ■, 
 And. in Uie hearing of these many friends, 
 I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes, 
 Wherein I see myself, — — 
 
 Par. Mark you but that ! 
 
 In both my eyes he doubly sees himself: 
 In each eye onei^ — swear by your double self, 
 And there's an oath of credit. 
 
 B(tss. Nay, but hear me : 
 
 Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear, 
 I never more will break an oath with thee. 
 
 Atit. I once did lend my body for his wealth ; 
 Which, but for him that had your husband's ring, 
 
 [To POKTIA. 
 
 Had quite miscarried : I daie be bound again, 
 My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord 
 "Will never more break faith advisedly. 
 
 P(*r. Then you shall be his surety : Give him this; 
 And bid him keep it better than the other. 
 
 Ant, Here, lord Bassanio ; swear to keep this ring. 
 
 Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctor ! 
 
 Pin-. I had it of him : pai'don me, Bassanio ; 
 For by this ring the doctor lay with me. 
 
 Ner. And pardon me, my gentle Gratiano ; 
 For that same scrubbed boy, the doctor's clerk, 
 In lieu of this, last night did lie with me. 
 
 Gra. Why, this is like the mending of high-ways 
 In summer, where the ways are fair enough : 
 What ! are we cuckolds, ere we have deserv'd it ? 
 
 Por. Speak not so grossly. — You are all amaz'd : 
 Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ; 
 It comes from Padua, from Bellario : 
 There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor ; 
 Neruisa there, her clerk : Lorenzo here 
 Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you, 
 And but even now return'd ; I have not yet 
 
 Enter'd my house. — Antonio, you are welcome ; 
 And I have better news in store for you. 
 Than you expect: unseal this letter soon ; 
 There you shall find, three of your argosies 
 Are richly come to harbour suddenly : 
 You shall not know by what strange accident 
 I ciianced on this letter. 
 
 Ant. I am dumb. 
 
 Bass. Were you the doctor, and 1 knew you not ? 
 
 Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me 
 cuckold ? 
 
 Ker. Ay ; but the clerk that never means to do it, 
 Unless he live until he be a man. 
 
 Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow; 
 When I am absent, then lie with my wife. 
 
 Ant. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and living; 
 For here I read for certain, that my ships 
 Are safely come to road. 
 
 Por. How now, Lorenzo 1 
 
 My clerk hath some good comforts too for you. 
 
 Ner. Ay, and I'll give them him without a fee. — 
 There do I give to you, and Jessica, 
 From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift, 
 After his death, of all he dies possess'dof. 
 
 Lor, Fair ladies, you drop manna in the way 
 Of star\'ed people. 
 
 Por. It is almost morning, 
 
 And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied 
 Of these events at full : Let us go in ; 
 And charge us there upon intergatories, 
 And we will answer all things faithfully. 
 
 Gi-a. Let it be so ; The first intergatorj', 
 Thatmy Nerissa shall be sworn on, is. 
 Whether till the next night she had rather stay ; 
 Or go to bed now, being two hours to-day ; 
 But were the day come. I should wish it dark, 
 That I were couching with the doctor's clerk. 
 Well, while I live, I'll fear no other thing 
 So sore, as keeping safe Nerissa's ring. [Exeunt, 
 
 * Of The Merchant of Venice the style is even and 
 easy, with lew peculiarities of diction, or anomalies of con- 
 struction. The comic part raises laughter, and the serious 
 fixes expectation. The probability of either one or the other 
 story cannot be maintained. The union of two actions in one 
 
 event is in this drama eminently happy. Dryden was much 
 uleised with his own address in connecting the two plots of 
 nis i)va>ii^/l Fiiar, which yet. I believe, the critic will find ex- 
 celled by this play— Johnson. 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Thoitgh this exquisite coiripdy appears to have been first pub- 
 lished in the player's edition ol our author's works in Itj-.l, 
 it must have been wniten before the year IGOO ; as at the 
 bpiiinnin^ of the second volume of the entries at Stationers' 
 Hail, two leaves of irrepul.ir prohibitions, notes. &c. are 
 placed, in which A<i you like it is mentioned. An entry of the 
 4th of Au^st, \6O0, contains a caveat relative to three of our 
 author's plays, the present comedy, Henry the i'ifih. and 
 Much ado about Nothing.— \\ ith respect to the other two 
 
 Glaj'S. the caveat was soon taken off, and they were both pub- 
 shed withia the moDth. j:h yau tike it may have been 
 
 Erinted at the same time, but no copy of such an editioa has 
 een discovered. 
 The plot of the play was taken from Lodge's Rotalynd, or Eu- 
 
 f'hice's Gulden L^gacye, 4lo. 1590. And Shakspeare has fol- 
 owed the novel more exactlv than is his general custom when 
 he is indebted to such worthless originals. He has sketciied 
 some of his principal characters, and borrowed a few expres- 
 sions from U. flis imitations, Arc. however, are in geneiai 
 too insignificant to merit transcription. 
 It should DC observed , that the characters of Jaques, the Cloim 
 and Audrey, are entirely of the poet's own formation. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Duke, avjng in erile. 
 
 Frederick, brother to th.e Duke, and usurper of his 
 
 dominions. 
 Amiens, Jaques, Lords attending on the Duke in Jiis 
 
 banishment. 
 Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick. 
 Charles, his wrestler* 
 
 Oliver, Jaques, Orlando, sons of Sir Rowland de 
 Adam, Dennis, servants to Oliver. [Bois. 
 
 Touchstone, a cloum. 
 Sir Oliver Martett, a vicar. 
 
 CoRiN. SiLvius, shepherds. 
 
 William, a country fellow , in love with Audrey. 
 
 A Person representing Hymen. 
 
 Rosalind, daughter to the banished Duke. 
 Celia, daughter to Frederick, 
 Phebe, a shepherdess. 
 Audrey, a country wench. 
 
 Lords belonging to the two Dukes ; Pages, Foresters, 
 
 and other Attendants. 
 The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's House; after- 
 wards, partly in the Usurper's Court, and partly in 
 the Forest i'/" Arden. 
 
 O 
 
210 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I An Orchard, near Oliver's House. 
 
 Eytter Orlando, ajid Adam. 
 
 Orl. As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fa- 
 shion bequeathed me : By will, but a poor thousand 
 crowns : and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on 
 his blessing, to breed me well : and there begins my 
 sadness. Sly brother Jaques he keeps at school, and 
 report speaks goldenly of his profit : for my part, he 
 keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more pro- 
 perly, stays me here at home unkept : For call you 
 that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, that differs 
 not from the stalling of an ox 1 His horses are bred 
 better ; for, besides that they are fair with their feed- 
 ing, they are taught their manage, and to that end 
 riders dearly hired : but I, his brother, gain nothing 
 under him but growth ; for the which iiis animals on 
 his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. Be- 
 sides this nothing that he so plentil'uUy gives me, the 
 something that nature gave me, his countenance 
 seems to take from me : he lets me feed with his hinds, 
 bars me the place of a brother, and, as much as in 
 him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This 
 is it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my 
 father, which I think is within me, begins to mutiny 
 against this servitude : I will no longer endure it, 
 though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. 
 
 Enter Oliver. 
 
 Adam. Yonder comes my master, your brother. 
 
 Orl. Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how 
 he will shake me up. 
 
 on. Now, sir ! what make you here 1 
 
 Orl. Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing. 
 
 Oli. What mar you then, sir? 
 
 Orl. Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that 
 which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours, 
 with idleness. 
 
 OH. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught 
 awhile. 
 
 Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with 
 theml What prodigal portion have I spent, that I 
 should come to such penury 1 
 
 Oli. Know you where you are, sir? 
 
 Orl. 0, sir, very well : here in your orchard. 
 
 Oli. Know you before whom, sir 1 
 
 Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me. I 
 know, you are my eldest brother ; and, in the gentle 
 condition of blood, you should so know me : The 
 courtesy of nations allows you my better, in that you 
 are the first-born ; but the same tradition takes not 
 away my blood, were there twenty brothers betwi.xt 
 us : 1 have as much of my father in me, as you ; al- 
 beit, 1 confess, your coming before me is nearer to 
 liis reverence. 
 
 Oli. What, boy! 
 
 Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too young 
 in this. 
 
 Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain 1 
 
 Orl. 1 am no villain: I am the youngest son of sir 
 Rowland de Bois : he was my father ; and he is 
 thrice avillain, that says, such a father begot villains : 
 Wert thou not my brother, 1 would not take this hand 
 from thy throat, till this otiier liad pulled out thy 
 tongue for saying so : thou hast railed on thyself. 
 
 Adam. Sweet masters, be patient ; for your father's 
 remembrance, he at accord. 
 Oli. Let me go, I say. 
 
 Orl. 1 will not, till 1 please: you shall hear me. 
 My father charged you in his will to give me good 
 
 education: you have trained me like a peasant, ob- 
 scuring and hiding from me all gentleraan-like qua- 
 lities: the spirit of my father grows strong in me, and 
 1 will no longer endure it ; tlierefore allow me such 
 exercises as may become a gentleman, or give roe the 
 poor allottery my father left me by testament ; with 
 tiiat I will go buy my fortunes. 
 
 Oli. And what wilt thou do? beg, when that is 
 spent? Well, sir, get you in; I will not long be trou- 
 bled witli you : you shall have some i^irt of your will: 
 i pray you, leave me. 
 
 Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes mb 
 for my good. 
 
 Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. 
 
 Adum. Is old dog my reward? Most true, I have 
 lost my teeth in your service. — God be with my old 
 master ! he would not have spoke such a word. 
 
 [^Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 
 
 Oli. Is it even so? begin you to grow upon me? I 
 will physic your rankncss, and yet give no thousand 
 crowns neither. Holla, Dennis ! 
 
 Enter Denwis. 
 
 Ven. Calls your worship ? 
 
 Oli. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here to 
 speak with me. 
 
 Den. So please you he is here at the door, and 
 importunes access to you. 
 
 Oli. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.]— 'Twill be a 
 good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is. 
 
 Enter Charles. 
 
 Chn. Good morrow to your worship. 
 
 Oli. Good monsieur Charles I — what's the nevf 
 news at the new court ? 
 
 Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but the old 
 news : that is, the old duke is banished by his younger 
 brother the new duke ; and three or four loving lords 
 have put themselves into voluntary e.tile with him, 
 whose lands and revenues enrich the new duke ; 
 tlierefore he gives them good leave to wander. \ 
 
 OIL Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's daughter, 
 be banished with her father ? 
 
 Cha. 0, no ; for the duke's daughter, her cousin, 
 so loves her, — being ever from their cradles bred to- 
 gether, — that she would have followed her exile, or 
 have died to stay behind her. She is at the court, and 
 no less beloved of her uncle than his own daughter ; 
 and never two ladies loved as they do. 
 
 Oli. AVhere will the old duke live ? 
 
 Cha. They say, he is already in the forestof Arden, 
 and a many merry men with him ; and there they live 
 like the old Robin Hood of England : they say many 
 young gentlemen flock to him every day ; and fleet the 
 time carelessly, as they did m the golden world. 
 
 O/i. What, youwrestle to-morrow before the new 
 duke? 
 
 Cha. Many, do I, sir ; and I came to acquaint you 
 with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to under- 
 stand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath a 
 disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try a 
 fall : To-morrow, sir, 1 wrestle for my credit ; and 
 he that escapes me without some broken limb, shall 
 acquit him well. Your brother is but young and ten- 
 der; and, for your love, I would be loath to foil him, 
 as I must, for my own honour, if he come in : therefore, 
 out of my love to you, I came hither to acquaint you 
 withal ; that either you might stay him from his in- 
 tendment, or brook sucli disgrace well as he shall run 
 into ; in that it is a thing of his own search, and al- 
 together against my will. 
 
 Oli. Charles, I thank thee, for thy love to me, 
 
ACT I.— SCENE II. 
 
 211 
 
 which thou shall find I will most kindly requite. I 
 hud ray?elf notice of my brother's purpose herein, and 
 have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him 
 from it y but he is resolute. I'll tell thee, Charles, 
 — it is the stubbornest young fellow of France; full 
 of ambition, an envious emulator of every man's good 
 parts, a secret and vitlanous contriver against me his 
 natural brother ; therefore use thy discretion ; I had 
 as lief thou didst break his neck as his finger: And 
 thou wert best look to't ; for if thou dost him any 
 slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself 
 on thee, he will practise against thee by poison, en- 
 trap ihee by some treacherous device, and never leave 
 thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some indirect means 
 or other; for, I assure thee, and almost with tears I 
 speak it, there is not one so young and so villanous 
 this day living. I speak but brotherly of him; but 
 should I anatomise him to thee as he is, I must blush 
 and weep, and thou must look pale and wonder. 
 
 Cfia. I am heartily glad I came hither to you: If 
 he come to-morrow, I'll give him his pa^mient: If 
 ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for prize 
 more : And so, God keep your worship 1 [Exit. 
 
 Olu FstreweH, good Charles. — Now will I stir this 
 gamester: I hope, I shall see an end of him ; for my 
 soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than 
 he. Y'et he's gentle ; never school'd, and yet learned ; 
 full of noble device ; of all sorts enchanlingly be- 
 loved ; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the 
 world, and especially of my own people, who best 
 know him, that I am altogether misprised: but it 
 5ha.ll not be so long ; this wrestler shall clear all : 
 nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy thither, 
 which now I'll go about. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Lawji before the Duke's Palace, 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 t'el. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. 
 
 Jios. Dear Celia, I shew more mirth than I am 
 mistressof; and would you yet 1 were merrier? Un- 
 less you could teach me to forget a banished father, 
 you must not learn me how to remember any extra- 
 ordinary pleasure. 
 
 Cet. Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with the full 
 weight that I love thee : if my uncle, thy banished 
 father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, 
 so thou hadst been still with me, 1 could have taught 
 my love to take thy father for mine ; so wouldst thou, 
 if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tem- 
 per'd as mine is to thee. 
 
 ill's. Welt, I will forget the condition of my es- 
 tate, to rejoice in yours. 
 
 Cel. Vou know, my father hath no child but I, nor 
 none is like to have: and, truly, when he dies, thou 
 shalt be his heir : for what he hath taken away from 
 thy father perforce, I will render ihee again in affec- 
 tion : by mine honour, I will ; and when I break that 
 oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, 
 my dear Rose, be merry. 
 
 Ros. From henceforth, I will, coz. and devise 
 sports : let me see ; What think you of falling in love ? 
 
 Cel. Marrv, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal; 
 but love no man in good earnest ; nor no further in 
 sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush tliou 
 may'st in honour come off again. 
 
 Ros. Wliat shall be our sport then *! 
 
 Cel. I,£t us sit and mock the good housewife. For- 
 tune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth 
 be bestowed equally. 
 
 Kts. 1 would we could do so ; for her benefits 
 
 are mightily misplaced : and the bountiful blind wo- 
 man doth most mistake in her gifts to women, 
 
 Cel. 'Tis true : for those, that she makes fair, she 
 scarce makes honest ; and those, that she makes ho- 
 nest, she makes very ill-favour'dly. 
 
 Ros. Nay; now thou goest from fortune's office to 
 nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in 
 the lineaments of nature. 
 
 Enter Touphstone. 
 
 Cel. No: When nature hath made a fair creature, 
 may she not by fortune fall into the fire? — Though 
 nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not 
 fortune sent in this fool to cut oft' the argument? 
 
 Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard tor nature ; 
 when fortune makes nature'^ natural the cutler off of 
 nature's wit. 
 
 Cel. Peradventure, this is not fortune's work nei- 
 ther, but nature's ; who, perceiving our natural wits 
 too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this 
 natural for our v/hetstone : for always the dulness of 
 the fool is the wlietstone of his wits. — How now, 
 witl whither wander you ? 
 
 Touch, Mistress, you must come away to your 
 father. 
 
 Cel, Were you made the messenger? 
 
 Touch. No, by mine honour ; but I was bid to 
 come for you. 
 
 Ros. ^Vhel•e learned you that oath, fool ? 
 
 Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his 
 honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his 
 honour the mustard was naught: now, I'U stand to 
 it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was 
 good : and yet was not the knight forsworn. 
 
 Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of 
 your knowledge ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. 
 
 Touch. Stand you both forth now: stroke your 
 chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave. 
 
 CeL By our beards, if we had them, thou art. 
 
 Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; 
 j but if you swear by that that is not, you are not for- 
 ! sworn : no more was this knight, swearing by his 
 , honour, for he never had any ; or if he had, he had 
 j sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes or 
 that mustard. 
 
 Cel. Pr'ythee, who is 't that thou mean'st? 
 
 Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, loves. 
 
 CeL j\Iy father's love is enough to honour him. 
 Enough ! speak no more of him : you '11 be whip'd 
 for taxation, one of these days. 
 
 Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak 
 wisely, what wise men do foolishly. 
 
 Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true : for since the 
 little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little fool- 
 ery, that wise men have, makes a great show. Here 
 comes Monsieur Le Beau, 
 
 Enter Le Beau. 
 
 Ros. With his mouth full of news. 
 
 Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed 
 their young. 
 
 Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd. 
 
 Cel. All the better ; we shall be the more mar- 
 ketable. Bon jour t Monsieur Le Beau: What's the 
 news ? 
 
 Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good 
 sport. 
 
 CeL Sport? of what colour ? 
 
 Le Bean. What colour, madam? How shall I an- 
 swer you ? 
 
 Ros. As wit and fortune will. 
 
 Tnuch. Or as the destinies decree. 
 O si 
 
212 
 
 AS YOU LIKK IT. 
 
 Cd. Well said ; that was laid on with a trowtl. I adventure would counsel 3-0 to a more equal cnter- 
 
 Touch. Nay, if 1 keep not my rank, prist. U'e pray you, for yoi r own bake, to embrace 
 
 Hiis. 'I'hou losest thy old smell. I your own safety, and give over this alleinpt. 
 
 /.«• fimu. You amaze me. ladies: I would have told ii.'f. Do, young sir; your reputation shall nol 
 
 you of good wrestling, which you have losttlie sijililof. , therefore Ut misprised : we will make it our suit to 
 lins. Yet tell us the manner of tlie wrestliujj. | the duke, that the wrestlinjj might not go forward. 
 
 he Beau. 1 will tell you the beginning, and, if it | Orl. 1 be-ecch you, punish me not with your hard 
 
 please your ladyships, you may see the end ; for the thoughts : wherein 1 confe>s me much guilty, to deny 
 
 best is yet to do ; and here, where you are, they are so fair and excellent ladies any thing. Hut let youi 
 
 coming to perform it. . j fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to my trial : 
 
 Cel. Well, — tlie beginning, that is dead and buried, wherein if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that 
 Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three was never gracious; if killed, but one dead that is 
 
 sons, i willing to be so : I shall do my friends no wrong, for 
 
 Cel. 1 could match this beginning, with an old tale. 1 have none to lament me; the world no injury, for 
 Le Beint, Three proper young men, of excellent in it I have nothing ; only in the world 1 hil up a 
 
 growth and (jresenee ; place, which may be better supplied when I have 
 
 Ilos. With bills Oft their necks, — Be it ktwwn unto made it empty. 
 
 all men bij these fieseiiU, j Ros. J'he iittie strength that 1 have, 1 would it 
 
 Le Beau. The eldest of the three wrestled with were with you. 
 
 Charles, the duke's wrestler; which (,'harles in a mo- I CeL And mine to eke out hers. 
 
 ment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, and 1 Hot. I'are you well. I'ray heaven, I be deceived 
 
 there is little hope of life in him : so he served the se- in you I 
 
 cond, and so the third ; Yonder they lie ; the poor old i Cel. Y'our heart's desires be with you 
 
 Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is 
 so desirous to lie with his mother earth ^ 
 
 Ort. Ready, sir ; but his will hath in it a more 
 
 man, their father, making such pitiful dole over lliem, 
 that all the beholders take his part with weeping. 
 
 Ros. Alas! 
 
 Touch. Uut what is the sport, monsieur, that the modest working. 
 ladies have lost! I Unite I'. You shall try but one fall. 
 
 Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. | Cha. No, I warrant your (.aace ; you shall not en- 
 
 Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day ! it is treat him to a second, that have so mightily persuad- 
 the first time that ever 1 lieaid, breaking of ribs was ed him from a Hrst. 
 
 sport for ladies. 
 
 Cel. Or 1, I promise thee. 
 
 Ron. But is there any else longs to see this broken 
 mus'c in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon 
 rib-breaking'! — Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? 
 
 Le lieau. You must, if you stay here : for here is 
 the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are 
 ready to perform it. 
 
 Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming : Let us now 
 stay and see it. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Dcke FnEntnicK, Lords, On- 
 LANDO, CiiARLKS, and Attendants. 
 
 })u>te F. Come on ; since the youth will not be 
 entreated, his own peril on his f'lrwardness. 
 
 Ros. Is yonder the man ? 
 
 Le Beau. Even he, madam. 
 
 Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks success- 
 fully. 
 
 Dniie F. IIow now, daughter, and cousin ? are you 
 crept hither to see the wrestling ! 
 
 Orl Y'ou mean to mock me after ; you should not 
 have mocked me before : but come your ways. 
 
 Roi. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man ! 
 
 Cel. 1 would 1 were invisible, to catch the strong 
 fellow by the leg. [CiiAni.ts and Oklando wremje. 
 
 Rot. O excellent young man I 
 
 Cel. If 1 had a thuudeibolt in mine eye, I can tell 
 who should down. [CiiAUf.ES is thrown. Shout. 
 
 DnUe F. No more, no more. 
 
 Orl. Yes, 1 beseech your grace ; I am not yet 
 well breathed. 
 
 Duke F. IIow dost thou, Charles? 
 
 J.e Beau. He cannot sjieak, my lord. 
 
 llnhe F. Bear him away. [Ciiahlls it home out.] 
 What is thy name, young man ? 
 
 Orl. (Jrlardo, my liege ; the youngest son of sit 
 Rowland de Bois. 
 
 Diihe f. I would, thou hadst been son to some man 
 The world esteem 'd thy father honourable, [else, 
 liul 1 did hnd him still mine enemy : 
 Thou slioiildst have better ])leas'd me with this deed, 
 
 kos, .\y, my liege : so please you give us leave. ! Hadst thou descended from another house. 
 
 Dttke /■'. You will take little delight in it, I can But fare thee well ; thou art a t;allanl youth ; 
 tell you, there is such odds in the men : In pity of I would, thou hadst told me of another father. 
 the challenger's youth, 1 would fain dissuade him, i [Kiennt Duki. l''iaD. VVaii/, and Lk BtAir 
 
 but he will not be entreated : Speak to him, ladies ; 
 see if you can move him. 
 
 Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. 
 
 DukeF. Do so; I'll not be by. [Dlkf. I''.^oe»«;wr(. 
 
 Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses 
 call for you. 
 
 Orl. i attend them, with all respect and duty 
 
 Cel. Were 1 my father, eoz, would 1 du this? 
 
 Orl. 1 am more proud to be sir Rowland's son, 
 His youngest son ; — and would not change that 
 To be adopted heir to I''re<lerick. [calling 
 
 Ros, My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul, 
 And all the world was of my father's mind : 
 I Had 1 before known this young man his son, 
 
 Riis. Y'oung man, have you challenged Charles J should have given him tears unto entreaties, 
 the wrestler ? j Kre he should thus have ventur'd. 
 
 Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general chal- ! Cel. Gentle cousin, 
 
 lenger : I come but in, as others do, to try with hiin I.,ct us go thank him, and encourage him : 
 the strength of my youth. , My father's rough and envious disposition 
 
 Ce(. \'oung gentleman, your spirits are too bold ."Sticks ine at heart. — Sir, yon have well deserv'd ■ 
 for your years ; \on have seen cruel proof of this If yini do keep your promises in love, 
 man's strength : if you saw yourself with your eyes, But justly, as you have exceeded promise, 
 or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of your Your mistress shall be happy 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 213 
 
 Rtis. Gentleman, [Giving h>m a ehainfnim her neck. 
 Wear lliii for me ; one out of suits wiih fortune ; 
 That coiilil give more, but that her hand lacks means. — 
 Shall we go, coi ! 
 
 Cfl. Av : — Fare \-ou well, fair ^ntleman. 
 
 Orl. Can I not iav. 1 thank you • .My betti-r parts 
 
 C«/, Hem them away. 
 
 Hi"s. I would Irj- : if 1 could cry hem. and have hira 
 Cei Come, oomo. wrestle with thy affections. 
 Jfiw. O, they take the part of a beilcr wrestler 
 than myself. 
 
 Ccl. 0, a good wish upon you ! you will try in 
 
 Are all thrown down ; and that which hire stands up, time, in despite of a fall. — lUit turning these jests 
 Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. [tunes: out of service, let us talk in good earnest : Is it pos- 
 
 iJ.is. lie calls us back: My pride fell with my for- , sible, on such a sudden, you should tall into so strong 
 
 a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son ! 
 
 I '11 ask him what he would : — Did you call, sir ! 
 Sir, yi'u have wrestled well, and overthrown 
 More than your enemies. 
 
 Ctl. Will you go, COI 1 
 
 K<is. Have with you : — Fare you well. 
 
 [litKur KosAiiNo mill Cfi-ia. hate not Orlando. 
 
 Orl. What passion nangs these weights upon my R<'s. Xo 'faith, hate him not. for my sake 
 
 Bfs. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. 
 
 Cel Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love 
 his son dearly ! Ky this kind of chase, I should hate 
 him. for my father hated his father dearly ; yet I 
 
 Cfl. Why should 1 not ! doth he not deserve well ! 
 Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do vou lovo 
 him, because I do : Look, here comes the ^uke. 
 Cel. With his eyes full of anger. 
 
 ZiKer DiKK FuiDKnicK, iiiili Lords. 
 Dithe F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest 
 
 [haste. 
 
 lou^iue \ 
 I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. 
 
 lif-fnter Lk Bkait, 
 O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown: 
 Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee. 
 
 if IJrmi. (.iood sir, 1 do in Iriendship counsel you 
 To leave this place : .\lbeit you have deserv'd 
 High commendation, true applause, and love ; 
 Yet such is now the duke's condition. 
 That he misconstrues all that vou have done. 
 The duke is humorous ; what W is, indeed. 
 More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of. 
 
 Orl. I thank you. sir: and, pray you, tell me tliis ; 
 Which of the two was daughter of llie duke 
 That here was at the wrestling ! [manners ; 
 
 l,f Bemi. Neither his daughter, if we judge by 
 But yet, indeed, the smaller is his daughter : 
 The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, 
 And here detain'd by her usurping undo. 
 To keep his daughter company ; whose loves ' 
 
 Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. 
 But I can tell you, that of late this duke 
 Hath ta'en displeiisure 'gainst his gentle niece ; 
 Grounded upon no other argument, 
 But that the people praise her for her virtues, 
 .\nd pity her for her good father's sake ; 
 Vnd, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
 Will suddenly break forth. — Sir, fare you well ! 
 Hereafter in a better world than this, 
 1 shall desire more love and knowledge of you. 
 
 Or/. 1 rest much boundeu to you : fare yon well ! 
 [Eii( Lk Beat. 
 Thus must I from the smoke iiHo the smother ; 
 From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother: — 
 But heavenly Rosalind '. [Eji(, 
 
 SCENE IIL— .4 Riwm iii .(ie-Pii/.icc 
 E»(cr Cki.ia atk<l Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ;— Cupid have 
 mercy ; — Not a word ! 
 
 Kiv. Xot one to throw at a dog. 
 
 Cfi. No, thy words are too precious to bo cast aw;iy 
 upon curs, Ihrow some of them at me ; come, lame ' Rose at an iiistanl. learu'd. plav'd, eat together ; 
 me with reasons. .\nd wheresoe'er we wont, like .huio's swans, 
 
 It's. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when Still we went coupled, and inseparable, 
 the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other Dukf F. Sheis too subtle for thoe ; and hcrsmootli- 
 mad without any, ' Her very silence, and her patience, [ness, 
 
 Cfl. But is all this for your father! ' Sneak to the people, and iliey pitv her, 
 
 R.«. No, some of it for my child's father : O, how 1 Tliou art a fool : she robs thee ot" thy name ; 
 full of briars is this working -day worhl ! And thou will shew more bright, and seem more virtu- 
 
 C,i riiey are but burs, cousin, thrown upon ihee When she is gone : then 0(H>n not thy lips ; [ous, 
 in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trodden Finn anil irrevocable is my tloom 
 paths, our very petticoats will catch them. Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd. 
 
 RiU. 1 could sliake them odf my coat ; these burs Cel. I'ronounce that sentence then on me, my liege; 
 are in my heart 1 1 cannot live out of her company. 
 
 .\nd get you from our court. 
 
 Kos. Me uncle? 
 
 Duke F. You, cousin • 
 
 Witliin these ten days if thou be'st found 
 So ne.ar our public court as twenty miles, 
 Thou diest for it. 
 
 Ri's. I do beseech your grace. 
 
 Let me the knowledge of my tault^ear with me: 
 If witli myself 1 hold intelligence. 
 Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; 
 If that I do not dream, or be not frantic, 
 (.\s 1 do trust I am not,> then, dear uncle, 
 Never so much as in a thought unborn. 
 Did I oti'ond your highness. 
 
 Duke F. Thus do all traitors; 
 
 If their purgation did consist in woriis. 
 They are as innocent as grace itself : — 
 Let it sullice thee, that f trust thee not 
 
 i?<\<.Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor . 
 Tell mo, whereon the likelihood depends, [enough. 
 
 Duke F. Thou art thy father's (laughter, there's 
 
 R.\<. So was 1, when your Jiighness took his duke- 
 So was I, w hen yovir highness banish'd him : [dom ; 
 Treason is not inheritecl, my lord : 
 Or. if we di»l dori\e it I'rom our t'riends. 
 What's that to me ? my father was no ti"aitor : 
 Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much, 
 To think my poverty is treacherous. 
 
 Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me siieak, 
 
 Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we st,iy'd her for your sake. 
 Else had she with her t'ather raug'd along'. 
 
 Cel. 1 did not then entreat to liave her stay, 
 It was your pleasure, and your own remorse ; 
 I was too young that time to value her. 
 But now 1 know her ; if she be a traitor. 
 Why so am 1 : we still have slept loi^ether ; 
 
211 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT 
 
 ./■<jri.<Uy<mr- 
 • ■JUS, lUcU; 
 
 ■ and hmili. 
 
 And iu tittt ffK, 
 
 f. , , 
 m: 
 
 Ic- , - .,-„ . __ 
 
 ' >' Tiiwi iui«t not, eouMA ; 
 
 fr . ■■ St t!j»a iwt, li* d«k« 
 
 Ko : l'^ ■ : r. 
 
 Tu' ■ «y, 
 
 VI 
 
 Ai. 
 
 !<- , 
 
 Ka)' wu-oi iiuuv ■ wiiulinac. 
 
 /i«, Alas, wji«t 4w^«r wil! i< '><: <•'> us, 
 Ma^- •- -' •-'. •.. '.-. ; '■•••■ ■• '-■■ 
 
 ( . 
 A: ., 
 
 ri- .;, 
 
 A/U'3 ;»';>■ ■ 
 
 Htn. 'Van it iMrt better, 
 
 'il. 
 
 A;- 
 A V 
 
 -w. ..^^. 
 
 A> 
 
 7'Lv •- ■ 
 
 <M. VS jtat fciiaJi / • «rt » /osto '' 
 
 An: -j^, 0»ili'ttl*d«- 
 
 « 
 
 I- 
 
 n.- 
 
 A-'i-i :*r; 
 
 I> . 
 
 To ■« 
 
 A<- ::J*M, 
 
 ACT a. 
 
 KmUt iivn-ti, hfuitrr, Awi><<«, uiid olliff Imi^, in 
 
 I, ■ ' ./Ht, 
 
 Hi 
 •J. 
 
 «^ 
 
 Tl' / l-ui, 
 
 A'~- ^ i*n«d; 
 
 B». •: say,— 
 
 Jrt'! 
 
 ; witii iu« ; 
 
 ..■it, 
 
 wiiu iuriuei btiid» 
 ..vr'd, 
 ; /. ■i lnifa<ij, Uijloii. 
 
 ' ■' ' ^-^T 
 
 ■: )VU. 
 
 ' ijjli W0<>4 
 
 I d tUj, 
 • ■■•irt. 
 -•.fd, 
 
 ■ /: i;vat 
 
 'Wg* «/ Oi« twifl brCK>k, 
 Ij^je ■':. _ iiut wU«t i>aiilj»!iuci? 
 
 Fj/>l, fw ■. .11) J 
 
 ><«' '^ ;^utftji Ihif ium vf mure 
 
 To ' (ou mtuh: 'Viitiu Wia^ »U>at, 
 
 i uf Uh velvet Siucu'U ; 
 
 'T't j*fM thu j'fit/i'm ' Wtiffff-rrf d-t you U/ok 
 
 >l<4t »t 
 -t's vnim, 
 
 1. /' i.ir/; lU U,|» CUIlUcinfflU' 
 
 tl^d. ■ 
 lJp>0 til* !/-.—.;., 
 
 />»/» 4, Www «M tb« pl««« ; 
 
 f J'/v« (/> t'^ut liiltt in tlrtK* >«ll<;u 6u, 
 for t^n Ue t full ut Uia.iU:f . 
 
 X Ijffd. I'll l/rui^ |>/u tu km> »lf»i!(Ut. lf'.t*uitt. 
 
 SCRSfy U.-A It^m i» lA* >'W<w«, 
 A,n(<>r IH'Kt ¥nt.iimm, l/Ofis, a/M( AtM;ad«a(». 
 
 />//•/ f . ','»« ■• t;<- J;'/;^:!;!*, tljill W/ lUUl MtW tlMMb 1 
 
 -( ujy oKUfl 
 
 JU tijtt. 
 I /x;'y, j • ir,',-/. ,.. ii .yi »j)/ t|>»t 4ul *•* Suct. 
 
 1 'fb* U4it)i, lurf jt-Ueuduits <.il Uef cliaiulw, 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV, 
 
 1 
 
 .-.-S^'. . STi.'.. i-n Af Tf-K-r!: fs-h-. 
 
 il5 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 r. 
 
 1 
 
 V 
 A 
 
 
 'i^r: 
 
 
 
 Til ni*i.c im- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 And Irt not >, 
 
 
 
 
 
 i: 
 
 . .> hnnj; *^;k 
 
 ::.iS(- 
 
 .W!l>>. 
 
 .;nA\xi^v>^ 
 
 [ Kjt*. nt. 
 
 A 
 W 
 
 i,.f^ WhM ' )»V \»»»if »«!*»» '—O, >! 
 
 < , . - \~^ , ■ 
 
 xMS her* ! 
 
 . -.vlO\«\»tt? 
 
 ,u 1x1 s*^ Ivxn.i r.' .^vr-.-o'ie 
 
 j Vo the i»st j:'«^iv «:ih ii-w:? 
 ' fSvni sje^'t^nN*!^^ x"es^ vH !>, 
 
 \ 
 
 \-. 
 I... 
 
 N ., - i;^:;s!w. 
 
 Are s«ae;>tir<i and lu^Jy musvws k> w«. 
 
 l''. » hai « »\irM is (liis, whea »h»! is csiwwJy 
 
 liiM-nonis him th»< l»p«ts >T ! 
 
 I > \\ hy, n-hal's the matMr ! 
 
 .«.;,..., " O ««h«|>{iy x\>wih, 
 
 Conu- not within these J>vvrs ; withia this roof 
 The rneiMV .m" *II jw.r jiT««\s liXTfS ; 
 \ >n>i l>r<MWr— v»*v. ao hivJher ; jfl the sea— 
 \ ot «.<< the s.>n ; I wiU tr^ eall i>m *>■« - 
 iM' him 1 w** nhout t>> e«ll hiv 
 liaiii !n«:\l \vi.'. ;v»ises ; »«.i ■ m«»»s 
 
 T.' '. . ■ - >. 'v^r xv„ ..»., .. ..... 
 
 \ aA .M th*!, 
 
 ! - 10 r«» y .■•« ofl" ; 
 
 > XI iiiw. «tHi U«s fxiitctiees. 
 .> ivla^v. this h«\use is hut a IvXitohoTV ; 
 
 1 0. 
 
 Tin 
 
 
 
 h<T; 
 
 - ..>-ht.M, 
 \-,»ea- 
 
 ,'.st shcxt haw <«e^>" 
 xv»« .-.^.i..■ u..t ;u Miv 
 
 »>■ ., V\ h»t. w.Mil.lst iiioa ft«\-e >«e , 
 i>i,»ith a ha«e »a.) h.>isti-rv>»* s»\M\l. . 
 A thteosh ItMnj <vt the vVKnw.»« tvuhi ', 
 This I noist Jo. .w laew niH »vh»t to J«j 
 
 ^iMAtm, ixuiijom>t so; i h«\T ax-e hunUtvvl v'^tvt^^s, 
 The thi-Ov ►'IT 1 s«« M nn<V> xvnr itther. 
 
 SSOKXK IV,— TW I - 
 
 K»wr K<vs«t.»xn »« Vjt'j .- 
 
 Stwyhfni**, »«* <....».. \v. 
 Rvs. O Jujiiter ! how w»»n- »>» avy sjiirtts '. 
 r«(,-A, I car« not *w »y sj-irits., if »y ltj« wtw 
 not ■«'»ary, 
 
 I Wffl. iVottW Sad ia «»y Wn to disjrns.v v.r ir sr.'s 
 I apjiarel, a»>i tv^ en lik« a »v«>«a -. Kk". 
 ; fort the M>'eak«r xx«seU as JouMei *i>J 
 I slu ■ Ajeoxs >\> (letsuNxat : t:>. . 
 
 . rs. . ^>a. 
 
 I. , . . _i ^.^a,bea^»rish >»e ; lean j;v .-.,■ .,.:..:. 
 7. wok. for n\y j\»it. I h*<i iiithei l>o*r with \v«. 
 than U-jr x>i« ; "yet I shooW heat »o eiNxss., M l <it4 
 j liear \o« Ttor, I'lhiak, yw hax'* bo »>>w«y ia vow 
 jMtfse, 
 
 }.'.», Well, Ihis is the ?V . ■ ' ' ' ^. 
 ?".>N.-k, .Vy, now »m 1 \ inxre fool 1 ; 
 
 when 1 was a( hovoe. I \< a> . jxtaoe ; but 
 
 waxfllcrs must he o<vnt*al. 
 
 Res, .\y, he so, j«h>4 IVvwehshW* >->l«ek w»». 
 inrho <svn>e» he!« i a yv>un$ wait. aaU aa «U, ia $«• 
 lenta ull. 
 
 Titfei- tVatv ami Sjvvxx'*. 
 fW. TVst i< the w-av to «^str her sx>A»t» >yx>! siiil, 
 " . ,,' hw! 
 
 )..i«ss; 
 
 a le\x>t 
 
 w 
 w 
 
 V 
 
 . ■ se, 
 
 lie lam*, 
 
 . ;is Jeetl, 
 . , > , w, 
 
 i.vu (o my a^x= iletv *si,te ^xxhl ; 
 , 1 i;i*» x>xw : \jt\ me he \-iiwr senant ; 
 ■ ' ■ ' ■ . vl lastj! 
 
 T 
 Av 
 
 Uiii I 
 
 x\^ 
 
 Mi,- 
 
 
 
 .V>t X- 
 
 ll' «ho« , . 
 
 Ttiat exxN loxe <ihi make ih«>« iu4 i»;>\ 
 
 Then hast «xxt Uxx M ; 
 
 l> ' v>! as 1 ><o now, 
 
 W . in tKx nxisntss' ivukst, 
 
 v; 
 
 IV II taoa hast «,xi luvxle ftxMxx vNxixx)xaivy, 
 AWv)4ly as »\v )xassi,xa »oxv makes me. 
 
216 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Tiiou hast not lov'd : O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe ! 
 
 [Exit SiLvirs. 
 
 Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound, 
 I have by hard adventure found mine own. 
 
 Touch, And I mine : I remember, when I was in 
 love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him 
 take that for coming anight to Jane Smile : and I 
 remember the kissing of her batlet, and the cow's 
 dugs that her pretty chop'd hands had miik'd : and 
 I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her ; 
 from whom I took two cods, and, giving her them 
 again, said with weeping tears, Wear these for mi} 
 Siike. We, that are true lovers, run into strange 
 capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all na- 
 ture in love mortal in folly. 
 
 This. Thou speak'st wiser, than thou art 'ware of. 
 
 Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own 
 wit. till I break my shins against it. 
 
 Ros. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
 
 Is much upon thy fashion. [with me. 
 
 Touch, And mine ; but it grows something stale 
 
 Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man. 
 If he for gold will give us any food ; 
 I faint almost to death. 
 
 Touch, Holla: you, clown ! 
 
 Ros. Peace, fool ; he's not thy kinsman. 
 
 Cor. Who calls ? 
 
 Touch. Your betters, sir. 
 
 Cor, Else are they very wretched. 
 
 Ros, Peace, I say : — 
 
 Good even to you. friend. 
 
 Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 
 
 Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold, 
 Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
 Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed : 
 Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd, 
 And faints for succour. 
 
 Cor. Fair sir, I pity her. 
 
 And wish for her sake, more than for mine own. 
 My fortunes were more able to relieve her : < 
 But I am shepherd to another man, 
 And do not sheer the fleeces that I graze ; 
 My master is of churlish disposition. 
 And little recks to Hnd the way to heaven 
 By doing deeds of hospitality ; 
 Besides, his cote, his Hocks, and bounds of feed, 
 Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, 
 By reason of iiis absence, there is nothing 
 That you will feed on ; but what is, come see, 
 And in my voice most welcome shall you be. [ture ? 
 
 Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pas 
 
 Cor. That young swain that you saw here but ere- 
 That little cares for buying any thing. [while, 
 
 Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, 
 Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, 
 And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. 
 
 Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place, 
 And willingly could waste my time in it. 
 
 Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold: 
 Go with me ; if you like, upon report. 
 The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, 
 I will your very faithful feeder be, 
 And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE y.—The same. 
 Enter Ami£ns, Jaques, and others, 
 SONG. 
 Ami, Under the greenwood tree, 
 Who tovfs to lie with me, 
 A?id tune his merry note 
 Unto the sweet bird's throaty 
 
 Come hither, come hkher, come hither ; 
 
 Here shall he see 
 
 No enemif, 
 But icinter and rough 'u-eather, 
 
 Jaq. IVIore, more, I pr'ythee, more. 
 
 Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur 
 Jaques. 
 
 Jai}. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can 
 suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks 
 eggs: ]More, 1 pr'ythee, more. 
 
 Ami. My voice is ragged ; 1 know, I cannot please 
 you. 
 
 Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire 
 you to sing : Come, more ; another stanza ; Call you 
 them stanzas 1 
 
 Ami, What you will, monsieur Jaques. 
 
 Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe 
 me nothing : Will you sing 1 
 
 Ami. More at your request, than to please myself, 
 
 Jaq, Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll 
 thank you : but that they call compliment, is like 
 the encounter of two dog-apes ; and when a man 
 thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a 
 penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. 
 Come, sing j and you that will not, hold your 
 tongues. 
 
 Ami. Well, I'll end the song. — Sirs, cover the 
 while ; the duke will drink under this tree : he hath 
 been all this day to look you. 
 
 Juq. And 1 have been all tins day to avoid him. 
 He is too disputable for my company : 1 think of as 
 many matters as he ; but I give heaven thanks, and 
 make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. 
 
 SONG. 
 Who doth ambition shnn, [All together here. 
 And loves to live V the sun. 
 Seeking the food he -^ats. 
 And pleased with v'lat he gets. 
 Come hither, come hu/te^-, come hither j 
 Here shall he see 
 
 JV^(j enemi4, 
 ouiter and ro 
 
 But lomter and I'ough weather. 
 
 Juq. I '11 give you a vei'se to this note, that I made 
 yesterday in despite of my invention. 
 Ami. And 1 '11 sing it. 
 Jaq. Thus it goes : 
 
 If' it do come to pass. 
 That any man turn ass. 
 Leaving his wealth and ease, 
 A stahbom will to f>U'ase, 
 Ducdiime, ducdame, ducdiime ; 
 Here shalt he see, 
 • Gross fools as fie, 
 
 An ij he wilt come to me. 
 
 Ami, What's that ducdame ? 
 
 Jaq. *Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a 
 circle. I '11 go sleep if I can ; if I cannot, I'U rail 
 against all the tirst-born of Kgypt. 
 
 Ami. And I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is 
 prepar'd. [Eieimt severalli^, 
 
 SCENE Vh—The same. 
 Enter Orlando and Adam. 
 Adam. Dear master, I can go no further , 0, I 
 die for food ! Here lie I down, and measure out my 
 grave. Farewell, kind master. 
 
 Orl. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater heart in 
 thee } Live a little ; comfort a little ; cheer thyself a 
 little : If this uncouth forest yield any thing t-avajje, 1 
 
ACT II.— SCENE VII. 
 
 217 
 
 Will either be fjod for it, or bring it for food to thee 
 Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For 
 my sake, be comfortable ; hold death awhile at the 
 arm's end : I will here be with thee presently ; and 
 if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee 
 leave to die : but if thou diest before I come, thou 
 art a mocker of my labour. Well said ! thou look'st 
 cheerily : and I'll be with thee quickly. — Yet thou 
 liejit in the bleak air: Come, I will bear thee to some 
 shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, 
 if there live any thing in this desert, Cheerly, good 
 Adam ! [Eieimt, 
 
 SCENE Vll.—The same, A Table set out. 
 Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Lords, and others, 
 
 DukeS. I think he be transform'd into a beast ; 
 For 1 can no where find him like a man. 
 
 1 Lord, JMy lord, he is but even now gone hence ; 
 Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 
 
 DukeS. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, 
 We shall have shortly discord in the spheres ; — 
 Go, seek him j tell him I would speak with him, 
 
 Entei^ Jaques. 
 
 1 Lord, He saves my labour by his own approach. 
 DukeS. Why, how now, monsieur ! what a life is 
 this, 
 Thut your poor friends must woo your company ? 
 Wiiat ! you look merrily. 
 
 Jitij. A fool, a fool ! 1 met a fool i' the forest, 
 
 A motley fool ; — a miserable world ! — 
 As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
 M'ho laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 
 And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms, 
 In good set tenns, — and yet a motley fool. 
 Good- morrow, fool, quoth I : No, sir, quoth he, 
 Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune : 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke : 
 And looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
 Says, very wisely. It is ten o'clock ; 
 Thus may we see, quoth he, how the worl^cags : 
 *Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine ; " 
 And after an hour more, ^twill be eleven; 
 And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, 
 And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot. 
 And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear 
 The motley fool thus moral on the time, 
 IMy lungs began to crow like chanticleer. 
 That fools should be so deep contemplative ; 
 And I did laugh, sans intermission. 
 An hour by his dial. — O noble fool ! 
 A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. 
 DukeS. What fool is this? 
 
 Jaq. worthy fool ! — One that hath been a cour- 
 And say, if ladies be but young, and fair, [tier; 
 They have the gift to know it : and in his brain,— 
 Which is as dry as the remainder bisket 
 After a voyage, — he hath strange places cramm'd 
 With observation, the which he vents 
 In mangled forms : — O, that I were a fool ! 
 I am ambitious for a motley coat. 
 Duke S, Thou shalt have one. 
 Jnq. It is my only suit j 
 
 Provided, that you weed your better judgments 
 Of all opinion that grows rank in them, 
 That I am wise. 1 must have liberty 
 Withal, as large a charter as the wind, 
 To blow on wliom 1 please ; for so fools have : 
 And they that are most galled with my folly. 
 They most must laugh : And why, sir, must they so ? 
 The why is plain as way to parish church : 
 
 He, that a fool doth very wisely hit, 
 Doth very foolishly, although he smart, 
 Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, 
 The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd 
 Even by the squandering glances of the fool. 
 Invest me in my motley ; give me leave 
 To speak my mind, and I will through and through 
 Cleanse the foul body of the infected world. 
 If they will patiently receive my medicine. [do. 
 
 Duke S. Fye on thee ! I can tell what thou wouldsl 
 Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good * 
 Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding siu? 
 For thou thyself hast been a libertine, 
 As sensual as the brutish sting itself ; 
 And all the embossed sores, and headed evils, 
 That thou with licence of free foot hast caught, 
 Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 
 
 Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride. 
 That can therein tax any private party "* 
 Doth It not flow as hugely as the sea, 
 Till that the very very means do ebb } 
 What woman in the city do I name, 
 When that I say. The city-woman bears 
 The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders 1 
 Who can come in, and say, that I mean her. 
 When such a one as she. such is her neighbour? 
 Or what is he of basest function, 
 That says, his bravery is not on my cost, 
 (Thinking that I mean him,) but therein suits 
 His folly to the mettle of my speech ! 
 There then ; How, what then? Let me see wherein 
 IMy tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right. 
 Then he hath wrong'd liiraself ; if he be free. 
 Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, 
 Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here ^ 
 
 Enter OrL-^nho, with bis sword drawJi. 
 
 Orl. Forbear, and eat no more. 
 
 Jdif. Why, 1 have eat none yet. 
 
 OrL Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd. 
 
 Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of? 
 
 Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by thy dls- 
 Or else a rude despiser of good manners, [tress ; 
 That in civility thou seem'st so empty? 
 
 Orl. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny point 
 Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show 
 Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred, 
 And know some nurture : But forbear, I say ; 
 He dies that touches any of this fruit. 
 Till I and my affairs are answered, 
 
 Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason. 
 I must die. [shall force 
 
 Duke S. What would you have ? Your gentleness 
 More than your force move us to gentleness. 
 
 Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 
 
 Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our 
 table. 
 
 OrL Speak you so gently? Pardon me, X pray you 
 I thought, that all things had been savage here j 
 And therefore put 1 on the countenance 
 Of stern commandment : But whate'er you are, 
 That in this desert inaccessible. 
 Under the shade of melancholy boughs. 
 Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time j 
 If ever you have look'd on better days ; 
 If ever been where bells have knoU'd to church ; 
 If ever sat at any good man's feast; 
 If ever from your eye-lids wip'd a tear, 
 And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ; 
 Let gentleness my strong enforcement be •. 
 In the which hope. I blush, and hide my sword. 
 
 DukeS, True is it that we have seen better days j 
 
210 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 And have with holy bell been knoU'd to church ; 
 And sat at good men's feasts : and wip'd our eyes 
 Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd : 
 And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 
 And take upon command what help we have, 
 That to your wanting may be niiuistred. 
 
 Or/. Then, but forbear your food a little while, 
 Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, 
 And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
 AVho after me hath many a weary step 
 Limp'd in pure love; till he be first suffic'd, — 
 Oppress'd with two weak evils, age, and hunger, — 
 I will not touch a bit. 
 
 Duke S, Go find him out, 
 
 And we will nothing waste till you return. 
 
 Orl. I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good 
 comfort! [Exit. 
 
 Duhe S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy ; 
 This wide and universal theatre 
 Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
 Wherein we play in. 
 
 Jaq. All the world's a stage, 
 
 And all the men and women merely players : 
 I'hey have their exits, and their entrances ; 
 And one man in his time plays many parts, 
 His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
 JMewling and puking in the nurse's arms ; 
 And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, 
 And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
 Unwillingly to school : And tlien the lover ; 
 Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad 
 ]\Iade to his mistress' eye-brow: Then a soldier: 
 Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
 Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel. 
 Seeking the bubble reputation 
 
 Even ill the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice ; 
 In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd. 
 With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances, 
 And so he plays his part : The sixth age shifts 
 Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon ; 
 With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ;■ 
 His youthful hose well sav'd. a world too wide 
 For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 
 Turning again toward childish treble, pijies 
 And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all. 
 That ends this strange eventful history, 
 Is second childishness, and mere oblivion , 
 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 
 
 He-enter Orlando, mth Adam. 
 
 Duhe S. Welcome: Set down your venerable bur- 
 And let him feed. [den, 
 
 Orl. I thank you most for him. 
 
 Adam. So had you need ; 
 I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. 
 
 DukeS. Welcome, fall to ; I will not trouble you 
 As yet, to question you about your fortunes : — 
 Give us souie music ; and, good cousin, sing. 
 
 Amiens sings, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. Blow, *>/()»), thou winter wind. 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude ; 
 Tku tooth is not so keen. 
 Because thou art not seen. 
 Although thy breath he rude. 
 Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! uuto the green holly : 
 Most friendship is feigning, nwst loving mere folly : 
 Then, heigh, ho, the holly/ 
 This life is most Jolly. 
 
 II. Freeze, freeze, thou biitersky, 
 Thou Host not hite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot : 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thij sting is not so sharp 
 As friend rememherd not. 
 Heigh, ho I sing, heigh, ho! &c. 
 
 Duke S, If that you were the good sir Rowland's 
 As you'have whisper'd faithfully, you were ; [son, — 
 And as mine eye doth his eihgies witness 
 Most truly limn'd, and living in your face, — 
 lie truly welcome hitiier : 1 am theduke. 
 That lov'd your father : The residue of your fortune. 
 Go to my cave and tell me. — Good old man, 
 Thou art right welcome as thy master is ; 
 Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand, 
 And let me all your fortunes understand. [EaeuiU. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— .4 Room in the Palace, 
 
 Enter Duke FnEDF.nicK, Oliver, Lords, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Duke F. Not seehim since"! Sir, sir, that cannotbe: 
 But were I not the better part made mercy, 
 T should not seek an absent argument 
 Of my revenge, thou present : But look to it ; 
 Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he.is : 
 Seek him with candle : bring him dead or living. 
 Within this twelvemonth, or turn tliou no more 
 To seek a living in our territory. 
 Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine. 
 Worth seizure, do we seize into oar liands ; 
 I'ill thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth. 
 Of what we think against thee. 
 
 On. O, that your highness knew my heart in this ! 
 I never lov'dmy brother in my life. 
 
 Duke F^lore villain thou. — Well, push hira out 
 And let my othcers of such a nature [of doors j 
 
 Make an extent upon his house and lands : 
 Do this expediently, and turn him going. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— The Forest, 
 Enter Orlando, with a paper, 
 
 Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love : 
 
 And thou, thrice crowned queen of night, survey 
 W^ith thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, 
 
 Thy huntress' name, that my full life dotli sway. 
 O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books, 
 
 And in their barks my thoughts I'll character ; 
 That every eye, which in this forest looks, 
 
 Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. 
 Run, run, Orlando ; carve, on every tree, 
 The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. [Erit. 
 
 Entei- CoitiN and Touchstone. 
 
 Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, mas- 
 ter Touchstone ? 
 
 Touch, Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a 
 good life ; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, 
 it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it 
 very well ; but in respect that it is private, it is a 
 very vile Ufe. Now in respect it is in the fields, it 
 pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is not in the 
 court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, 
 it fits my humour well ; but as there is no more 
 

 
 ff^L'"i^H^Jnri'l:ai^-"-^'-'"^*'^-^"'''p-^SM^'^*V''''^''^-'t^^ 
 
ACT III. -SCENE JI. 
 
 219 
 
 plenty in it, It goes much against my stomach. Hast 
 any philosophy in thee, shepherd? 
 
 Cor. No more, but that 1 know, the more one 
 sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that 
 wants money, means, and content, is without three 
 good friends : — That the property of rain is to wet, 
 and fire to burn : That good pasture makes fat 
 sheep ; and that a great cause of the night, is lack 
 of tiie sun: That he, that hatli learned no wit by 
 nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or 
 comes of a very dull kindred. 
 
 Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast 
 ever in court, shepherd 1 
 
 Co:\ No, truly. 
 
 Touch. Then thou art damn'd. 
 
 Cor. Nay, 1 hope, — 
 
 Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd ; like an illroasled 
 egg, all on one side. 
 
 Cor. For not being at court t Your reason. 
 
 7'ouch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou 
 never saw'st good manners ; if thou never savv'st 
 good manners, then thy manners must be wicked ; 
 and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation : Thou 
 art in a parlous state, shepherd. 
 
 Cor. Not a whit. Touchstone: those, that are good 
 manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the couu- 
 tiy, as the behaviouf of the country, is most mock- 
 able at the court. You toid me, you salute not at 
 the court, but you kiss your hands : that courtesy 
 would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. 
 
 Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance. 
 
 Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes ; and 
 their fells, you know, are greasy. 
 
 Touch. Why, do not your courtiers hands sweat? 
 and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as 
 tlie sweat of a maal Shallow, shallow: A better 
 instance, I say ; come. 
 
 Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. 
 
 Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shal- 
 low, again : A more sounder instance, come. 
 
 Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the sur- 
 gery of our sheep ; And would you have us kiss tar ( 
 The courtier's hands are perfum'd with civet. 
 
 Touch. JMost shallow man ! Thou worms-meat, in 
 respect of a good piece of flesh : Indeed. — Learn of 
 the wise, and perpend : Civet is of a baser birth than 
 tar ; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the in- 
 stance, shepherd. 
 
 Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me ; I 'U rest. 
 
 Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, 
 shallow man ! God make incision in thee ! thou art 
 raw. 
 
 Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer ; I earn that I eat, 
 get tliat 1 wear ; owe no man hate, envy no man's 
 happiness ; glad of other men's good, content with 
 my harm : and the greatest of my pride is, to see my 
 ewes graze, and my lambs suck. 
 
 Touch. That is another simple sin in you ; to 
 bring the ewes and tlic rams together, and to offer 
 to get your living by the copulation of cattle : to be 
 bawd to a bell-wether ; and to betray a she-lamb of 
 a twelvemonth, to a crooked pated, old cuckoldy 
 ram, out of ail reasonable match. If thou be'st 
 not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no 
 f.hepherds ; 1 cannot see else how thou shouldst 
 *scape. 
 
 Cor. Here comes young master GanjTuede, my 
 new mistress's brother. 
 
 Fnter Rosalind, reading a paper. 
 
 Ros. From the east to western Ind, 
 No Jewel is like Rosalind. 
 
 Her worthy being moimted an the irindj 
 
 Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
 
 All the pictures, fairest titi'J, 
 
 Are but black to Rosalind, 
 
 Let no face be kept in mind. 
 
 But the fair of' Rosalind, 
 Touch. I Tl rhyme you so, eight years together; 
 dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: 
 it is the right butter woman's rank to market. 
 Ros. Out, fool ! 
 Touch. For a taste : 
 
 If a hart do lack a //I'nrf, 
 
 Let him seek out Rosalind, 
 
 If the cat will after hind, 
 
 So, be sure, will Rosalind. 
 
 Winter garments must he lind, 
 
 So must slender Rosalind. 
 
 They that reap, must sheaf and bind; 
 
 Then to cai't icith Rosalind. 
 
 Sweetest nut hath sojtrest rind. 
 
 Such a nnt is Rosalind. 
 
 lie that sweetest rose willjind, 
 
 Mustfnd love's prick, and Rosalind. 
 
 This is the vei-y false gallop of verses ; Why do you 
 infect yourself with them 1 
 
 Ros. Peace, you dull fool : I found them on a tree. 
 
 Touch. Truly, tlie tree yields bad fruit. 
 
 Ros. 1 '11 graff it with you, and then I shall grafF 
 it with a medlar : then it will be the earliest fruit in 
 the country: for you will be rotten e'er you be half 
 ripe, and that's Jie right virtue of the medlar. 
 
 Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, 
 let the forest judge. 
 
 Lnter Cema, reading a paper. 
 
 Rps, Peace ! 
 Here conies my sister, reading ; stand aside. 
 
 Cel. Whi/ should this desert silent be? 
 
 For it is unpeopled? I\'o ; 
 Tongues I'll hang on every tree. 
 
 That shall civil sayings shew : 
 Some, how brief the ife of man 
 
 Runs his erring pilgrimage , 
 That the stretching oj a tpan 
 
 Buckles in his sum of age. 
 Some, of violated vows 
 
 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend : 
 But upon the fairest Oonghs, 
 
 Or ut every sentence' eiid^ 
 Will I Rosalinda write: 
 
 Teaching ail that read toknow 
 The quintessence of every sprite 
 
 Heaven would in little shew. 
 Therefore heaven )iature charg'd 
 
 That one body should beJiU'd 
 With ail graces unde enlarged : 
 
 Nature presently distilCd 
 Helens cheek, but not her heart ; 
 
 Cleoputra^s majesty ; 
 Atalanta's better part ; 
 
 Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
 Tiius Rosalind of many parts 
 
 Bq iieaveuiii sqnod was devised. 
 Of many facea, eyes, and hearts 
 ' To have the touches dearest prized. 
 Heaven would that site these gifts should have, 
 And I to live and die her slave. 
 Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious ho- 
 mily of love have you wearied your panshionere 
 withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people i 
 
220 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 CeL How now ! back friends ; — Sheplierd, go off 
 a little :— Go with him, sirrah. 
 
 Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honour- 
 able retreat ; though not with bag and baggage, yet 
 with scrip and scrippage. 
 
 [Kieunt CoRiN and Toucmstone. 
 
 Cel. Didst thou hear these verses t 
 
 Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for 
 some of them had in tliem more feet than the verses 
 would bear. 
 
 Cel. That's uo matter ; the feet might bear the verses. 
 
 Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not 
 bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood 
 lamely in the verse. 
 
 CeL But didst thou hear, without wondering how 
 thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these 
 trees? 
 
 Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the won- 
 der, before you came ; for look here what I found on 
 a palm-tree : I was never so be-rhymed since Pytha- 
 goras' time, that 1 was an Irish rat, which I can 
 iiardly remember. 
 
 CeL Trow you, who hath done this ? 
 
 J? OS. Is it a man t 
 
 CeL And a chain, that you once wore, about his 
 neck: Change you colour ] 
 
 Ros. I pr'ythee, who ? 
 
 CeL lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends 
 to meet; but mountains maybe removed with earth- 
 quakes, and so encounter. 
 
 Ros, Nay, but who is it? 
 
 CeL Is it possible? 
 
 Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary 
 vehemence, tell me who it is ? 
 
 CeL O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful 
 wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that 
 out of all whooping ! 
 
 Ros. Goodmy complexion! dost thou think, though 
 I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and 
 hose in my disposition 1 One inch of delay more is a 
 South-sea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is 
 it? quickly, and speak apace : I would thou couldst 
 stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man 
 out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- 
 mouth 'd bottle ; either too much at once, or none at 
 all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that 
 I may drink thy tidings. 
 
 CeL So you may put a man in your belly. 
 
 Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of 
 man 1 Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a 
 beard ? 
 
 CeL Nay, he hath but a little beard. 
 
 Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will 
 be thankful : let me stay the growth of his beard, if 
 thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. 
 
 CeL It is young Orlando ; that tripp'd up the 
 wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. 
 
 Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking ■ speak sad 
 brow, and true maid. 
 
 CeL 1 'faith, coz, 'tis he. 
 
 Ros. Orlando? 
 
 CeL Orlando. 
 
 Rns. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my dou- 
 blet and hose? — What did he when thou savv'st him? 
 What said he? llow look'd he? Wherein went he? 
 What makes he here ? Did he ask for me ? Where 
 remains he ? How parted he with thee ? and when 
 shall thou see him again ? Answer me in one word. 
 
 Ce/. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth 
 first : 'tis a word too gre.it for any mouth of this age's 
 size : To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more 
 than to answer in a catechiim 
 
 Ros, But doth he know that I am in this forest, 
 and in nian's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did 
 the day lie wrestled ? 
 
 CeL It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve 
 the propositions of a lover : — but take a taste of my 
 finding him, and relish it with a good observance. I 
 found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. 
 
 Ros. It m;iv well be call'd Jove's tree, when it 
 drops forth such fruit. 
 
 Ce/. Give me audience, good madam, 
 
 Ros. Proceed. 
 
 CeL There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded 
 knight. 
 
 Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well 
 becomes the ground. 
 
 CeL Cry, holla ! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee: it cur- 
 vets very unseasonably. He was furnish 'd like a 
 hunter. 
 
 Ros. ominous ! he comes to kill my heart. 
 
 CeL I would sing my song without a burden : thou 
 bring'st me out of tune. 
 
 Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I 
 think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 
 
 Enter Orlando inid Jaques. 
 
 CeL You bring me out : — Soft! comes he not here? 
 
 Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him. 
 
 [Cklia aitd Rosalind retirg, 
 
 Jaq. I thank you for your company ; but, good 
 faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. 
 
 OrL And so had I ; but yet, for fashion sake, I 
 thank you too for your society. 
 
 Joq. God be with you ; let's meet as little as we 
 can. 
 
 OrL I do desire we may be better strangers. 
 
 Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing 
 love-songs in their barks. 
 
 OrL 1 pray you, mar no more of my verses with 
 reading them ill-favouiedly. 
 
 Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name? 
 
 OrL Yes, just. 
 
 Jaq. I do not like !ier name. 
 
 OrL There was no tliought of pleasing you, when 
 she was christen'd. 
 
 Jaq. What stature is she of? 
 
 OrL Just as high as my heart. 
 
 Jaq. You are full of pretty answers : Have you 
 not been acquainted with goldsmith's wives, and 
 conn'd them out of rings ? 
 
 OrL Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, 
 from whence you have studied your questions. 
 
 Jaq. You have a nimble wit; 1 think it is made 
 of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? 
 and we two will rail against our mistress the world, 
 and all our misery. 
 
 OrL I will chide no breather in the world, but 
 myself; against whom I know most faults. 
 
 Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. 
 
 OrL 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best 
 virtue. I am weary of you. 
 
 Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when 
 I found you. 
 
 OrL He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in, and 
 you shall see him. 
 
 Jnq, There shall I see mine own 6gure, 
 
 OrL Which 1 take to be either a fool, oracypher. 
 
 Jaq. I'll tarry no longer witli you ; faiewell, good 
 signior love. 
 
 OrL I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good 
 monsieur melancholy. 
 
 [Exit Jaques. — Cel. and Ros. come forward. 
 
 Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and 
 
ACT III.- -SCENE III. 
 
 221 
 
 under that habit play the kna\e with him. — Do you 
 hear, forester 1 
 
 Oii. Very well ; what would you ? 
 
 Ros. I pray you, wiiat is 't a clock } 
 
 Ori. Vou should ask me, what time o' (lay ; there's 
 no clock in the forest. 
 
 Ros. Then there 's no true lover in the forest ; else 
 sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would 
 detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock. 
 
 Oil. .\nd why not the swift foot of time? had not 
 that been as proper 1 
 
 Rl's. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers 
 paces witli divers persons : I '11 tell you who time 
 ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gal- 
 lops witlial, and wlio he stands still withal. 
 
 OrL I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal ? 
 
 Ros. Alarry, he trots hard witli a young maid, be- 
 tween tlie contract of her marriage, and the day it is 
 solemnized ; if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's 
 pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years. 
 
 Ort. Who ambles time withal ' 
 
 Ross. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich 
 man that hath not the gout ; for the one sleeps easily, 
 because he cannot study ; and the other lives mer- 
 rily, because he feels no pain ; the one lacking the 
 burdenof lean and wasteful learning ; theotherknow- 
 ing no burden of heavy tedious penury: These lime 
 ajnbles withal. 
 
 OrL Who doth he gallop withal ? 
 
 Ros. With a thief to the gallows : for though lie 
 go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too 
 soon there. 
 
 OrL Who stays it slill withal 1 
 
 Ros. M'ith lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep 
 between term and term, and then they perceive not 
 how time moves. 
 
 Ori. AVhere dwell you, pretty youth? 
 
 Ros. "With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the 
 skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. 
 
 OrL Are you a native of this place ? 
 
 Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she 
 is kindled, 
 
 OrL Your accent is something finer than you could 
 purchase in so removed a dwelling. 
 
 Ros. I have been told so of many : but, indeed, an 
 old religious uncle of mine taught rae to speak, who 
 was in his youth an in-land man ; one that knew 
 courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have 
 heard him read many lectures against it ; and I thank 
 God, 1 ara not a woman, to be touch 'd with so many 
 giddy ofl'ences as he hath generally tax'd their whole 
 sex withal. 
 
 Ori. Can you remember any of the principal evils 
 that he laid to the charge of women ? 
 
 i?i's. There were none principal ; they were all like 
 one another, as half-pence are ; every one tank seem- 
 ing monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. 
 
 Ori. I pr'ythee, recount some of them. 
 
 Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physic, but on 
 those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, 
 that abuses our young plants with carving Rosaliuil 
 on their barks ; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and 
 elegies on brambles ; all, forsooth, deifying the name 
 of Rosalind : if I could meet that fancy-monger, 1 
 would give him some good counsel, for he seems to 
 have the quotidian of luve upon hiin. 
 
 OrL I am he that is so love-shaked ; I pray you, 
 tell me your remedv. 
 
 Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you : 
 he taught me how to know a man in love : in w hich 
 cage of rushes, 1 am sure you are not prisoner. 
 
 OrL What were his marks ? 
 
 Ros. A lean cheek ; which you have not : a blue 
 eye, and sunken ; which you have not : an unques- 
 tionable spirit ; which you have not : a beard neg- 
 lected ; which you have not : but I pardon you for 
 that ; for, simply, your having in beard is a younger 
 brother's revenue : — Then your hose should be un- 
 garter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve unbut- 
 toned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you 
 demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are 
 no such man ; you are rather point-device in your 
 accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seeming the 
 lover of any other. 
 
 OrL Fair youth, I would I could make thee be- 
 lieve I love. 
 
 Ros. Me believe it ? you may as soon make her 
 that YOU love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is 
 apter to do, than to confess she does ; that is one of 
 the points in the which women still give the lie to 
 their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he 
 that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalinxl 
 is. so admired ? 
 
 Ori. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of 
 Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. 
 
 Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 
 speak ? 
 
 OrL Neither rhyme nor reason can express how 
 much. 
 
 Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell vou, 
 deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as madmen 
 do : and the reason why they are not so punished 
 and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the 
 whippers are in love too.: Yet I profess curing it by 
 counsel. 
 
 OrL Did you ever cure any so ? 
 
 Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to 
 imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set him 
 every day to woo me : At which time would I. being 
 but a moonish youth, grieve, be efl'eminale, change- 
 able , longing, and liking ; proud, fantastical, apish, 
 shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for 
 ever}' passion something, and for no passion truly 
 any thing, as boys and women aie for the most part 
 cattle of this colour : would now like him, now loath 
 him ; then entertain him, then forswear him ; now 
 weep for him, then spit at him ; that I drave my 
 suitor from his mad humour of love, to a living hu- 
 mour of madness ; which was. to forswear the full 
 stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely 
 monastic; And thus I cured him; and this way will 
 I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound 
 sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of 
 love in't. 
 
 OrL I would not be cured, youth. 
 
 Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me 
 Rosalind, and come everyday to my cote, and woo me, 
 
 OrL Now, by the faith of my love, I will ; tell me 
 where it is. 
 
 Ros, Go \vith me to it, and I 'II shew it you : and, 
 by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you 
 live : Will you go ? 
 
 OrL With all my heart, good youth. 
 
 Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind: — Come, 
 sister, will you go ? [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — E?iter Touchstone and Audrey j 
 
 Jaquks at a distance, observing them. 
 Touch. Come apace, good Audrey ; I will fetch up 
 your goats. Audrey ■ .\nd how, .\udrey ! am 1 the 
 man yet ? Doth my simple feature content you ? 
 
 And. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what 
 features 1 
 
 Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the 
 
222 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the 
 Ooihs. 
 
 Suij. O knowledge ill-inhabited ! worse than Jove 
 in a thatch'd house ! [Aside. 
 
 Toucli. Wlien a man's verses cannot be understood, 
 nor a man's good wit seconded with the fonvard 
 child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead than 
 a great reckoning in a little room; — Truly, I would 
 the gods had made thee poetical. 
 
 And. I do not know what poetical is: Is it honest 
 in deed, and word 1 Is it a true thing ? 
 
 Tinich. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is the most 
 feigning ; and lovers are given to poetry ; and what 
 Ihey swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do 
 (eign. 
 
 Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made 
 me poetical ? 
 
 Tnuch. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me, thou 
 art honest ; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have 
 some hope thou didst feign. 
 
 Aud. Would you not have me honest? 
 
 'J\inch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd : 
 for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a 
 sauce to sugar. 
 
 Jaij. A material fool ! [Aside. 
 
 Aud. Well, I am not fair ; and therefore I pray 
 the gods make me honest. 
 
 Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul 
 slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. 
 
 Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I 
 am foul. 
 
 Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! 
 sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may 
 he, I will marry thee, and to that end, I have been 
 with sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next vil- 
 lage ; who hath promised to meet me in this place of 
 the forest, and to couple us. 
 
 Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. [Aside. 
 
 Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! 
 
 Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear- 
 ful heart, stagger in tliis attempt ; for here we have 
 no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. 
 But what though ? Courage ! As horns are odious, 
 they are necessary. It is said, — Many a man knows 
 no end of his goods : right : niany a man has good 
 horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the 
 dowry of his wife ; 'tis none of his own getting.. 
 
 Horns? Even so; Poor men alone? No, no; 
 
 the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. 
 Is the single man tlierefore blessed ? No ; as awall'd 
 town is more worthier than a village, so is tlie fore- 
 head of a married man more honourable than the bare 
 brow of a bachelor ; and by how much defence js 
 better than no skill, by so much is a horn more pre- 
 cious than to want. 
 
 Enter Sir Oliver I\Iar-text. 
 
 Here comes sir Oliver : — Sir Oliver Mar-text, you 
 are well met ; ^Vill you despatch us here under this 
 tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ? 
 
 Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman ? 
 
 Touch. I will not take her on the gift of any man. 
 
 Sir OH. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage 
 is not lawful. 
 
 Jaq. [Discovering himself .^ Proceed, proceed; 1*11 
 give her. 
 
 Touch. Good even, good master What ye calVt : 
 How do you, sir? You are very well met: God'ild 
 you for your last company : I am very glad to see 
 you : — Even a toy in hand here, sir : — Nay ; pray, 
 be cover'd. 
 
 Jaq. Will you be married, motley ? 
 
 Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his 
 curb, aud the faulcon her bells, so man hath his de- 
 sires ; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be 
 nibbling. 
 
 Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, 
 be married under a bush, like a beggar ; Get you to 
 church, and have a good priest that can tell you what, 
 marriage is ; this fellow will but join you together 
 as they join wainscot ; then one of you will prove a 
 shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. 
 
 Touch. I am not in the mind but 1 were better to 
 be married of him than of another : for he is not like 
 to marry me well ; and not being well married, it will 
 be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. 
 
 [Aside, 
 
 Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. 
 
 Touch. Come, sweet Audrey ; 
 We must be married, or we must live in bawdiy. 
 Farewell, good master Oliver.' 
 
 Not — O sweet Oliver, 
 O brave Oliver, 
 Leave me not behi' thee ; 
 But — Wind away. 
 Begone I say, 
 I will not to wedding wi' thee. 
 [Eieuitt Jaques, Touchstone, and At'DnEV. 
 Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er a fantastical knave 
 of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [L'jjf. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. Before a Cottage. 
 Enter Rosalind and Celia. 
 
 Ros. Never talk to me, 1 will weep. 
 
 Cel. Do, I pry'thee; but yet have the grace to 
 consider, that tears do not become a man. 
 
 Ros. But have I not cause to weep ? 
 
 Cel, As good cause as one would desire ; therefoie 
 weep. 
 
 Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. 
 
 Cel. Something browner than Judas's : marry, his 
 kisses are .ludas's own children. 
 
 Ros, V faith, his hair is of a good colour. 
 
 Cel. An excellent colour : your chesnut was ever 
 the only colour. 
 
 Ros. And his kissing is as full of stmctity as the 
 touch of holy bread. 
 
 Cel. He liath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: 
 a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more reli- 
 giously ; the very ice of chastity is in them. 
 
 Ros. But why did he swear he would come this 
 morning, and comes not? 
 
 Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. 
 
 Ros. Do you think so ? 
 
 Cel. Ves : I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a 
 horse-stealer ; but I'or his verity in love, I do think him 
 as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nuU 
 
 Uos. Not true in love ? 
 
 Cel. Yes, when he is in ; but, I think he is not in. 
 
 Ros. Y'ou have heard him swear downright he was. 
 
 Cel. Was is not is : besides the oath of a lover is 
 no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they are both 
 the confirmers of false reckonings : He attends here 
 in the forest on the duke your father. 
 
 Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much 
 question with him ; He asked me, of what parentage 
 I was ; I told him, of as good as he ; so he laugh 'd 
 and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when 
 there is such a man as Orlando ? 
 
 Cel. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave verses, 
 speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks 
 them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his 
 lover ; as a puny tiller, that spurs his horse but on 
 
ACT III.— SCENE V. 
 
 223 
 
 one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose : but ail's 
 brave, tliat youth mounts, and folly guides: — Wlio 
 comes here ? 
 
 Enter Corin. 
 
 Cor, Jlistress, and master, you have oft enquired 
 After the shepherd that complain'd of love ; 
 Who you saw sittinji^ by me on the turf. 
 Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
 That was his mistress. 
 
 Cel. Well, and what of him » 
 
 Cur. If you will see a pageant truly play'd, 
 Between the pale complexion of true love, 
 Aud the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, 
 Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, 
 If you will mark it. 
 
 Ros. 0, come let us remove : 
 
 The sight of lovers feedeth those in love : — 
 Brmg us unto this sight, and you shall say 
 I 'II prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another jmrt of the Forest. 
 
 Enter SiLvius and Phebe. 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me ; do not, Phebe : 
 Sav. that you love me not ; but say not so 
 In bitterness : Tlie common executioner. 
 Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes 
 Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, [hard. 
 But first begs pardon ; Will you sterner be 
 1'han he that dies and lives by bloody drops 'i 
 
 Ejiter RosALtND, Celia, and Corin, at a distance. 
 
 Phe. I would not be thy executioner ; 
 I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 
 Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye : 
 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, 
 That eyes,— that are the frail'st and softest things. 
 Who shut their coward gates on atomies, — 
 Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers ! 
 Kow I do frown on thee with all my heart ; 
 And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee ; 
 Now counterfeit to swoon ; why, now fall down ; 
 Or, if thou can'st not, 0, foi shame, for shame. 
 Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. 
 Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee : 
 Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains 
 Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush, 
 'I'he cicatrice and capable impressure 
 rhy palm some moment keeps : but now mine eyes. 
 Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; 
 Nor, 1 am sure, there is no force in eyes 
 That can do hurt. 
 
 Sil. O dear Phebe, 
 
 If ever, (as that ever may be near,) 
 You meet in some fresh clieek the power of fancy. 
 Then shall you know the wounds invisible 
 That love's keen arrows make. 
 
 Phe. But, till that time 
 
 Come not thou near me ; and, when that time comes. 
 Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; 
 As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. 
 
 Ros, And why, I pray you 1 [Advancing] Who 
 might be your mother, 
 That you insult, exult, and all at once, 
 Over the wretched J What though you have more 
 (As, by my faith, I see no more in you [beauty, 
 Than without candle may go dark to bed,) 
 Must you be therefore proud and pitiless t 
 Vi hy, what means this ? Why do you look on rael 
 I see no more in you, th.in in the ordinary 
 Of nature's sale-work: — Od's my little life ! 
 I think, she means to tangle my eyes too : — 
 
 No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it ; 
 'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair. 
 Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream. 
 That can entame my spirits to your worship. — 
 You foolisli shepherd, wiierefore do you follow her, 
 Like foggy south, puHing with wind and rain 1 
 Vou are a tliuusand limes a properer man, 
 Tlian she a woman : 'Tis such fools as you. 
 That make the world full, of ill-favour'd children ■ 
 'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her ; 
 And out of you she sees herself more proper. 
 Than any of her lineaments can shew her ; — 
 But, mistress, know yourself, down on your knees, 
 And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love : 
 For I must tell you friendly in your ear, — 
 Sell what you can ; you are not for all markets : 
 Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his oft'er : 
 Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoft'er. 
 So, take her to thee, shepherd ;— fare you well. 
 
 P/ie. Sweet youth, 1 pray you chide a year together; 
 I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. 
 
 Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and 
 she '11 fall in love w itii my anger : If it be so, as fast 
 as she answers thee with frowning looks, 1 '11 sauce 
 her with bitter words. — Why look you so upon me? 
 
 Pl:e. For no ill will I bear you. 
 
 Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me. 
 For I am falser than vows made in wine : 
 Besides, I like you not : If you will know my house, 
 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by : — 
 Will you go, sister 1 — Shepherd, ply her hard : — 
 .Come, sister : — Shepherdess, look on him better, 
 And be not proud ; though all the world could see, 
 None could be so abus'd in sight as he. 
 Come to our flock. 
 
 [Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. 
 
 Phe. Dead shepherd ! now I find thy saw of might ; 
 Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not atjint si^ht? 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, — 
 
 Phe. Ila! what say'st thou, Silviusl 
 
 Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 
 
 Phe. ^Vhy, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. 
 
 Sil. Wherever sorrow is. relief would be ; 
 If you do sorrow at my grief in love. 
 By giving love, your soirow and ray grief 
 \Vere both extermin'd. 
 
 Phe. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly 1 
 
 'S'(7. I would have you. 
 
 Phe. Why, that were covetousness. 
 
 Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee ; 
 And yet it is not, that 1 bear thee love ; 
 But since that thou canst talk of love so well. 
 Thy company, wiiich erst was irksome to me, 
 I will endure ; and I 'II employ thee loo : 
 But do not look for further recompense, 
 Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. 
 
 Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love. 
 And I in such a poverty of grace, 
 That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
 To glean the broken ears after the man 
 That the main harvest reaps : loose now and then 
 A scatter'd smile, aud that I'll live upon, [while? 
 
 Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere 
 
 Sil. Not vei-y well, hut I have met him oft ; 
 And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds. 
 That the old carlot once was master of. 
 
 Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him : 
 'Tis but a peevish boy : — yet he talks well ; — 
 But what care I for words ? yet words do well. 
 When he that speaks them pleases those that hear; 
 It is a pretty youth : — not very pretty : — 
 But sure he 's proud ; and yet his pride becomes him 
 
224 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 He'll make a proper man : The best thing in him 
 
 Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 
 
 Did make oflence, his eye did heal it up. 
 
 He is not tall ; yet for his years he's tali : 
 
 His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : 
 
 There was a pretty redness in his lip , 
 
 A little riper and more lusty red ; 
 
 Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the difference 
 
 Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. 
 
 There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him 
 
 In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
 
 To fall in love with him : but, for my part, 
 
 I love him not, nor hate him not j and yet 
 
 I have more cause to hate him tiian to love him : 
 
 For what had he to do to chide at me 1 
 
 He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black ; 
 
 And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me j 
 
 I marvel, why I answer'd not again : 
 
 But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance. 
 
 I'll write to Iiim a very taunting letter, 
 
 And thou shah bear it ; Wilt thou, Silvius? 
 
 Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 
 
 Phe. I'll write it straight; 
 
 The matter's in my head, and in my heart : 
 I will be bitter with him, and passing short: 
 Go with me, Silvius. [Eaeunr. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE l.—The same. 
 Enier Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. 
 
 Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better 
 acquainted with thee. 
 
 Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. 
 
 Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing. 
 
 Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are 
 abominable fellows ; and betray themselves to every 
 modern censure, worse than drunkards. 
 
 Jaq, AV hy, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. 
 
 Ros. AVhy then, 'tis good to be a post. 
 
 Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which 
 is emulation ; nor the musician's, which is fantastical ; 
 nor the courtier's, which is proud ; nor the soldier's, 
 which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's, which is po- 
 litic ; nor the lady's, which is nice ; nor the lover's, 
 which is all these : but it is a melancholy of mine 
 own, compounded of many simples, extracted from 
 many objects : and, indeed, the sundry contempla- 
 tion of my travels, in which my often rumination 
 wraps me, is a most humorous sadness. 
 
 Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great 
 reason to be sad : I fear you have sold your own 
 lands, to see other men's ; then, to have seen much, 
 and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor 
 hands. 
 
 Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. 
 
 Enter Orlando. 
 
 jRos. And your experience makes you sad : I had 
 rather have a fool to make me merry, than experi- 
 ence to make me sad ; and to travel for it too. 
 
 Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! 
 
 Jaq. Nay then, God be wi'you, an you talk in 
 blank verse. 
 
 Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you 
 lisp, and wear strange suits ; disable all the benefits 
 of your own country: be out of love with your na- 
 tivity, and almost chide God for making you that 
 countenance you are ■, or I will scarce think you have 
 
 swam m a gondola. [Exit Jaqi'es.] — Why, how now, 
 Orlando ! where have you been all this while? You 
 a lover t — An you serve me such another trick, 
 never come in my sight more. 
 
 Ort. My fair Rosalind, 1 come within an hour of 
 my promise. 
 
 lins. Break an hour's promise in love 1 He that 
 will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break 
 but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the 
 affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath 
 clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him 
 heart-whole. 
 
 Or[. Pardon, me, dear Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in 
 mv sight ; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail. 
 'Orl. Of a snail t 
 
 Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, 
 he carries his house on his head ; a better jointure, 
 1 think, than you can make a woman : Besides, he 
 brings his destiny with him. 
 
 Oil. What's that 1 
 
 Ros. M'hy, horns ; which such as you are fain to 
 be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed 
 in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. 
 
 Orl. Virtue is no horn maker ; and my Rosalind 
 is virtuous. 
 
 Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath a 
 Rosalind of a better leer than you. 
 
 Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am in a 
 holiday humour, and like enough to consent : — What 
 would you say to me now, an 1 were your very very 
 Rosalind ? 
 
 Orl. 1 would kiss before 1 spoke. 
 
 Ros, Nay, you were better speak first ; and when 
 you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might 
 take occasion to kiss. Ver)' good orators, when they 
 are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God 
 warn us !) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. 
 
 Orl. How if the kiss be denied 1 
 
 Ros. Then she puts you to intreaty, and there 
 begins new matter. 
 
 Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved 
 mistress 1 
 
 Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mis- 
 tress ; or I should think my honesty ranker than my 
 wit. 
 
 Orl. What, of my suit ? 
 
 Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your 
 suit. Am not I your Rosalind ? 
 
 Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I 
 would be talking of her. 
 
 Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have 
 you. 
 
 OrL Then, in mine own person, I die. 
 
 Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world 
 is almost six thousand years old. and in all this time 
 there was not any man died in his own person, vide 
 licet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed 
 out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what he could 
 to die before ; and he is one of the patterns of love. 
 Leander, h« would have lived many a fair year, 
 though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for 
 a hot midsummer night ; for, good youth, he went 
 but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being 
 taken with the cramp, was drowned ; and the foolish 
 chroniclers of that age found it was — Hero of Sestos. 
 But these are all lies ; men have died from time to 
 time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love. 
 
 Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this 
 mind j for, I protest, her frown might kill me. 
 
 Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 aa/i 
 
 come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more com- 
 ing-on disposition ; and ask me wliat you will, I will 
 grant it. 
 
 Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, 
 and all. 
 
 Oil. And wilt thou have me ? 
 
 Ros. Ay. and twenty such. 
 
 Orl. What say'st thou ? 
 
 Ros. Are you not good ? 
 
 Orl. I hope so. 
 
 Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good 
 thinwl — Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and 
 marrv us. — Give me your hand, Orlando : — What 
 do you say, sister ! 
 
 Ort. Fray thee, marrv us. 
 
 Cet. I cannot say the words. 
 
 Ros. You must begin. Will uoit, Orlando, — 
 
 Cel. Go to: W'ill you, Orlando, have lo wife 
 
 this Rosalind ? 
 
 Orl. I will. 
 
 Ros. Ay, but when 1 
 
 Orl. W'hy now; as fast as she can marry us. 
 
 Ros. Then you must say, — / take thee, Rosalind, 
 for wife. 
 
 Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 
 
 RiJs. I might ask you for your commission ; but. 
 — I do take thee. Orlando, for my husband : There 
 a girl goes before the priest ; and, certainly, a wo- 
 man's thought runs before her actions. 
 
 Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. 
 
 Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, 
 after you have possessed her. 
 
 Orl. For ever, and a day. 
 
 Ros. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Or- 
 lando ; men are April when they woo, December 
 when they wed : maids are Ulay when^hey are maids, 
 but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be 
 more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon 
 over his hen ; more clamorous than a parrot against 
 rain ; more new-fangled than an ape ; more giddy 
 in mv desires than a monkey : I will weep for no- 
 tiling, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that 
 when you are disposed to be merry ; I will laugh 
 like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. 
 
 Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ? 
 
 Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. 
 
 Orl. O, but she is wise. 
 
 Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this : 
 the wiser, the waywarder : Jlake the doors upon a 
 woman's wit, and it will out at the casement ; shut 
 that, and 'twill out at the key-hole : stop that, 'twill 
 fly with the smoke out at the chimney. 
 
 Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he 
 might ;ay, — iri(, ivhither wilt? 
 
 Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you 
 met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. 
 
 Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that ? 
 
 Ros. Marry, to say, — she came to seek you there. 
 You shall never take her without her answer, unless 
 you take her without her tongue. O. that woman 
 that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, 
 let her never nurse her child herself, for she will 
 breed it like a fool. 
 
 Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave 
 ihee. 
 
 Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. 
 
 Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner ; by two 
 o'clock I will be with thee again. 
 
 Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways ; — I knew 
 what you would prove ; my friends told me as much, 
 and I thought no less:— that flattering tongue of 
 
 yours won me : 'tis but one cast away, and so, — 
 come, death. — Two o'clock is your houri 
 
 Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so 
 God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not 
 dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or 
 come one minute behind your hour, I will think you 
 the most pathetical break-promise, and the most 
 hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call 
 Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band 
 of the unfaithful : therefore beware my censure, and 
 keep your promise. 
 
 Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert 
 indeed my Rosalind : So, adieu. 
 
 Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines 
 all such oft'enders, and let time try : Adieu ! 
 
 [E-iit OnLANDO. 
 
 Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your 
 love-prate : we must have your doublet and "hose 
 plucked over your head, and shew the world what 
 the bird hath done to her own nest. 
 
 Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that 
 thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in 
 love 1 But it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath 
 an unknown bottom like the bay of Portut^al. 
 
 Cel. Or, rather, bottomless ; that as fast as you 
 pour affection in, it runs out. 
 
 Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that 
 was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born 
 of madness ; that blind rascally boy, that abuses 
 every one's eyes, because his own are out, let hira 
 be judge, how deep I am in love : — I '11 tell thee, 
 Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando : 
 I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. 
 
 Cel. And I'll sleep. / \_Exeuni. 
 
 SCENE ll.—.htotherpart of the Forest. 
 Enter .Taques and Lords, in the habit of Foresters. 
 Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer 1 
 
 1 Lord, Sir, it was I. 
 
 Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman 
 conqueror ; and it would do well to set the deer's 
 horns upon his head, for a branch of victory : — 
 — Have you no song, forester, for this purpose 1 
 
 2 Lord. Yes, sir. 
 
 Jaq. Sing it ; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so 
 it make noise enough. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1. What shall he have, that kill'd the deer? 
 
 2. His leather skin, and horns to wear. 
 
 1. Then sing him home ; 
 Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn : i T'"" rest shall 
 It was a crest ere thou wast born. ( den. 
 
 1. Thy father's father wore it ; 
 
 2. And thy father bore it: 
 
 All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, 
 
 Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III The Forest. 
 
 Enter Rosalind ajtd Celia. 
 Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock! 
 And here much Orlando ! 
 
 Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled 
 brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone 
 forth — to sleep : — Look, who conies here. 
 
 Enter Smyius. 
 Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth ; 
 My gentle Phebe bid me give you this : 
 
 [Giving a letter. 
 
226 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 I know not the contents ; but, as I guess, 
 By the stern brow, and waspish action 
 Whicli she did use as she was writing of it, 
 It bears an angry tenor ; pardon me, 
 I ain but as a guiltless messenger. 
 
 Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter. 
 And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all : 
 She says, I am not fair ; thai I lack manners ; 
 She calls me proud ; and, that she could not love me 
 Were man as rare as Phoenix ; Od's my will I 
 Her love is not the hare that 1 do hunt ; 
 Why writes she so to me '. — Well, shepherd, well, 
 This is a letter of your own device. 
 
 SH. No, I protest, I know not the contents ; 
 Phebe did write it. 
 
 Eos. Come, come, you are a fool, 
 
 And turn'd into the extremity of love. 
 I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, 
 A freestone-colour'd hand ; I verily did think 
 Thai her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands ; 
 She has a huswife's hand : but that's no matter : 
 I say, she never did invent this letter : 
 This is a man's invention, and his hand. 
 
 Sil. Sure, it is hers. 
 
 Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, 
 A style for challengers ; why she defies me. 
 Like Turk to Christian ; woman's gentle brain 
 Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention. 
 Such Ethiop words, blacker in their efiect 
 Than in their countenance; — Will you hear the letter 7 
 
 Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet ; 
 Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. 
 
 Rm. She Pliebes me : mark how the tyrant writes. 
 
 Art thou god to shejiherd turn'd, [Reads. 
 
 That a maiden's heart hath burn'dl 
 
 Can a woman rail thus '*. 
 Sil. Call you this railing "! 
 
 Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
 
 Wurr'st thoiL with a xmmaii's heart ? 
 
 Did you ever hear such railing? — 
 
 Whiles tlie eye of man did woo me, 
 That could do no tengeance to me. — 
 
 Meaning me a beast. — 
 
 If the scorn of your bright eyne 
 Have power to raise such love in mine. 
 Alack, in me what strange effect 
 Would they work in mild aspect? 
 Whiles yott chid me, I did lox'e ; 
 . How then might your prayers move ? 
 He, that brings this love to thee. 
 Little knows this love in me : 
 And by him seal up thy mind ? 
 Whether that thy youth and kind 
 Will the faithful offer take 
 Of me, and all that J can make ; 
 Or else by him iny love deny. 
 And then I 'II study how to die. 
 
 Sil. Call you this chiding! 
 
 Cel. Alas, poor shepherd ! 
 
 Ros. Do you pity him "! no, he deserves no pity. — 
 Wilt thou love such a woman ! — What, to make thee 
 an instrument, and play false strains upon thee ! 
 not to be endured ! — Well, go your way to her, (for 
 I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say 
 tliis to her ; — That if she love me, 1 charge her to 
 love thee : if she will not, I will never have her, 
 unless thou entreat for her. — If you be a true lover, 
 hence, and not a word ; for here comes more com- 
 pany. [Eiit SiLVius. 
 
 Enter Oliver. 
 
 Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones : Pray you, if you 
 
 \Vhere, in the purlieus of this forest, stands [know 
 A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees? 
 
 Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bot- 
 The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, [torn. 
 Left on your right hand, brings you to the place: 
 But at this hour the house doth keep itself, 
 There's none within. 
 
 Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue. 
 Then I should know you by description ; 
 Such garments, and such years : 7 he boy is fair. 
 Of female favour, and bestows himself' 
 Like a ripe sister: but the woman low. 
 And browner than her brother. Are not you 
 Tile owner of the house T did inquire for ? 
 
 Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we aie. 
 
 OH. Orlando doth commend him to you both ; 
 And to that youth he calls his Kosalind, 
 He sends tliis bloody napkin : ,\re you he 1 
 
 Ros I am : what must we understand by this? 
 
 Oli. Some of my shame ; if you will know of me 
 What man I am, and how, and why, and where 
 This handkerchief was stain'd. 
 
 Cel. I pray you, tell it. 
 
 Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you, 
 He left a promise to return again 
 Wi'.hin an hour ; and, pacing through the forest. 
 Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
 Lo, what befel ! he threw his eye aside, 
 .4nd, mark, what object did present itself! 
 Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'dwith age. 
 And high top bald with dry antiquity, 
 A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown witlr hair. 
 Lay sleeping on iiis back : about his neck 
 A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself. 
 Who with her Bead, nimble in threats, approach'd 
 The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly 
 Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself. 
 And with indented glides did slip away 
 Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
 A lioness, with udders all drawn dry. 
 Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch, 
 When that the sleeping man should stir ; for 'tis 
 The royal disposition of that beast. 
 To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
 This seen. Orlando did approach the man. 
 And found it was his brother, his elder brother. 
 
 Cel. O. I have heard him speak of that same brother;. 
 And he did render him the most unnatural 
 That liv'd 'raongst men. 
 
 Oli. And well he might so do. 
 
 For well I know he was unnatural. 
 
 Ros. But, to Orlando ; — Did he leave him there. 
 Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness? 
 
 Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so 
 But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, 
 .'Vnd nature, stronger than his just occasion. 
 Made him give battle to the lioness. 
 Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling 
 From miserable slumber I awak'd. 
 
 Cel. Are you his brother ? 
 
 Ros. Was it you he rescued ? 
 
 Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill him ? 
 
 Oli. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I : I do not shame 
 To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
 So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
 
 Ros. But, for the bloody napkin 1 — 
 
 OH. By, and by. 
 
 When from the first to last, betwixt us two. 
 Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 227 
 
 As, how X came into that desert place ; 
 
 In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, 
 
 Who gave ine fresh array, and entertainment, 
 
 Committing me unto my brother's love ; 
 
 Who led me instantly unto his cave. 
 
 There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
 
 The lioness had torn some flesh away. 
 
 Which all this while had bled ; ami now he fainted, 
 
 And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 
 
 Brief. 1 recover'd him ; bound up his wound ; 
 
 And, after some small space, being strong at heart. 
 
 He sent me hither, stranger as I am. 
 
 To tell this story, that you might excuse 
 
 His broken promise, and to gi\e this napkin, 
 
 Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth 
 
 'I'hat'he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 
 
 Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Gany- 
 mede t [Ros.tLINU ^rn;l(s. 
 
 Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 
 
 Cel. There is more in it: — Cousin — Ganymede ! 
 
 on. Look, he recovers. 
 
 iJns. I would, I were at home. 
 
 Cel. We 'II lead you thither : — 
 t pray you, will you take him by the arm? 
 
 Oli. Be of good cheer, youth: — Vou a man? — 
 Vou lack a man's heart. 
 
 Ras. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would 
 think this was well counterfeited: I pray you, tell 
 your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh ho ! — 
 
 Oli. This was not counterfeit ; there is too great 
 testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion 
 of earnest. 
 
 Ros. Counterfeit, 1 assure you. 
 
 Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit 
 to be a man. 
 
 I'.iis. So I do: but i'faith I should have been a 
 woman by right. 
 
 Cel. Come, yoti look paler and paler; pray you, 
 draw homewards : — Good sir, go with us. 
 
 Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back 
 4ow you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 
 
 JIds. I shall devise something : But, I pray yo>i, 
 ommend my counterfeiting to him. — Will you go? 
 
 \_Kx€unt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE l.—The same. 
 Enttr Touchstone and Audrey. 
 
 Tnuch. We shall find a time, Audrey ; patience, 
 (,tutle Audrey. 
 
 ,iit<l. 'f'aitti. the priest was good enough, for all 
 the old ger.llemaa's saying. 
 
 Timch. A most wicked sir Oliver, .\udrey, a most 
 vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here 
 in the forest lays claim to you. 
 
 Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis ; he hath no interestin 
 me in the world : here comes the man you mean. 
 
 Enter WrLLtA.M. 
 
 Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown : 
 By my troth, we that have good wits, have mucli to 
 answer for ; we sliall be flouting ; we cannot hold, 
 
 IViU. Good even, Audrey. 
 
 Atid. God ye good even, William. 
 
 Will. And good even to you, sir. 
 
 Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover thy head, 
 cover thy head ; nay, pr'ythee, be co/ered. Kow 
 old are you. friend ? 
 
 Will. Five and twenty, sir. 
 
 Touth. A ripe age : is thy name William ? 
 
 Will. William, sir. 
 
 Touch. A fair name: Wast horn i' the forest here ? 
 
 Will. Ay, sir, I thank God. 
 
 Touch. Thank God; — a good answer; Art rich? 
 
 Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so. 
 
 Touch. So, so, is good, ver}' good, very excellent 
 good : — and yet it is not ; it is but .so so. Art thou 
 wise? 
 
 Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 
 
 Touch. Why, thou say'stwell. I do nowremem 
 ber a saying ; Thefool doth timk he is wise, but the 
 wise man hioii^s himself to be a fool. The heathen phi- 
 losopher, when he hail a desire to eat a grape, would 
 open his lips when he put it into his mouth ; mean- 
 ing thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips 
 to open. Vou do love this maid ? 
 
 Will. I do, sir. 
 
 Touch. Give me your hand : Art thou learned ? 
 
 Will. No, sir. 
 
 Touch. 'J'hcn learn this of me ; To have, is to have: 
 For it is a (igure in rhetoric, that drink, being poured 
 out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty 
 the other : For all your writers do consent, that ipse 
 is he ; now you are not ipse, for I am he. 
 
 Will. Which he, sir. 
 
 Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman : 
 Therefore, you clown, abandon, — which is in the 
 vulgar, leave, — the society. — which in the boorish 
 is company, — of this female. — which in the common 
 is.- — woman, which together is, abandon the society 
 of this female ; or clown, thou perishest ; or, to thy 
 I better understanding, diest ; to wit, 1 kill thee, make 
 j thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty 
 into bondage ; I will deal in poison with thee, or in 
 bastinado, or in steel ; I will bandy with thee in fac- 
 tion ; I will o'er-run thee with policy ; I will kill 
 thee a hundred and fifty ways j therefore tremble, 
 and depart. 
 
 ."tnd. Do, good William. 
 
 Will. God rest you merry, sir. [£ii(. 
 
 Enter ConiN. 
 
 Cm-. Our master and mistress seek you ; come, 
 away, away. 
 
 Touch. Trip, .\udrey, trip, Audrev ; — I attend. I 
 attend. [ E.\eunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— T/jesnme. 
 
 Enter Orlando and Oliver. 
 
 Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance 
 
 you should like her ? that, but seeing, you should 
 
 love her ? and, loving, woo ? and, wooing, she should 
 
 grant? and will you persever to enjoy lier? 
 
 Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, 
 I the poverty of her. the small acquaintance, my sud- 
 den wooing, nor her sudden consenting ; but say 
 with me, 1 love Aliena ; say, with her, that she loves 
 I me ; consent with both, that we may enjoy each 
 I other; it shall be to your good; for my father's 
 house, and all the revenue that was old sir Rowland's, 
 will I estate upon you, and here live and die a 
 shepherd. 
 
 Enter Rosalind. 
 i Orl. You have ray consent. Let your wedding be 
 to-morrow: thitherwill I invite the duke, and all his 
 I contented followers : Go you, and prepare Aliena : 
 for, look you, here come.s my Rosalind. 
 Ros. God save you, brother. - 
 Oli. And you, fair sister. 
 
 Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to 
 see thee wear thy heart in a scarf. 
 1 Orl. It is my arm. 
 
 P -i 
 
228 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Ros. I tliouglit, thy heart had been wounded with, 
 the claws of a lion. 
 
 Url. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. 
 
 Tios. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeit- 
 ed to swoon, when he shew'd me your handkerchief! 
 
 Oil. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 
 
 Ros. O, 1 know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true : 
 there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of 
 two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of — I came, 
 saw, and ntercame ■ For your brother and my sister 
 no sooner met, but they looked ; no sooner looked, 
 but they loved,; no sooner loved, but they sighed ; 
 no sooner sighed, but they asked one another the 
 reason ; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought 
 the remedy : and in these degrees have tliey made a 
 pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb in- 
 continent, or else be incontinent before marriage : 
 they are in the very wrath of love, and they will to- 
 gether ; clubs cannot part them. 
 
 Oii. They shall be married to-morrow ; and I will 
 bid the duke to the nuptial. But O, how bitter a 
 thing it is to look into happiness through another 
 man's eyes ! By so much tnemore shall 1 to-morrow 
 be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I 
 shall think my brother happy, in having what he 
 wislies for. 
 
 Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your 
 turn for Rosalind 1 
 
 Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 
 
 Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle 
 talking. Know of me then ( for now I speak to some 
 purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman of good 
 conceit: I speak not this, that you should bear a 
 good opinion of my knowled;,:e, insomuch, I say, I 
 know you are ; neither do 1 labour for a greater es- 
 teem than may in some little measure draw a belief 
 from you, to do yourself jood, and not to grace me. 
 Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange 
 things; 1 have, since 1 was three years old, con- 
 versed with a magician, most profound in this art, 
 and not yet damnable. If you do love Rosalind 
 so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when 
 your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her : — 
 i know into what straits of fortune she is driven ; 
 and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not incon- 
 venient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, 
 human as she is, and without any danger. 
 
 Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings ? 
 
 Ris. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly, 
 though I say I am a magician : Therefore, put you 
 in vour best'arrav, bid your friends : for if you will 
 be "married to-morrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind, 
 if you will. 
 
 Enter SiLVius and Phebe. 
 Look, herecomesaloverof mine, and a lover of hers. 
 
 Phe. Youth, vou havedone me much ungentleness, 
 To shew the letter that 1 writ to you. 
 
 Ros. I care not. if 1 have : it is my study. 
 To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: 
 You are there foUow'd by a faithful shepherd ; 
 Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 
 
 Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis tolove. 
 
 6;/. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; — 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 Phe. And I for Ganymede. 
 Orl. And I for Rosalind. 
 Ros. And I for no woman. 
 Sit. It is to be all made of faith and service ; — 
 And so am 1 for Phebe. 
 Phe. And 1 for Ganjinede. 
 OtI. And 1 for Rosalind. 
 
 Roi. .\nd I for no woman. 
 
 Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, 
 All made of |)assion, and all made of wishey ; 
 Ail adoration, duty, and observance. 
 All humbleness, all })atience, and impatience, 
 AH purity, all trial, all observance ; 
 And so am I for Phebe. 
 
 Phe. And so am 1 for Ganymede. 
 
 Ort. And so am I for Rosalind. 
 
 Ros. And so am I for no woman. 
 
 Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love 
 you ! [To RosALiNn. 
 
 Sil, If this be so, why blame you me to love you l 
 
 [7'oPnEni!. 
 
 Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ? 
 
 Ros. W'ho do you speak to, u/iiy blame you me to 
 love oou ? 
 
 Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. 
 
 Ros. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the howl- 
 ing of Irish wolves against the moon. — I will help 
 you, [((> SiLvu-s] if 1 can: — I would love you, [to 
 Phebe] if I could- — To-morrow meet me all toge- 
 ther. — I will marry you, [to Phebe] if ever I marry 
 woman, and I'll be married to-morrow : — I will sa- 
 tisfy you, [to Orlando] if ever I satisfied man, and 
 you shall be married to-morrow : — 1 will content 
 you, [to SiLvivs] if what pleases you contents you, 
 and you shall be married to-morrow. — As you [to 
 Orlando] love Rosalind, meet ; — as you [to Silvu-s] 
 love Phebe, meet; And as 1 love no woman, I'll 
 meet. — So, fare you well ; I have left vou commands. 
 
 Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. 
 
 Phe. Nor I. 
 
 Orl. Nor I. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III.— 7"Ae same. 
 Enter Touchstone and ArnREY. 
 
 Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey ; to- 
 morrow will we be married. 
 
 And. 1 do desire it with all my heart : and I hope 
 it is no dishonest desire, to desire to he a woman of 
 the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's 
 pages. 
 
 Enter ttio Pages. 
 
 1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 
 Touch. By my troth, well met : Come, sit, sit^ 
 and a song. 
 
 y Pai^e. We are for you : sit i'the middle. 
 
 1 Page. Shall w-e clap into't . roundly, without 
 hawking, or. spitting, or saying we are hoarse ; which 
 are the only prologues to a bad voice 1 
 
 2 Poge. I'faith, i'faith ; and both in a tune, like 
 two gypsies on a horse. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 T. It U'as a lover and his lass, 
 
 }Vith a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 That o'er the green corn-field did pas.^ 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty rank timet 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 II, Between the acres of' the rye, 
 
 With a heo, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
 Tliese pretty country folks would lie, 
 , In spring time, ^"C. 
 
 III. This enrol they began that hour, 
 
 ]Vitlt a heu, and a ho, and a hey noninc. 
 How that a life washut ajioioer 
 In spring time, ijc. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE IV. 
 
 229 
 
 IV. And therefore take the present time. 
 
 With a hev^ and a hoy and a hey nonino ; 
 For tore is croicned with the prime 
 In spring time, &ce. 
 
 Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was 
 no greater matter in the ditty, yet the note was very 
 untimeable. 
 
 1 Page. You are deceived, sir j we kept time, we 
 lost not our time. 
 
 Touch. By my troth, yes ; I count it but lime lost 
 to hear such a foolish song. God be with you: and 
 God mead yourToices ! Come, Audrey. [fieutic. 
 
 SCEXE IV.— -J«ot/ier Part of the Forest. 
 
 Enter Dvke Senior, Amiens, Jaqves, Orlando, 
 OiJVER, and Celia. 
 
 Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy 
 Can do all this that he hath promised ? 
 
 Orl. T sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not j 
 As those that fear they hope, ana know they fear. 
 
 Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe. 
 
 Eos. Patience once more, whiles oui compact is 
 
 urg'd: 
 
 You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, [TotfteDiKE. 
 You will bestow her on Orlando here ? [with her. 
 Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give 
 Hos. And you say you will have her. when I bring 
 her? [7o Orlando. 
 
 Or/. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. 
 Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if 1 be willing? 
 
 [roPHEUE. 
 
 Phe. That will I. should Idie the hour after. 
 
 Ras. But, if you do refuse to raasry me, 
 Vou'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd I 
 
 Phe. So is l!ie bargain. 
 
 Ros, You say, thaiyou'H have Phebe, if she will ? 
 
 [To Silvius. 
 
 SiL Though to have her and death were both one 
 thing. 
 
 Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even. 
 Keep you your word, duke, to give your daughter ; — 
 You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter ; — 
 Keep your word, Phebe. that you'll marry me ; 
 Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd, : — 
 Keep your word, Silvius. that you'll marry her, 
 If she refuse me : — and from hence I go, 
 To make these doubts all even. [Exeunt Ros. ^*Cel. 
 
 Duke S. 1 do remember in this shepherd-boy 
 Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. 
 
 Orl, My lord, the first time that I ever saw him, 
 Methought he \\*as a brother to vour daughter : 
 But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born ; 
 And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
 Of many desperate studies by his uncle, 
 Whom he reports to be a great magician. 
 Obscured in the circle of this forest. 
 
 Enter Touchstone and ArnnEV. 
 
 Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and 
 these couples are cominij to the ark ! Here comes a 
 pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are 
 called fools. 
 
 Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 
 
 Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome; This is the 
 motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often met 
 in the forest -. he hath been a courtier he swears. 
 
 Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to 
 my purgation. 1 have trod a measure ; I have flat- 
 tered a lady; 3 have been politic with my friend, 
 smooth with mine enemv ; I have undone tliree tai- 
 
 lors ; I have had four quarrels, and like to have 
 fought one. 
 
 Jaq. And how was that ta'en up ? 
 
 Touch, 'faith, we met, and found the quarrel was 
 upon the seventh cause. 
 
 Jat^. How seventh cause? Goodmy lord, like this 
 
 Dnke S. I like him verj' well. [fellow. 
 
 Touch. God'ild you, sir ; I desire you of the like. 
 I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country 
 copulatives, to swear, and to forswear : according as 
 marriage binds, and blood breaks : — A poor virgin, 
 sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own ; a poor 
 humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else 
 will : Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a 
 poor-house ; as your pearl, in your fou! oyster. 
 
 />Mfcei. By my failh, he isveryswifiand sententious. 
 
 Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and Aich 
 dulcet diseases. 
 
 Jaq. But for the seventh cause ; how did you find 
 the quarrel on the seventh caused 
 
 Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed ; — Bear 
 your body more seeming, Audrey: — as thus, sir. I 
 did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard ; he 
 sent me woni, if 1 said his l>eard was not cut well, 
 he was in the mind it was : This is called the Retort 
 cnuyteous. If I sent him word again, it was not well 
 cut. he would send me word, he cut it to please him- 
 self: This is called the Quip modest. If again, it was 
 not well cut, he disabled my judginent : This is call'd 
 the Reply churiish. If again, it was not well cut, he 
 would answer, I spake not true : This is called the 
 Reproof valiant. If again, it was not well cut, he 
 would say I lie : This is call'd the Countercheck jMnr- 
 relsome: and so to the Lie circumstantial, and tlie Zie 
 direct. 
 
 Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was- not 
 well cut } 
 
 Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie circum- 
 stantial^ nor he durst not give me the Lie direct ; and 
 so we measured swords, and parted, 
 
 Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees 
 of the lie ? 
 
 Touch. 0, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book: as 
 you have books for good manners : I will name you 
 the degrees. The fiist, the Retort courteous ; the se- 
 cond, the Quip modest ; the thiul, the Reply churlish ; 
 the fourth, the Reproof valiant ; the filth, the Coun- 
 terchecK quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie with circum- 
 stance ; the seventii, the Lie direct. All these you 
 may avoid, but the lie direct ; and you may avoid 
 that too, with an If. 1 kuew when seven justices could 
 not take up a quarrel ; but when the parties were 
 met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 
 If you said so, then 1 said so ; And they shook hands, 
 and swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; 
 much virtue in If. 
 
 Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he *s as 
 good at any thing, and yet a fool. 
 
 Duke S, He uses liis folly like a stalking-horse, and 
 under the presentation of that, he shoots his wit. 
 
 Enter Hymen, leading Rosalind in v:^)mans 
 clothes ; and Celia. 
 Still Music. 
 HjTn. Tlienis there mirth in heaven. 
 When earthlu things made even 
 
 Atone together. 
 Good duke, receite thy daughter^ 
 Hijmen from heaven brought he*-, 
 
 Ye^t, brottght her hither; 
 That tKiu might*st ioin her hand uith his, 
 Whose heart within her bosom kv 
 
230 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 
 Ro3. To you I give myself, for I am yours. 
 
 iTo DlTKE S- 
 
 To you I give myself, for I am yours. [J'o Orl. 
 
 Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my 
 
 daughter. 
 Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosa- 
 Phe. If sight and shape be true, [lind. 
 
 Why then, — my love adieu ! 
 
 Ro5, I'll have no father, if you be not he: — 
 
 [3'o DukeS. 
 I'll have no husband, if you be not he: — [^Tu Oul. 
 Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. [ToPhe. 
 Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : 
 'Tis I must make conclusion 
 
 Of these most strange events : 
 Here 's eight that must take hands. 
 To join in Hymen's bauds, 
 If truth holds true contents. 
 You and you no cross shall part : 
 
 [ToOklando and Rosalind. 
 You and you are heart in heart: 
 
 [To Oliver and Celia. 
 You [to Pheee] to his love must accord, 
 Or have a woman to your lord : — 
 You and you are sure together, 
 
 [To Touchstone and Audrey. 
 As the winter to foul weather. 
 Whiles a wedlock hymn we sing, 
 Feed yourselves with questioning ; 
 That reason wonder may diminisli. 
 How thus we met, and these things finish. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Wedding is great Juno's croivn; 
 
 blessed bond of baiird and bed! 
 Tls Humen peoples everii town ; 
 
 High wedlock then be honoured : 
 Honour, high honour and renmvn^ 
 To Hymen, god of evi^ry town! 
 
 Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome art thou to me ; 
 Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. 
 
 Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine ; 
 Thy faith my fancy to tliee doth combine. [To Silv, 
 
 Entei- Jaqi'Es de Bors. 
 
 Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or two ; 
 I am the second son of old sir Rowland, * 
 That bring these tidings to this fair assembly: — 
 Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
 Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
 Address'd a mighty power ; which were on foot, 
 In his own conduct, purposely to take 
 His brother here, and put him to the sword : 
 And to the skirts of this wild wood he came ; 
 AVhere, meeting with an old religious man. 
 After some question with him, was converted 
 Both from his enterprize, and from the world : 
 His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother. 
 And all their lands restor'd to them again 
 That were with him exii'd : This to be true, 
 I do engage my life. 
 
 Duke S. Welcome, young man , 
 
 Thuu offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding ; 
 To one, his lands with-held ; and to tiie other, 
 A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
 First, in this forest, let us do those ends 
 That here were well begun, and well begot: 
 And after, every of this happy number, 
 That have endur'd shrewd days and nights vdth us. 
 Shall share the good of our returned fortune. 
 According to the measure of their states. 
 Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity, 
 And fall into our rustic revelry : — 
 Play, music — and you brides and bridegrooms all. 
 With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall. 
 
 Jaq. Sir, by your patience ; if 1 lieard you rightly. 
 The duke hath put on a religious life, 
 And thrown into neglect the pompous court? 
 
 Jaq, de B. He hath. 
 
 Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites 
 There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. — 
 You to your former honour I bequeath ; [To Di;ke S. 
 Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it: — 
 You [to Orlando] to a love, that your true faith doth 
 
 merit : — 
 You [to Oliver] to your land, and love, and great 
 
 * allies : — 
 You [to SiLvius] to a long and well deserved bed : — 
 And you [to Tol'chstoneJ to wrangling ; for thy lov- 
 ing voyage 
 Is but for two months victual'd: — So to your plea- 
 I am for other than for dancing measures. [sures; 
 
 Duke S. Stay, Jaqiies, stay. 
 
 Jitq. To see no pastime, i : what you would have 
 I 'U Slay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. 
 
 Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these rites. 
 And we do trust they'll end, in true delights. [Adance. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Ru5. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epi- 
 logue: but it is not more unhandsome, than to see 
 the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good wine 
 needs no hush, 'tis true, tliat a good play needs no epi- 
 logue : Yet to good wine they do use good bushes ; 
 and good plavs prove the better by the help of good 
 epilogues. What a case am 1 in then, that am nei- 
 ther a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you 
 in the behalf of a good play ! I am not furnished 
 like a beggar, therefore to beg will not became me : 
 my way is, to conjure you ; and 1 "11 begin with the 
 women. I charge you, U women, for the love you 
 bear to men, to like as much of this play as please 
 them : and so I charge you, O men, for the love you 
 bear to women, (as I perceive by your simpering, 
 none of you hate them,) that between you and the 
 women, the play may please. If 1 were a woman, 
 1 would kiss as many of you as had beards thai, 
 pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths 
 that I deHed not ; and, 1 am sure, a-^ many as have 
 good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, 
 for my kind offer, when 1 make curt'sy, bid me fare- 
 well. [Exeunt* 
 
 Op this play the fable is wild ai)d pieasiug. I know not how 
 the ladies will approve ihe facDity with which both Rosalind 
 and Celia gave away their htarii. I'o Celia much may be iur- 
 ffiven for the heroism of her frir-udship. Ihe character of 
 Jaqoes is natural aud well preservfit. 1 be comic ilialotcue is 
 vcr>' spriyhtly, with less mixiiirf uf low Imffoonery th;iu iu 
 some other plays : aud the graver |)aft is elegant and harmo- 
 nious. I'y hastening to the end of thib work, Shakspeart sup 
 fresst'd the dialot^'ue between the usurp^T aud the hermit, anri 
 osl an opportunity of exhilntint,' a mural lesion in which he 
 might have found matter worthy of his liij^licst powers.— J OHN- 
 SON. The tasle of the poe: is here, as in nuirty other instnnct'S, 
 lo be preferred lo that of the critic— Ihough Shokspeai-e has 
 
 I shewn great judgment in stib&titutiug the conversion of Vrede- 
 ; rick in the place of his death, which is the fate allotted hiai in 
 : Lodge's novel, nothing could h^vc beeu mort; out of' ieepuii; 
 I with the tone and colour of the play, than the represent aiion of 
 such an event. It was a circuaistOJJce to be related and not 
 I performed. A scene of so swere a character, as that bttwten 
 I the j,njihyduke and the ased hermit must necessarily have been, 
 C'uld have no appropriate place in tins liile ot love and mirth, 
 aud wit and idleness In a work, li^o the present, calculates 
 I to unfatigue the mind and delight the imasinniion by a succes- 
 sion of pleasing incidents, every thing of a sad or solemn na- 
 \ lure is with admirable propriety omitted, ov only cursoriiy 
 I glanced at. 
 
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 OP thv-i play there is no edition earlier than tiie first folto. 
 iMr. Maloue supiioses it to have been vrllleii in the year 
 1600 ; but the n.auy passases ol" rhyme scaiterejl thioush the 
 play seem to sl)eak it an earlier production Meres, ill ISDii. 
 mentioned a ploy of our authors called. Lines Labour 
 WoiMc, an appellation which very accurately applies to this, 
 lint to no other of his plays ; and its date may be perhaps 
 assigned a year or two earlier. 
 
 The title All's Well that ends Wtll, is one of Camden's pro- 
 verbial sentences. « - l 
 
 The story was originally taken from Boccacio, but came im- 
 mediattjly to Shakspeare from J'ainter's Gilella of Marion. 
 in the 6rst vol. of tlie I'alaie «f yieasvre. 4to. 1560, p. 88. 
 To the novel, however. Sh.ikspeare is only indebted for a few 
 leadine circumstances in the v-'raver parts of the piece. Ihe 
 comic business appears lo be entirely of his own turmatiOD. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King of t raxce. 
 
 Dl'KE I'E FLOnENCE. 
 
 Beutham, Count 0/' Rousillon. 
 
 Lafev, an old lord. 
 
 Paholles, a follower o/ Bertram. 
 
 Several young French Lorda, that serve with Bertram 
 
 til the Florentine it-oi-. 
 Steward, Clown, iervantstothe CoiiJi(«so/"Rousillon. 
 A Page. 
 
 Countess of Roi'sillon, mother to Bertram. 
 Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the Countess. 
 An old H'idow ii/' Florence. 
 Diana, daughter to the Widow. 
 
 \ lOLENTA, } nei„ij,Qurs and frieTuU to the Widow. 
 Mariana, J ■' 
 
 Lords, attending on the King ; Oflicers, Soldiers, S)C. 
 Frencli and Florentine. 
 
 SCENE, — partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — Rousillon. A Room in the 
 Countess's PalaceP 
 
 Enter Behtram, the Countess of Rousillon, 
 Helena, and Lafeo, in mtntrning. 
 
 Count, In delivering my son from me, I bury a 
 second husband. 
 
 Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my fa- 
 ther's death anew : but I must attend his majesty's 
 command, to whom 1 am now in ward, evermore in 
 subjection. 
 
 Lot'. You sliall find of thekingahusband, madam: 
 — you, sir, a father: He that so generally is at all tunes ' Rather in power than use 
 
 good, must of necessity hold his virtue to you ; whose 
 worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, rather 
 than lack it where there is such abundance. 
 
 Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend- 
 ment "? 
 
 Luf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam ; 
 under whose practices he hath persecuted time with 
 hope ; and finds no other advantage in the process 
 out only the losing of hope by time. 
 
 Count. This young gentlewoman had a father, 
 (0, that had I how sad a passage 'tis ! ) whose skill 
 
 Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam; the king 
 very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and uiourn- 
 ingly : he was skilful enough to have lived still, if 
 knowledge could be set up against mortality. 
 
 Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king lan- 
 guishes of! 
 
 Laf. A fistula, my lord. 
 Ber. I heard not of it before. 
 Laf. I would it were not notorious. — Was this 
 gentlewoman tlie daughter of Gerard de Narbon? 
 
 CiiiDif. His sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed 
 to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her good, 
 that her education promises ; her tlispositions she 
 inherits, which make fair gifts fairer ; for wliere an 
 unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there com- 
 mendations go with pity, they are virtues and traitors 
 too ; in her they are the better for their simpleness ; 
 she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. 
 Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her 
 tears. 
 
 Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season her 
 praise in. The remembrance of her father never ap- 
 proaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sorrows 
 takes all livelihood from her clijek. No more of 
 this, Helena, go to, no more; lestit be rather thought 
 you aflect a sorrow, than to have. 
 
 Llel. I do aftect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too. 
 Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead, 
 excessive grief the enemy to the living. 
 
 CoiDit. If the living be enemy to the grief, the ex- 
 cess makes it soon mortal. 
 
 Ber. Madam, 1 desire your holy wishes. 
 iMf. How understand we that? [father 
 
 CuBiit. Be thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed thy 
 In manners, as in shape ! thy blood, and virtue. 
 Contend for empire in thee ; and thy goodness 
 Share with thy birth-right ! Lo\ e all, trust a few. 
 Do wrong to none : be able for tliine enemy 
 
 and keep thy friend 
 
 Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence. 
 But never tax'd tor speech. What heaven more will. 
 That thee may furnish, and my players pluck down, 
 Fall on thy head ! Farewell. — iMy lord, 
 'Tis an unseasoa'd courtier ; good my lord, 
 Advise him. 
 
 Laf. He cannot want the best 
 
 That shall attend his love. 
 
 Count. Heaven bless him! — Faievvell, Bertram. 
 [Exit Countess. 
 
 Ber. The best wishes, that can be forged iu your 
 
 was almost as great as his honesty ; had it stretched ' thoughts, [tn Helena.] be servants to you ! Be com- 
 so far, would have made nature immortal, ami death ' fortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much 
 should have play for lack of work. 'Would, for the i of her. 
 
 king's sake, he were living ! I think it would be the j Laf. Farewell, pretty lady : Y'oumustholdthecre- 
 death of the king's disease. ! dit of your father. [£icn/i( Bertram and Lafeu. 
 
 Lo/. How called you the man you speak of, madam 1 Hel. 0,were thatal'!— I think not on my father j 
 Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and And these great tears grace his remembrance more 
 it was his great right to be so : Gerard de Narbon. iTIian those I shed for him. What was he liket 
 
232 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 I nave forgot him : my imagination 
 Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's. 
 I am undone j there is no living, none, 
 If Bertram be away. It vi eie all one, 
 That I should love a bright particular star, 
 And think to wed it, he is so above me : 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 ISIust I be comforted, not in his sphere. 
 The ambition in my love thus plagues itself : 
 The hind that would be mated by the lion, 
 IMust die for love. 'Twas pity, though a plague. 
 To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 
 His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
 111 our heart's table ; heart, too capable 
 Of every line and trick of his sweet favour : 
 But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
 Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here 1 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 One that goes with him : I love him for his sake ; 
 
 And yet I know him a notorious liar. 
 
 Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; 
 
 Yet these tix'd evils sit so fit in him, 
 
 That they take place, wlien virtue's steely bones 
 
 Look bleak in the cold wind : withal, full oft we see 
 
 Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. 
 
 Par. Save you, fair queen, 
 
 HeL And you, monarch. 
 
 Far. No. 
 
 HeL And no. 
 
 Par, Are you meditating on virginity? 
 
 Bel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you ; 
 let me ask you a question : Man is enemy to vir- 
 ginity ; liow may we barricade it against him ? 
 
 Par. Keep him out. 
 
 HeL But he assails ; and our virginity, though 
 valiant in the defence, yet is weak : unfold to us some 
 warlike resistance. 
 
 Par. There is ^lone ; man, sitting down before 
 you, will undennine you, will blow you up. 
 
 HeU Bless our poor virginity from underminers, 
 and blowers up! — Is there no military policy, how 
 virgins might blow up men 1 
 
 Par. Virginity, being blown down, man will 
 quicklier be blown up : marry, in blowing him down 
 again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose 
 your city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of 
 nature, to preserve virginity. Loss of virgini^ is 
 rational increase ; and there was never virgin got, 
 till virginity was first lost. That, you were made of, is 
 metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, 
 may be ten times found ; by being ever kept, it is 
 ever lost : 'tis too cold a companion ; away with it. 
 
 HeL I will stand for't a little, though theiefore I 
 die a virgin. 
 
 Par. There's little can be said in 't ; 'tis against 
 the rule of nature. To speak on the part of vir- 
 ginity, is to accuse your mothers ; which is most in- 
 fallible disobedience. He, that hangs himself, is a 
 virgin : virginity murders itself ; and should be 
 buried in highways, out of all sanctified limit, as a 
 desperate otiendress against nature. Virginity breeds 
 mites, much like a cheet>e; consumes itself to the very 
 paring, and so dies with feeding his own stomach. 
 Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, idle, made of 
 self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in tiie canon. 
 Keep it not ; you cannot choose but lose by 't : Out 
 wiih't: within ten years it will make itself ten, 
 ■which is a goodly increase ; and the piiucipal itself 
 not much the worse : Away with't. 
 
 HeL How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own 
 liking ? 
 
 Par. Let me see : ]\Iarry, ill, to like him tliat ne'er 
 it likes. 'Tis a conuuodity will lose the gloss with 
 lying ; the longer kept, the less worth ; otf with 'I, 
 while 'tis vendible : answer the time of request. 
 Viiginity, like an old courtier, wears lier cap out of 
 fashion ; richly suited, but unsuitable : just like the 
 brooch and tooth-pick, which wear not now: Your 
 date is better in your pie and your poiiidge, than in 
 your clieek ; And your viiginity, your old virginity, 
 is like one of our 1 lench wither'd \ ears ; it looks ill, 
 it eats dryly ; marry, 'tis a wither'd pear ; it was 
 formerly better ; marry, yet, 'lis a wither'd pear ; 
 Will you any thing with it l 
 
 Hei. Not my virginity yet. 
 There shall your master liave a thousand loves, 
 A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, 
 A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, 
 A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, 
 A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear; 
 His humble ambition, proud humility, 
 His jarring concord, and his dUcoid dulcet. 
 His laith, his sweet disaster ; with a world 
 Of petty, fond, adoptions Christendoms, 
 
 Tiiat blinking Cupid gossips, Now shall he 
 
 I know not what he shall : — God send him well i — 
 The court's a learning place;— and he is one — 
 
 Par. What one, i'failh ? 
 
 HeL That I wi;>h well. — 'Tis pity— — 
 
 Par. W hat's pity 7 
 
 HeL That wishing well had not a body in't, 
 Which might be felt : that we, the poorer born, 
 AVhose baser stars do shut us up in withes. 
 Might with effects of them follow our friends, 
 And shew what we alone must think ; which never 
 Returns us thanks. 
 
 Enter a Page. 
 
 Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. 
 
 [E.iit Page- 
 Par, Little Helen, farewell: if I can remember 
 thee, 1 will think of thee at court. 
 
 HeL Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a 
 charitable star, • 
 
 Par. Under Mars, I. 
 
 HeL 1 especially think, under Mars. 
 
 Par. Why under Mars ] 
 
 HeL The wars have so kept you under, that you 
 must needs be born under Mars, 
 
 Par. When he was predominant. 
 
 HeL When he was retrograde, 1 think, rather. 
 
 Par. Why think you so i 
 
 HeL You go so much backward, when you fight. 
 
 Par. That's for advantage. 
 
 HeL So is running away, when fear proposes the 
 safety ; But the composition, that your valour and 
 fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I 
 like the wear well. 
 
 Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer 
 thee acutely ; 1 will return perfect courtier ; in the 
 which, my instruction shall seive to natuialize thee, 
 so thou wilt be capable of a cunrlier's counsel, and 
 understand what advice shall thrust upon thee; eUe 
 tliou diest in thine unthankfulness, and thine igno- 
 rance makes thee away : farewell. When thou hast 
 leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, le- 
 member thy friends :■ get thee a good husband, and 
 use him as he uses thee : so farewell. [L'ait. 
 
 HeL Our remedies oft in our^elveb do Ue, 
 Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky 
 Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull 
 Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull. 
 What power is it, which mounts my love so high^ 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 233 
 
 That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eyel 
 
 The mightiest space in fortune nature brings 
 
 Tojoin like likes, and kiss like native things. 
 
 Impossible be strange attempts, to those 
 
 That weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose, 
 
 What hath been cannot be: Who ever strove 
 
 To shew lier merit, that did miss her love"! 
 
 The king's disease — my project may deceive me. 
 
 But my mtents are (ix'd, and will not leave me. [ Eiit. 
 
 SCENE II. — Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 
 
 Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, 
 with letters ; Lords and others attending. 
 
 King. The Florentines and Senoys are by the ears ; 
 Have fought with equal fortune, and continue 
 A braving wai". 
 
 1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 
 
 King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive it 
 A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
 With caution, that the Florentine will m»ve us 
 For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend 
 Prejudicates the business ; and would seem 
 To have us make denial. 
 
 1 Lord. His love and wisdom, 
 
 Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead 
 For amplest credence. 
 
 King. He hath arm'd our answer, 
 
 And Florence is denied before he comes : 
 Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see 
 The Tuscan service, freely have they leave 
 To stand on either part. 
 
 S! Lord. It may well serve 
 
 A nursery to our gentry, who are sick 
 For breathing and exploit. 
 
 King. What's he comes here ? 
 
 Enter BETtTRAM, Lafeu, and Parolles. 
 
 1 Lard. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord. 
 Young Bertram. 
 
 King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ; 
 
 Frank nature, rather curious than in haste. 
 Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father s moral parts 
 May'st thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. 
 
 Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's. 
 
 King. I would I had that corporal soundness now, 
 As when thy father, and myself, in friendship 
 First try'd our soldiership I He did look far 
 Into the service of the time, and was 
 Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long ; 
 But on us both did haggish age steal on. 
 And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 
 To talk of your good father : In his youth 
 He had the wit, which I can well observe 
 To-day in our young lords ; but they may jest, 
 Till their own scorn return to them unnoted. 
 Ere they can hide their levity in honour. 
 So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 
 Were in his pride or sharpness ; if they were, 
 His equal had awak'd them ; and his honour, 
 Clock to itself, knew the true minute when 
 Exception bid him speak, and, at this time, 
 His tongue obey'd his hand : who were below him 
 He us'd as creatures of another place ; 
 And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks. 
 Making them proud of his humility. 
 In their poor praise he humbled: Such a man 
 Might be a copy to these younger times ; 
 Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now, 
 But goers backward. 
 
 Her. His good remembrance, sir 
 
 Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb ■ 
 
 So in approof lives not his epitap'n. 
 
 As in your royal speech. [ways say, 
 
 King. 'Would, I were with him 7 He would al- 
 (Methinks, I hear him now i his plausive words 
 He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them, 
 
 To grow there, and to bear,) — Let me not lite, 
 
 Thus his good melancholy oft began. 
 
 On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, 
 
 When it was out, — let me not lite, quoth he. 
 
 After my Jlame lacks oil, to be the snuff 
 
 Of younger spirits, whose appreheiisioe senses 
 
 All but new things disdain; whose judgments are 
 
 Mere fathers of their garments ; whose constancies 
 
 Expire before their fashions : This he wish'd : 
 
 I, after him, do after him wish too. 
 Since I nor wax, nor honey, can brino" home, 
 I quickly were dissolved from my hive. 
 To give some labourers room. 
 
 2 Lord. You. are lov'd, sir : 
 
 They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first. 
 
 A'nio;. Itillaplace,lknow't.— Howlongis't, count, 
 Since the physician at your father's died ? 
 He was much fam'd. 
 
 Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 
 
 King. If he were living, I would try him yet ; — 
 Lend me an arm ; — the rest ha\'e worn me out 
 With several applications : — nature and sickness 
 Debate it at their leisure. ^Veicome, count ; 
 j\ly son's no dearer. 
 
 Ber. Thank your majesty. [Ereu/it. Flourish, 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Rousillon. — A Room in the Countess's Palace, 
 Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown. 
 
 Count, I will now hear : what say you of this 
 gentlewoman ? 
 
 Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your 
 content, I wish might be found in the calendar of my 
 past endeavours : for then we v/ound our modesty, 
 and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when 
 of ourselves we publish them. 
 
 Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone, 
 sirrah : The complaints, I have heard of you, I do 
 not all believe; 'tis my slowness, that I do not: for, 
 I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and nave 
 ability enough to make such knaveries yours. 
 
 Clo. 'vl'is not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor 
 fellow. 
 
 Count. Well, sir. 
 
 Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, thatlampoor; 
 though many of the rich are damned: But, if I may 
 have your ladyshin's goodwill togoto theworld,Isbel 
 the woman and 1 will do as we may. 
 
 Count. \Vilt thou needs be a beggar? 
 
 Qlo. I do beg your good-will in this case. 
 
 Count. In what case? 
 
 Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is no 
 heritage : and, I think, I shall never have the bless- 
 ing of God, till I have issue of my body ; for, they 
 say, beams are blessings. 
 
 Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry, 
 
 Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it : I am 
 driven on by the flesh ; and he must needs go, that 
 the devil drives. 
 
 Count. Is this all your worship's reason? 
 
 Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such 
 as they are. 
 
 Count. May the world know thein ? 
 
 Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as 
 you and all flesh and blood are ; and, indeed, I do 
 marry, that I may repent. 
 
234 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Cou7it. Thy marnage, sooner than tliy wickedness. 
 
 Clo. I am out of friends, inadam ; and I hope to 
 have friends for my wife's sake. 
 
 Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave. 
 
 Clo. Vou are shallow, madam ; e'en great friends ; 
 for the knaves come to do that for me, which I am 
 a-weary of. He, that ears my land, spares my team, 
 and gives me leave to inn the crop : If i be his cuck- 
 old, he's my drudge : He, that comforts my wife, is 
 the cherisher of my flesh and blood ; he, that che- 
 rishes my flesh and blood, loves my flesh and blood ; 
 he, that loves my flesh and blood, is my friend ; ergo, 
 he that kisses my wife, is my friend. If men could 
 be contented to be what they are, there were no fear 
 in marriage: for young Charbon the puritan, and old 
 Poysam the papist, howsoe'er their hearts are severed 
 in religion, their heads are both one, they may joll 
 horns together, like any deer i' the herd. 
 
 Count. Wilt tliou ever be a foul-mouthed and ca- 
 lumnious knave? 
 
 Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the truth 
 the next way : 
 
 For J the baihid will repeat, 
 
 Which men full true shall find ; 
 
 Your niarriage coines btj dcstini/, 
 Your cuckoo sings by kind. 
 
 Count. Get you gone, sir; I'll talk with you more 
 anon. 
 
 Ste^o. May it please yo\i, madam, that he bid Helen 
 come to you ; of lier 1 am to speak. 
 
 Count. Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman, I would 
 speak with her ; Helen I mean. 
 
 Clo, Was this fciirface the cause, (ptoth she, [Singing. 
 
 Whu the Grecians saclud Troy, 
 Fond done, done fond. 
 
 Was this king Pnainsjoy. 
 With that she sighed as she stood, 
 With that she sighed as she stood. 
 
 And gave this sentence then ; 
 Among nine hud if one be good, 
 Anwng nine had if 0}ie he good, 
 
 There*s yet one good in leu. 
 
 Count. What, one good in ten? you corrupt the 
 song, sirrah. 
 
 Clo. One good woman in ten, madam? which is a 
 purifying o'thesong: 'Would God would serve the 
 world so all the year! we'd tind no fault with the 
 tythe-womau, if I were the parson : One in ten, quoth 
 a'! an we might have a good woman born but for every 
 blazing star, or at an eartlujuake, 'twould mend the 
 lottery well ; a man may draw his heart out, ere he 
 pluck one. 
 
 Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I com- 
 mand you 1 
 
 Clo. That man sliould be at woman's command, 
 and yet no iiurt done : — i'liough honesty be no puri- 
 tan, yet it will do no Imrt ; it will wear the surplice 
 of humility over tiie black gown of a big heart. — 1 
 am going, forsooth ; the business is for Helen to 
 come hither. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Count. Well, now. 
 
 StPit . I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman 
 entirely. 
 
 Couyit. Faith, I do ; her father bequeathed her to 
 me ; and she herself, without other advantage, may 
 lawfully make title to as much love as she finds : 
 there is more owing her. than is paid ; aud more sliall 
 be paid her, than she'U demand. 
 
 Steio. Madam, I was veiy late more near her than, 
 I think, she wished me : alone sha was, and did com- 
 
 municate to herself, her own words to her own ears J 
 she thought, I dare vow for her, they touched not any 
 stranger sense. Her matter was, she loved your son : 
 Fortune she said, was no goddess, that had put such 
 difference betwixt their two estates ; Love, no god, 
 that would not extend his might, only where qualities 
 were level ; Diana, no queen of virgins, that would 
 suffer her poor knight to be surprised without rescue, 
 in the first assault, or ransom afterward : 'l"his she 
 delivered in the most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er 
 I heard virgin exclaim in : which I held my duty, 
 speedily to acquaint you withal ; sithence, in the loss 
 that may happen, itconcernsyou something to know it. 
 Count. You have discharged this honestly ; keep 
 it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of this 
 before, which hung so tottering in the balance, that 
 I could neither believe, nor misdoubt : Pray you, 
 leave me : stall this in your bosom, and I thank you 
 for your honest care : I will speak with you further 
 anon. ^ [Exit Steward. 
 
 Enter Helena. 
 
 Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young: 
 If we are nature's, these are ours ; this thorn 
 Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong : 
 
 Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; 
 It is the show and seal of nature's truth. 
 Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youtii : 
 By our remembrances of days foregone, 
 Such were our faults ; — or then we thought them none. 
 Her eye is sick on 't ; I observe her n(nv. 
 
 Hel. What is your pleasure, madam f 
 
 Count, Vou know, Helen, 
 
 I am a mother to you. 
 
 Hel. Mine honourable mistress. 
 
 Count. Nay, a mother ; 
 
 Why not a motlier ? When I said, a mother, 
 Methought you saw a serpent : What 's in mother. 
 That you start at it? I say. 1 am your mother j 
 And put you in the catalogue of those 
 That were enwombed mine: 'Tis often seen, 
 Adoption strives with nature ; and choice breeds 
 A native slip to us from foreign seeds : 
 Vou ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan. 
 Yet I express to you a mother's care : — 
 God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood. 
 To say, I am thy mother ] What's the matter. 
 That this distemper'd messenger of wet, 
 I'he many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye ? 
 Why? that you are my daughter ? 
 
 Hel. That 1 am not. 
 
 Count. I say, I am your mother. 
 
 Hel. Pardon, madam ; 
 
 The count Rousillon cannot be my brother : 
 I am from humble, he from lionour'd name j 
 No note upon my parents, his all noble : 
 My master, my dear lord he is ; and I 
 His servant live, and will his vassal die : 
 He must not be my brother. 
 
 Count, Nor I your mothei ? 
 
 Hel. You are my mother, madam; 'Would you were 
 (So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,) 
 Indeed, my motlier ! — or were you both our mothers, 
 I care no more for, than I do for heaven, 
 So I were not his sister : Can 't no other, 
 But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? [law; 
 
 Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in- 
 God shield, you mean it not! daughter, and mothei» 
 So strive upon your pulse . What, pale again ? 
 My fear hath calch'd your fondness : Now I see 
 The mystery of your loneliness, and find 
 Yovir salt tears' head. Now to all sense 'lis grosso 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 235 
 
 You love my son ; invention is ashara d, 
 Acaiu^l tlie proclamation of thy passion, 
 tS sav. tUou dost not : therelore tell me trne ; 
 But tell me then, 'tis so :-for, look, thy che.ks 
 Confess it, one to the other ; and thme eye. 
 See it so grossly shewn in thy behaviours. 
 That in their kind they speak it : only sin 
 And hellish obstinacy tie thy toDg"^' , 
 
 That truth should be suspected : Speak is t so . 
 If it be so vou have wound a goodly clue , 
 I It be not.Vrswear't : howe'er, I charge thee, 
 As heaven shall work in me for thine avail. 
 
 To tell me truly. j „„ i 
 
 ^g(_ Good madam, pardon me ! 
 
 Cwml. Do you love my soni 
 JI"i Your pardon, noble mistress ! 
 
 CoH.it. Love you my son 1 ,^,j,ni i 
 
 fj^l Po not you love him, madam ! 
 
 C<,u'„t. Go not about ; my love hath in't a bond, 
 Whereof the world takes note ; come, come, disclose 
 The state of your affection ; for your passions 
 Have to the full appeacli'd. 
 
 U^l Then, I confess 
 
 Here on my knee, before high heaven and you. 
 That before you, and next unto high heaven, 
 I love vour son : — , , 
 
 My friends were poor, but honest ; so s my love : 
 Be not offended ; for it hurts not him, 
 That he is lov'd of me : I follow him not 
 By any token of presumptuous suit ; 
 Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him ; 
 Yet never know how that desert should be. 
 I know I love 7n vain, strive against hope ; 
 Yet in this captious and intenible sieve, 
 I still pour in the waters of my love, 
 And lack not to lose still: thus, Imlian-like, 
 Relii-'inns in mine error, I adore 
 The sun, that looks upon his worshipper. 
 But know of him no more. My dearest madam, 
 Let not your hate encounter with my love, 
 For loving where you do t but, il yourseli, 
 Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth. 
 Did ever, in so true a ffame of likmg. 
 Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian 
 Was both herself and love ; O then, give pity 
 To her whose state is such, that cannot choose 
 But lend and give, where she is sure to lose ; 
 That seeks not to find that her search implies, 
 But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies. 
 
 Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly, 
 To go to l^aris ! 
 
 Hel. iMadam, I had. , ,, . 
 
 r', ', Wherefore 1 tell true. 
 
 HeL I will tell truth ; by grace itsell, i swear. 
 You know, my father left me some pvescriptious 
 Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading. 
 And manifest experience, had collected 
 For eeneral sovereignty ; and that he will d me 
 In hcedfullest reservation to bestow them. 
 As notes, whose faculties inclusive were. 
 Blore than they were in note : amongst the re.=t, 
 There is a remedy, approv'd, set do«-n. 
 To cure the desperate languishes, whereo. 
 The king is render'd lost. 
 
 Coant. This was your motive 
 
 For Paris, was it? speak. . ., v „f ,y,u 
 
 Hel My lord your son made me to think ot this 
 Else Pans, and the medicine, and the king. 
 Had. from the conversation of my thoughts. 
 Haply, been absent then. 
 
 Count. But think you, Helen, 
 
 If you should tender your supposed aid, 
 
 He would receive it ? He and his physicians 
 Are of a mind ; he. that they cannot help him. 
 They, that tlie^ cannot help : How shall hey credit 
 A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
 Emboweird of their doctrine, have lett ott 
 
 The danger to Itself 1 ,. 
 
 yi^l ^ There s something hints. 
 
 More 'than mv father's skill, which was the greatest 
 Of his profession, that his good receipt 
 Shall for my legacy be sanctified L^otJ 
 
 By the luckiest stars in heaven : and would your ho- 
 But .^ive me leave to try success, I d venture 
 The well-lost life of mine on his grace s cure, 
 By such a day, and hour. 
 -Count. Dost thou behev 1 1 
 
 He/. Ay, madam, knowingly. \_\o\e. 
 
 Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have iny leave, and 
 Means and attendants, and my loving greetings 
 To tho:,e of mine in court ; I'll stay at home, 
 And pray God's blessing into thy attempt : 
 Be "One to-morrow ; and be sure ot this, 
 Whit 1 can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. 
 
 ^ \_bxeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. Paris. A Room in the King's Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, with wung Lords, taking 
 leave fnrtftf Florentine Kur ; BEuinAM, P.\roi.les, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Kin^. Farewell, young lords, these warlike prin- 
 ciples [^™",^- 
 Do not throw from you :— and you, my lord, lare- 
 Share tlie a.lvice betwixt you ; if both gain all. 
 The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, 
 And is enough for both. 
 
 1 Lord. It is our hope, sir. 
 
 After well enter'd soldiers, to return 
 And find your grace in health. 
 
 Kin^. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart 
 Will not confess he owes the malady 
 That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords ; 
 Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
 Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy 
 (Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall 
 Of the last monarchy, ) see, that you come 
 Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when 
 The bravest questant shrinks, find what you seek, ^ 
 That fame may cry you loud : I say, farewell. [ jesty . 
 2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your ma- 
 Kiui:. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them ; 
 They say, our French lack language to deny. 
 If tliey demand ; beware of being captives, 
 Before you serve. ' 
 
 j}i„l,. Our hearts receive your warnings. 
 
 A'iii"- Farewell. — Come hither to me. 
 
 [The KoG retires to a couch. 
 
 1 Lord. my sweet lord, that you will stay behind 
 Par. 'Tis not his fault ; the spark [us! 
 
 2 Lord. ^. 't'^ '"'*^'^ ''"^^ ' 
 Par. Most admirable ; I have seen those wars. 
 Ber. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with. 
 
 Too voun". and the neit near, and 'tis too early. 
 Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away 
 
 bravely. , 
 
 Ber. I shall stay here the forehorse to a smoct, 
 Creakin" my shoes on the plain masonry. 
 Till hon°our be bought up, and no sword worn, 
 I But one to dance with ! By heaven. 1 II steal away. 
 I 1 Lord. There's honour in the thelt. 
 
23G 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Par, Commit it, count. 
 
 2 Lotd. I am your accessary ; and so farewell, 
 Bcr, I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured 
 body. 
 
 1 Lord. Farewell, captain. 
 
 2 T-onl. Sweet monsieur ParoUes! 
 
 Par. Noble lieroes, my sword and yours are kin. 
 Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals : — 
 You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one 
 captu-iii Spuiio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, 
 here on his sinister cheek ; it was this very sword 
 intrench'd it : say to him, I live ; and observe his 
 reports for me. 
 
 2 Lord. We shall, noble captain. 
 
 Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ! IKiennt 
 Lords.] \\ hat will you do 1 
 
 Ber. Stay ; the king \^Seeiiig him rise. 
 
 Par, Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble 
 lords; you have restrained yourself within the list of 
 too cold an adieu ; be more expressive to them : for 
 they wear themselves in the cap of the time, there, 
 do muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under the 
 influence of the most received star ; and though the 
 devil lead the measure, such are to be followed ; 
 after them, and take a more dilated farewell. 
 
 Ber, And I will do so. 
 
 Par. Worthy fellows ; and like to prove most 
 sinewy sword -men. [^Exeunt BEnTRAMu/idPAROLLES. 
 
 Enter Lafeu, 
 
 Laf. Pardon, my lord, [kneeling,'] for me and for 
 
 King. I'll fee thee to stand up. [my tidings. 
 
 Laf, Then here's a man 
 
 Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you 
 Had knueTd, my lord, to ask me raercy ; and 
 That, at my bidding, you could so stand up. 
 
 h'iii^. I woald 1 had ; so I had broke tbv pate, 
 Ami askd thee mercy for"t. 
 
 Laf. Good faith, across ; 
 
 But, my good lord, 'tis thus ; Will you be cured 
 Of your infirmity 1 
 
 King. No. 
 
 Laf, O, will you eat 
 
 No grapes, my royal fox 7 ves, but you will. 
 My noble grapes, an if my royal fox 
 Could reach them : I have seen a medicine, 
 Thai's able to breathe life into a stone ; 
 Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary. 
 With sprilely fire and motion ; whose simple touch 
 Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay. 
 To give Great Charlemain a pen in his hand 
 And write to her a lo^e-line. 
 
 King. What lier is this! 
 
 Laf. Why, doctor she ; I\Iylord,there'soncarriv'd, 
 If you win see her, — now, by my faith and honour, 
 If seriously I may convey my tlioughts 
 In this my light delivt-rance, 1 have spoke 
 With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession, 
 Wisdom, and constancy, liath amaz'd me more 
 Than 1 dare blame mv weakness : Will you see her 
 (For that is her demand) and know her business ] 
 That done, laugh well at me. 
 
 King, Now, good Lafeu, 
 
 Bring in the admiration ; that we with thee 
 May spend our wonder too. or take off thine. 
 By wondering how thou took'st it. 
 
 Laf. Nay, I '11 fit you, 
 
 And not be all day neither. [Exit Lafeu. 
 
 King, Thus he his special nothing ever prologues, 
 
 Pe-enter Lafeu, with Helena. 
 Laf. Nay, come your ways. 
 King. This haste hath wings indeed. 
 
 Laf. Nay, corae your ways ; 
 This is his majesty, say your mind to him : 
 A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors 
 His majesty seldom fears : 1 am Cressid's uncle, 
 That daie leave two together : fare you well [Exit. 
 
 Kijtg. Now, fair one, does vour business follow us? 
 
 Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was 
 My father ; in what he did profess, well found. 
 
 King. I knew him. [hira ; 
 
 Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards 
 Knowing him, is enough. On his' bed of death 
 Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one, 
 Which, as the dearest issue of his practice. 
 And of his old experience the only darling. 
 He bade me store up, as a triple eye, 
 Safer than mine own two, more dear ; I have so • 
 And, hearing your high majesty is touch'd 
 \\ ith that malignant cause wherein the honour 
 Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
 I come to tender it, and my appliance, 
 With all bound humbleness. 
 
 King. We thank you, maiden j 
 
 But may not be so credulous of cure, — 
 When our most learned doctors leave us ; and 
 The congregated college have concluded 
 That labouring art can never ransom nature 
 From her inaidable estate, — I say we must not 
 So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, 
 To prostitute our past-cure malady 
 To empirics ; or to dissever so 
 Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
 A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. 
 
 Hel. My duty then shall pay me Coi' niy pains • 
 I will no more enforce mine office on you ; 
 Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 
 A modei^t one, to bear me back again. 
 
 King, I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful : 
 Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks I give. 
 As one near death to those that wish him live : 
 But, what at full I know, thou know'st no part ; 
 I knowing all my peril, thou no art. 
 
 Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to try. 
 Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy : 
 He that of greatest works is finisher. 
 Oft does them by the weakest minister : 
 So holy writ in babes hath judgment shewn, 
 Whenjudges have been babes. G reat floods have flowo 
 From simple sources ; and great seas have dried, 
 When miracles have by tlie greatest been denied. 
 Oft expectation fails, and most oft there 
 Where most it promises ; and oft it hits, 
 Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits. 
 
 King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, kind 
 Thy pains, not us'd, must by thyself be paid : [maid: 
 Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. 
 
 Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : 
 It is not so with him that all things knows, 
 As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows : 
 But most it is presumption in us, when 
 The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
 Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent : 
 Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
 I am not an impostor, that proclaim 
 Myself against the level of mine aim ; 
 But know I think, and think I know most sure, 
 ]\Iy art is not past power, nor you past cure. 
 
 King. Art thou so confident? Within what space 
 Hop'st thou my cure ? 
 
 Bel. The greatest grace lending grace» 
 
 Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
 Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring ; 
 Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 237 
 
 Mo'st Hesperus hath quench 'd his sleepy lamp ; 
 Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
 Hatli told the thievish minutes how they pass ; 
 AVhat is infinn from your sound parts shall fly, 
 Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. 
 
 A'i»ig. Upon thy certainty and confidence. 
 What dar"st thou venture 1 
 
 Hel. Tax of impudence, — 
 
 A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame, — 
 Traduc'd by odious ballads ; my maiden's name 
 Sear'd otherwise ; nay, worst of worst extended. 
 With vilest torture let ray life be ended. 
 
 King. Jletliinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth 
 His powerful sound, within an organ weak : [speak ; 
 And what impossibility would slay 
 In common sense, sense saves another way. 
 Thy life is dear ; for all, that life can rate 
 Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate ; 
 Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all 
 That happiness and prime can happy call; 
 Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate 
 Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. 
 Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try ; 
 That ministers thine own death, if 1 die. 
 
 Bel. If I break time, or flinch in property 
 Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die ; 
 And well deserv'd; Xot helping, death's my fee ; 
 But, if I help, what do you promise me ! 
 
 King. ]\Iake thy demand. 
 
 Hel. But will you make it even 1 
 
 King. Ay, by my sceptre, and my hopes of heaven, i 
 
 Hel. Then shalt'tiiou give me, with thy kingly hand, 
 What husband ia thy power I will command : 
 Exempted be from me the arrogance 
 To clioose from forth the royal blood of France ; 
 My low and humble name to propagate 
 Witli any branch or image of thy state : 
 But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know 
 Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. 
 
 King. Here is my hand ; the premises observ'd. 
 Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd; 
 So make the choice of thy own time, for I, 
 Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely. 
 More should I question thee, and more I must ; 
 Though, more to know, could not be more to trust ; 
 From whence thou cam'st, how tended on, — But rest 
 Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. — 
 Give me some help here, ho ! — If thou proceed 
 As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. 
 
 \_Ftouyish. Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 RousilloQ. — A Room in the Countess's Palace. 
 Enter Countess aJid Clov^'n. 
 
 Count. Come on, sir ; I shall now put you to the 
 height of your breeding. 
 
 C/ii. 1 will shew myself highly fed, and lowly 
 taught : I know my business is but to the court. 
 
 Count. To the court '. why, what place make you 
 special, when you put off that with such contempt] 
 But to the court! 
 
 Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any 
 manners, he may easily put it off at court: he that 
 cannot make a leg, put off's cap, kiss Ids hand, and 
 say nothing, has nei:her leg, hands, lip, nor cap; 
 .ind, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not 
 for the court : but, for me, I have an answer will serve 
 all men. 
 
 Cimnt. Marr)-, that's a bountiful answer, that fits 
 all questions. 
 
 CUi. It is like a barber's chair ; that fits all but- 
 
 tocks ; the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, the 
 brawn-buttock, or any buttock. 
 
 Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions? 
 
 Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an at- 
 torney, as your French crown for your taffata punk, 
 as Tib's rush for Tom's forefinger, as a pancake for 
 Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to 
 his hole, the cuckold to iiis horn, as a scolding quean 
 to a wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's 
 mouth ; nay, as the pudding to his skin. 
 
 Count. Have you, 1 say, an answer of such fitness 
 for all questions ? 
 
 Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your con- 
 stable, it will fit any question. 
 
 Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous 
 size, that must fit all demands. 
 
 Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the 
 learned should speak truth of it : here it is, and all 
 that belongs to 't ; Ask me, if I am a courtier : it shall 
 do you no harm to learn. 
 
 Count, To be young again, if we could: I will be 
 a fool in question, hoping to be the wiser by your 
 answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier ! 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, There's a simple putting 
 
 off; — more, more, a hundred of them. 
 
 Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves 
 you. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Thick, thick, spare not me. 
 
 Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely 
 meat. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — Nay, putme to't.I warrant you. 
 
 Count, You were lately whipped, sir, as 1 think. 
 
 Clo. O Lord, sir, — spare not me. 
 
 Count. Do you cry, O Lord, sir, at your whipping, 
 and spare not me? Indeed, your Lord, sir, is very 
 set^uent to your whipping ; you would answer very 
 well to a whipping, if you were but bound to't. 
 
 Clo. I ne'er had worse luck in my life, in my — 
 Lord, sir: I see, things may serve long, but not 
 serve ever. 
 
 Count. I play the noble housewife with the time, 
 to entertain it so merrily wiih a fool. 
 
 Clo. Lord, sir, — Why, there 't serves well again. 
 
 Count. An end, sir to your business: Give Helen 
 And urge her to a present answer back : [this. 
 
 Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son ; 
 This is not much. 
 
 Clo, Not much commendation to them. 
 
 Count. Not much employment for you : You under- 
 stand me 1 
 
 Clo. Most fruitfully ; I am there before my legs. 
 
 Count. Haste you again. \^Eieunt seierally. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Paris.— .-1 Room in the King's Palace. 
 
 Enter HEinUAyi, Lafeu, and Pauolles. 
 
 Laf. They say, miracles are past ; and we have our 
 philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar 
 things, supernatuj'al and causeless. Hence is it, 
 that we make trifles of terrors ; ensconcing ourselves 
 into seeming knowledge, when we should submit 
 ourselves to an unknown fear. 
 
 Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder, that 
 hath shot out in our latter times. 
 
 Ber. .Ind so 'tis. 
 
 Laf. To be relmquish'd of the artists, 
 
 Par, So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus. 
 
 Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, — 
 
 Pur. Right, so I say. 
 
 Laf. That gave him out incurable. — 
 
 Par, Why, there 'tis ; so say I too. 
 
238 
 
 ALLS WELL THAT IINDS VFELL. 
 
 Litf. Not to l)c helped, — 
 
 Par, Kight : as 'twere a man assured of an — 
 
 Laf. lliioerlain life, and sure death. 
 
 Par. Just, you say well ; so would I iiave said. 
 
 LaJ\ I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. 
 
 Par. It is, indeed: if you will have it in shewing, 
 you shall read it in, What do you call there? — 
 
 Luf. A shewing of a heavenly effect in an earthly 
 actor. 
 
 Par. That 's it I would have said, the very same. 
 
 Laf. Why, your dolphin is not lustier : fore inc I 
 speak in respect • 
 
 Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is the 
 brief and the tedious of it; and he is of a most faci- 
 norous spirit, that will not acknowledge it to be the — 
 
 Laf. V'ery hand of heaven. 
 
 Par. Ay, so I say. 
 
 haf. In a most weak — — 
 
 Par. And debile minister, great power, great tran- 
 scendence: which should, indeed, give us a further 
 use to be made, than alone the recovery of the king, 
 OS to be 
 
 Ltif. Generally thankful. 
 
 Eiiicr KrNG, Helejja, and Attendants. 
 
 Par. I would have said it ; you say well. Here 
 conies the king. 
 
 Laf. Lustick, as the Dutchman says : I 'U like a 
 maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head : 
 Why, he's able to lead her a coranto. 
 
 Par. Men du Vinaigrel Is not this Helen"? 
 
 Laf. 'Fore God, I think so. 
 
 King. Go, call before me all the lords in court. — 
 [ Elk an Attendant. 
 Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
 And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense 
 Thou hast repealed, a second time receive 
 'i'he confirmation of my promis'd gift, 
 Which but attends thy naming. 
 
 Enter several Lords. 
 Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful parcel 
 Of noble baclielors stand at my bestowing. 
 O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice 
 1 have to use ; thy frank election make ; 
 Tliou liast power to clioose, and they none to forsake. 
 
 HeL To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress 
 Fall, when love please ! — marry, to each, but one ! 
 
 Laf. I'd give bay Curtal, and his furniture. 
 My mouth no more were broken than tliese boys', 
 And writ as little beard. 
 
 King. Peruse them well ; 
 
 Not one of those, but had a noble father. 
 
 Hel. Gentlemen, 
 Heaven hath, through me, restor'd the king to health. 
 
 All. We understand it. and thank heaven for you. 
 
 Hel. 1 am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest. 
 
 That, I protest, I simply am a maid : 
 
 Please it your majesty, I have done already : 
 The blushes in my cheeks, thus whisper me. 
 We blush, that thviishnnUVst choose; but, berefus'd. 
 Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever ; 
 We'll ne'er come there again. 
 
 King. Make choice ; and, see, 
 
 Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me. 
 
 Hel. Now ijian, from thy altar do I fly ; 
 And to imperial Love, that god most high, 
 Do my sighs stream. — Sir, will you hear my suit 1 
 
 1 Lord. And grant it. 
 
 HeL Thanks, sir ; all the rest is mute. 
 
 Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw 
 aines-ace for my life. 
 
 Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, 
 
 Before I speak, too threateningly replies : 
 Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
 Her that so wishes, and her humble love ' 
 
 2 Lord. No better, if you please. 
 
 Hel. My wish receivej 
 
 Which great love grant ! and so I take my leave. 
 
 Lnf. Do all they deny her ? An they were sons of 
 mine, I'd have them whipped ; or I would send them 
 to the Turk, to make eunuchs of [take ; 
 
 Hel. Be not afraid [to a Lord] that I your hand should 
 I'll nevtr do you wrong for your own sake : 
 Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed 
 Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! 
 
 Laf. These boys are boys of ice, they'll none have 
 her : sure, they are bastards to the English ; the 
 French ne'er got them. 
 
 Het. You are too young, too happy, and too good, 
 To make yourself a son out of my blood. 
 
 4 Lord, Fair one, I think not so. 
 
 Laf. There's one grape yet,— I am sure thy father 
 drank wine.— But if thou be'st not an ass, I am a 
 youth of fourteen ; I have known thee already. 
 
 Hel. I dare not say I take you ; [to Bertram, j but 1 
 Me and my service, ever whilst I live, [»ive 
 
 Into your guiding power. — This is the man. [wife. 
 
 King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's thy 
 
 Per. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your higb- 
 In such a business give me leave to use [ness. 
 
 The help of mine own eyes. 
 
 King. Know'st thou not, Bertram, 
 
 What she has done for me ? 
 
 Per. Yes, my good lord ; 
 
 But never hope to know why I should marry her. 
 
 King. Thou know'st she has rais'd me from my 
 sickly bed. 
 
 Per. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down 
 Must answer for your raising? I know her well • 
 She had her breeding at my father's charge : 
 A poor physician's daughter my wife I — Disdain 
 Rather corrupt me ever ! 
 
 King. 'Tis only title thou disdain'st in her. the which 
 I can build up. Strange is it, that our bloods. 
 Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together, 
 Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
 In diiferences so mighty : .If she be 
 All that is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st, 
 A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st 
 Of virtue for the name : but do not so : 
 From lowest place when virtuous things proceed. 
 The place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
 Where great additions swell, and virtue none, 
 It is a dropsied honour: good alone 
 Is good without a name ; vileness is so : 
 The property by what it is should go, 
 Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; 
 In these to nature she's immediate heir; 
 And these breed honour : that is honour's scorn, 
 Which challenges itself as honour's born. 
 And is not like the sire : Honours best thrive, 
 ^Vllen rather from our acts we them derive 
 Than our fore-goers : the mere word's a slave, 
 Debauch'd on eveiy tomb ; on every grave, 
 A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb. 
 Where dust, and dainn'd oblivion, is the tomb 
 Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said ? 
 if thou canst like this creature as a maid, 
 I can create the rest : virtue, and she. 
 Is her own dower ; honour, and wealth, from me. 
 
 Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't. 
 
 A'iwg.Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou should'st strive 
 to choose. 
 
 Hel. That you arewel! restor'd, my lord, I amglad; 
 
 1 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 239 
 
 Let the rest go. 
 
 King. My honour 's al the stake ; which to defeat, 
 I must produce my power : Here, take lier hand, 
 Proud scornful boy, univorthy this good gift, 
 That dost in vile misprision shackle up 
 BIy love, and her desert ; that canst not dream. 
 We, poising us in her defective scale. 
 Shall weigh thee to the heain ; that wilt not know, 
 tt is in us to plant thine honour, where 
 We please to have it grow: Check thy contempt; 
 Obey our will, which travels in thy good: 
 Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
 Do thine own fortunes that obedient right. 
 Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims ; 
 Or 1 will throw thee from my care for ever. 
 Into the staggers, and the careless lapse 
 Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and hate, 
 Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, 
 Without all terms of pity : Speak! thine answer ! 
 
 Bei: Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit 
 My fancy to your eyes : When I consider, 
 What great creation, and what dole of honour, 
 Flies where you bid it, 1 find, that she, which late 
 Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now 
 The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled. 
 Is, as Hwere, born so. 
 
 King. Talce her by the hand, 
 
 And tell her, she is thine : to whom I promise 
 A counterpoise ; if not to thy estate, 
 A balance more replete. 
 
 Ber. I take her hand. 
 
 King, Good fortune, and the favour of the king. 
 Smile upon this contract ; whose ceremony 
 Shall seem expedient on the new-born brief, 
 And be perform'd to-night : the solemn feast 
 Shall more attend upon the coming space. 
 Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her. 
 Thy love 's to me religious ; else, does err. 
 
 [Eieunt Kino, Her. Hei.. Lords, &■ Attendants. 
 Luf. Do you hear, monsieur 1 a woid with you. 
 Par. Your pleasure, sir"! 
 
 Lcif. Your lord and master did well to make Iris 
 recantation. 
 
 I'ai: Recantation 1 — ^Mylordl my master? 
 Laf. Ay ; Is it not a language, I speak 1 
 I'm: A most harsh one ; and not to be understood 
 without bloody succeeding. My master 1 
 
 Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon ? 
 Far. To any count ; to all counts ; to what is man. 
 Laf. To what is count's man ; count's master is 
 of another style. 
 
 Par. You are too old, sir ; let it satisfy you, you 
 are too old. 
 
 /.«/'. 1 must tell thee, sirrah, I write man ; to 
 wliicli title age cannot bring thee. 
 
 Pur. What t dare too well do, I dare not do. 
 7.<i/'. 1 did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a 
 pretty wise fellow ; thou didst make tolerable vent 
 of thy travel ; it might pass : yet the scarfs, and the 
 bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me 
 from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden. 
 1 have now found thee -, when 1 lose thee again, I 
 care not ; yet art thou good for nothing but taking 
 up ; and that thou art scarce worth. 
 
 Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity 
 
 upon thee, 
 
 Laf. Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest 
 thou hasten thy trial ; — which if — Lord have mercy 
 on thee for a hen ! So, my good window of lattice, 
 fare thee well ; thy casement 1 need not open, lor I 
 look through thee. Give me thy hand. 
 
 Par, Mylord,yougivememostegregiousindignity. 
 
 I T.af. Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art worthy 
 
 of it. 
 
 Par, I have not, my lord, deserved it. 
 
 Laf. Yes. good faith, every dram of it : and I will 
 
 not bate thee a scruple. 
 j Pur. Well, I shall be wiser. 
 I Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to 
 [ pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st 
 
 bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shall find what 
 
 it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to 
 ' hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my know- 
 \ ledge ; that I may say in the default, he is a man I 
 ' know. 
 
 Par. My lord, you do me most insupportable 
 
 vexation. 
 
 Laf. I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my 
 
 poor doiug eternal : for doing I am past ; as I will by 
 
 thee, in what motion age will give me leave. [Eiif. 
 I Par. Well, thou liast a son shall take this disgrace 
 
 off me ; scurvy, old. filthy, scurvy lord! — Well, I 
 I must be patient ; there is no fettering of authority. 
 1 I'll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any 
 I convenience, an he were double and double a ford. 
 
 I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would have 
 
 of — I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him again. 
 
 lie-enter L,\rEU. j 
 
 Laf, Sirrah, your lord and master 's married, there's 
 I news for you ; you have a new mistress. 
 
 Far, I most unfeignedly beseech your lordsliip to 
 make some reservation of your wrongs : He is my 
 good loid : whom I serve above, is my master. 
 Laf. Who 1 God 1 
 Par. Ay, sir. 
 
 Laf. The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost 
 ; thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion 1 dost maktj 
 hose of thy sleeves 1 do other servants so 1 'J'hou 
 wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. 
 I3v mine honour, if I were but two hours younger, 
 I 'd beat thee : methinks, tliou art a general offence, 
 and every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast 
 created for men to broatlie themselves upon thee. 
 
 Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, niy lord. 
 I Laf. Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy for 
 ' picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a 
 vagabond, and no true traveller ; you are more saucy 
 ' with lords, and honourable peT'Souages, than the he- 
 raldry of your birth and viitue gives you commission. 
 You are not worth another word, else I 'd call you 
 knave. I leave you. [£jil. 
 
 Enter EEUTnA.M, 
 
 Par, Good, very go6d ; it is so then. — Good, veiy 
 good ; let it be concealed a wliile. 
 
 Bei-. Undone, and forfeited to cares forever! 
 
 Par, What is the matter, sweet heart ? 
 
 -Bee. Altho ugh before the solenm priest I have sworn, 
 I will not bed her. 
 
 Par. What? what, sweet heart 1 
 
 Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me : — 
 I '11 to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. 
 
 Par. Prance is a dog-hole, and it no more merits 
 The tread of a man's foot: to the wars ! 
 
 her. Tliere's letters from my mother; what the 
 I know not yet. [import is, 
 
 Par. Ay, that would be known : To the wars, my 
 boy, to the wars! 
 He wears his honour in a box unseen. 
 That hugs his kicksy-wicksy here at home ; 
 Spending his manly marrow in her arms, 
 Which should sustain the bound and high curvet 
 Of Mars's fiery steed : To other regions ! 
 
240 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 France is a stable ; we, that dwell m 'tj jades ; 
 Therefore to the war ! 
 
 Ber. It shall be so ; I'll send her to my house. 
 Acquaint my mother with my iiate to her, 
 And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king 
 'I'itat whicli 1 durst not speak : His present gift 
 Shall furnish me to those Italian fields, 
 Where noble fellows strike ; War is no strife 
 To the dark house, and the detested wife. 
 
 Par. Will this capncio hold in thee, art sure? 
 
 Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me. 
 I'll send her straight away: To-morrow 
 I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 
 
 Par. Why, these balls bound ; there 's noise in it. 
 'Tis hard ; 
 A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd : 
 Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go : 
 Tlie king has done you wrong : but, hush ! tis so. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — The same. Another Room iri the name. 
 Enter Helena and Clown. 
 
 liel. My mother greets me kindly : Is she well ? 
 
 Ctn. She is not well ; but yet she has her health : 
 she's very merry ; but yet she is not well ; but thanks 
 be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i'the 
 world ; but yet she is not well. 
 
 Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that 
 she's not very well 1 
 
 Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed, but for two 
 things. 
 
 Hel. What two things t 
 
 Clo. One, that she's not in heaven ; whither God 
 send her quickly ! the other, that she 's in earth, from 
 whence God send her quickly ! 
 
 Enter P.arolles. 
 
 Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady ! 
 
 Hel. 1 hope, sir, I have your good will to have 
 mine own good fortunes. 
 
 Par. You had my prayers to lead them on : and 
 to keep them on, have them still. — O, my knave ! 
 How does my old lady ? 
 
 Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her 
 money, I would she did as you say. 
 
 Par. Why, I say nothing. 
 
 Clo. Many, you are the wiser man ; for many a 
 man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing : To 
 say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to 
 have nothing, is to be a great part of your title ; which 
 is within a very little of nothing. 
 
 Par. Away, thou'rt a knave. 
 
 Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave 
 thou art a knave ; that is, before me thou art a knave : 
 this had been truth, sir. 
 
 Par. Goto, thou art a witty fool, I have found thee. 
 
 Clo. Did you find me in yourseU, sir ? or were you 
 taught to find rael The search, sir, was profitable ; 
 and much fool may you find in you, even to the 
 world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter. 
 
 Par. A good knave, i' faith, and well fed. — 
 Madam, my lord will go away to-night : 
 A very serious business calls on him. 
 The great prerogative and rite of love, [ledge ; 
 
 Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknow- 
 But puts it off by a compell'd restraint ; 
 Whose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with sweets. 
 Which they distil now in the curbed time. 
 To make the coming hour o'er-flow with joy, 
 And pleasure drown the brim. 
 
 Hel, W hat 's his will else t 
 
 Par. That you will take your instant leave o' tlie 
 king. 
 And make this haste as your own good proceeding, 
 Strengthen'd with what apology you think 
 May make it probable need. 
 
 Hel. What more commands hel 
 
 Par. Tliat, having this obtain'd, you presently 
 Attend his further pleasure. 
 
 Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will. 
 
 l^ar. I shall report it so. 
 
 Hel. I pray you. — Come, sirrah. [Ereiiuf. 
 
 SCENE V. — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Lafeu and BEmuAM. 
 
 Laf. But, I hope, your lordship thinks not him a 
 soldier. 
 
 Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. 
 
 Laf. Y'ou have it from his own deliverance. 
 
 Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 
 
 Laf. Then my dial goes not true ; I took this lark 
 for a bunting, 
 
 Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in 
 knowledge, and accordingly valiant. 
 
 Laf, I have then sinned against his experience, and 
 transgressed against his valour ; and my state that 
 way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my heart 
 to repent. Here he comes ; I pray you, make us 
 friends, I will pursue the amity. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 Par. These things shall be done, sir. [To bi:R. 
 
 Laf. Pray you, sir, who 's his tailor 1 
 
 Par. Sir! 
 
 Lof. O, I know him well : Ay, sir ; he, sir, is a 
 good workman, a very good tailor. 
 
 Ber. Is she gone to the king 1 [.4si<;e(oPAnoLLr..s. 
 
 Par. Slie is. 
 
 Ber. Will she away to-night? 
 
 Par. As you'll have her. 
 
 Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure. 
 Given order for our horses ; and to-night. 
 When I should take possession of the bride, — 
 And, ere I do begin, 
 
 Laf. A good traveller is something at the latter 
 end of a dinner ; but one that lies three-thirds, and 
 uses a known truth to pass a thousand nothings with, 
 should be once heard, and thrice beaten. — God save 
 you, captain. 
 
 Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord and 
 you, monsieur? 
 
 Par. I know not how I have deserved to run into 
 my lord's displeasure. 
 
 Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and 
 spurs and all, like him that leaped into tlie custard; 
 and out of it you '11 run again, rather than suffer ques- 
 tion for your residence. 
 
 Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord. 
 
 Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took him to 
 his prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and believe 
 this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut ; 
 the soul of this man is his clothes : trust him not in 
 matter of heavy consequence ; I have kept of them 
 tame, and know their natures. — Farewell, monsieur: 
 I have spoken better of you, than you have or \vill 
 deserve at my hand ; but we must do good against 
 evil. [Exit. 
 
 Par. An idle lord, I swear. 
 
 Ber. I think so. 
 
 Par. Why, do you not know him ? 
 
 Ber. Yes, I do know him well ; and common speech 
 Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog- 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 241 
 
 Enter HELExa. 
 
 Ifel. 1 have, sir, as I was commanded from you, 
 Spoke with tlie king, and have piocur'd his leave 
 For present parting ; only, he desires 
 Some private speech with you. 
 
 Ber, I shall obey his will. 
 
 You must not marvel, Helen, at my course. 
 Which holds not colour with the time, nor does 
 The ministration and required oifice 
 On my particular : prepar'd I was not 
 For such a business ; therefore am I found 
 So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you, 
 That presently you take your way for home ; 
 And rather muse, than ask, why I entreat you : 
 For ray respects are better than they seem ; 
 And my appointments have in them a need, 
 Greater than shews itself, at the first view. 
 To you that know them not. This to my mother : 
 
 [^Giuing a lelte'^* 
 Twill be two days ere I shall see you ; so / 
 
 I leave you to your wisdom. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, 
 
 But that I am your most obedient servant. 
 
 Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 
 
 Hel. And ever shall 
 
 With true observance seek to eke gut that. 
 Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd 
 To equal my great fortune. 
 
 Ber. Let that go : 
 
 Jly haste is very great : Farewell ; hie home. 
 
 Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 
 
 Ber. Well, what would you say? 
 
 Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe ; 
 Nor dare I say, 'tis mine ; and yet it is ; 
 But, like a timorous thief, most lain would steal 
 What law does vouch mine own. 
 
 Ber. What would you have ? 
 
 Het. Something ; and scarce so much : — nothing, 
 indeed. — [yes ; — 
 
 I would not tell you what I would : my lord — 'faith. 
 Strangers, and foes, do sunder, and not kiss. 
 
 Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. 
 
 Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. 
 
 Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur ! — Fare- 
 well. [Exit Helena. 
 Go thou toward home ; where I will never come. 
 Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum : — 
 Away, and for our flight. 
 
 Par. Bravely, coragio ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Florence. A Room In the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter the Duke of FLOUE^■CE, attended; 
 two French Lords, and others. 
 
 Duke. So that, from point to point, now have you 
 The fundamental reasons of this war ; [heard 
 
 Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, 
 And more thirsts after. 
 
 1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 
 
 Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful 
 On the opposer. [France 
 
 Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin 
 Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom 
 Against our borrowing prayers. 
 
 S! Lord. Good my lord. 
 
 The reasons of our state I cannot yield. 
 But like a common and an outward man. 
 That the great figure of a council frames 
 
 By self-unable motion : therefore aare not 
 Say what I think of it ; since I have found 
 Jlyself in my uncertain grounds to fail 
 As often as I guess'd. 
 
 Duke. Be it his pleasure. 
 
 2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature 
 That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day, 
 Come here for physic. 
 
 Duke. Welcome shall they be ; 
 
 And all the honours that can fly from us. 
 Shall on them settle. You know your places well ; 
 When better fall, for your avails they fell : 
 To-morrow to the field. IFtourish. Exeunt 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 Rousillon. — .'1 Boom in the Countess's Palace. 
 Enter Countess and Clown. 
 
 Count. It hath happened all as I would have had 
 it, save, that he comes not along with her. 
 
 Cto. By my troth. I take my young lord to be a 
 very melancholy man. 
 
 Count. By what observance, I pray you ? 
 
 Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing ; 
 mend t'ne ruft', and sing ; ask questions, and sing ; 
 pick his teeth, and sing : I know a man that had this 
 trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a song, 
 
 Cou7it. Let me see what he writes, and when he 
 means to come. \^Opening a tetter. 
 
 Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at court ; 
 our old ling and our Isbels o' the country are nothing 
 like your old ling and your Isbels o' the court : the 
 brains of my Cupid's knocked out ; and I begin to 
 love, as an old man loves money, with no stomach. 
 
 Count. What have we here ? 
 
 C/fr*E'en that you have there. [Exit. 
 
 Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-in-law: 
 she hath recovered the king, and undone me, 1 have 
 wedded her, not bedded her ; andswoi-n tomake the not 
 eternal. You shall hear, I am run away ; know it, 
 before the report come. If there be breadth enough in 
 the world, I will hold a long distance. Mij dutu to yo«. 
 
 Your unfortunate son, Bertram. 
 
 This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, 
 'I'o fly the favours of so good a king ; 
 To pluck his indignation on thy head, 
 By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous 
 For the contempt of empire. 
 
 Re-enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, be- 
 tween two soldiers and my young lady. 
 
 Count. What is the matter? 
 
 Clo, Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some 
 comfort ; your son will not be killed so soon as I 
 thought he would. 
 
 Count. Why should he be kill'd ? 
 
 Clo. .'o say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear 
 he does : the danger is in standing to't ; that's the 
 loss of men, though it he the getting of children. 
 Here they come, will tell you more : for my part, I 
 only hear, your son was run away. [Exit Clown. 
 
 Enter Helena and two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gen. Save you, good raadam. 
 
 Hel. Madam , my lord is gone, for ever gone. 
 
 2 Gen. Do not say so. [men. — 
 Cim7i(. Think upon patience. — 'Pray you, gentle- 
 
 I have felt so many quirks of joy, and grief. 
 That the first face of neither, on the start. 
 Can woman me unto't ; — W^here is my son, I pray you? 
 2 Cent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of 
 Florence : 
 
 Q 
 
242 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAI ENDS WELL. 
 
 We met him thitherward; from thence we came, 
 And, after some despatch in hand at coin t, 
 Thitlier we bend again. [po^t, 
 
 Ilel. J-,ook on his letter, madam; here's mypass- 
 \ Reuth.]\\'hen tlnm canst get the ring U]>onmyJinger, 
 which never shall come off, and shew me a child be- 
 gotten of thy bodit, that I aw father to, then call me 
 Iinshand : but in such a then i write a never, 
 Tiiis is a dreadful sentence. 
 
 Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ? 
 
 1 Gen. Ay, madam ; 
 And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains. 
 
 Ciunt. I pr'ythee, lady, have a better cheer ; 
 If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, 
 Thou robb'st me of a moiety : He was my son ; 
 But I do wash his uaine out of my blood, 
 And thou art all ray child. — Towards Florence is he t 
 
 Si Gen. Ay, madam. 
 
 Connt, And to be a soldier? 
 
 2 Gen^ Such is his noble purpose : and, believ't, 
 Thedukewill lay upon him all the honour 
 
 That good convenience claims. 
 
 Count. Return you thither? 
 
 1 Gen. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. 
 
 Hel. [Reads,~\ Till 1 have no wife, 1 have 7Wthing in 
 'Tis bitter. [^France* 
 
 Count, Find you that there 1 
 
 Hel. Ay, madam. 
 
 1 Gen. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply, 
 His heart was not consenting to. [which 
 
 Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife I 
 There's nothing here, that is too good for him, 
 But only she ; and she deserves a Jord, 
 That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, 
 And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him? 
 
 1 Gen. A servant only, and a gentleman 
 Which I have some time known. 
 
 Count. ParoUes, was't not ! 
 
 1 Gen. Ay, my good lady, he. 
 
 Count. A veiy tainted fellow, and full of wicked- 
 Myson corrupts a well-derived nature [ness. 
 
 With his inducement. 
 
 1 Gen. Indeed, good lady, 
 The fellow has a deal of that, too much, 
 Which holds him mucb to have. 
 
 Count. You are welcome, gentlemen, 
 I will entreat you, when you see my son, 
 To tell him that his sword can never win 
 The honour that he loses : more I'll entreat you 
 Written to bear along. 
 
 2 Gen. We serve you, madam. 
 In that and all your worthiest affairs. 
 
 Count. Not so, but as we change our courtesies. 
 Win you draw near ? [Ei. CountJ'Ss &; Gentlemen. 
 
 Hel. Till I have no ivij'e, I hcive nothing in France. 
 Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! 
 Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France, 
 Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I 
 That chase thee from tliy country, and expose 
 Those tender limbs of tiiine to the event 
 Of the none sparing war 1 and is it I 
 That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou 
 \Vast siiot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
 Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, 
 That ride upon the violent speed of fire, 
 Fly with false aim ; move the still-piercing air. 
 That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord ! 
 Whoever shoots at him, I set him tliere ; 
 Whoever charges on his forward breast, 
 I am the caitiff', that do hold him to it ; 
 And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 
 His death was so ulfected : better 'twere 
 
 I met the ravia lion when he roar'd 
 
 With sliarp constraint of hunger ; better 'twere 
 
 That all the miseries, which nature owes. 
 
 Were mine at once : No, come thou home, Rousillon, 
 
 Whence honour but of danger wins a scar. 
 
 As oft it loses all ; I will be gone : 
 
 My being here it is, that holds thee hence : 
 
 Shall I stay here to do't ? no, no, although 
 
 The air of paradise did fan the house, 
 
 And angels offic'd all : 1 will be gone; 
 
 That pitiful rumour may report my flight. 
 
 To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day ! 
 
 For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— Florence. Before (/^e Duke's Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, 
 Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; and we. 
 Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence. 
 Upon thy promising fortune. 
 
 Ber. Sir, it is 
 
 A charge too heavy for my strength : but yet 
 We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake, 
 To the extreme edge of hazard. 
 
 Duke. Then go thou forth ; 
 
 And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm. 
 As thy auspicious mistress ! 
 
 Ber. This very day, 
 
 Great Mars, I put myself into thy file : 
 Make me but like my thoughts ; and I shall prove 
 A lover of thy drum, hater of love, lExeiuit. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Rousillon. — A Room in the Countess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Countess and Steward. 
 
 Coiint. Alas ! and would you take the letter of her? 
 IMight you not know, she would do as slie has done. 
 By sending me a letter ? Read it again. 
 Stew. 1 am St. Jaques* pilgrim, thithe-^ gone : 
 
 Ambitious love hath so in me offended, 
 That barefoot piod I the cold ground vpon, 
 
 With sainted vow mu faults to have amended. 
 Write, jcrite, that, from the btoodi/ course of nut 
 
 ]\/i/ dearest master, your dear son may hie ; 
 Bless him at home ?n peace, ivhilst 1 from far^ 
 
 His name with zea Ions fervour sanctify : 
 His taken lahnurs bid him me forgive ; 
 
 I, his despiteful Juno, sent himforth 
 From courtly friends, with camping foes to live. 
 
 Where death awd danger dog the heels ff zvorth : 
 He is too good and fair for death and me; 
 Whom I myself' etnhrace, to set him free. 
 
 CfijtH.Ah, what sharp slings are in her mildest words ! 
 Rinuldo.you did never lack advice so much, 
 As letting her pass so ; had 1 spoke with her, 
 I could have well diverted her intents, 
 Which thus she hath prevented. 
 
 Stew. Pardon me, raadam : 
 
 If I had given you this at over-night. 
 She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she writes. 
 Pursuit would be but vain. 
 
 Connt, What angel shall 
 
 Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot thrive, 
 Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear. 
 And loves to grant, reprieve him from tht wrath 
 Of greatest justice. — Write, write, Rinaldo, 
 To this unworthy husband of his wife : 
 Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, 
 That he does weigh too light : my greatest grief. 
 Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE VI. 
 
 243 
 
 Despatch the mosl convenient messenger : — 
 When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone, 
 He will return ; and hope I may, that she, 
 Hearing so much, will speed her foot again. 
 Led hither by pure love : which of them both 
 Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense 
 To make distinction : — Provide this messenger : — 
 My heart is heavy, and mine age is weaJc ; 
 Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. 
 
 SCENE v.— H'ii/»i«( the Walls of Florence. 
 A tucket afar off". Enter an old Widow of Florence, 
 
 Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and other Citizens. 
 
 Wirl. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the 
 city, we shall lose all the sight, 
 
 hia. They say, the French count has done most 
 honourable service. 
 
 Wid. It is reported that he has taken their great- 
 est commander ; and that with his own hand he slew 
 the duke's brother. We have lost our labour : they 
 are gone a contrary way : hark ! you may know by 
 their trumpets. 
 
 Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our- 
 selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed 
 of this French earl: the honour of a maid is her name; 
 and no legacy is so rich as honesty. 
 
 U^id, 1 have told my neighbour, how you have 
 been solicited by a gentleman his companion. 
 
 Mar. I know that knave ; hang him 1 one Pa- 
 roUes : a filthy officer he is in those suggestions for 
 the young earl. — Beware of them, Diana ; their pro- 
 mises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these en- 
 gines of lust, are not the things they go under : many 
 a maid hath been seduced by them , and the misery 
 is, example, that so terrible shews in the wreck of 
 maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, 
 but that tliey are limed with the twigs that threaten 
 them. I hope I need not to advise you further ; but, 
 I hope, your own grace will keep you where you are, 
 though there were no further danger known, but the 
 modesty which is so lost. 
 
 Dla. You shall not need to fear me. 
 
 Enter Helena in the dress of a pil^im, 
 
 Wid, T hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim : 
 
 I know she will lie at my house : thither they send 
 
 one another ; I'll question her. — 
 
 God save j'ou, pilgrim ! VViiither are you bound 1 
 
 Hel- To Saint Jaques le grand. 
 Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you ? 
 
 Ii'i(i. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. 
 
 Hel. Is this the w-ay 1 
 
 11 id. Ay, many, is it. — Hark you ! 
 
 [-4 march afar oj}'. 
 They come this way : — If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, 
 But till the troops come by, 
 I will conduct you wiiere you shall be lodg'd ; 
 The rather, for, I tltink, 1 know your hostess 
 As ample as myself. 
 
 Hel. Is it yourself ? 
 
 Wid, If you shall please so, pilgrim. 
 
 Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. 
 
 Wid, You came, I think, from France ? 
 
 Hel. I did so. 
 
 Wid, Here yon shall see a countryman of yours. 
 That has done worthy service. 
 
 Hel. His name, I pray you. 
 
 Dia. ThecountRousillon ; Know you such a one? 
 
 Hel, But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him : 
 His face I know not. 
 
 Dia, Whatsoe'er he is, 
 
 He's bravely taken here. He stole from France, 
 As 'tis reported, for the king had married him 
 Against his liking : Think you it is so ? 
 
 Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth ; I know his lady. 
 
 Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count. 
 Reports but coarsely of her. 
 
 Hel. What's his name 1 
 
 Uia. Monsieur Parolles. 
 
 Hel. O, I believe with him. 
 
 In argument of praise, or to the worth 
 Of the great count himself, she is too mean 
 To have her name repeated ; all her deserving 
 Is a reserved honesty, and that 
 I have not heard e.\amin'd. 
 
 P'a. Alas, poor lady! 
 
 'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife 
 Of a detesting lord. 
 
 Wid, A riglit good creature : wheresoe'er she is, 
 Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do her 
 A shrewd rum, if she pleas'd. 
 
 Hel, How do you mean ' 
 
 May be, the amorous count solicits her 
 In the unlawful purpose. 
 
 Wid, He does, indeed ; 
 
 And bro!<es with all that can in such a suit 
 Corrupt the tender honour of a maid : 
 But she is arai'd for him, aud keeps her guard 
 In honestest defence. 
 
 Enter J with drum and colours, a partti of the Floren* 
 tine army, Bertram, and Parolles. 
 
 Mar. The gods forbid else ! 
 
 Wid. So, now they come : — 
 
 That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; 
 That, Escalus. 
 
 Hel. Which is the Frenchman 1 
 
 Dm. He ; 
 
 That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow ; 
 I would, he lov'd his wife ; if he were honester. 
 He were much goodlier ;— Is't not a handsome gentle- 
 
 Hel, I like him well. [man? 
 
 Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honest : Yond's that same 
 knave. 
 That leads him to these places ; were I his lady, 
 I 'd poison that vile rascal. 
 
 Hel. Which is he ? 
 
 Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs: Why is he 
 melancholy? 
 
 Hel, Perchance be 's hurt i' the battle. 
 
 Par. Lose our drum ! well. 
 
 Jlliir. He 's shrewdly vexed at something : Look, 
 he has spied us. 
 
 Wid. Marry, hang you ! 
 
 Mar, And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! 
 
 [Exeunt Ber. Par. Officers, aud.Soldiers, 
 
 Wid. The troop is past : Come, pilgrim, I will bi ing 
 Where you shall host : of enjoin'd penitents [you 
 There 's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound. 
 Already at my house. 
 
 Hel. I humbly thank you : 
 
 Please it this matron, and this gentle maid. 
 To eat with us to-night, the charge and thanking. 
 Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
 I will bestow some precepts on this virgin. 
 Worthy the note. 
 
 Both. We '11 take your offer kindly. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE yi.—Camp before Florence. 
 
 Enter Bertram, and tlie two French Lords, 
 
 1 Lord, Nay, good my lord, put him to 't ; let him 
 have his way. 
 
 Q2 
 
244 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilJmg, 
 hold me uo more in your respect. 
 
 1 Lord. On my lite, my lord, a bubble. 
 
 Bcr. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him ? 
 
 1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct 
 ■knowledge, without any malice, but to speali. of him 
 as my kinsman, he 's a most notable coward, an in- 
 finite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, 
 Ihe owner of no one good quality worthy your lord- 
 ship's entertainment. 
 
 2 Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest, reposing 
 too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might, 
 at some great and trusty business, in a main danger, 
 fail you. 
 
 Ber. I would, I knew in what particular action to 
 try him. 
 
 U Lord, None better than to let him fetch off his 
 drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake 
 to do. 
 
 1 Lord. I, w^ith a troop of Florentines, will sud- 
 denly surprize him ; such I will have, whom I am 
 sure, he knows not from the enemy : we will bind 
 and hoodwink him so, that he shall suppose no other 
 but that he is carried into the leaguer of the adversa- 
 ries, when we bring him to our tents : Be but your 
 lordship present at his examination : if he do not, 
 for the promise of his life, and in the highest com- 
 pulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and deliver 
 all the intelligence in his power against you, and 
 that with the di\ine forfeit of his soul upon oath, 
 never trust my judgment in any thing. 
 
 2 Lord. 0, for Ihe love of laughter, let him fetch 
 his drum ; he says, he has a stratagem for 't : when 
 your lordship sees the bottom of his success in 't, 
 and to what metal tlris counterleit lump of ore will 
 be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter- 
 tainment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here 
 he comes. 
 
 Enter Parolles. 
 
 1 Lord. 0, for the love of laughter, hinder not the 
 humour of his design : let him fetch off his drum in 
 any hand. 
 
 Ber. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks sorely 
 in your disposition. 
 
 2 Lord. A po.t on't, let it go ; 'tis but a drum. 
 Par. But a drum ! Is 't but a drum ! A drum so 
 
 lost ! — There was an excellent command ! to charge 
 in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend 
 our own soldiers. 
 
 2 Lord. That was not to be blamed in the com- 
 mand of the service ; it was a disaster of war that 
 CtEsar himself could not have prevented, if he had 
 been there to command. 
 
 Ber, Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc- 
 cess : some dishonour we had in the loss of that 
 drum ; but it is not to be recovered. 
 
 Par. It might have been recovered. 
 
 Ber. It might, but it is not now. 
 
 Par. It is to be recovered: but that the merit of 
 seiTice is seldom attributed to the true and exact per- 
 former, I would have that drum or another, or hicjacet. 
 
 Ber. W hy, if you have a stomach to 't. monsieur, 
 if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring this 
 instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be 
 magnanimous in the enlerprize, and go on ; I will 
 grace the attempt for a worthy exploit : if you speed 
 well in it, the duke shall both speak of it, and extend 
 to you what further becomes his greatness, even to 
 the utmost syllable of your worthiness. 
 
 Par, By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. 
 
 Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 
 
 Par, I'll about it this evening : and 1 will presently 
 
 pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself in ray cer- 
 tainty, put myself into my mortal preparation, and, 
 by midnight, look to hear further from me. 
 
 Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you are 
 gone about it? 
 
 Pur. I know not what the success will be, my 
 lord ; but the attempt I vow. 
 
 Ber. I know thou art valiant ; and to the possibility 
 of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee. Farewell. 
 
 Par. I love not many words. [Eiit. 
 
 1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — Is not 
 this a strange fellow, my lord ^ that so confidently 
 seems to undertake this business, which he knows is 
 not to be done ; damns himself to do, and dares better 
 be damned than to do 't. 
 
 2 Lord, You do not know him, my lord, as we do : 
 certain it is, that he will steal himself into a man's 
 favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of disco- 
 veries ; but when you find him out, you have him 
 ever after. 
 
 Ber. Why, do you think, he will mate no deed at al I 
 of this, that so seriously he does address himself unto ! 
 
 1 Lord. None in the world ; but return with an in- 
 vention, and clap upon you two or three probable lies : 
 but we have almost embossed him, you shall see his 
 fall to-night : for, indeed, he is not for your lord- 
 ship's respect. 
 
 i Lord. We '11 make you some sport with the fox, 
 ere we case him. He was first smoked by the old 
 lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, tell 
 me what a sprat you shall find him ; which you shall 
 see this very night. 
 
 1 Lord. I must go look my twigs ; he shall be caught. 
 
 Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me. 
 
 1 Lord, As 't please your lordship : I'll leave you, 
 
 [E,it. 
 
 i?er. Now will I lead you to the house, and shew you 
 The lass I spoke of. 
 
 '2 Lord. But, you say, she 's honest. 
 
 Ber. That's all the fault: 1 spoke with hei but once 
 And found her wondrous cold ; but I sent to her. 
 By this same coxcomb that we have i' the wind, 
 Tokens and letters which she did re-send ; 
 And tliis is all 1 have done : She's a fair creature ; 
 Will you go see her? 
 
 2 Lord, With all my heart, my lord. lExeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Florence. — A Room in the W'idow's Hou$e. 
 
 Enter Helena and Widow. 
 
 Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
 I know not how I shall assure you further, 
 But 1 shall lose the grounds 1 work upon. 
 
 IVid. Though my estate be fallen, I was well born. 
 Nothing acquainted with these businesses ; 
 And would not put my reputation now 
 In any staining act. 
 
 Hel. Nor would T wish you. 
 
 First, give rne trust, the count he is my husband ; 
 And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken, 
 Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot, 
 By the good aid that 1 of you shall borrow, 
 Err in bestowing it. 
 
 Wid. I should believe you ; 
 
 For you have shew'd me that, which well approves 
 Vou are great in fortune. 
 
 Hel. Take this purse of gold, 
 
 And let me buy your friendly help thus far, 
 Which I vwll over-pay, and pay again, [daughter, 
 W^hen I have found it. 'Jhe count he wooes your 
 Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 24.5 
 
 Resolves to earn- her ; let her. in fine, consent. 
 As we '11 direct her how 'tis best to bear it. 
 Now his important blood will nought deny 
 That she '11 demand : A ring the county wears, 
 That downward hath succeeded in his house, 
 From son to son, some four or five descents 
 Since the first father wore it: this ring: he holds 
 In most rich choice ; yet, in his idle tire. 
 To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, 
 Howe'er repented after. 
 
 Wid. Now I see 
 
 The bottom of your purpose. 
 
 Hel. You see it lawful then : It is no more. 
 But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, 
 Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ; 
 In fine, delivers me to fill the time. 
 Herself most chastely absent ; after this, 
 To marrv her, I'll add three thousand crowns 
 To what is past already. 
 
 Wid. I have yielded : 
 
 Instruct my daughter how she shall persever. 
 That time and place, with this deceit so lawful, 
 May prove coherent. Every night he comes 
 With musics of all sorts, and songs compos'd 
 To her unworthiness : It nothing steads us. 
 To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists, 
 As if his life lay on 't. 
 
 Hel. Why then, to-night 
 
 Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed. 
 Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed. 
 And lawful meaning in a lawful act ; 
 Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact : 
 But let 's about it [Eieunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Without the Florentine Cimp. 
 Hiiter Jirst Lord, with Jive or six Soldiers in ambiish. 
 
 1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this 
 hedo-e' corner : When you sally upon him, speak what 
 terrible language you will ; though you understand it 
 not vourselves, no matter ; for we must not seem to 
 understand hira ; unless some one among us, whom 
 we must produce for an inteipreter. 
 
 1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter. 
 
 1 Lard. Art not acquainted with him ^ knows he 
 not thy voice 1 
 
 1 Sold. No, sir, I warrant you. 
 
 1 Lord. But what linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak 
 to us again 1 
 
 1 Sold, Even such as you speak to me. 
 
 ! Lord. He must think us some band of strangers 
 i' the adversary's entertainment. Now he hath a 
 smack of all neighbouring languages ; therefore we 
 must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to 
 know what we speak to one another ; so we seem to 
 know, is to know straight our purpose : chough's lan- 
 guage, gabble enough, and good enough. As for 
 you, interpreter, you must seem very politic. But 
 couch, ho '. here lie comes ; to beguile two hours in 
 a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies he forges. 
 
 Enter Parollis. 
 
 Piir. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'twill 
 be time enough to go home. What shall I say I have 
 done \ It must be a very plausible invention that 
 carries it : They begin to smoke me : and disgraces 
 have of late knocked too often at my door. I find, my 
 tongue is too fool-hardy ; but my heart hath the feax 
 
 of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the 
 reports of my tongue. 
 
 1 Lord, 'ibis is the first truth that e'er thine own 
 tongue was guilty of.. [//side. 
 
 Par. What the devil should move me to undertake 
 the recovery of this drum ; being not ignorant of the 
 impossibility, and knowing 1 had uo such purpose ? I 
 must give myself some hurts, and say, I got them in 
 exploit: Yet slight ones will not carry it : Thev will 
 s:iy. Came you ori" with so little 1 and great ones 1 dare 
 not give- Wherefore 1 what's the instance } 'iongue, 
 I must put you into a butter-woman's mouth, and buy 
 another of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these 
 perils. 
 
 1 Lord. Is it possible, he should know what he is, 
 and be that he is ? \^Aside, 
 
 Par, I w'ould the cutting of my garments would 
 serve the turn; or the breaking of my Spanish sw^ord, 
 
 1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. [.-Iside, 
 
 Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say, it 
 was in stratagem. 
 
 1 Lord, 'Twould not do. [.■Iside. 
 
 Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was 
 stripped. 
 
 1 Lord. Hardly serve. [Aside. 
 
 Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window of 
 the citadel 
 
 1 Lord. How deep ? [.Iside. 
 
 Par. Thirty fathom. 
 
 1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make that 
 be believed. [.-Isidc. 
 
 Par. I would, I had any drum of the enemy's ; I 
 would swear, 1 recovered it. 
 
 1 Lord. You shall liear one anon. [.iside. 
 
 Par. Adnimnow of the enemy's ! [Alarum within. 
 
 1 Lord. Throca mocousus. cargo, cargo, cargo. 
 
 All. CtirpOy cargo, viUianda par corbo, cargo. 
 
 Par. O ! ransom, ransom : — Do not hide mine 
 eyes. [They seize him and blindfold him, 
 
 1 Sold. Bosht}s thri'iiuiUlo boshos. 
 
 Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment. 
 .'\nd I shall lose my life for want of language : 
 If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, 
 Italian, nr French, let him speak to me, 
 1 will discover that which shall undo 
 The Florentine. 
 
 1 5ii/d. Boskos vauvado : 
 
 I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue : — 
 
 herelabonto : Sir, 
 
 Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards 
 -\re at thy bosom. 
 
 Par. Oh ! 
 
 1 Sold. O, pray, pray, pray. 
 
 Manka revania dulche. 
 
 \ Lord. O&corbi dulchos volivorca. 
 
 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet ; 
 And, hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on 
 I'o gather from thee : haply, thou may'st inform 
 , Something to save thy life. 
 j Par. O, let me live, 
 
 i And all the secrets of our camp I'll shew, 
 [ Their force, their purposes : nay, I'll speak that 
 ! Which you will wonder at. 
 
 1 Soki. But wilt thou faithfully '! 
 
 Par. If I do not, damn me. 
 
 1 Sold. Acordo linta. 
 
 Come on, thou art granted space. 
 
 [Exit, with P.KTtOLl.I.S guarded. 
 
 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my bro- 
 ther. 
 We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him 
 Till we do hear from them. [muffled, 
 
240 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL* 
 
 S Stiid. Captain, I vrWL 
 
 1 Lord, He will betray us all unto ourselves ; — 
 Inform 'em that. 
 
 2 Sold. So I will, sir. 
 
 1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely 
 lock'd. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 Florence. — A Room in the Widow's House. 
 
 Enter Bertram and Diana. 
 
 Ber, They told me that your name was Fontibell. 
 
 Did. No, my good lord, Diana. 
 
 Bet: Titled goddess ; 
 
 And worth it. with addition ! But. fair soul, 
 In your fine fi une hath love no quality? 
 If the quick fire of youth li?lit not your mind. 
 You are no maiden, but a monument : 
 "When you are dead, you should be such a one 
 As vou are now, for you are cold and stern ; 
 And now you should be as your mother was, 
 When your sweet self was got 
 
 Dia. She then was honest. 
 
 Ber, So should you be. 
 
 Dia. No : 
 
 J\Iy mother did but duty ; such, my lord, 
 As you owe to your wife. 
 
 Ber. No more of that ! 
 
 I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows : 
 I was compell'd to her ; but 1 love thee 
 By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever 
 Do thee all rights of service. 
 
 Dia. Ay, so you serve us. 
 
 Till we serve you : but when you have our roses. 
 You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves. 
 And mock us vrith our bareness. 
 
 Ber. How have T sworn 1 
 
 Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth ; 
 But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. 
 What is not holy, that we swear not by, 
 But take the Highest to witness : Then pray you, tell 
 If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, [me, 
 I lov'd you dearly, would you believe ray oaths, 
 "When I did love you ill ? this has no holding. 
 To swear by him whom I protest to love, 
 That I will work against him : Therefore, your oaths 
 Are words, and poor conditions ; but unseal'd ; 
 At least, in my opinion, 
 
 Ber. Change it, change it j 
 
 Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; 
 And ray integrity ne'er knew the crafts, 
 That you do charge men with : Stand no more off, 
 But give thyself unto ray sick desires. 
 Who then recover : say, thou art mine, and ever 
 My love, as it begins, shall so persever. 
 
 Dia. 1 see. that men make hopes, in such affairs, 
 That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. 
 
 Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power 
 To give it from me. 
 
 Di(u Will you not, my lord ? 
 
 Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house. 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
 la me to lose. 
 
 Dia. Mine honour's such a ring : 
 
 My chastit)''s the jewel of our house, 
 Bequeathed down from many ancestors ; 
 Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world 
 In me to lose : Thus your own proper wisdom 
 Briugs in the champion honour on my part, 
 Against your vain assault. 
 
 Ber. Here, take my ring : 
 
 My house, mine honour, yea, my ]i(e be thine. 
 And I'll be bid by thee. [window ; 
 
 Dui. \V)ien midnight comes, knock at my chamber 
 Til order take, my mother shall not hear. 
 Now will I charge you in the band of truth. 
 When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, 
 Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me : 
 My reasons are most strong ; and you sfial 1 know them ; 
 When back again this ring sliail be delivered: 
 And on your linger, in the night, I'll put 
 Another nng ; that, what in time proceeds, 
 May token to the future our past cieeds. 
 Adieu, till then; then, fail not: You have won 
 A wife of me, though there my hope be done. 
 
 Ber, A heaven on earth I have won, by wooing 
 thee. / [K^it. 
 
 Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven and 
 
 You may so in the end. [me ' 
 
 My mother told me just how he would woo. 
 As if she sat in his heart ; she says, all men 
 Have the like oaths : he had sworn to marry me. 
 When his wife's dead ; therefore I'll lie with him. 
 When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid. 
 Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid : 
 Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin 
 To cozen him, that would unjustly win. [£xi<. 
 
 SCENE UL—The Florentine Camp. 
 
 E/iter the two French Lords, a7td two or three 
 Soldiers. 
 
 1 Lord. You have not given him his mother's letter ? 
 
 2 Lord. I have deliver'd it an hour since ; there 
 is something in 't that stings his nature ; for, on the 
 reading it, he changed almost into another man. 
 
 1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon him, 
 for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a lady. 
 
 2 Lord. Especially he hath incurred the everlast- 
 ing displeasure of the king, who had even turned his 
 bounty to sing happiness to him. 1 will tell you a 
 thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. 
 
 1 Lord. When you have spoken it, *tis dead, and 
 I am the grave of it. 
 
 2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman 
 here in Florence, of a most chaste renown ; and this 
 night he fleshes his will in the spoil of ber honour ; 
 he hath given her his monumental ring, and thiaks 
 himself made in the unchaste composition. 
 
 1 Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion; as we are 
 ourselves, what things are we ! 
 
 2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the 
 common course of all treasons, we still see them re- 
 veal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred ends; 
 so he, that in this action contrives against his own 
 nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself. 
 
 1 Lnrd. Is it not meant damnable in us, to be 
 trumpeters of our unlawful intents'? We shall not 
 then have his company to-night 1 
 
 t Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he is dietea 
 to his hour. 
 
 1 Lord. That approaches apace : I would gladly 
 have him see his company anatomized ; that he might 
 take a measure of his own judgments, wherein so 
 curiously he had set this counterfeit. 
 
 2 Lord. We will not meddle with him till become ; 
 for his presence must be the whip of the other. 
 
 1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these 
 wars? 
 
 si Lord. I hear there is an overture of peace. 
 
 1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. 
 
 2 Lord. What will count ilousillon do then? wiU 
 he travel higher, or return again into France? 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 217 
 
 1 r.(ir(i. I perceive, by this demand, you are not 
 aUo«jether of his council. 
 
 S 7 .'i-rf. I.et It be forbid, sir ! so should I be a 
 great deal of his act. 
 
 1 l.orti. Sir. his wife, some two mouths since, fled 
 from his house : her prctciue is a pilgriiuai:e to Saint 
 .laques Ic grand ; which holy undertaking, with most 
 austere sanctimony, she accomplished : and, there 
 residiiisr, the tenderness of her nature became as a 
 prey to her grief ; in tine, made a groan of her last 
 breath, and now she sings in heaven. 
 
 * Lord. How is this justified ! 
 
 1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own letters ; 
 which makes her story true, even to the point of her 
 death : her death itself, which covild not be her othce 
 to say. is come, w-as faithfully conlirmed by the rector 
 of the place. 
 
 S Lind. Hath the count all this intellig'cnce \ 
 
 1 Lord. Ay, and the particular continuations, 
 point from point, to the full arming of the verity. 
 
 S Lord. 1 am heartily sorry, thathe Ubcglad of this. 
 
 I lA>rd. How mightily, sometimes, we make us 
 comforts of our losses ! 
 
 U Lord. .\ud how mightily, some other times, we 
 drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, that his 
 valour hath here acciiiired for him, shall at home be 
 encountered with a shame as ample. 
 
 1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, 
 good and ill together : our virtues would lie proiul, if 
 our faults whipped them not ; and «iur crimes would 
 despair, if tbey were not cherish'd by our virtues. — 
 
 Knter a Sen-ant. 
 How now 1 whore's your master ! 
 
 5rrr. He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom 
 he h.ith taken a solemn leave; his loi\lsliip will nest 
 morning for France. The duke hath otiered him let- 
 ters of commendations to the king. 
 
 i Lord. They shall be no more than needful there, 
 if they wore more than they can commend. 
 
 Enter I^KRTBAM. 
 
 1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's 
 tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my 
 lord, is't not after midnighi ! 
 
 Her. 1 have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses, 
 .1 mouth's length a-piece. by an abstract of success : 
 I have conge'd with the duke, done mv adieu with 
 his nearest ; buried a w-ife, mourned for her ; writ 
 to my lady mother, I am reluming ; entertained my 
 con\oy ; and, between these mainpareelsof despatch, 
 erteettHi ninny nicer deeds ; the last was the greatest, 
 but tliat 1 have not ended yet. 
 
 *• Lord. If the business bo of any dirtieulty, and 
 this morning your departure hence, it requires haste 
 of vour loril>hip. 
 
 /vr. 1 mean, the business is not ended, as fearing 
 to hear of it hereafter; Hut shall we have this dia- 
 logue between the fonl and the soldier ? Come, 
 
 bring forth this counleiteit module; he has deceived 
 me. like a double-meaning prophcsier. 
 
 i Lord. Hring him forth; [I'lfiiiit Soldiers.] he 
 has sat in the stocks all night, iioor gallant knave. 
 
 Her. No matter ; his heels luxve deserved it, in 
 usnrnlng his spurs so long. How does he can y himself I 
 
 1 Lord. I liave told your lordship already ; the 
 slocks carry him, Hut to answer you as you would 
 be understood ; he weeps like a wench that had shod 
 hor milk : he hath eonlessed himself to Morgan, 
 whom lie supposes to be a friar, from the time o! his 
 remeiubraiiee. to this very instant disaster of his set- 
 ting i'tlie stocks ; .\nd what tliink you he hath con- 
 fessed I 
 
 l^er. Kothing of me, has he ? 
 
 S Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall b? 
 read to his face ; if your lordship be in't. as 1 believe 
 you aie, you must h.ave tlie patience to hear it. 
 
 i?f-fnt*r Soldiers, trith Paroli.f.s. 
 
 Btn: .\ plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say 
 nothing of me*; hush ! hush ! 
 
 1 I-orrf. Hoodman comes ! Pi>rl<i Mrtnr.-.'Sii. 
 
 1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will you 
 say without 'em I 
 
 Par. I will confcsswhat I know without constraint ; 
 if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can say no more. 
 t Sold, iifwio chimnrcho. 
 
 2 Lord. lioldihindo chiciirmurco, 
 1 Sold You are a merciful ^neral : — Our general 
 
 bids you answer tovihat I sh.atl askyou outof a note. 
 
 Par. .\nd truly, as I hope to live. 
 
 J Sold. First demond of him how munu horse th« 
 duke is strong. What say you to that ! 
 
 Par. Five or six thousand : but verj- weak and 
 unserviceable ; the troops are all scattered, and the 
 commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation 
 and credit, and as 1 hope to live. 
 
 I Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? 
 
 Par. Uo ; I'll take the sacrament on't, how and 
 which wav you will. 
 
 Ber. .Vll's one to him. What a past-saving slave 
 is this ! 
 
 1 L*>rd* You are dcceiied. my lord ; this is monsieur 
 Parolles, the gallant militarist, t^tliat was his own 
 phrase,) that h;\d the whole theoric of war in the knot 
 of hisscarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger. 
 
 J Z.i>rrf. 1 will never trust a man again, for keep- 
 ing his sword clean ; nor believe he can have every 
 thing in him. by wearing his apparel neatly. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 
 Par. Five or si.\ thousand horse, 1 said, — I will say 
 true. — or thereabouts, set down. — for I'll speak trutli. 
 
 1 Lonl. He's ver)' near the truth in this. 
 
 Ber. But I con him no thanks fort, in the nature 
 he delivers it. 
 
 Par. Poor rogues, T pray you, say. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, that's set down. 
 
 Par. I humbly thank you, sir : a trutli's a truth, 
 the rogues are marvellous poor. 
 j 1 Sold. Demand of him. of what strength they are 
 '■ a-fi\'i. What say you to that ! 
 
 Par. Uy my troth, sir, if 1 were to live this present 
 ' hour. I will tell true, l-ct me see : Spurio a hundred 
 and fifty. Sebastian so many. Corambns so many. 
 1,'aques so many; Ciuiltian, Cosmo, l.odowiek, and 
 Gratii, two hundred fifty each ; mine own company, 
 \ Chitopher, Vaumond. Uentii. two hundred and til'ly 
 ' each : so that the muster-file, rotten and sound, upon 
 my life, .amounts not to fifleeji tiiousand poll ; half 
 of which dare not sh.ike the snow from oil' their cas- 
 socks, lest they shako themselves to pieces. 
 
 Brr. What shall bo done to him t 
 
 1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De- 
 mand of him my conditions, and what credit I have 
 with the duke. 
 
 1 *.>/<(. Well, that's set down. You ihall demand 
 of him, whether one Captain Dumain he i'the eamp. a 
 fVe»tf/iniiin ; u'hat his repntation is with the dnke. tohat 
 his valour, honesty, and expertness in uvrs: or whether 
 he thinks, it were not ptvsihle, with >fell-weighin;siims 
 of gold, to c.urufit him to a rerolt. What say you to 
 ' this ? what do von know of it ? 
 
 Par. I beseech you. let me answer to the particu- 
 lar of the intergatories : IVniand them singly. 
 I 1 Sold. Do j-ou know this captain Domain ( 
 
248 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Par. I know him : he was a botcher's 'prentice in 
 Paris, from whence he was wliippcd for getting tlie 
 sheriff's fool with child -, a liuinb innocent, that could 
 not say him, nay. [Dimain lijti up his liand in ajiger. 
 
 Ber. Nay. by your leave, hold your hands ; though 
 I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, is this captain ia tlie duke of Flo- 
 rence's camp 7 
 
 Par. Upon my knowledge, he is. and lousy. 
 
 .1 Lord. Nay. look not so upon me; we shall hear 
 of your lordship anon. 
 
 i .Sold. What is his reputation with the dukel 
 
 Par. The duke knows him for no other but a poor 
 officer of mine ; and writ to me this other day. to turn 
 him out o' the band ; I think, I have his letter in 
 my pocket. 
 
 1 Sold. Marry, we'll search. 
 
 Par. In good sadness, I do not know ; either it is 
 there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other let- 
 ters, in my tent. 
 
 1 Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper. Shall I read it 
 to you 1 
 
 Par. I do not know, if it be it, or no. 
 
 Ber, Our interpreter does it well. 
 
 1 Lord. Excellently. 
 
 1 Sold. Dian. The count's a fool, and full of gold, — 
 
 Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that is an 
 advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one Di- 
 ana, to take heed of the allurement of one count 
 Rousillon, a foolish idle boy, but, for all that, very 
 ruttish; I pray you, sir, put it up again. 
 
 1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour. 
 
 Par. I\Iy meaning in't, I protest, was very honest in 
 the behalf of the maid: for 1 knew the young count to 
 be a dangerous and lascivious boy ; who is a whale 
 to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. 
 
 Ber. Damnable, both sides rogue ! 
 
 1 Sold. When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and 
 
 After he scores, he never pa(is the score : [take it ; 
 Hulfu'on, is match well made; match, and well make it; 
 
 He ne'er paus after dehts, take it before ; 
 And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this. 
 Men are to mell icith, boys are not to kiss: 
 For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, 
 Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. 
 
 Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear, Parolles. 
 
 Ber. He shall be whipped through the army, with 
 this rliyme in his forehead. 
 
 12 Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the ma- 
 nifold linguist, and the armipotent soldier. 
 
 Ber. 1 could endure any tiling before but a cat, 
 and now he's a cat to me. 
 
 1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we 
 shall be fain to hang you. 
 
 Piir. My life, sir, in any case: not that I am afraid to 
 die; but that, my offences being many, I would repent 
 out the remainder of nature ; let me live, sir, in a 
 dungeon, i'the stocks, or anywhere, so I may live. 
 
 1 Sold. We'Useewhat may be done, so you confess 
 freely ; therefore, once more to this captain Dumain : 
 Vou have answered to his reputation with the duke, 
 and to his valour; What is his honesty? 
 
 Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister ; 
 for rapes and ravishments he parallels Nessus. He 
 professes not keeping of oaths ; in breaking thera, he 
 is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such 
 volubility, that you would think truth were a fool : 
 drunkenness is his best virtue ; for he will be swine- 
 drunk ; and In his sleep he does little harm, save to 
 his bed-clothes about him ; but they know his con- 
 ditions, and lay him in straw. I have but little more 
 
 to say, sir, of his honesty: he has every thing that 
 an honest man should not have ; what an honest matt 
 should have, he has nothing. 
 
 1 Lord. I begin to love him for this. 
 
 Ber. For tins description of thine honesty? A pox 
 upon him for me, he is more and more a cat. 
 
 1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war? 
 
 Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the 
 English tragedians, — to belie him, I will not, — and 
 more of his soldiership I know not ; except, in that 
 country, he had the honour to be the officer at a place 
 there call'd .Alile-end, to instruct for the doubling of 
 files : I would do the man what honour I can, but of 
 this I am not certain. 
 
 1 Lord. He hath out-villained villany so far, that 
 the rarity redeems him. 
 
 Ber. A pox on him ! he's a cat still. 
 
 1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I 
 need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt. 
 
 Pill'. Sir, for a (juart d'ecu he will sell the fee sim- 
 ple of his salvation, the inheritance of it ; and cut 
 the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual suc- 
 cession for it perpetually. 
 
 1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain Du- 
 main ? 
 , ti J^ord. Why does he ask him of me ? 
 
 1 Sold. What's he? 
 
 I'nr. E'en a crow of the same nest ; not altogether 
 so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great 
 deal in evil. lie excels his brother for a coward, 
 yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is : In 
 a retreat he out-runs any lackey ; marry, in coming 
 on he has the cramp. 
 
 1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake 
 to betray the Florentine? 
 
 Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count Rou- 
 sillon. 
 
 1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know his 
 pleasure. 
 
 Par. I'll no more drumming ; a plague of all 
 drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile 
 the supposition of that lascivious young boy the count, 
 have I run into this danger; Yet, who would have sus- 
 pected an ambush where I was taken ? [^Aside. 
 
 1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die : 
 the general says, you, that have so traitorously dis- 
 covered the secrets of your army, and made such pes- 
 tiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve 
 the world for no honest use; therefore you must die. 
 Come, headsman, off with his head. 
 
 Par. Lord, sir; let me live, or let me see my death! 
 
 1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave of all 
 your friends. [Unmnjling him. 
 So, look about you ; Know you any here ? 
 
 Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 
 
 2 Lord. God bless you, captain Parolles. 
 1 Loi-d. God save you, noble captain. 
 
 9 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my lord 
 Lafeu ? I am for France. 
 
 1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy of 
 the sonnet you writ to Diana in behalf of the count 
 Kousillon? an I were not a very coward, I'd compel 
 itofyou ; butfareyouwell. [EaeiiiitBEnr. Lords, ic. 
 
 1 Sold. Vou are undone, captain ; all but your 
 scarf, that has a knot on't yet. 
 
 Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot? 
 
 1 Sii/ri. If you could find out a country where but 
 women were that had received so much shame, you 
 might begin an impudent nation. Fare you well, sir; 
 I am for France too ; we shall speak of you there. ['Exiu 
 
 Par. Yet am I thankful ; if my heart were great, 
 'Twould burst at this : Captain, I'll be no more; 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE V. 
 
 249 
 
 But I will eat and dnnk, and sleep as soft 
 As captain shall, simply the thing I am 
 Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart 
 Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass. 
 That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
 Rust, sword ! cool, blushes I and, Parolles, live "i 
 Safest in shame ! being fool'd by foolery thrive ! > 
 There's place, and means, for every man alive. 1 
 I'll after them. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV 
 
 Florence. — A room in the Widow's House. 
 Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana. 
 
 Hel. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd 
 One of the greatest'in the Cliristian world [you. 
 
 Shall be my surety ; 'fore whose throne, 'tis needful. 
 Ere [ can perfect my intents, to kneel : 
 Time was, I did him a desired office, 
 Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude 
 Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, 
 And answer, thanks : I duly am inform'd 
 His grace is at Marseille^f to which place 
 We have convenient convoy. You must know, 
 I am supposed dead : the army breaking, 
 My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding, 
 And by the leave of my good lord the king. 
 We'll be, before our welcome. 
 
 Wid. Gentle madam, 
 
 You never had a servant, to whose trust 
 Your business was more welcome. 
 
 Hel. Nor your mistress. 
 
 Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour 
 To recompense your love ; doubt not but heaven 
 Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, 
 As it hath fated her to be my motive 
 And helper to a husband. But, O strange men ! 
 That can such sweet use make of what they hate. 
 When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 
 Defiles the "pitchy night! so lust doth play 
 With what it loths, for that which is away : 
 
 But more of this hereafter: You, Diana, 
 
 Under my poor instructions yet must suflfer 
 Something in my behalf. 
 
 Bia. Let death and honesty 
 
 Go with youi impositions, I am yours 
 Upon your will to suifer. 
 
 HeL. Yet, T pray you, 
 
 But with the word, the time will bring on summer, 
 When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns, 
 And be as sweet as sharp. \Ve must away ; 
 Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us : 
 AH's icell that ends well : still the fine's the crown ; 
 Uhate'er the course, the end is the renown. l_Eiennt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Kousillon. — A room in the Countess's Palace. 
 Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. 
 
 Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt- 
 tafi"ata fellow there ; whose villanous safi"ron would 
 have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a 
 nation in his colour : your daughter-in-law had been 
 alive at this hour ; and your son here at home more 
 advanced by tl>e king, than by that red-tailed humble- 
 hee 1 speak of. 
 
 Count. I would, I had not known him ! it was the 
 death of the most virtuous gentlewoman, that ever 
 nature had praise for creating ; if she had partaken of 
 my flesh, and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, 
 1 could not have owed her a more rooted love. 
 
 Laf. 'Tviras a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we 
 
 may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such an- 
 other herb. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of 
 the salad, or, rather the herb of grace. 
 
 Laf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they are 
 nose herbs. 
 
 Clo. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not 
 much skill in grass. 
 
 Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself ; a knave 
 or a fool 1 
 
 Clo. A fool, sir, ataworaan's sei'vicCfand a knave 
 at a man's. 
 
 Laf. Your distinction 1 
 
 Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife, and do 
 his service. 
 
 Laf. So you were a knave at his service, indeed. 
 
 C/o. And I would give his wife ray bauble, sir, to 
 do her service. 
 
 Liif. I will subscribe for thee ; thou art both knave 
 and tool. 
 
 Clo. At your ser\'ice. 
 
 Laf. No, no, no. 
 
 Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, 1 can serve 
 as great a prince as you are. 
 
 Laf. \\'ho'sthatl a Frenchman ? 
 
 Clo. Faith, sir, he has an Engli:.h name ; but his 
 phisnomy is more hotter in France, than there. 
 
 Laf, What prince is thatl 
 
 Clo. The black prince, sir, alias, the prince of dark- 
 cess ; alias, the devil. 
 
 Laf. Hold thee, there's my purse: I give thee 
 not this to suggest thee from thy master thou talkest 
 of; serve him still 
 
 Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved 
 a great fire ; and the master I speak of, ever keeps a 
 good fire. But, sure, he is the prince of the world, 
 let his nobility remain in his court. I am for the 
 liouse with the narrow gate, which I take to be too 
 little for pomp to enter ; some, that humble them- 
 selves, mav ; but the many will be too chill and ten- 
 der ; and they'll be for the flowery way, that leads 
 to the broad gate, and the great fire. 
 
 Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee ; 
 and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall 
 out with thee. Go thy ways ; let my horses be well 
 looked to. without any tricks. 
 
 Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall 
 be jades' tricks; which are their own right by the 
 law of nature. \_Eiit. 
 
 Laf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. 
 
 Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made him- 
 self much sport out of him ; by his authority he re- 
 mains here, which he thinks is a j^atent for his saiici- 
 ness ; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs where 
 he will. 
 
 Laf. I like him well : 'tis not amiss : and I was 
 about to tell you. Since I heard of the good lady's 
 death, and that my lord your son was upon his return 
 home, I moved the king my master, to speak in the 
 behalf of my daughter ; whicli in the minority of them 
 both, hismajesty,out of a self-gracious remembrance, 
 did first propose : his highness hath promised me to 
 do it : and, to stop up the displeasure he hath con- 
 ceived against your son, there is no fitter matter. 
 How does your ladyship like it? 
 
 Count. \\'ith very much content, my lord, and I 
 wish it happily effected. 
 
 Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of 
 as able body as when he numbered thirty ; he will 
 be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by Inm that in 
 such intelligence hath seldom failed. 
 
 Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him 
 
250 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 ere I die. I have letters, lliat my son will be here 
 to-nighl : I shall beseech juur lordship, to remain 
 with me till they meet together. 
 
 LaJ\ Madam, 1 was thinking, with what manners 
 I might safely be admitted. 
 
 Count. You need but plead your honourable pri- 
 vilege. 
 
 Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold cliarter ; 
 but, 1 thank my God, it holds yet. 
 
 Re' Elite- Clown. 
 
 Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with a 
 patch of velvet on's face ; whether there be a scar 
 under it, or no, the velvet knows ; but 'tis a goodly 
 patch of velvet : his left cheek is a cheek of two pile 
 and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare. 
 
 Litf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good 
 livery of honour ; so, belike, is that. 
 
 Clp. But it is your carbonadoed face 
 
 Liif. Let us go see your son, I pray you ; I long 
 to talk with the young noble soldier. 
 
 Clo. 'Faith, there's a dozen of 'em, with delicate 
 fine hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the 
 head, and nod at every man. [Eieunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Marseilles. A Street. 
 
 Enter Helena, Widow, (uul Diana, uUh two 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night, 
 Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it; 
 But since you have made the days and nights as one, 
 To wear your gentle limbs in my aft'airs. 
 Be bold, you do so grow in my requital, 
 
 \s nothing can unroot you. In happy time ; • 
 
 Enter a gentU Astringer. 
 This man may help me to his majesty's ear, 
 If he would spend his power. — God save you, sir. 
 
 Gent. And you. 
 
 Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. 
 
 Gent. I have been sometimes there. 
 
 Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are ;iot fallen 
 From the report that goes upon your goodness ; 
 And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions. 
 Which lay nice manners by, I put you to 
 The use of your own virtues, for the which 
 1 shall continue thankful. ' 
 
 Gent. What 's your will 1 
 
 Hel. That it will please you 
 To give this poor petition to the king ; 
 And aid me with that store of power you have. 
 To come into liis presence. 
 
 Genl. The king's not here. 
 
 Hel. Kot here, sir 1 
 
 Gent. Not, indeed : 
 
 He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste 
 Than is his use. 
 
 Ifirf. Lord, how we lose our pains I 
 
 Hel. All's well that emls leell ; yet; 
 Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. — > 
 I do beseech you, whither is he gone 1 
 
 Gent. Alarry, as I take it, to llousillon ; 
 Whither I am going. 
 
 Hel. I tlo beseech you, sir. 
 
 Since you are like to see the king betore me, 
 Commend this paper to his gracious hand ; 
 Which I presume, shall render you no blarae> 
 But rather make you thank your pains for it : 
 I will come after you, with what good speed 
 
 [ Our means will make us means. 
 
 Gent. This I '11 do for yon. 
 
 Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well thank'd, 
 Whate'er fails more. — We must to horse again ; — 
 Go, go, provide. [_Eiennt. 
 
 SCENE II Rousillon. The inner Co.iit of the 
 
 Countess's Palace. 
 
 Enter Clown and Parolles. 
 
 Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give mylordLafeu 
 this letter : I have ere now, sir, been better known to 
 you, when I iiaveheld familiarity with fresher clothes ; 
 but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's moat, and 
 smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. 
 
 Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but sluttish, 
 if it smell so strong as thou speakestof : I will hence- 
 forth eat no fish of fortune's buttering. Pr'ythee, 
 allow the wind. 
 
 Pur. Nay, you need not stop your nose, sir; I 
 spake but by a metaphor. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will 
 stop my nose ; or agai^t any man's metaphor. 
 Pry'thee, get thee further. 
 
 Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 
 
 Clo. f oh, pr'ythee, stand away ; \ paper froni 
 fortune's close-stool to give to a nobleman ! Look, 
 here he comes himself. 
 
 Enter Lafeu. 
 
 Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat 
 (but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the unclean 
 fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is mud- 
 died withal : Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may ; ■ 
 for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, 
 rascal ly kua\'e. I do pity his distress in my smiles of 
 comfort, and leave him to your lordship. [£,r it Clown. 
 
 P(ir. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath 
 cruelly scratched. 
 
 Laf. And what would you have me to do? 'tis 
 too late to pare her nails now. Wherein have yon 
 played the knave with fortune, that she should scratch 
 you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not 
 have knaves thrive long under her ! There 's a tjnart 
 d' ecu for you : Let the justices make you and for- 
 tune friends ; I am for other business. 
 
 Par, I beseech your honour, to hear me one sin- 
 gle word. 
 
 Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, you 
 shall ba't ; save your word. 
 
 Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles. 
 
 Laf. Y'ou beg more tlian one word then. — Cox' iny 
 passion ! give n>e your hand ! How does your drum"? 
 
 Par. my good lord , vou were the first that found me. 
 
 Laf. Was I, in sooth 1 and! was the first that lost 
 thee. 
 
 Far, It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some 
 grace, for you did bring me out. 
 
 Lnf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put upon 
 me at once both the office of God and the devil ? one 
 brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. 
 [Trumpets sound.^ The king's coming, I know by 
 his trumpets. — Sirrah, inquire further after me ; 1 
 had talk of you last night : though you are a fool 
 and a knave, you shall eat ; go to, follow. 
 
 Par. 1 praise God for you. [E.i«ii;it. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The same. — .4 Room in the Countess's Palace, 
 
 Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords, 
 
 Gentlemen, Guards, ^c. 
 
 King. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem 
 
 Was made much poorer by it ; but your son. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 251 
 
 As mad in fully, lack'd the sense to know 
 Her ebtimation home. 
 
 Cwnt. 'Tis past, iny liege : 
 
 And I beseech your majesty to make it 
 Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth ; 
 When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force, 
 O'erbears it. and burns on. 
 
 Kill IT. My honour'd lady, 
 
 I have forgiven and forgotten all ; 
 Though my revenges were high bent upon him. 
 And watch'd the time to shoot. 
 
 ]^„f. This I must say, 
 
 Bm first I beg my pardon,— The young lord 
 Did to his majesty, liis mother, and his lady. 
 Offence of mighty note ; but to himself 
 The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife, 
 Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
 Of richest eyes ; \\hose words all ears took captive ; 
 Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve, 
 Humbly call'd mistress. 
 
 Kiii^. Praising what is lost, [hither ; 
 
 Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him 
 
 We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill 
 All repetition : — Let him not ask our pardon ; 
 The nature of his great offence is dead. 
 And deeper than oblivion do we bury 
 The incensing relics of it : let him approach 
 A stianger, no offender ; and inform him. 
 So 'tis our will he should, 
 
 Gent. I shall, my liege. [Eut Gentleman. 
 
 King. What says he to your daughter ! have you 
 
 spoke ? 
 Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness. 
 King. Then shall we have a match. I have letters 
 That set him high in fame. [sent me, 
 
 Knter BERxnAM. 
 Laf. He looks well on 't. 
 
 King. I am not a day of season. 
 For thou may'st see a sun-shine and a hail 
 In me at once : But to the brightest beams 
 Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth. 
 The time is fair again. 
 
 Ber. My high-repented blames, 
 
 Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 
 
 King. All is whole ; 
 
 Not one word more of the consumed time. 
 Let 's take the instant by the fonvard top ; 
 For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 
 The inaudible and noiseless foot of time 
 Steals ere we can effect them : You remember 
 The daughter of liiis lord ! 
 
 Bei . Admiringlv, my liege : at first 
 I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
 Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue : 
 M'here the imj>ression of mine eye infixing, 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
 \Viiich warp'd the line of every other fa\our ; 
 Scorn'd a fair colour, or express'd it stol'n ; 
 Extended or contracted all proportions. 
 To a m.ost hideous object : 'I'hence it came. 
 That she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself, 
 Since 1 have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye 
 The dust that did offend it. 
 
 King. Well excus'd : 
 
 That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away 
 From the great compt : But love, that comes too late, 
 Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
 To the great sender turns a sour offence. 
 Crying, That's good that's gone: our rash faults 
 Make trivial price of serious things we have. 
 Not knowing them, until we know their grave: 
 Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, 
 
 Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: 
 Our own love waking cries to see what 's done. 
 While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. 
 Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her. 
 Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin : 
 The main consents are had ; and here we '11 stay. 
 To see our widower's second marriage day. 
 
 Coi/»(. Which better than the first, O dear heaven 
 Or, ere they meet in me, O nature, cease I [bless! 
 
 LuJ'. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name 
 I\Iust be digested, give a favour from you, 
 To sparkle in the spirits of ray daughter. 
 That she may quickly come. — By my old beard. 
 And every hair that 's on 't, Helen, that 's dead, 
 Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this. 
 The last that e'er 1 took her leave at court, 
 I saw upon her finger. 
 
 Ber. Hers it was not. 
 
 King, Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, 
 While I was speaking, oft was fastened to it. — 
 This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen, 
 I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
 Necessilied to help, that by this token 
 I would relieve her : Had you that craft, to reave her 
 Of what should stead her most I 
 
 Ber. My gracious sovereign 
 
 Howe'er it pleases you to take it so. 
 The ring was never hers. 
 
 Count. Son, on my life, 
 
 I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it 
 At her life's rate. 
 
 LaJ\ I am sure, I saw her wear it. 
 
 Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it : 
 In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, 
 Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name 
 Of her that threw it ; noble she was, and thought 
 I stood ingag'd : but when I had subscrib'd 
 To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully, 
 I could not answer in that course of honour 
 As she had made the overture, she ceas'd 
 In heavy satisfaction, and would never 
 Receive the ring again. 
 
 King. Plutus himself. 
 
 That knows the tinet and multiplying medicine. 
 Hath not in nature's mystery more science. 
 Than 1 have in this ring: 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's, 
 \\ hoever gave it you : Then, if you know 
 That you are well acquainted with yourself. 
 Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement 
 You got it froi' her : she call'd the saints to suretj', 
 That she would never put it from her finger, 
 Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 
 (Where you have never come,) or sent it us 
 Upon her great disaster. 
 
 Ber. She never saw it. [nour ; 
 
 King. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine ho- 
 And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me. 
 Which I would fain shut out : If it should prove 
 That tliou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so ; — 
 And yet I know not : — thou didst hate her deadly. 
 And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
 Her eyes myself, could win me to believe, 
 IMore than to see this ring. — Take him away.— 
 
 [Guards seize Bertram. 
 My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall. 
 Shall tax my fears of little vanity, 
 Having vainly fear'd too little. — Away vvilh him ; — 
 We 'II sift this matter further. 
 
 Ber. If you shall prove 
 
 This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
 Prove that 1 husbanded her bed in Florence, 
 Where yet she never was. [Eiit ii^RTRAM, guarded. 
 
252 
 
 ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 
 Eitti'r a Gentleman. 
 
 King. I am wrappM in dismal thinkings. 
 
 Gent. Gracious sovereign, 
 
 Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not ; 
 Here 's a petition from a Florentine, 
 Who hath, tor four or five removes, come short 
 To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
 V^anquish'd thejeto by the fair grace and speech 
 Of the poor suppliant, who by this, 1 know. 
 Is here attending : her business looks in her 
 With an important visage ; and she told me, 
 In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
 Vour highness with heiself. 
 
 f^i'ig' [Uetids.'\ Upon hlsmimij prote&Uithvistnmamj 
 me, when his wife was dead, 1 blush to sau it, he won 
 me. Now is the count Uousillon a widower ; Ids vows 
 are forfeited to me, and mii honour's paid to him. He 
 stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him 
 to his country for Justice: Grant it me, king ; in 
 you it best lies ; otherwise a seducer Jiourishes, and a poor 
 maid is undone. Diana Capulet. 
 
 Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll 
 him : for tliis, I '11 none of him. 
 
 King. The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafeu, 
 Tobiing forth this discovery. — Seek these suitors : — 
 Go, speedily, and bring again the count. 
 
 [Exeunt Gentleman, and some Attendants. 
 I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady, 
 Was foully snatch'd. • 
 
 Count. Now, justice on the doers! 
 
 Enter Bertram, guarded. 
 
 King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you, 
 And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, 
 Yet you desire to marry. — What woman's that i 
 
 Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, andDntiA. 
 
 Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, 
 Derived from the ancient Capulet ; 
 My suit, as I do understand, you know, 
 And therefore know how far I may be pitied. 
 
 Wid. I am her mother, sir.whoseage and honour 
 Both suffer under this complaint we bring, 
 And both shall cease, without your remedy, [women ? 
 
 King. Come hitiier, count ; Do you know these 
 
 Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny 
 But that I know them : Do they cliarge me further ? 
 
 Dia. \Vhy do you look so strange upon your wife ? 
 
 Ber. She's none of mine, iny lord. 
 
 Dia. If you shall marry. 
 
 You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 
 You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine j 
 You give away myself, which is known mine ; 
 For 1 by vow am so embodied yours. 
 That she, which marries you, must marry me. 
 Either both or none. 
 
 Laf. Vour reputation \_to Bertram.] comes loo 
 short for my daughter, you are no husband for her. 
 
 Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature, 
 Whom sometime 1 have laugh'd with : let your high- 
 Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, [uess 
 Than for to think that 1 would sink it here. 
 
 King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to 
 friend. 
 Till your deeds gain them : Fairer prove your honour, 
 Than in my thought it lies ! 
 
 Dia. Good my lord. 
 
 Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 
 He had not my virginity. 
 
 King. What say'st thou to her ■> 
 
 Btr She's impudent, my lord ; 
 
 And was a common gamester to tJie caiiip. 
 
 Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were so. 
 He might have bought me at a common price : 
 Do not believe him : O. behold this ring. 
 Whose high respect, and rich validity, 
 Did lack a parallel : yet, for all that. 
 He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, 
 If I be one. 
 
 Count. He blushes, and 'tis it : 
 Of six preceding ancestors, that gem 
 Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue, 
 Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his vi'ife ; 
 That ring's a thousand proofs. 
 _ King. Methought, you said. 
 
 You saw one here in court could witness it. 
 
 Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to produce 
 So bad an instrument •, his name's ParoUes. 
 
 Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 
 
 King. Find him, and bring him hither. 
 
 Ber. What of him? 
 
 He's quoted for a most perfidious slave. 
 With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosli'd ; 
 Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth : 
 Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter, 
 That will speak any thing ? 
 
 King. She hath that ring of yours, 
 
 Ber. I think, she has : certain it is, I lik'd her. 
 And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth : 
 She knew her distance, and did angle for me. 
 Madding my eagerness with her restraint. 
 As all impediments in fancy's course 
 Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine. 
 Her insuit coming with her modern grace. 
 Subdued me to her rate : she got the ring ; 
 And I had that which any inferior might 
 At market-price have bought. 
 
 Dia. I must be patient ; 
 
 Vou, that turn'd off a first so noble wife. 
 May justly diet me. I pray you yet, 
 (Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband,) 
 Send for your ring, I will return it home. 
 And give me mine again. 
 
 Ber. I have it not. 
 
 King. What ring was yours, I pray you 1 
 
 Dia. Sir, much like 
 
 The same tipon your finger. 
 
 King. Know you this ring? this ring was his of late. 
 
 Dia. And this was it 1 gave him, being a-bed. 
 
 King. The story then goes false, you threw it him 
 Out of a casement. 
 
 Dia, I have spoke the truth. 
 
 Enter PanoT.LES. 
 
 Ber. My lord, I do cbnfess, the ring was hers. 
 
 King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts 
 Is this the man you speak of! [vou. 
 
 Dia. Ay, my lord. 
 
 King. Tell me, sirrah, but, tell me true, I charge 
 Not fearing the displeasure of your master, [you, 
 (Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep ofT,) 
 By him, and by tliis woman here, what know you ? 
 
 Par. So please your majesty, my master hath been 
 an honourable gentleman ; tiicks he hath had in him, 
 which gentlemen have. 
 
 King. Come, come, to the purpose : Did he love 
 this woman ? 
 
 Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her; But how! 
 
 King. How, 1 pray you ! 
 
 Par, He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a 
 woman. 
 
 King. How is that ? 
 
 Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 253 
 
 King. As thou art a knave, and no knave ; — 
 What an equivocal companion is this! 
 
 Far. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
 command. 
 
 Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but a naughty 
 orator. 
 
 Via. Do you know, he promised me marriage'! 
 
 Par. ']''ai"tli, I know more than I 'U speak. 
 
 King. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st ! 
 
 Par. Yes, so please your majesty ; I did go between 
 theiu, as I said ; but more than that, he loved her, — 
 foi , indeed, he was mad for her, and talked of Satan, 
 ami of limbo, and of furies, and 1 know not what : yet 
 1 was in that credit with them at that time, that I knew 
 of their going to bed ; and of other motions, as pro- 
 mising her marriage, and things that would derive me 
 ill-w ill to speak of, therefore I will not speak what I 
 know. 
 
 King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou 
 canst say tliey are married : But thou art too fine in 
 thy evidence ; therefore stand aside. — 
 This ring, you say, was yours! 
 
 Dia. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 King. Where did you buy it ! or who gave it you ! 
 
 Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. 
 
 King. Who lent it you ! 
 
 Dia. It was not lent me neither. 
 
 King. Where did you find it then ! 
 
 Via. I found it not. 
 
 King. If it were yours by none of all tliese ways, 
 How could you give it him ! 
 
 Dia. I never gave it him. 
 
 Laf. This woman 's an easy glove, my lord j she 
 goes off and on at pleasure. 
 
 King. This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife.- 
 
 Dia. It might be yours, or hers, for aught I know. 
 
 King. Take her away, I do not like her now ; 
 To prison with her : and away with him. — 
 Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring. 
 Thou diest within this hour. 
 
 Dia. I '11 never tell you. 
 
 King. Take her away. 
 
 Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege. 
 
 King. I think thee now some common customer. 
 
 Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas you. 
 
 King. Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all this 
 
 while ! 
 Dia. Because he 's guilty, and he is not guilty : 
 He knows I am no maid, and he '11 swear to't: 
 I 'II swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
 Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ; 
 I am either maid, or else this old man's wife. 
 
 [^Pointing to Lafeu. 
 King. She does abuse our ears j to prison with her. 
 
 Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail.— Stay , royal sir ; 
 
 [F.iit Widow. 
 The jeweller, that owes the ring, is sent for. 
 And he shall surety me. But for this lord. 
 Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself. 
 Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him : 
 He knows himself my bed he hath defil'd ; 
 And at that time he got his wife with child: 
 Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick ; 
 So there's my riddle, One, that's dead, is quick ; 
 And now behold the meaning. 
 
 Re-enter Widow, uith Helina. 
 
 King. Is there no exorcist 
 
 Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ! 
 Is't real, that I see ! 
 
 Hel. No, my good lord j 
 
 'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see. 
 The name, and not the thing. 
 
 Ber. Both, both ; 0, pardon ! 
 
 Hel. 0, my good lord, when I was like this maid, 
 I found you wond'rous kind. There is your ring, 
 And, look you, here's your letter ; This it says, 
 When from viujinger you can get this ring, 
 And are by me with child, ice. — This is done: 
 Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ! 
 
 Ber. If she, my liege, can make me kuow this 
 I '11 love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. [clearly. 
 
 Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue. 
 Deadly divorce step between me and you ! — 
 0, my dear mother, do I see you living ! 
 
 Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, 1 shall weep anon: — 
 Good Tom Drum, [to P.^rolles.] lend me a hand- 
 kerchief: So, I thank thee ; wait on me home, I'll 
 make sport with thee : Let thy courtesies aloue, they 
 are scurvy ones. 
 
 King. Let us from point to point this story know, 
 To make the even truth in pleasure flow : — 
 If thou be'styet a fresh uncropped flower, [ToDiana. 
 Choose thou thy husband, and I '11 pay tiiy dower ; 
 For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid, 
 Thou kept'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. — 
 Of that and all the progress, more and less. 
 Resolvedly more leisure shall express : 
 All yet seems well ; and, if it end so meet. 
 The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. [Fiouris/i. 
 
 (^Advancing.) 
 The king's a beggar, now the play is done: 
 AH is well ended, if this suit be won, 
 That yoii express content ; which we will pay^ 
 With strife to please you, day exceeding day : 
 Ours be tiour patience then, and yours our parfi ; 
 Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts, [_Exeant, 
 
 This play has many delightful scenes, ihongh not sufficiently 
 rrnbabie, and some liaij;.y cbyaclers, though not new, nor pro- 
 duced by any deep itnowled^; of human nature. Parolles is a 
 boaster and a coward, such as has always been the sport of the 
 Mage, but perhaps never raised more laughter or couieiupt than 
 in the hands of shaksi>eare. 
 
 I c.innot r-^roncile my heart to Bertram ; a man oobb wittir 
 out generosity, and yotins without truth; who marries lielon 
 
 as a coward, and leaves her as a profligate : \rhen she is dead 
 by his uukiudness, sneaks home to a second marriage, is ac- 
 cused by a woman whom h*- has wronged, defends himself by 
 falsehood and is dismissed to happiness. 
 
 Ihe story of Bertram and Diana had been told before of 
 Mariana and Augeto, and, to confess the truth, scarcely merited 
 to be heard a second tiioe.— Johnson. 
 
TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Mn. Malone supposes this comedy to have been written in ( 
 1596. It is founded on an naonynious iday of nearly the same i 
 title, " I'he laming of a shrew," vhicli was probably written 
 about the year 1590, either by Georu-e Peele, or Robert Green. 
 'Ihe outline of the induction niav he traced, as Mr. Douce 
 observes, through many intpnnediate copies, to the Sleeper ' 
 Aw.iked of th« Arabian Niyhts. It has been doubted by l>r. | 
 Warburton and Ur. Farmer whether this comedy is really the 
 production if Shakspeare. They have no other groxiuds for I 
 
 their opinion, hut the inferiority of its style. The play, as n 
 whole, is certainly uot in our author's best manner, but in the 
 induction and in the scenes between Katharine anri I'etrncliio 
 the traces of his hnnd are stron-rly marked. If it be not Shak- 
 speare's, to whom cau it be atrributed ? 
 Beouniout and I'letcher haye written a sequel fo thi^ comedy, 
 calli'd " I he Woman's Prize, or the Pampr I nnied." in which 
 a character bearing the name of I'etruchio (for nothing bal 
 the name remains to liim,) is subdued by a second wife. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 A Lord. 
 
 Chhistopher Si.Y , a drunheyi Thiher.\ 
 
 Hostess, Page, Players, Hr.ntsmen, ff Persojisinthe 
 
 and other Servants attending; 
 the Lord. 
 
 Induction. 
 
 Baptista, a rich gentleman (//"Padua. 
 VixcENTio, on old f^eutlemun of Visa.. 
 LucLNTio, son to Vincentio, iu love tcith Bianca. 
 "Petuvcuio, a gentlemnnnfVeron^, suitor toKd^hdslnB.. 
 Gremio, HonxENSio, suitors to Bianca. 
 Tronic, Biondello, servants to Lucentio. 
 GnuiMio, Curtis, servants to Petruchio. 
 Pedant, anoid fellow set up to personate Vincentio. 
 
 Kathariva, the shrew ; ) , ,, . t) .• . 
 Tj 1 ■ . } di^uahters to Baptista. 
 
 BiAN'CA, her sister, J , 
 
 Widow. 
 
 Tailor, Haberdasher, and Servants attending on 
 Baptista and Petruchio. 
 
 SCENE, — sometimes in Padua ; a7id sometimes in 
 Petruchio's House in the Country, 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 SCENE I. — Before an Alehouse on a Heath, 
 Enter Hostess and Sly. 
 
 Sill, I'll plieese you, in faith. 
 
 Host, A pair of stocks, you rogue! 
 
 Slii, y 'are a baggage ; the Slies are no rogues: 
 Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard 
 Conqueror. Therefore, jmticas paUabris; let the 
 world slide : Sessa ! 
 
 Host, You will not pay for the glasses you have 
 burst ! 
 
 Sill. No, not a denier : Go by, says Jeronimy ; — 
 Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. 
 
 Host. I know my remedy, I must go fetch the 
 thirdborough. [Eiit. 
 
 Sill, Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll answer 
 him by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy; let him 
 come, and kindly. 
 
 [Lies dou'ii on the ground, and falls asleep. 
 
 Wind horns. Enter a I^onn'from hunting, uith 
 Huntsmen and Servants. 
 
 Lord, Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my 
 hounds; 
 Brach Mcrriman, — the poor .cur is eniboss'd, 
 And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach. 
 Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 
 At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault 1 
 1 wouhl not lose the dog for twenty pound, 
 
 1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord ; 
 
 He cried upon it at the merest loss. 
 
 And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent : 
 
 Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 
 
 Lard. Thou art a fool ; if Echo were as fleet, 
 I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
 But sup them well, and look unto them all ; 
 To-morrow I intend to hunt again. 
 
 1 Hun. I will, my lord. 
 
 Lord. What 's here ? one dead, or drunk ? See, dolh 
 he breathe ? [with ale, 
 
 2 Hun. He breathes, my lord : Were be not warm'd 
 This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 
 
 Lord. monstrous beast ! how like a swine he lies ! 
 Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine ima<re ! 
 
 Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. 
 
 M'hat think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
 Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers, 
 A most delicious banquet by his bed, 
 .A.nd brave attendants near him when he wakes. 
 Would not the beggar then forget himself! 
 
 1 Hun. 13elieve me, lord, I think he cannot choose. 
 
 s; Hun. It would seem strange unto him when he 
 wak'd. 
 
 Lord, Even as a flattering dream, or worthless fancy. 
 Then take him up, and manage well the jest : — 
 Carry him gen'ly to my fairest chamber, 
 .\nd hang it round with all my wanton pictures : 
 Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters. 
 And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet : 
 Procure me music ready when he wakes. 
 To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; 
 And if he chance to speak, be ready straight, 
 And, with a low submissive reverence. 
 Say, — What is it your honour will command? 
 Let one attend him with a silver bason, 
 Full of rose-water, and bestrew 'd with flowers ; 
 Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper. 
 And say — Will 't please your lordship cool yont 
 Some one be ready with a costly suit, [hands 1 
 
 And ask him what apparel he will wear ; 
 Another tell him of his hounds and horse. 
 And that his lady mourns at his disease : 
 Persuade him, that he hath been lunatic ; 
 And, when he says he is — , say, that he dreams. 
 For he is nothing but a mighty lord. 
 This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs; 
 It will be pastime passing excellent. 
 If it be husbanded with modesty. 
 
 1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our part. 
 As he shall think, by our true diligence. 
 He is no less than what we say he is. 
 
 Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him ; 
 And each one to his oflice, when he wakes. — 
 
 [.Slime bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds 
 Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds :— 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 Belike, some noble gentleman : that means. 
 Travelling some journev, to repose him here. — ■ 
 

 
 'S ir[nr Vviii i W »i'' y^^^-'I C'''''" •'"'' ' ''''"^^ 
 
INDUCTION.- -SCENE II. 
 
 255 
 
 Tfr-fJitcr a Senanl. 
 
 How now 1 who is it ! 
 
 S„.<j. An it please your honour, 
 
 Players that offer service to your lordship. 
 
 Li'rd. Bid them come near : 
 
 Enter Players. 
 Now, fellows, you are welcome. 
 
 1 Ptau. We thank your honour. 
 
 I.cirrf." Do you intend to stay with me to-night? 
 
 •J Flan. So please vour lordship to accept our duty. 
 
 Inrrf.' With all myheart.— This fellow 1 remember. 
 Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son ; — 
 'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so welt : 
 I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part 
 Was aptly fitted, and naturally perform'd. I 
 
 1 Flciii'l think, 'twas Soto tTiat your honour menns. ' 
 
 Loni^ "lis very true •, — thou didst it excellent. — 
 Well, vou are come to me in happy time ; ' 
 
 The rather for I have some sport in hand. 
 Wherein your cunning can assist me much. i 
 
 There is a lord will hear you play to-niglit : 
 But I am doubtful of your modesties ; 
 Lest, ever-eying of his odd behaviour, 
 (For yet hishonour never heard a play,) 
 You break into some merry passion, 
 -•Vnd so offend him ; for I tell you, sirs, 
 U vou should smile, he grows impatient. 
 
 i P/uy. Fear not, my lord ; we can contain our- 
 Were he the veriest antic in the world. [selves, 
 
 I.nrd. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery. 
 And give them friendly welcome every one : 
 Let them want nothing that my house affords. — 
 
 [Eiraiit Servant ami Players. 
 Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page, [T.ia Serv. 
 And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady '• 
 That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber. 
 And call him — madam, do him obeisance. 
 Tell him from me, (as he will win ray love,) 
 He bear himself with honourable action. 
 Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies 
 Unto their lords, by them accomplish'd: 
 Such duty to the drunkard let him do, 
 With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy ; 
 And say, — What is't your honour will command. 
 Wherein vour lady, and your humble wife. 
 May shew her duly, and make known her love 1 
 And then — with kind embracements, tempting kisses. 
 And with declining head into his bosom, — ■ 
 Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 
 To see her noble lord restor'd to health. 
 Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed him 
 No better than a poor and loathsome beggar : 
 And if the boy hath not a woman's gift, 
 'i'o rain a shower of commanded tears. 
 An onion will do well for such a shift ; 
 Which in a napkin being close conveyed. 
 Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
 See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst ; 
 Anon I'll give thee more instructions. — [Eiii Serv. 
 I know, the boy will well usurp the grace, 
 Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman : 
 I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband ; 
 And how my men will stay themselves from laughter, 
 
 When they do homage to this simple peasant. 
 
 I 'II in to counsel them : haply, my presence 
 
 May well abate their over-merry spleen, 
 
 W hich otherwise would grow into extremes. [ Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE IL — A Bedchamber in the Lord's House. 
 Sly is discovered in a rich night-gown, iiith Atten- 
 dants ; some ii'itft apparel, others with bason, ewer. 
 
 and other ajipiirtenanccs. Enter Lonn, dresseit like 
 a servant. 
 
 Slu. For God's sake, a pot of small ble. 
 liierv. WiU't please vour lordship drink a cup of 
 sack ? " [conserves 1 
 
 2 Serv. Will 't please your honour taste of these 
 
 3 Serv. What raiment will your honour wear to-day 1 
 Sill. I am C'-ristopheroSly, call not me honour. 
 
 nor lordship : 1 never drank sack in my life ; and if 
 you give me any conserves, give me conserves of 
 beef: Ne'er asknie what raiment I'll wear: for I 
 have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings 
 than legs, nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, some- 
 times, more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes 
 look through the overleather. 
 
 Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour m your 
 O, that a mightv man of such descent, [honour! 
 Of such possessions, and so high esteem. 
 Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! ' 
 
 SIjj. What, would you make me madl Am net I 
 Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath ; by 
 birth a pedlar, by education a card-maker, by trans- 
 mutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession 
 a tinkerl Ask Jlarian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of 
 Wincot, if she know me not : if she say 1 am not four- 
 teen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for 
 the lyin^t knave in Christendom. What, I am not 
 
 bestraught : Here's 
 
 1 Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady mourn 
 ti Serv. 0, this it is that makes your servants droop 
 Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun your 
 As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. [house 
 O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth ; 
 Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment, 
 And banish hence these abject lowly dreams • 
 Look how thy servants do attend on thee, 
 j Each in his office ready at thy beck. 
 
 Wilt thou have music ^ hark! Apollo plays, [JLisic. 
 ! And twenty caged nightingales do sing : 
 Or wilt thou sleep ? we'll have thee to a couch, 
 Softer and sweeter tlian the lustful bed 
 On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis. 
 Say, thou wilt walk : we will be,Ure\v the ground 
 Or wilt thou ride ! thy horses shall be tiapp'd. 
 Their harness studded all with gold and pearl. 
 Dost thou love hawking ? thou hast ha\vks will soar 
 Above the morning lark : Or wilt thou hunt ! 
 Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them. 
 And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 
 
 1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course ; thy greyhounds are 
 As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. [as swift 
 iServ. Dost thou love pictures 1 we will fetcji thee 
 Adonis, painted by a running brook: [straight 
 
 And Cytlierea all in sedges hid ; 
 Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, 
 Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 
 
 Lord. We'll shew thee lo, as she was a maid ; 
 And how she was beguiled and surpriz'd, 
 As lively painted as the deed was done. 
 
 SServ. Or Daphne, roaming through athorny wood ; 
 Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds : 
 And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep. 
 So woikmanly the blood and tears are drawn. 
 
 Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord: 
 Thou hajSt a lady far more beautiful 
 Than any woman in this waning age. 
 
 1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee, 
 Like envious floods o'er-ran her lovely face. 
 She was the fairest creature in the world j 
 And yet she is inferior lo none. 
 
 Sill. .-Vm I a lord ! and have I such a lady ! 
 Or do I dream, or have 1 dream'd till now 1 
 
250 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 I do not sleep : I see. I hear, I speak ; 
 
 I smell sweet savours, ami I feel soft things : — 
 
 Upou my life, I ani a lord, indeed; 
 
 And not a linker, nor Christophero Sly — 
 
 WfU, bring our lady hither to our sight ; 
 
 And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. [hands'! 
 
 2 Sent. \\ ill't please your mightiness to wash your 
 
 [Ser\-ants present an euer, 6//s()n, and napkin. 
 O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd ' 
 O, that once more you knew but what you are ! 
 These fifteen years "you have been in a dream ; 
 Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept. 
 
 Siy. These fifteen years by my fay. a goodly nap. 
 But did I never spesik of all "that time ? 
 
 1 Sere. O, yes, my lord; but very idle words: — 
 For though you lay here in this goodly chamber. 
 Yet would you say, ye were beateu out of door ; 
 And rail upon the hostess of the house ; 
 And say, you would present her at the leet, 
 Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts : 
 Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket. 
 
 Slu. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. [maid; 
 
 3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no such 
 Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up, — 
 
 As Stephen Sly, and old .Tohn Naps of Greece, 
 And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpeniell ;^ 
 And twenty more such names and men aWhese, 
 Which never were, nor no man ever saw. 
 
 Slu. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends ! 
 
 Ail. Amen. 
 
 Sty. 1 thank thee ; thou shall not lose by it. 
 
 Enter the Page, as a lady, witli Attendants. 
 Page. How fares my noble lord 1 
 Siy. SlaiTy, 1 fare well ; for here is cheer enough. 
 Where is my wife 1 
 
 Page Here, noble lord ; What is thy will with her? 
 Siy. Are you mywife, andwill not call me— husband? 
 ^ My men should call me— lord ; I am your goodman. 
 Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and hus- 
 I am your wife in all obedience. [band ; 
 
 Sly. I know it well :— What must I call her 1 
 Lord. Madam. 
 
 Slu. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam ? 
 Lorrf. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call ladies. 
 Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd and 
 Above some fifteen year and more. [slept 
 
 Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me ; 
 Being all this time abandon'd from your bed. 
 
 Sli/. 'Tis much ; Servants, leave me and her 
 
 alone 
 
 Madam, undress vou, and come now to bed. 
 
 Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of you. 
 To pardon me yet for a night or two ; 
 Or, if not so, until the sun be set : 
 For your physicians have expressly charg'd, 
 In peril to incur your former malady. 
 That 1 should yet absent me from your bed : 
 I Hope, this reason stands for my excuse. 
 
 Slv. Ay, it stands so, that I may hardly tarry so 
 Ion"'" But 1 would be loath to fall into my dreams 
 agam ; I vfill therefore tarry, in despite of the flesh 
 and the blood. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serr. Your honour's players, hearing your amend- 
 Are come to play a pleasant comedy, [ment, 
 
 For so your doctors hold it very meet ; 
 Seein" too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood, 
 And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy, 
 Therefore, they' thought it good you hear a play, 
 And frame your mind to mirth and merriment. 
 Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life. 
 
 S/u. Marry, I will ; let them play it : Is not a com- 
 monty a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling-trick! 
 
 Page. No, my good lord : it is more pleasing stuff. 
 
 Sly. What, household stuff? 
 
 Page. It is a kind of history. 
 
 Slu. Well, vie'U see't: Come, madam wife, sit by 
 my side, and let the world slip ; we shall ne'er b* 
 younger. [^They sit down. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Padua. A jiiMic Place. 
 Enter LucENTioond Tranio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, since — for the great desire I had 
 To see fair Padua, nursery of arts, — 
 I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy, 
 The pleasant garden of great Italy ; 
 And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd 
 With his good will, and thy good company. 
 Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all ; 
 Here let us breathe, and happily institute 
 A course of learning, and ingenious studies. 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens. 
 Gave me my being, and my father first, 
 A merchant of great traffic through the world, 
 Vincentio, come of the Beniivolii. 
 Vincentio his son, brought up in Florence, 
 It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd. 
 To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds ; 
 And therefore, Tranio, for the time 1 study. 
 Virtue, and that part of philosophy 
 Will I apply, that treats of happiness 
 By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd. 
 Tell me thy mind : for I have Pisa left, 
 And am to Padua come ; as lie that leaves 
 A shallow plash, to plunge him in the deep, 
 jVnd with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. 
 
 Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, 
 I am in all affected as yourself ; 
 Glad that you thus continue your resolve. 
 To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
 Only, good master, while we do admire 
 This virtue, and this moral discipline, 
 Let's be no stoics, nor no stocks, 1 pray ; 
 Or so devote to Aristotle's checks, 
 As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd : 
 Talk logic with acquaintance that you have, 
 .\nd practise rhetoric in your common talk: 
 Music and poesy use to quicken you ; 
 The mathematics, and the metaphysics, 
 Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves yoo 
 No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en ; — 
 In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 
 
 Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise. 
 If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore, 
 We could at once put us in readiness ; 
 And take a lodging, fit to entertain 
 Such friends, as time in Padua shall beget. 
 But stay awhile ; What company is this ? 
 
 Tra. Slaster, some show, to welcome us to town. 
 
 Enter Bapiista, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, aid 
 
 HoRTENSio. LucENTio and Tranio Hand aside. 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no furthei, 
 For how 1 firmly am resolv'd you know ; 
 That is, — not to bestow my youngest daughter. 
 Before I have a husband for the eider : 
 If either of you both love Katharina, 
 Because I know you well, and love you well, 
 Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 2o7 
 
 Ore. To cart her rather : She's too rough for me : — 
 There, there Hortensio, will you any wile! 
 
 Kulh. 1 pray you. sir, [to Bap.] is it your will 
 To make a stale of me amongst these mates • 
 
 Hnr. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ! no mates 
 Unless you were of gentler, milder mould, [for you, 
 
 hath'. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear; 
 I wis, it is not half way to her heart : 
 But. if it were, doubt not her care should be 
 To comb your noddle with a thrce-legg'd stool. 
 And paint your face, and use you like a fool. 
 
 Hor. From all such devils, good Lord, deliver us ! 
 
 ('•re. And me too. good Lord ! [toward ; 
 
 Tra. Hush, master! here is some good pastime 
 That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward. 
 
 Luc. But in the other's silence 1 do see 
 Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety. 
 Peace, Tranio. 
 
 Tra, \Vell said, master ; mum ! and gaze your fill. 
 
 Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good 
 What I have said, — Bianca, get you in : 
 And let it not displease thee, good Bianca ; 
 For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl. 
 
 Kntli. .\ pretty peat! 'tis best 
 Put finger in the eye — an slie knew why. 
 • Biajt. Sister, content you in my discontent. — 
 Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe : 
 RIy books, and instruments, shall be mv company ; 
 On them to look, and practise by myself. 
 
 Luc. Hark, Tranio I thou may'st hear JFinerva 
 speak. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Siguior Baptista, will you be so strange ! 
 Sorry am L that our good will eflects 
 Bianca's grief. 
 
 Gre. Why, will you mew her up, 
 
 Signior Baptista, for this fiend of liell, 
 And make her bear the penance of her tongue? 
 
 Bii)i. Gentlemen, content ye ; 1 am resolv'd :-r- 
 Go in, Bianca. [Exit Bianca. 
 
 And for I know, she taketh most delight 
 In music, instruments, and poetry. 
 Schoolmasters will I keep within my house, 
 Fit to instruct her youth. — If vow, Hortensio, 
 Or signior Gremio, you, — know any such, 
 Pieter them hither ; for, to cunning men 
 I will be very kind, and liberal 
 I'o mine own children in good bringing up ; 
 And so, farewell. Katharina. you may stay ; 
 For 1 have more to commune with Bianca. [Ej/r. 
 
 Kath. Why. and 1 trust, I may go too ; May I not '. 
 What, shall I be appointed hours ; as though, belike, 
 1 knew not what to take, and what to leave 1 Ha ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Gre. You may go to the devil's dam ; your gifts 
 are so good, here is none will hold you. Their love 
 is not so great, Hortensio. but we may blow our nails 
 together, and fast it fairly out ; our cake's dough 
 on both sides. Farewell : — ^'et. for the love 1 bear 
 my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a 
 fit man, to teach her that wherein she delights, I will 
 wish him to her father I 
 
 Hor. So will 1. signior Gremio: But a word, I 
 pray. Though the nature of our quarrel yet never 
 brook'd parle, know now, upon advice, it toucheth 
 us both, — that we may yet again liave access to our 
 fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love, — 
 to labour and effect one thing 'specially. 
 
 Gre. What's that. I pray? 
 
 Hill-. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister. 
 
 Gre. A husband ! a devil. 
 
 Hor. I say, a husband. 
 
 Gre. I say, a devil : Think'st thou, Hortensio, 
 
 though her father be very rich, any man is so very a 
 fool to be married to hell 1 
 
 Hor. Tush, Gremio. though it pass your patience 
 and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man, 
 there be good fellows in the world, an a man could 
 light on them, would take her with all faults, and 
 money enough. 
 
 Gre. I cannot tell ; but I had as lief lake her dowry 
 with this condition, — to be whipped at the high -cross 
 every morning. 
 
 Hor. 'Faith, as you say, there's small choice in 
 rotten apples. But, come ; since this bar in law 
 makes us friends, it shall be so far forth friendly main- 
 tained, — till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter to 
 a husband, we set his youngest free for a husband, 
 and then have tot afresh. — Sweet Bianca 1 — Happy 
 man be his dole ! He that runs fastest, gets the ring. 
 How say you, signior Gremio 1 
 
 Gre. I am agreed ; and 'would I had given him the 
 best horse in I'adua to begin his wooing, that would 
 thoroughly woo her, wed her, and bed her, and rid 
 the house of her. Come on. [i'.i(?uii( GnE.und Hon. 
 
 Tra. [Advaucing.] I pray, sir, tell me,— Is it pos- 
 That love should of a sudden take such hold ! [sible 
 
 Luc. O Tranio. till 1 found it to be true, 
 I never thought it possible, or likely ; 
 But see ! while idly 1 stood looking on, 
 I found the effect of love in idlene.ss : 
 And now in plainness do confess to thee, — 
 That art to me as secret, and as dear. 
 As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, — 
 Tranio, I burn, 1 pine, 1 perish, Tranio, 
 If I achieve not this young modest girl ; 
 Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst ; 
 Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. 
 
 Tra. [Master, it is no time to ciiide you now ; 
 Affection is not rated from the heart • 
 If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, — 
 Redime te captum quam queas utinimo. 
 
 Luc. Gitiraercies, lad; go forward: this contents; 
 The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. 
 
 Tra. blaster, you look'd so longly on the maid. 
 Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pilh of all. 
 
 Luc. O yes. I saw sweet beauty in her face. 
 Such as the daughter of Agenor had. 
 That made great .Tove to humble him to her hand, 
 When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand. 
 
 Tra. Saw vou no more ! mark'd you not. how her 
 Began to scold ; and raise up such a storm, [sister 
 That mortal ears might hardly endure the din ? 
 
 Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move. 
 And with her breath she did perfume the air ; 
 Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her. 
 
 Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from his trance. 
 I pray, awake, sir ; If you love the maid. 
 Bend thouglits and wits to achieve her. Thus it 
 Her eldest sister is so curst and shrewd, [stands : — 
 That, till the father rid his hands of her. 
 Master, your love must live a maid at home ; 
 And therefore has he closely mew'd her up. 
 Because she shall not be annoy'd with suitors. 
 ■ Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he I 
 But art thou not advis'd he took some care 
 To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her? 
 
 Tra. .\y, marry, am 1 sir ; and now 'tis plotted. 
 
 Luc. I have it, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. , Master, for my hand, 
 
 Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 
 
 Luc, Tell me thine first, 
 
 Tra. Vou will be schoolmaster. 
 
 And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
 That's your device. 
 
258 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Lnc. It is : Way it be done 1 
 
 Tra. Not possible ; For who ihall bear your part, 
 And be in Padua here Vinceatio's soul 
 Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends ; 
 Visit his cuunlrymen, and banquet theui ? 
 
 Luc. liasta ; content thee ; for I have it full. 
 We have not yet been seen in any house ; 
 Nor can we be distinguished by our faces, 
 For man, or master : then it follows thus ; — 
 Thou shall be master, Tranio, in my stead. 
 Keep house, and port, and servants, as 1 should : 
 I will some other be ; some Florentine, 
 Some Neapolitan, or mean man of Pisa. 
 'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so ; — Tranio, at once 
 Uncase thee ; take my colour'd hat and cloak ; 
 When Biondello comes, he waits on tlice ; 
 But I will charm him first to keep his tongue. 
 
 Tra. So had you need. [They eichunge habits 
 
 In brief then, sir, silh it your pleasure is, 
 And I am tied to be obedient ; 
 (For so your father charg'd me at our parting ; 
 Be serviceable fo ntii sen, quoth he, 
 Although, I tliink, 'twas in another sense,) 
 I am content to be Lucentio, 
 Because so well I love Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves : 
 And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid 
 Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye. 
 
 Enter Biondf.li.o. 
 Here comes the rogue. — Sirrah, where have you been? 
 
 Bioa. Where have I been 1 Nay, how now, where 
 are you I 
 Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes ? 
 Or you stol'n his? or both ? pray, what's the news? 
 
 Luc. Sirrab. come hither ; 'tis no time to jest, 
 And therefore frame your manners to the time. 
 Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life, 
 Puts my apparel and my countenance on. 
 And I for my escape liave put on his ; 
 For in a quarrel, since 1 came ashore, 
 I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried. 
 Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes, 
 While I make way from hence to save my life : 
 You understand me f 
 
 Bion. I, sir t ne'er a whit. 
 
 Liic. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth ; 
 Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio. 
 
 Bion. The better for him ; 'Would I were so too ! 
 
 Tra. So would I, faith, boy, to have the next wisli 
 after,— ' [ter- 
 
 That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daugh- 
 But, sirrah,— not for my sake, but your master's, — 
 I advise ■ . [panics : 
 
 You use your manners discreetly in all kind of com- 
 When I am alone, why, then I am 'I'ranio ; 
 But in all places else, your master Lucentio. 
 
 Lnc. Tranio, let 's go : — 
 One thing more rests, that thyself execute ; [why,— 
 To make one among these wooers : If thou ask me 
 Sufliceth, my reasons are both good and weighty. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 1 Serv. Mil lord ym nod ; you do not mind the play. 
 
 Sly. Yes, by sa'int Anne,' Jo L A good matter, 
 surely ; Comes there any more of it ? 
 Page. Ml/ lord, '((S but begun. 
 Sly. 'Tis a verii excellent piece pficork, madam lady ; 
 'Would 'twere do7ie.' ■ *■ 
 
 SCENE 11. — The same. Before Hortensio's House. 
 Enter Petruciiio and Giiumio. 
 Pet. Verona, for a while I lake my leave, 
 
 To see my friends in Padua ; but, of all, 
 My best beloved and approved friend, 
 Hortensio ; and, 1 trow, this is his house : — 
 Here, sirrah Grumio ; knock, I say. 
 
 Gru. Knock, sir ! whom should I knock? is there 
 any man has rebused your worship ? 
 
 Pel. Villain, 1 say, knock me here soundly. 
 
 Gru. Knock you here, sir ? why, sir, what am I, 
 sir, that I should knock you here, sir ? 
 
 Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate. 
 And rap me well, or 1 'lliLnock,your knave's pate. 
 
 Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome : I should 
 knock you first, 
 And then I know after who comes by the worst. 
 
 Pet. Will it not be ? 
 'Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I '11 wring it ; 
 I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 
 
 [Ue uriugs Gnuniio by the ears, 
 
 Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad. 
 
 Pet. Now, knock when 1 bid you: sirrah! villain' 
 
 Enter Hortensio. 
 
 Hoc. How now ? what's the matter? — My old friend 
 Grumio ! and my good friend Petruchio ! — How do 
 you all at Verona >. 
 
 Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray' 
 Con tutto ii core bene trovato, may I say. 
 
 Hor. Alia nostra casa bene veuuto, 
 MoUo honorato signor mio Petruchio, 
 Rise, Grumio, rise ; we will compound this quarrel. 
 
 Gru. Nay, 'lis no matter, what he 'leges in Latin. 
 — If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his 
 service. — Look you, sir, — he bid me knock him, and 
 rap him soundly, sir : Well, was it fit for a servant 
 to use his master so ; being, periiaps, (for ought I 
 see,) two and thirty, — a pip out? 
 Whom, 'would to God, I had well knock'd at first. 
 Then had not Grumio come by the worst. 
 
 Pet. A senseless villain ! — Good Hortensio 
 I bade the rascal knock upon your gate. 
 And could not get him for my heart to do it. 
 
 Gru. Knock at the gate ? — O heavens ! [here. 
 Spake you not these words plain, — .^irrah, knock me 
 Rap me here, knock me well, and knock me soundly ? 
 And come you now with — knocking at the gate ? 
 
 Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, 1 advise you. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, patience ; 1 am Grumio's pledge: 
 Why, this a heavy chance 'Iwixt him and you ; 
 Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio. 
 And tell me now, sweet friend, — what happy gale 
 Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona I 
 
 Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through the 
 To seek their fortune^ further than at home, [world. 
 Where small experience grows. But, in a few, 
 Signior Hortensio, thus it stands wiih rae ; — 
 Antonio, my father, is deceas'd ; 
 And I have thrust myself into this maze. 
 Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may : 
 Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home, 
 And so am come abroad to see the world. 
 
 Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee 
 And wish thee to a shrew'd ill-favour'd wife ? 
 Thoud'st thank me but a little for my counsel : 
 And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich. 
 And very rich : — but ihou'rt loo much ray friend. 
 And I '11 not wish thee to her. 
 
 Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we. 
 Few words suffice : and, therefore, if thou know 
 One rich enough lo be Petruchio's wife, 
 (As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,) 
 Be she as foul as was Florentius' love. 
 As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd 
 
ACT I,— SCENE II. 
 
 259 
 
 As Socrates' Xantlppe, or a worse. 
 
 She moves me not, or not removes, at least, 
 
 Afiection's edge in me ; were she as rough 
 
 As are the swelling Adriatic seas r 
 
 X come to wive it wealthily in Padua ; 
 
 If wealthily, tlien happily in Padua. 
 
 Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what 
 his mind is ; Why, give him gold enough and marry 
 liim to a puppet, or an aglet-baby ; or an old trot 
 with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have as 
 many diseases as two and fifty horses : why, nothing 
 comes amiss, so money comes withal. 
 
 Mor. Petruchio. since we have stepped thus far in, 
 I will continue that I broach'd in jest. 
 I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife 
 With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous ; 
 Brouglit up, as best becomes a gentlewoman ; 
 Her only fault (and that is faults enough,^ 
 Is, — that she is intolerably curst. 
 And shrewd, and frowaixl: so beyond all measure. 
 That, were my state far worser than it is, 
 I would not wed her for a mine of gold. 
 
 Pet. Ilortensio, peace ; thou know'st not gold's ef- 
 TeU me her father*s name, and 'tis enough ; [feet: — 
 For 1 will board her, though siie chide as loud 
 As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack. 
 
 Hi>r. Her father is Baptista Minola, 
 An aflable and courteous gentleman : 
 Her name is Katharina Minola, 
 Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. 
 
 Pet. I know her father, though 1 know not her ; 
 And he knew my deceased father well : — 
 I will not sleep, Horteusio, till I see her ; 
 And therefore let me be thus bold with you. 
 To give you over at this first encounter, 
 Unless you will accompany me thither. 
 
 Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go wlule the humour 
 lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I do, 
 she would think scolding would do little good upon 
 him : She may, perhaps, call him half a score knaves, 
 or so . why, that 's nothing ; an he begin once, he '11 
 rail in his rope-tricks. I 'U tell you what, sir, — an 
 she stand him but a little, he will throw a figure in 
 her face, and so disfigure her with it, that she shall 
 have no more eyes to see withal than a cat : You 
 know him not, sir. 
 
 Hirr. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee ; 
 For in Baptista's keep my treasure is : 
 He hath the jewel of my life in hold. 
 His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca ; 
 And her withholds from me, and other more 
 Suitors to her, and rivals in my love . 
 Supposing it a thing impossible, 
 (For those defects 1 have before rehears'd,) 
 Thai ever Katharina will he woo'd, 
 Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en ; 
 That none siiall have access unto Bianca, 
 Till Katharine the curst have got a husband. 
 
 Gru. Katliarine the curst ! 
 A title for a maid-, of all titles the worst. 
 
 Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace ; 
 And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes. 
 To old Baptista as a schoolmaster 
 Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca : 
 That so I may by this device, at least, 
 Have leave and leisure to make love to her, 
 And, unsuspected, court her by herself. 
 
 Enter Gremio ; xvitk hhn Lucentio disguised, with 
 hooks tmder his arm. 
 
 Gni. Here's no knavery ! See; to beguile the old 
 folks, how the young folks lay their heads together! 
 
 Master, master, look about you : Who goes there ? ha ! 
 
 Hor, Peace, Grumio; 'tis the rival of my love; — 
 Petruchio, stand by a while. 
 
 Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous! 
 
 [Theu retire. 
 
 Gre. O, very well : I have perus'd the note. 
 Hark you, sir ; I '11 have them very fairly bound : 
 All books of love, see that at any hand ; 
 And ^ee you read no other lectures to her ; 
 You understand me : — Over and beside 
 Siguior Baptista's liberality, 
 
 I 'II mend it with a largess: — Take your papers too, 
 And let me have them very well perfum'd ; 
 For she is sweeter than perfume itself. 
 To whom they go. What will you read to her? 
 
 Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you. 
 As for my patron, (stand you so assur'd,) 
 As firmly as yourself were still in place : 
 Yea, and (perhaps) with more successful words 
 Than you, unless you were a scliolar, sir. 
 
 Gre. O this learning ! what a thing it is ' 
 
 Gru. O this woodcock ! what an ass it is ! 
 
 Pet. Peace, sirrah. 
 
 Hor. Grumio, mum! — God save you .signiorGremio: 
 
 Gre. And you're well met, signiorHortensio. Trow 
 Whither I am going 1 — To Baptista ftlinola. [you, 
 I promis'd to inquire carefully 
 About a schoolmaster for fair Bianca: 
 And, by good fortune, I have lighted well 
 On this young man ; for learning, and behaviour. 
 Fit for her turn ; well read in poetry 
 And other books. — good ones, 1 warrant you. 
 
 Ilor. 'Tis well : and I haVe met a gentleman. 
 Hath promised me to help me to another, 
 A fine musician to instruct our mistress ; 
 So shall I no whit be beliind in duty 
 To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me. 
 
 Gre. Belov'd of me, — and that my deeds shall prove. 
 
 Gru. And that his bags shall prove. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love ; 
 Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, 
 j 1 '11 tell you news indifferent good fur either. 
 ' Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met, 
 ■ Upon agreement from us to his liking, 
 Will undertake to woo curst Katharine ; 
 Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. 
 
 Gre. So said, so done, is well : — - 
 Horteusio, have you told him all her faults? 
 
 Pet. 1 know she is an irksome brawling scold ; 
 If that be all, masters, I hear no harm. 
 
 Gre. No, say'st me so, friend 1 What countryman ? 
 
 Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son: 
 My father dead, my fortune lives for me ; 
 And I do hope good days, and long, to see. 
 
 Gre. O, sir, such a life, with such a wife, wore 
 strange : 
 But if you have a stomach, to 't o* God's name ; 
 You shall have me assisting you in all. 
 But, will you woo this wild cat ? 
 
 Pet. Will I live? 
 
 Gnt. Will he woo htr? ay, orl'll hangher. [^Aside. 
 
 Pet. Why came 1 lutiier, but to that intent?' 
 Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears ; 
 Have 1 not in my time heard lions roar i 
 Have 1 not heard the sea, puff 'd up with winds. 
 Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat ? 
 Have I not heard great ordnance in the field, 
 And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies '. 
 Have I not in a pitched battle heard 
 Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trimipets' clang ? 
 And do you tell me of a woman's tongue ; 
 That o-ives not half so great a blow to the ear, 
 R2 
 
260 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW 
 
 As will a cliesuut in a fanner's fire 1 
 Tush ! tush ! fear boys with bugs. 
 
 Gru. For he fears none. [As,ide. 
 
 Gre. Hortensio, hark ! 
 This gentleman is happily arriv'd, 
 My mind presumes, for his own good, and yours. 
 
 Hnr. I promis'd we would be contributors, 
 And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 
 
 Gre. And so we will ; provided, that he win her. 
 
 Gru* I would, I were as sure of a good dinner. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Enfer TnANio, bravely apparelled; and Biondello. 
 
 Tra. Gentlemen, God save you ! If I may be bold, 
 Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way 
 To the house of Signior Baptista Minola? 
 
 Gre. He that has the two fair daughters : — is 't 
 [aside to Tranic] he you mean t 
 Tra, Even he. Biondello ! 
 
 Gre. Hark you, sir ; You mean not her to 
 
 Tra. Perhaps.himandher, sir; What have you to do? 
 Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray. 
 Tra. I love no chiders, sir ; — Biondello, let's away. 
 Luc. Well begun, Tranio. [.iside. 
 
 Hor. Sir, a word ere you go ; — 
 Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea. or nol 
 Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any offence ? [hence, 
 Gre. No ; if, without more words, you will get you 
 Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free 
 For me, as for you ! 
 
 Gre But so is not she. 
 
 Tra For what reason, I beseech you ? 
 
 Gre. For this reason, if you '1! know, 
 
 Tliat she's tlie choice love of signior Gremio. 
 Hin: That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio. 
 7'rci Softly, my masters ! if you be gentlemen, 
 Do me this right, — hear nre with patience. 
 Baptista is a noble gentleman. 
 To whom my father is not all unknown ; 
 And, were his daughter fairer than she is. 
 She may more suitors have, and me for one. 
 Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers ; 
 Then well one more may fair Bianca have ; 
 And so she shall ; Lucentio shall make one. 
 Though Paris came, in hope to speed alone. 
 
 Gre. What ! this gentleman will out-talk us all. 
 Luc. Sir, give him head ; I know he'll prove a jade. 
 Pet. Hortensio. to what end are all these words 1 
 Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you. 
 Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter } 
 
 Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do, that he hath two ; 
 The one as famous for a scolding tongue. 
 As is the other for beauteous modesty. 
 
 Pet. Sir, sir, the first 's for me ; let her go by. 
 Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules ; 
 And let it be more than Alcides' twelve. 
 
 Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, insooth ; — 
 The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for. 
 Her father keeps from all access of suitors ; 
 And will not promise her to any man. 
 Until the elder sister first be wed : 
 The younger then is free, and not before. 
 
 Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man 
 Must stead us all, and me among the rest ; 
 An if you break the ice. and do this feat, — 
 Achieve the elder, set tlie younger free 
 For our access, — whose hap shall be to have her. 
 Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate. 
 
 Htir. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive ; 
 And since you do profess to be a suitor. 
 You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman, 
 To whom we all rest generally beholden. 
 
 Ti'j. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign whereof. 
 Please ye we may contrive this afternoon. 
 And quaff carouses to our'mistress' nealth ; 
 And do as adversaries do in law, — 
 Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends, fgoie- 
 Gru. fliuii.'O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be- 
 ifor. The motion 's good indeed, and be it so ; — 
 Petruchio, I shall be your ben veauta. I Exeunt, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — The same. A Room in Baptista's House, 
 Unter Katharina and Bianca. 
 Binn. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong your- 
 To make a bondmaid and a slave of me : [self, 
 
 That I disdain ; but for these other gawds, 
 Unbind my hands, 1 '11 pull them ofi' myself, 
 Yea, all my raiment, to my petticoat ; 
 Or, what you will command me, will I do. 
 So well I know my duty to my elders. 
 
 Kuih. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, tell 
 Whom thou lov'st best : see thou dissemble not. 
 Bian, Believe me, sister, of all the men alive 
 I never yet beheld that special face, 
 W"hich I could fancy more than any other. 
 
 Katli. Minion, thou liest; Is't not Hortensio'! 
 Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear, 
 I '11 plead for you myself, but you shall have him. 
 
 Ktilh. O then, belike, you fancy riches more ; 
 Y'ou will have Gremio to keep you fair. 
 
 Bioii. Is it for him you do envy me so'! 
 Nay, then you jest ; and now I well perceive, 
 You have but jested with me all this while : 
 I pr'ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands. 
 
 Kiitli. If that be jest, then all the rest was so. 
 
 [Strifes Ler, 
 Enter Baptista. 
 Bap, Why, how now, dame ! whence grows this 
 
 insolence ! 
 
 Bianca, stand aside ; — poor girl ! she weeps :— 
 Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. — 
 For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit. 
 Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee? 
 When did she cross thee with a bitter word ! 
 Kath. Her silence Houts me, and I'll be reveng'd. 
 [Flies after Bianca. 
 Bap. What, in my sight ! — Bianca, get thee in. 
 
 [Exit Bianca. 
 Kath. Will you not suffer me! Nay, now I see, 
 She is your treasure, she must have a husband ; 
 I must dance hare-fuot on her wedding-day, 
 And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. 
 Talk not to me ; I will go sit and weep, 
 Till I can find occasion of revenge. [Exit Katu. 
 
 Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I ■! 
 But who comes here ! 
 
 Enter Giiemio. wiili Lucentio in the habit of a mean 
 
 man ; Petruchio, u-it/i Hortensio as a musician; 
 
 and Tranio, with Biondello bearing a lute anil 
 
 books, 
 
 Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista. 
 
 Bap. Good morrow, neighbourGremio: God save 
 you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Pet. Andyou,goodsir! Pray,haveyounotadaugh- 
 Call'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous ! [ter 
 
 Bap. 1 have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina. 
 
 Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly. 
 
 Pet. Youwrongme. signiorGremio;givemeleave. — 
 I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 261 
 
 That,- -hearing of her beauty, and her wit, 
 
 Her affability, and bashful modesty, 
 
 Her wondrous qualities, and mild behaviour, — 
 
 Am bold to shew myself a forward guest 
 
 AVitliin vour house, to make mine eyes the witness 
 
 Of that "report which I so oft have heard. 
 
 And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 
 
 I do pre^ient you with a man of mine 
 
 [Presenting Houtensio. 
 Cunning in music, and the mathematics, 
 To instruct her fuHy in those sciences, 
 AVhereof. I know, she is not ignorant : 
 Accept of him, or else you do me wrong ; 
 His name is Licio, born in Mantua. 
 
 Blip. You're welcome, sir; and he for your good 
 But fur my daughter Katliarine,— this I know, [sake : 
 She is not for your turn, the more my grief. 
 
 Fet. I see you do not mean to part with her ; 
 Or else you like not of my company. 
 
 Bap. Rlistake me not, I speak but as I find. 
 Whence are you, sir? what may I call your name'! 
 
 Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son, 
 A man well known throughout all Italy. 
 
 Bap. 1 know him well : you are welcome for his sake. 
 
 Gre. Saving your tale. Petruchio, 1 pray, 
 Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too : 
 Baccare 1 you are marvellous forward. [doing. 
 
 Pet. 0, pardon me.signiorGremio ; I would fain be 
 
 Gre. I doubt it not, sir ; but you will curse your 
 
 wooing. 
 
 Neighbour, this is agift very grateful, I am sure of it. 
 To express the like kindness myself, that have been 
 more kindly beholden to you than any, I freely give 
 unto you lliis young scholar, [presenting Lvcentio.] 
 that hath been long studying at Rheims; as cunning 
 in Greek, Latin, and other languages, as the other in 
 music and mathematics : his name is Cambio ; pray, 
 accept his service. 
 
 Bap. A thousand thanks, signior^ Gremio: wel- 
 come, good Cambio. — But gentle sir, [to Tkanio.] 
 methinics you walk like a stranger ; May 1 be so bold 
 to know the cause of your coming? 
 
 Tra. Pardon rae, sir, the boldness is mine own -, 
 That being a stranger in this city here. 
 Do make mvself a suitor to your daughter. 
 Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous. 
 Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me. 
 In the preferment of the eldest sister : 
 This liberty is all that I request, — 
 That ujHin knowledge of my parentage, 
 I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo, 
 And free access and favour as the rest. 
 And, toward the education of your daughters, 
 I here bestow a simple instrument. 
 And this small packet of Greek and Latin books : 
 If you accept them, then ttieir worth is great. 
 
 Bap. Lucentio is your name 1 of whence, 1 pray 1 
 
 Tra. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio. 
 
 Blip. A mighty man of Pisa : by report 
 T know him well : you are very welcome, sir. — 
 Take yoti [to Hon.] the lute, and you [to Ltfc] the set 
 You shall go see your pupils presently, [of books, 
 Holla, within ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Sirrah, lead 
 
 These gentlemen to my daughters ; and teil them both, 
 These are their tutors ; bid them use them well. 
 
 [Exit Servant, with Hon. Luc. and Bion. 
 We will go walk a little in the orchard, 
 And then to dinner : You are passing welcome, 
 And so I pray you all to think yourselves. 
 
 Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste, 
 
 And every day I cannot come to woo. 
 You knew my father well ; and in him, me, 
 Left solelv heir to all his lands and goods. 
 Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd : 
 Then tell me, — If I get your daughter's love. 
 What dowrv ?hall I have with her to wife ? 
 
 Blip. Ahcir my death, the one half of my lands: 
 And, in po^sesslon. twenty thousand crowns. 
 
 Pet. And, for that dowry, I 11 assure her of 
 Her widowhood, — be it that she survive me. — 
 In all my lands and leases whatsoever : 
 Let specialties be therefore drawn between ns, 
 That covenants may be kept on either hand. 
 
 Blip. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd, 
 This is, — her love ; for that is all in all. 
 
 Pet. Why, that is nothing ; for I tell you, father, 
 I am as peremptory as she proud-minded" ; 
 And where two raging fires meet together. 
 They do consume the thing that feeds their fury : 
 Though little fire grows great with little wind, 
 Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all : 
 So I to her, and so she yields to me ; 
 For I am rough, and woo not like a babe. 
 
 Bap. Well may'st thou woo. and happy be thy speed! 
 But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 
 
 Pet. Ay, to the proof ; as mountains are for winds, 
 That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 
 
 Re-enter lloRTzysio, with Itis bead broken. 
 
 Bap. How now, my friend 1 why dost thou look so 
 
 Hor. For fear, 1 promise you, if I look pale, [pale? 
 
 Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good mu- 
 
 Hor. I think, she '11 sooner provea soldier ; [sician? 
 Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. 
 
 Bap. Why, then thou canst not break her to the lute? 
 
 Hor. Why, no ; for she hath broke the lute to me. 
 t did but tell her, she mistook her frets. 
 And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering ; 
 When, with a most impatient devilish spirit. 
 Frets, call uoa these? quoth she: J 'It fume uilh them: 
 And, with that word she struck me on the head. 
 And through the instrument my pate made way ; 
 And there I stood amazed for a while. 
 As on a pillory, looking through the lute ; 
 While she did call me, — rascal fiddler, 
 And — twangiing .lack ; with twenty such vile terms, 
 As she had studied to misuse me so. 
 
 Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ; 
 I love her ten times more than e'er I did : 
 O, how I long to have some chat with her ! 
 
 Bap, Well, go with me. and be not so discomfited : 
 Proceed in practice with my younger daughter ; 
 She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. — 
 Signior Petruchio, will you go with us ; 
 Or shall 1 send my daughter Kate to you? 
 
 Pet. I pray you do ; I will attend her here, — 
 
 [E.ieunt Baptista, GrtEMio,TRANio,^ Hor. 
 And woo her with some spirit when she comes. 
 Say, that she vail ; Why, then 1 '11 tell her plain. 
 She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : 
 Say, that she frown ; I '11 say, she looks as clear 
 As morning roses newly wash'd with dew : 
 Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word ; 
 Then I 'U commend her volubility, 
 And say — she uttereth piercing eloquence : 
 If she do bid me pack, 1 '11 give her thanks. 
 As though she bid me stay by her a week ; 
 If she deny to wed, I '11 crave the day 
 When I shall ask the banns, and when be married . — 
 But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio. speaic. 
 
 Enter Katharina. 
 Good morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I hear. 
 
262 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Kath. Well have you heard, but something-hard of 
 hearing ; 
 They call me — Katharine, that do talk of me. 
 
 Pet. Vou lie, in faith ; for you are call'd plain Kate, 
 And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst , 
 But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, 
 Kate of Kate-Hal!, my super-dainty Kate, 
 For dainties are all cates ; and therefore, Kate, 
 Talie tiiis of me, Kate of my consolation ; — 
 Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town, 
 Thj virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
 ( \et not so deeply as to thee belongs,) 
 Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife, [hither, 
 
 Kiith. Mov'd ! in good time : let him that mov'd you 
 Remove you hence: 1 knew you at the first, 
 Vou were a moveable. 
 
 Pt^^t. \Vhy, what 's a moveable ? 
 
 Kath. A joint-stool. 
 
 Pt't. Thou hast iiit it : come, sit on me. 
 
 Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are you. 
 
 Pet, Women are made to bear, and so are you. 
 
 Kath. No such jade, sir, as you, if me you mean. 
 
 Pet. Alas, good Kate ! I will not burden thee : 
 For, knowing thee to be but young and light, — 
 
 Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to catch ; 
 And yet as heavy as my weight should be. 
 
 Pet. Should be? should buz. 
 
 Kath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard. [thee? 
 
 Pet. O, slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard take 
 
 Kiith. Ay, for a turtle ; as lie takes a buzzard. 
 
 Pet. Come, come, you wasp ; i' faith, you are too an- 
 
 hath. If 1 be waspish, best beware my sting, [gry 
 
 Pet. My remedy is then to pluck it out. 
 
 Kath. Ay, if the fool could Hnd it where it lies. 
 
 Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear his 
 In his tail. [sting? 
 
 Kath, In his tongue. 
 
 Pet, Wliose tongue ? 
 
 Kath, Yours, if you talk of tails ; and so farewell. 
 
 Pet. What, with my tongueinyour tail? nay, come 
 Good Kale ; I am a gentleman. [again, 
 
 Kath. That I'll try. [Striking hiin. 
 
 Pet. I swear I'il cuff you, if you strike again. 
 
 Kath. So may you lose your arms : 
 If you strike me, you are no gentleman ; 
 And if no gentleman, why, then no arms. 
 
 Pet. A herald, Kate? O put me in thy books. 
 
 Kath. What is your crest ? a coxcomb ? 
 
 Pet. A combiess cock, so Kate will be my hen. 
 
 Kath. No cock of mine, you crow loo like a craven. 
 
 Pet. Nay, come. Kate, come; you must not look so 
 
 hath. It is my fashion, when 1 see a crab. [sour. 
 
 Pet. Why, here 's no crab y and therefore look not 
 
 Kath. There is, there is, • [sour. 
 
 Pet. Then shew it me. 
 
 Kath. Had I a glass, I would. 
 
 Pet. What, you mean my face ? 
 
 Kath. Well aim'd of such a young one. 
 
 Pet. Now, by Saint George, 1 am too young for you. 
 
 Kath, Yet you are withered. 
 
 Pet. 'Tis with cares. 
 
 hath. I care not. 
 
 Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth, you 'scape not 
 
 Kath. 1 chafe you. if 1 tarry ; let me go. [so. 
 
 Pet, No, not a wiiit ; I tind you passing gentle. 
 'Twas told me you were rough, and coy, and sullen, 
 And now 1 find report a very liar ; 
 For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous ; 
 But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers : 
 Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance. 
 Nor bite tlie Hp, as angry wenches will ; 
 Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk ; 
 
 But thou with mildness entertain'sl thy wooers, 
 
 With gentle conference, soft and affable 
 
 Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp? 
 
 slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazel-twjg, 
 Is straight, and slender ; and as brown in hue, 
 As hazel-nuts, and svveeter tlian the kernels. 
 0, let me see thue walk : thou dost not halt. 
 
 Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command- 
 
 Pet. Did ever Uian so become a grove. 
 As Kate this chamber with her princely gait? 
 O, be thou Dian. and let lier be Kate ; 
 And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian sportful ! 
 
 Kath. Where did you study all this goodly speech? 
 
 Pel. It is extempore, from my mother-wit. 
 
 Kath. A witty mother ! witless else her son. 
 
 Pet. Am I not wise ? 
 
 Kath. Yes ; keep you warm. 
 
 Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katharine, in thy bed: 
 And therefore, setting all this chat aside, 
 Thus in plain terms: — Your father hath consented 
 That you shall be my wife ; your dowry 'greed on ; 
 And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. 
 Now, Kate, I am a hu-sband for your turn ; 
 For, by this liglit, wliereby 1 see thy beauty, 
 (Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well,) 
 Thou must be married to no man but me; 
 For I am he, am born to lame you Kate ; 
 And bring you from a wild cat to a Kate 
 Conformable, as other household Kates. 
 Here comes your father ; never make denial, 
 
 1 must and will have Katharine to my wife. 
 
 Pe-enter Baptista, Gremio, and TkaniO. 
 
 Pap. Now, 
 Siguier Petruchio : How speed you with 
 My daughter ? 
 
 Pet. How but well, sir? how but well ? 
 
 It were impossible, I should speed amiss. 
 
 Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in your 
 dumps 1 
 
 Kath. Call you me, daughter? now I promise you. 
 You have shew'd a lender fatherly regard. 
 To wish me wed to one half lunatic ; 
 A mad-cap ruHian, and a swearing Jack, 
 Tliat thinks with oatlis to face the matter out. 
 
 Pet, Father, 'tis thus, — yourself and all the world. 
 That talk'd of her. halh talk'd amiss of her ; 
 If she be curst, it is for policy : 
 For she's not froward, but modest as the dove ; 
 She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; 
 For patience she will prove a second Grissel ; 
 And Roman Lucrece ior her chastity ; 
 And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together. 
 That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 
 
 Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first. 
 
 Cre. Hark, J^etruchio ! she says, she'll see thee 
 hang'd first. [our part ? 
 
 Tra. Is this your speeding? nay, then, good night 
 
 Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for my- 
 If she and 1 be pleas'd, what's that to you ? [self ; 
 'Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone. 
 That she siiall still be curst in company. 
 I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe 
 How much s!ie loves me : — O, the kindest Kate! — 
 She hung about my neck ; and kiss on kiss 
 She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath. 
 That in a twink she won me to her love. 
 O, you are novices ! 'tis a world to see. 
 How tame, when men and women are alone, 
 A meacock wretch can make the curstest shrew. — 
 Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, 
 To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day : — 
 
ACT IlI.-SCENE I. 
 
 263 
 
 ProviJe the feast, father, and '"'l, ;'?^ ?""' Vhands • ' 
 
 pft Father, ami wife, and gentlemen, acbeu ; 
 1 will to Venice, Sumlay conies apace : ■ 
 We will have rinijs, and things, and fine array ; 
 And kiss me KatI, we will be marned o Sunday 
 TE .""( Pr,Tnvc,nn aW KAT,.An,NA 5r.«a /y. 
 Gr/ Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly! 
 i7p. Faith, gentlemen, now I play a merchan s 
 And venture madly on a desperate mart. fp^". 
 
 Trr Twas a commodity lay fretting by you ; 
 Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 
 Bap. The gain 1 seek is-^qu.et in the match 
 Gre. No dSubt, but he hath got a quiet catch. 
 But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter ;- 
 Now is the day we long have looked tor • 
 I am your neighbour, and was suitor first. 
 
 Tm And I am one, that love Bianca more 
 Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess, 
 Gre. Youngling ! thou canst not love so dear as 1, 
 Tra. Greybeard! thy love doth freeze. 
 g_ ■' But thine doth fry 
 
 Skipper, stand back ; 'tis age. that nomisheth. 
 tL But youth, in ladies' eyes that flounsheth. 
 Bap. Consent you, gentlemen ; V\l compound tins 
 
 •Tis deeds must win the priie ; and he of both. 
 That can assure my daughter greatest dower. 
 Shall have Bianca's love — 
 Say, signior Greniio, what can you assure he ? 
 
 Gre First, as you know, my house within the city 
 Is richly furnished with plate and gold ; , 
 
 Basons; and ewers, to lave her dainty hands ; 1 
 
 My hangings all of Tynan tapestry : 
 In ivory coffers I have stuftM ray crowns ; 
 In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints, 
 Costly apparel, tents and canopies. 
 Fine iinen, T'urkey cushions boss d w, h pearl. 
 Valance of Venice gold in needle-work. 
 Pewter and brass, and all things that belong 
 To house or house-keeping : theii. at my larm, 
 I have a hundred milcli-kme to the pail, 
 Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls. 
 And all things answerable to this portion. 
 Myself am struck in years. 1 must confess ; 
 And if 1 die to-morrow, this is hers. 
 If whilst I live, she will be only mine. 
 
 Tr... That, only, caine well in Sir, list to me. 
 
 I am mv father's heir, and only son : 
 
 If I may have your daughter to my wile, 
 
 I'll leave her houses three or four as good, 
 
 Within rich Pisa's walls, as any one 
 
 Old signior Gremio has in Padua ; 
 
 Besides two thousand ducats by the year. 
 
 Of fruitful hind, all which shall be her jouiture.- 
 
 What, have 1 pinch'd you, sigu.or Giemio 
 
 Ore Two thousand ducats by the year, of land ! 
 My land amounls not to so much in all ; 
 That she shall have ; besides an argosy ! 
 That now is lying in Marseilles road :— - 
 What have l' cliok'd,you with an argosy . 
 
 5^1. Gremio, 'tislnuwn, my father hath no less 
 Than three great argosies ; besides two galhasses. 
 And twelve tight gallies : these 1 wiU ^^^-'l^^^' 
 And twice as much, wliale'er hou offer st next- 
 
 Gre Nay, I have offer'd all. I have no more ; 
 And she can have no more than all I have ; 
 If you like me, she shall have me and ™"'r; ,j 
 
 Tra. W by, then the maid is mine from all the world 
 
 By your firm promise ; Gremio is out-vied. 
 
 B„p. I must confess, your offer is the best , 
 And let your father make her the assurance. 
 She is your own : else, you must pardon ine : 
 If you should die before him, where s her dower . 
 Tra. That's but a cavil ; he is old, 1 young. 
 Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old . 
 Bun. Well, gentlemen, 
 I am thus resolv-d ;-0n Sunday next you know, 
 My daughter Katharine is to be married : 
 Now. on the Sunday following, shall Bianca 
 Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; 
 If not, to Signior Gremio ■. , . r r ■, 
 
 And so I take my leave, and thank you both [tn. 
 C.re Adieu, good neighbour;— now I fear thee not; 
 Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool 
 To nive thee all, and in his waning age. 
 Set "foot under thy table : T"t ! a toy ! 
 An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. li-J't- 
 
 Tra. A vengeance on your cralty wither d hide 
 Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 
 'Tis in my head to do my master good : — 
 I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucenlio 
 Must fet a father, call'd— suppos'd Vincentio ; 
 And that's a wonder -. fathers, commonly. 
 Do Tet their children ; but, in this case of wooing, 
 A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cunmng. 
 
 ACT 111. 
 
 SCENE I.— .4 R»"" i" Baptista's House. 
 Elder Liicentio, HouTENfio, aad Bianca. 
 Luc Fiddler, forbear ; you grow too forward, sir • 
 Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
 Her sister Katharine welcom d you withal 
 
 Hm: But, wrangling pedant, this is 
 The patroness of heavenly harmony : 
 Then give me leave to have prerogative ; 
 And when in music we have spent an hour 
 Your lecture shall have leisure lor as much. 
 
 Luc. Preposterous ass ! that never read so far 
 To know the cause why music was ordain d . 
 Was it not. to refresh the mind of man, 
 After his studies, or his usual pain ] 
 Then give me leave to read philosophy. 
 And, while I pause, serve in your harmony. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah. 1 will not bear these brave.s of thine. 
 Bian. Why. gentlemen, you do me double wrong. 
 To strive for' that which resteth in my choice : 
 1 1 am no breeching scholar in the schools ; 
 I I'll not be lied to hours, nor 'pointed times, 
 I But learn my lessons as I please mysell. 
 And to cut off all strife, here sit we down : — 
 ' Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ; 
 His lecture will be done ere you have tun d 
 
 //,„■ You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune . 
 ry'ii Bianca. — Hoiviensio retires. 
 Luc. That will be never ;-tune your instrument. 
 Bum. Where left we last 1 
 
 Luc. Here, madam: 
 
 Hac ihnt Slnwis ; hie est Sigeia teilus ; 
 .Hie stetei-tU yriumi regui celsa se'us. 
 Eiuii. Construe thein. ,■. t am 
 
 Lue.Huc iluit, as 1 told you before,-5n«;">, I am 
 Lucentio,-l.ic est, son unto Vincentio o 1 ''■'-^ 
 ^eia teilus. disguised thus to get your love ,-«'« 
 S':; a;d that Uicentio that com.s a -oing - 
 Prm,„i,ismv manTranio,->T..,.,beanng mj-or^ 
 celsa seiiis. tiiat we might beguile the "'d P""^^ °°"; 
 iW. Madam, my instrument's in tune, [llrtuimug 
 
264 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW, 
 
 Bian. I^el's hear ; — [Houtensio p/ai/s. 
 
 fye ! the treble jars. 
 Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 
 Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : Hoc ibat 
 
 SimoiSt I know you not ; hie est Sigeia tellns, 1 trust 
 
 you not;— Hie steterat Priami, take heed he hear us ' 
 
 not ; — regia, presume not ; — ceUu seuts, despair not. . 
 
 I Nor, Madam, 'tis now in tune. ! 
 
 Luc Ail but the base, i 
 
 /ffT. The base is right; 'tis the base knave that jars. I 
 How fiery and forward our pedant is I 
 Is'ow, for my life, the knave doth court my love : 
 Pedascute, I'll watch you better yet. 
 
 Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 
 
 Lue. Mistrust it not ; for, sure, .i^acides 
 Was Ajax, — call'd so from his grandfather. 
 
 Bian. Imustbelieve my master; else, 1 promise you, 
 
 1 should be arguing still upon that doubt; 
 But let it rest. — Now, Licio, to you : — 
 Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 
 That I have been thus pleasant with you both. 
 
 Hot; You may go walk, [to Luclntio.J and give 
 me leave awhile ; 
 My lessons make no music in three parts. 
 
 Lue. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait, 
 And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd, 
 Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside. 
 
 Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument, 
 To learn the ordering of my fingering, 
 I must begin with rudiments of art ; 
 To teach you gamut in a briefer sort. 
 More pleasant, pithy, and eiiectual. 
 Than hath been taught by any of my trade : 
 And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 
 
 Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago. 
 
 hot: Yet read the gamut of Hortensio. 
 
 Bian. [Reads.] G^imuX lam (hegriuuid nj'ailaeeord, 
 A re, to plead Hortensio's passion ; 
 
 B mi, BiuHca, take hintjor thu lord, 
 C faut, that loves with all a^ecthn: 
 
 D sol re, one elijf, two notes have I ; 
 
 E la mi, shew pitu, or 1 die. 
 Call you this— gamut ! tut ! I like it no*. : 
 Old fashions please mc best ; I am not so nice. 
 To change true rules for odd invention!., 
 
 "Enter a Servant. 
 
 5e)-u.Mistress,your father prays you leave your books, 
 And help to dress your sister's chamber up ; 
 Y'ou kuow, to-morrow is llie wedding-day. 
 
 Bian- Farewell, sweet masters, both ; I must be 
 
 gone. [Kxcunt Bianca and Servant. 
 
 Luc. 'Faith, mistress, then 1 have no cause to stay. 
 
 [Exit* 
 Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant j 
 Methinks, he looks as though lie were in love : — 
 Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble. 
 To cast thy wandering eves on every stale, 
 Seize thee, that list : If once 1 find thee ranging, 
 Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing, [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. Before Baptista's House. 
 
 Enter Baptista, Giiemio, TuANin, KATiiAnixA, 
 
 Bianca, Lucentio, and Attendants. 
 Bap. Signior Lucentio, [to Tranio.J this is the 
 'pointed day 
 That Kathajine and Tetruchio should be married, 
 And yet we hear not of our son-in-law : 
 What will be said I what mockery will it be, 
 To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends 
 To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage t 
 
 I What says Lucentio to this shame of ours ? [forcM 
 I Kuth. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, be 
 [ To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart, 
 Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen ; 
 Who woo'd in haste, and means to wed at leisure. 
 ' I told you, I. he was a frantic fool, 
 ! Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour, 
 And, to be noted for a merry man, 
 He '11 woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage, 
 , Make friends, invite ihem, and proclaim the banns ; 
 Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
 Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
 And say, — Lo, there is mad Petrnchio's wife. 
 If it would please him come and marrij her. 
 
 Tra. Patience^good Katharine, and Baptista too; 
 Upon my life, Petruchio means but well, 
 Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
 Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise ; 
 Though he be merry, yet withal lie 's honest. 
 A'a(/[. 'Would Katharine had neverseen him though! 
 [E.iit, weeping, folloived bu Bianca, and others. 
 Bap, Go. girl ; 1 cannot blame thee now to weep ; 
 For sucii an injury would vex a very saint, 
 Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour. 
 
 Enter Biondello. 
 
 Bion. Master, master ! news, old news, and such 
 news as you never heard of! 
 
 Bap. Is it new and old too ? how may that be ? 
 
 Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's 
 coming ? 
 
 Bap. Is he come? 
 
 Bion. Why, no, sir. 
 
 Bap. What then? 
 
 Bion. He is coming. 
 
 Bap. When will he be here? 
 
 Bion, When he stands where I am, and sees you 
 there. 
 
 Tra. But, say, what : — To thine old news. 
 
 Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat, 
 and an old jerkin ; a pair of old breeches, tlidce 
 turned ; a pair of boots that have been candle-cases, 
 one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta'ea 
 out of the town armoury, with a broken hilt, and 
 chapeless ; with two broken points : His horse hipped 
 with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred ; 
 besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose 
 in the chine ; troubled with the lampass, infected 
 with the fashions, full of windgalls, sped with spavins, 
 raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark 
 spoiled with tlie staggers, begnawn with the bots ; 
 swayed in the back, and shoulder-shotten ; ne'er leg- 
 ged before and with a half-checked bit, and a head- 
 stall of slieep's leather; which, being restrained to 
 keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and 
 now repaired with knots ; one girt six times pieced, 
 and a woman's crupper of velure, which hath two 
 letters for iier name, fairly set down in studs, and 
 here and there pieced with packthread. 
 
 Bap. Who comes with him? 
 
 Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world capari- 
 soned like the horse ; with a linen stock on one leg, 
 and a kersey boot-hose on tlie other, gartered with 
 red and blue list ; an old hat, and The humour of 
 f or tu fancies pricked in 't for a feather : a monster, a 
 very monster in apparel ; and not like a Christiaa 
 footboy, or a gentleman's lackey. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this 
 
 fashion ; 
 
 Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd. 
 
 Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes, 
 Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 
 
A.CT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 265 
 
 Bap. Didst tliou not say, he comes T 
 
 Bioii. Who! that Petiuchio came! 
 
 Bap. .\y, that Petruchio came. 
 
 bZ:. No, s.r; I say, his horse comes wth htm on 
 
 Ms back. 
 
 Bun. Whv, that's all one. 
 
 B?on No. by sa.nt Jamy, I hold you a penny. 
 Ahorse and i mln .s more than one, and yet not many, 
 
 Enter Petri'chio and Grumio 
 Pet. Come, v^here be these gallants ! who .s at home ! 
 Bav You are welcome, sir. 
 pi'- '■ And yet I come not well. 
 
 R,Mi And vet you halt not. , , 
 
 ^«;). .1UU J J _.^ ^^.^j, j^pparell d 
 
 Ira. 
 All wish vou were. , . , 
 
 Fe,. Were u better I should rush tn thus. 
 
 RnVwliere is Kate 1 where is my lovely bnde l 
 
 Howdoes mv father ^-(ientles, me.htnks you frown : 
 
 And wherefore gaze il.i. goodly company ; 
 
 As if they saw some wondrous monument, 
 
 Some comet, or unusual prodigy ! 
 X Wh;,sir,youknow,th.sisyourwedd>ng-day. 
 
 Firit we wer; sad, fearmg you would not come ; 
 Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. 
 Fye! doff this habit, shame to your estate, 
 A n eve-sore to our solemn festival. 
 
 2'™. And tell us, what occasion of import 
 Hath all so long detained you from your wile. 
 And sent vou hither so unlike yourself! ^ 
 
 Fet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear . 
 Sufficcth, 1 am come to keep my word, 
 Thouirh in some part enforced to digress , 
 \Vliicli. at more leisure, I w.l so excuse 
 As you shall well be satisHed withal. 
 But! where is Kate ! I stay too long from h ; 
 The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church 
 
 T," . See lot your bride in these unreverent robes . 
 Go to my chamber, put on clothes _o mine. 
 Pet Not I believe me ; thus I 11 visit her. 
 Bap But thus, I trust, you will not marry her 
 p" Goodsootli,eventhus-,thereforehavedonew !i 
 
 To n^ she's married, not unto my clothes: [words; 
 Could I repair what she will wear in me 
 As 1 can cLnge these poor accoutrements 
 Twere well for Kate, and better for myself. 
 But what a fool am 1, to chat with you, 
 When I should bid goodmorrow to my w.ue. 
 And seal the title with a lovely kiss . 
 
 Tra He hath some meaning in his mad attire . 
 We will persuade him, be it possible. 
 To put on better ere he go to church. 
 
 Bap ni after him, and see the event of this. Li.i<t. 
 tZ But, sir, to her love eoncerneth us to add 
 Her father's liking : Which to bring to pass 
 As 1 before imparted to your worship, 
 I am to get a man,— whate er he be, 
 It^ilTs not much ; we'll fit Mm to our turn,- 
 And he shall be Vincentio ot Pisa ; 
 And make assurance, here m 1 adua. 
 Of greater sums than I have promised. 
 So Ihaii you quietly enjoy your hope 
 Anrl m-irrv sweet Bianca with consent. 
 
 L,rWere tt not that my fellow schoohnaster 
 Doth watch Bianca's st£ps so narrowly, 
 'Twere good, methinks. to steal our manage , 
 Wrch fnce perforni-d. let all the -"'I'l -]-">■ 
 1 '11 keep mine own, despite of all the world 
 
 r™ That by degrees we mean to look into, 
 And watch our vantage in tins business : 
 We'll over-reach the greybeard, Giemio, 
 
 The narrow-prying father, Minola ; 
 The quaint musician, amorous Licio ; 
 All for my master's sake, Lucentio.— 
 
 Re-enter Gremio. 
 Signior Greraio ! came you from the church ! 
 Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from school ! 
 Tra. And is the bade and bridegroomcoming home! 
 Gre. A bridegroom, sav you ! 'tis a groom, indeed, 
 A o-rumbling groom, and that the girl shall find. 
 5Va. CurstL-r than she ! why, 'tis impossible. 
 Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend. 
 7n. Whv, she's a devil, a devil, the devil s dam. 
 Gre. Tut ! she 's a lamb, a dove, a fool to hira. 
 I'll tell vou, sir Lucentio ; When the priest 
 Should a'sk— if Katharine should be his wife, 
 Au ii/ .nios-uv.M.iS, quoth he; and swore so loud, 
 That,"ari Smaz'd, the priest let fall the book : 
 And, as he sloop'd again to take it up. 
 The mad-brain'd bridegroom took him such a cutf. 
 That down fell priest and book, and book and priest ; 
 Jiow take them up, qnoth he. if any list. , 
 
 Tra What said the wench, when he arose again! 
 Gre Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp d. 
 As if the vicar meant to cozen him. [and swore, 
 1 But after manv ceremonies done. 
 He calls for w'ine -.—A health, ((uoth he ; as if 
 He had been abroad, carousing to his mates 
 After a storm -.-Quaff 'd off the muscadel, 
 And threw the sops all in the sexton s face ; 
 Having no other reason,— 
 But that his beard grew thin and hungerly, ^ 
 And seem-d to ask him sops as he was drinking. 
 This done, he look the bride about the neck ; 
 And kiss'd her lips with sucii a clamorous smack. 
 That, at the parting, all the church did echo. 
 I seein<r this, came thence for very shame ; 
 \nd afi?r me, 1 know, the rout is coming : 
 Such a mad marriage never was before ; 
 Hark, hark ! 1 hear the minstrels play. \_Mn»c. 
 
 Enter PETnr.CH.o, Kathaiuna, BrANCA, Bai-tista, 
 HoRTESSio, GnuMio. and J ram. 
 
 Fet. Gentlemen and friends, 1 thank you foryot 
 I know, you think to dine with me to-day, [pams. 
 And have prepar'd great store ol wedding cheer , 
 But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 
 And therefoie here 1 mean to take my leave. 
 
 Bap. Is't possible, you will away to-night . 
 
 Fet. I must away to-day, before night come :- 
 Make it no wonder'; if you knew my business, 
 Vou would eutieat me rather go than stay. 
 And, honest company, 1 thank you all 
 That have beheld me give away myselt 
 To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife . 
 Dine with my father, drink a health to me ; 
 For I must hence, and farewell to you all. 
 Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner. 
 
 Fet. It may not be. 
 
 f;,,^_ ■' Let me entreat you. 
 
 Fet. It cannot be. 
 
 ;^-„,,,. Let me entreat you. 
 
 Pet I am content. , 
 
 i/':, \re vou content lo slay! 
 
 Fet I am content vou shall entreat me stay. 
 But vet not slay, entreat me how you can. 
 
 ^""'•^"-•'f3'"""'^'^"^-'Grumio, my horses. 
 
 G™. Ay, sir. they be ready ; the oats have ea.ca 
 the horses. 
 
 hath Nay, then, 
 Dowl.;ttho^ucanst,Iwillnotgotrf-day; 
 
266 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself. 
 The door is open, sir, there lies your way. 
 You may be jo^^^ing. \\ iiiles your boots are green ; 
 For me, 1 '11 nul be gone, till I please myself: 
 "lis like, you '11 prove a jolly surly groom, 
 That take it on you at the hrst so rounJly. 
 
 Fel. O Kate, content thee ; pr'ythee he not angry, 
 
 A'ul/i. 1 will be augryl VV hat hast thou to do ? — 
 Father, be quiet: he shall stay my leisure. 
 
 Ore. Ay, marry, sir : now it begins to work. 
 
 Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner: — 
 
 I see, a woman may be made a fool, 
 
 II she had not the spirit to resist. [mand : 
 
 Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy corn- 
 Obey the bride, you that attend on lier : 
 
 Go to the feast, revel and domineer. 
 Carouse full measure to her maidenhead. 
 
 Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves ; 
 
 But for my bonny Kate, she must witli me. 
 Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor stare, nor fret ; 
 I will be master of what is mine own : 
 .She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my house, 
 My household stuff, my field, my barn, i 
 
 Sly horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ; 
 And here she stands, touch her whoever dare ; 
 I '11 bring my action on the proudest he 
 
 'I'hat stops my way in Padua. Grumio, 
 
 Draw forth thy weapon, we 're beset with thieves ; 
 Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : — 
 Fear not, sweet wench, tliey shall not touch thee, Kate; 
 1 '11 buckler thee against a million. 
 
 lEieiait Petruciiio, Katharina, and GnuMro. 
 
 Blip. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones. 
 
 Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with 
 laughing. 
 
 fra. Of all mad matches, never was the like ! 
 
 Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister'! 
 
 Biaii. 'i'hat, being mad herself, she's madly mated. 
 
 Gre. I warrant him, I'etruchio is Kated. 
 
 Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and 
 bridegroom warits 
 For to supply the places at the table, 
 Vou know there wants no junkets at the feast ; — 
 Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place ; 
 And let liianca take her sister's room: 
 
 Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride it? 
 
 Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen, 
 let's go. lExeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCEXE 1.—^ Halt in Petruchio's Country House. 
 Enter Gfumio. 
 Crx. lye. fye, on all tired jades! on all mad 
 masters! and all foul ways! Was ever man so 
 beaten 1 was ever man so rayed 1 was ever man so 
 weary 1 1 am sent before to make a fire, and they are 
 coming after to warm lliem. Now, were not I a 
 little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to 
 my teeth, my tungue to the roof of my mouth, my 
 heart in my belly, ere I should come by a fire to 
 thaw me : — But, 1, with blowing the fire, shall warm 
 myself; for, considering the weather, a taller man 
 Ihan 1 will take cold. Holla, hoa ! Curtis ! 
 
 Enter Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Who is that, calls so coldly ? 
 Gru. A piece of ice; If thou doubt it, thou may'st 
 slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater 
 
 a run but my head and my neck, A fire, good Curtis. 
 
 Curt, Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio ^ 
 
 Grti. O, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire, fire ; 
 cast on no water. 
 
 Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported? 
 
 (iru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost : but, 
 thou know'st, winter tames man, woman, and beast ; 
 for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mis- 
 tress, and myself, fellow Curtis. 
 
 Curt. Away, you three inch fool ! I am no beast. 
 
 Grit. Am I but three inches? why, thy horn is a 
 foot ; and so long am I, at the least. But wilt then 
 make a fiie, or shall 1 complain on thee to our mis- 
 tress, whose hand (she being now at hand,) thou 
 shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slowia 
 thy hot office? 
 
 Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me. How goes 
 the world ? 
 
 Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but 
 thine ; and, therefore, fire : Do thy duty, and have 
 thy duty ; for my master and mistress are almost 
 frozen to death. 
 
 Curt. There's fire ready; And, therefore, good 
 Grumio, the news ? 
 
 Gru. Why, Jack boy ! oh boij ! and as much news 
 as thou wilt. 
 
 Curt. Come, you are so full of conycatching : — 
 
 Gru. Why, therefore, fire ; for 1 have caught ex- 
 treme cold. Where's the cook? is supper ready, 
 the liouse trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept; 
 the serving men in their new fustian, their white 
 stockings, and every officer his wedding-garment on ? 
 Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair without, the 
 carpets laid, and every thiog in order? 
 
 Curt. AW ready; And, therefore, I pray thee, news? 
 
 Gru. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master 
 and mistress fallen out. 
 
 Curt. How? 
 
 Gru. Out of tiieir saddles into the dirt ; And 
 thereby hangs a tale. 
 
 Curt, Let's ha't, good Grumio. 
 
 Gru, Lend thine ear. 
 
 Curt. Here. 
 
 Gru. There. [Striking htm. 
 
 Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale. 
 
 Gru. And therefore 'tis called, a sensible tale : and 
 this cuff was but to knock at your ear, and beseech 
 listening. Now I begin ; Imprimis, we came down 
 a foul hill, my master riding behind my mistress : — 
 
 Curt, Both on one liorse ? 
 
 Gru, What*s that to thee? 
 
 Curt. Why, a horse. 
 
 Gru. Tell thou the tale : But hadst thou not 
 
 crossed me, thou should'sl have heard how her horse 
 fell, and she under her horse ; thou should'st have 
 heard, in how miry a place : how she was bemoiledj 
 how he left her with the horse upon her ; how he 
 buat me because her horse stumbled ■ how she waded 
 through the dirt to pluck him off me ; how he swore ; 
 how she prayed — that never pray'd before; howl 
 cried : how the horses ran away ; how her bridle was 
 burst ; how I lost my crupper ; with many things of 
 wortliy memory ; which now shall die in oblivion, 
 and thou return unexperienced to thy grave. 
 
 Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than she. 
 
 Gru. Ay ; and that, thou and the proudest of you 
 all shall find, wlien he comes home. But what talk 
 I of this?— call forth Nathaniel, Joseph, Nicholas, 
 Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest; let their 
 heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats brushed, 
 and their garters of an indifterent knit : let them 
 curtsey wim their left legs; and not presume to 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 2G7 
 
 touch a hair of ray master's horse-tail, till they kiss 
 their hands. Are they all ready i 
 
 Curt. They are. 
 
 Gtu,. Call them forth. 
 
 Curt, Do you hear, ho? you must meet my mas- 
 ter, to counteuaace my mistress. 
 
 Grti. Why, she hath a face of her own. 
 
 Curt. Who knows not that ? 
 
 Grn. Thou, it seems ; that callest for company to 
 countenance her. 
 
 Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 
 
 Cru. Why, she comes to borrow notliing of them. 
 
 Enter several Servants. 
 
 Nath. Welcome home, Grumio, 
 
 Phil. How now. Grumio? 
 
 Jos. What, Grumio! 
 
 Kich. Fellow Grumio ! 
 
 Nath. How now, old lad? 
 
 Gru. Welcome, you ; — how now, you ; — what, 
 you ;— fellow, you ; — and thus much for greeting. 
 Now, my spruce companions, is all ready, and all 
 things neat ? 
 
 Kuth. Alltliingsis ready: How near isourmaster? 
 
 Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this ; and there- 
 fore be not, Cock's passion, silence ! 1 hear 
 
 my master. 
 
 E/ifer PfTnucnio and KATnAniNA, 
 
 P«(.W'herebe theseknaves? Wlial, nomanatdoor, 
 To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse ! 
 Where is Nathaniel, Gregory', Philip 1 
 
 All Serv. Here, here, sir ; here, sir. 
 
 Pet. Here, sir I here, sir ! here, sir ! here, sir ! — 
 You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms! 
 What, nu attendance ! no regard I no duty ? — 
 Where is the foolish knave I sent before? 
 
 Gru. Here, sir ; as foolish as 1 was before. 
 
 Pet. You peasant swain ! you wiioreson malt-horse 
 Did I not bid thee meet me in the park, [drudge ! 
 And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ? 
 
 Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made, 
 And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i* llie heel ; 
 There was no link to colour Peter's hat, 
 And Walter's dagger was not come from sheathing : 
 There were none fine, but Adam. Italph, and Gre- 
 The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ; [goiy ; 
 Yet, as they are, liere are tliey come to meet you. 
 
 Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. — 
 [Eieuiit some if the Servants. 
 Where is the life that late I Ud — [Sings. 
 
 Where are those Sit down, Kate, and welcome. 
 
 Soud, soud, soud, soud ! 
 
 Re-e7iter Servants, with supper. 
 
 W^hy, when, I say? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be merry. 
 
 Offwith my boots, you rogues, you villains; When? 
 It was the friar if orders grey, [Si/igs, 
 
 As he forth, walked on his wau : — - 
 
 Out, out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry : 
 
 Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. — 
 
 [.S'rn'fees him. 
 
 Be merry, Kate : — Some water, here ; what, ho ! 
 
 "Where's my spaniel Troilus? — Sirrah, get you hence. 
 
 And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hitlier: [Ka(>Serv. 
 
 One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted 
 with. — 
 
 Where are my slippers? — Shall I have some water? 
 [A basou is presertied to him. 
 
 Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily : — 
 
 [Servant lets the ewer fall. 
 
 You whoresonvillain! will youlet itfall ? [Sfn/v^s him. 
 
 Kath. Patience, I pray you ; 'twas a fault un\villtng. 
 
 Pet. A whoreson, beelleheaded, flap-ear'd knave * 
 Come, Kate, sit down ; I know you have a stomach 
 Will you give thanks, sweet Kate ; or else shall! ] — 
 What is tins? mutton ? 
 
 1 Serv, Ay. 
 
 Pt'r. Who brought it? 
 
 1 Serv. I. 
 
 I'et. 'Tis burnt ; and so is all the meat : 
 What dogs are these ? — Where is the rascal cook ? 
 How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser, 
 And serve it thus to me that love it not ? 
 There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all : 
 
 [Throus the meat, !s;c, about the stage. 
 You heedless joltbeads, and unmanner'd slaves ! 
 What, do you grumble ? I'll be with you straight. 
 ^ Kath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet ; 
 The meat was well, if you were so contented. 
 
 Pet. I tell thee, Kate, "twus burnt and dried away i 
 And I expressly am forbid to touch it, 
 For it engenders choler, planteth anger; 
 And better 'twere that both of us did fast,^ 
 Since, of ourselves, ourselves are choleric, — 
 Than feed it with such over-roasted tlesh. 
 Be patient ; to-morrow it shall be mended. 
 And, for this night, we'll fast fur company ; — 
 Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt PF.iiiucnii), Katuauina, and Curtis. 
 Nath. [Advancing.] Peter, didst ever see the like ' 
 
 Peter. He kills her in her own humour. 
 
 Re-enter Curtis. 
 
 Gru. Where is he ? 
 
 Curt. In her chamber. 
 Making a sermon of continency to her: 
 And rails, and swears, and rates ; that she, poor soul. 
 Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak ; 
 And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
 Away, away! for he is coming hither. [Exeunt 
 
 Re-enter PrTnucmo. 
 Pet. Thus have 1 politicly begun my reign, 
 And 'tis my iiope to end successfully ; 
 My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty 
 And, till she stoop, she must not be full-garg*d. 
 For then she never looks upon her lure. 
 Anpther way I have to man my haggard. 
 To make her come, and know her keeper's call, 
 That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites. 
 That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient. 
 She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat : 
 Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not? 
 As with the meat, some undeserved fault 
 I'ii find about the making of the bed ; 
 And here I'll Hing the pillow, there the bolster. 
 This way the coveilet, another way the sheets: — 
 Ay, and amid this hurly, 1 mtend. 
 That all is done in reverend care of her ; 
 And, in conclusion, she shall watch all niglit : 
 And, if she chance to nud, I'll rail and brawl. 
 And with the clamour keep her still awake, 
 'i'his is a way to kill a wife with kindness ; 
 Andthus I'll curb her mad and headstrong liumour: — 
 He that knows better how to tame a shvew. 
 Now let him speak ; 'us charity to shew. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE II.— Padua. Before Baptista's Housf. 
 Enter Thaniou»(/ Hortensio. 
 
 Tra, Is't possible, friend Licio, that liianca 
 Doth fancy any other but Lucentio 1 
 I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 
 
268 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, 
 Stand by, and mark the manner of his tt;aching. 
 
 ['i'/ici/ St II nd- aside. 
 
 Enter Bianca and Lucfxtio. 
 Luc. Now, mistress, prpfit you in what you read ? 
 Bian. What, master, read you? first resolve me that. 
 Luc. I read that I profess, the art to love. 
 Bian. And may you. prove, sir, masterof your art ! 
 Lnc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of my 
 heart, [Tfieq retire. 
 
 Hor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell me, I pray, 
 You that durst swear thai your mistress Bianca 
 Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio. 
 
 Tra. O despiteful love ! unconstanl womankind ! — 
 I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. 
 
 Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
 Nor a musician, as 1 seem to be ; 
 But one that scorn to live in this disguise, 
 For such a one as leaves a gentleman. 
 And makes a god of such a cuilion : 
 Know, sir, that I am call'd — Horlcnsio, 
 
 Tra. Signior Horten'^io, I have often heard 
 Of your entire affection to Bianca ; 
 And since mine eyes are witness of hei lightness 
 I will wiih you, — if you be so contented,— 
 Forswear Bianca, and her love for ever. 
 
 Hor. See, howthey kiss and court! Signior Lu- 
 
 Here is my hand, and here 1 firmly vow — [centio, 
 Never to woo her more ; but do forswear her. 
 As one unworthy of all the former favours 
 That I have fondly flatter'.i her withal. 
 
 Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath. 
 Ne'er to marry with her though she would entreat; 
 Fye on her ! see, how beastly she doth court him. 
 
 Hor. 'Would, all the world, but he, had quite for- 
 For me, — that I may surely keep mine oath, [sworn ! 
 I will be married to a wealthy widow 
 Ere three days pass ; which hath as long lov'd me, 
 As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard : 
 And so farewell, signior Lucentio. — 
 Kindnt^ss in women, not their beauteous looks, 
 Shall win my love : and so 1 take my leave, 
 In resolution as I swore before. 
 
 [Eiit HoRiENSio. — LucFNTioonrf Bianca advance. 
 Tra. JMistress Bianca, bless you with such grace 
 As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case! 
 Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love ; 
 And have forsworn you with Hortensio. 
 
 J3m». Tranio. you jest ; But have you both forsworn 
 Tra. Mistress, we have. [me 1 
 
 Luc. Then we are rid of Licio. 
 
 Tra. r faith, he '11 have a lusty widow now, 
 That that shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 
 Bia7i. God give him joy ! 
 Tra. Ay, and he 'II tame her. 
 Bian. He says so, Tranio. 
 
 Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school, 
 Bia7i. The taming-school ! what, is there such a 
 
 placet 
 Tra. Ay. mistress, and Petruchio is the master ; 
 That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, — 
 To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue. 
 
 Enter Biondello, ruJining, 
 
 Bion. master, master, I have watch'd so long 
 That I'm dog-weary ; but at last 1 spied 
 An ancient engle coming down the iiill, 
 Will serve the turn. 
 
 Tra. What is he, Biondello? 
 
 Bion. Master, a mercatante, or a pedant, 
 I know not wiiat j but formal in apparel, 
 
 In gait and countenance surely like a father. 
 .Luc. And what of him, Tranio ? 
 Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale 
 I '11 make him glad to seem Vincentio ; 
 And give assurance to Baptista Minola, 
 As if he were the riglit Vincentio. 
 Take in your love, and then let me alone. 
 
 [Exeunt Lucentio and Biaxca. 
 
 Enter a Pedant. 
 Fed, God save you. sir I 
 
 Tra. And you, sir! you are welcome, 
 
 Travel you far on, or are you at the furtliest ! 
 Fed. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two : 
 But then up further ; and as far as Rome j 
 And so to Tripoly, if God lend me life. 
 Tra. What countryman, I pray 1 
 Fed, Of Mantua. 
 
 Tra. Of Mantua, sir? — marry, God forbid I 
 And come to Padua, careless of your life? 
 
 Fed. My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard. 
 Tra, 'Tis deatii for any one in Mantua 
 To come to Padua ; Know you not the cause ? 
 Your ships are staid at Venice ; and the duke 
 (For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him,) 
 Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly : 
 'Tis marvel ; but that you 're but newly come. 
 You might have heard it else proclaim'd about. 
 
 Fed. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so ; 
 For I have bills for money by exchange 
 From Florence, and must here deliver them. 
 
 Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy, 
 This win 1 do, and tliis will I advise you : 
 First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa ? 
 Fed. Ay, sir, in Pisa have 1 often been : 
 Pisa, renowned for grave citizens, 
 
 Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio? 
 Fed. I know him not, but I have heard of hira ; 
 A merchant of incomparable wealth, 
 
 Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to say. 
 Ill countenance somewhat doth resemble you. 
 
 Bion. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and all 
 one. ^ [Aside. 
 
 Tra. To save your life in this extremity. 
 This favour will 1 do you for his sake ; 
 And think it not tlie worst of a!! your fortunes. 
 That you are like to sir Vincentio. 
 His name and credit shall you undertake. 
 And in my house you sliall be friendly lodg'd ; — 
 Look, that you take upon you as you should ; 
 You understand me, sir; — so shall you stay 
 Till you have done your business in the city : 
 If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. 
 
 Fed. O, sir, I do ; and will repute you ever 
 The patron of my life and liberty. 
 
 Tra. Then go with me, to make the matter good. 
 This, by the way, I let you understand ; 
 My father is here look'd for every day, 
 To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
 Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here : 
 In all these circumstances I '11 instruct you : 
 Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— .4 Jioom in Petruchio's House, 
 Enter Katharina and Guu.mio. 
 
 Gru. No, no ; forsooth, I dare not, for my life. 
 
 Kath, The more my wrong, the more his spite ap- 
 What, did he marry me to famish me ? [pears r 
 
 Beggars, that come unto my father's door. 
 Upon entreaty, have a present alms ; 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 2(i9 
 
 If not, elsewhere they meet with charity : 
 
 But 1.- — wiio never knew how lo entreat, — 
 
 Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep ; 
 
 With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed : 
 
 And that which spites me more tlian all these wants, 
 
 He does it under name of perfect love ; 
 
 As who should say, — if 1 should sleep, or eat, 
 
 "I'were deadly sickness, or else present death. — 
 
 1 pr'ythce go, and get rae some repast ; 
 
 I care not what, so it be wholesome food. 
 
 Gi-H. What say you to a neat's foot ? 
 
 Kath, 'Tis passing good ; I pr'ythee let me have it 
 
 Gru. I fear, it is too phlegmatic a meat : — 
 How say you to a fat tripe, Hnely broil'd ? 
 
 Kath. I like it well ; good Grumio, fetch it me- 
 
 Gru. I cannot tell ; 1 fear, 'tis choleric. 
 What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard? 
 
 Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. 
 
 Gvu. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little. 
 
 Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest. 
 
 Gru. Nay, then I will not ; you shall have the mus- 
 Or else you get no beef of Grumio. [tard, 
 
 Kath, Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. 
 
 Gru. Why, then the mustard without the beeJ". 
 
 Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, 
 
 [Beats him. 
 That feed'st me with the very name of meat : 
 Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you, 
 That triumph thus upon my misery ! 
 Go, get thee gone, 1 say. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, uitk a dish of meat ; 
 and HoRTENsio. 
 
 Pet. How fares my Kate^ What, sweeting, all 
 
 Hor. Mistress, what cheer ? [amort 1 
 
 Kath, 'Faith, as cold as can be. 
 
 Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me. 
 Here, love ; thou see'st liow diligent I ajn, 
 To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee: 
 
 [Sets the dish on a table. 
 I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. 
 What, not a word \ Nay then, thou lov'st it not j 
 And all my pains is sorted lo no proof: — 
 Here, take away this dish. 
 
 Kath, 'Pray you, let it stand. 
 
 Per. The poorest service is repaid with thanks ; 
 And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. 
 
 Kath. 1 thank you, sir. 
 
 Hor. Signior Petruchio, fye ! you are to blame ! 
 Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. 
 
 Fet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou iov'st me. — 
 
 [Aside. 
 Much good do it unto thy gentle heart ! 
 Kate, eat apace : — And now my honey love, 
 Will we return unto thy father's house ; 
 And revel it as bravely as the best, 
 With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings, 
 \\ ith rutFs, and cuffs, and faithingales, and things ; 
 W'ith scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery, 
 With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery. 
 What, liastthou din'dl The tailor stays thy leisure, 
 To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure. 
 
 Enter Tailor, 
 Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; 
 
 Enter Haberdasher, 
 Lay forth the gown. — What news with you, sir? 
 Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak. 
 Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer ; 
 A velvet-dish ; — fye, fye ! 'tis lewd and filthy ; 
 Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnutshell. 
 
 A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap ; 
 Away with it, come, let me have a bigger. 
 
 Kath. 1 '11 have no bigger ; this dotli fit the time. 
 And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 
 
 Pef. When you are gentle, you shall have one too, 
 And not till then. 
 
 Her. That will not be in haste. [Aside. 
 
 Kath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak; 
 And speak 1 will ; I am no child, no babe 
 Your betters have endur'd me say my mind ; 
 And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears. 
 My tongue will tell the anger of my heart ; 
 Or else my heart, concealing it, will break ; 
 And, rather than it shall, I will be free 
 Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. 
 
 Pet. Why, thou say'^t true; it is a paltry cap, 
 A custard coHin, a bauble, a silken pie : 
 I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not. 
 
 huih. Love nie, or love me not, I like the cap ; 
 And it I will have, or 1 will have none. 
 
 Pet. Thy gown 1 why, ay ;— Come.tailor.letussee't. 
 
 mercy, God ! what masking stuff is here 1 
 What's this t a sleeve 1 'tis like a demi-cannon : 
 What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart ■* 
 Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash. 
 Like to a censer in a barber's shop : — 
 
 Why, what, o' devil's name, tailor, call'stthou this? 
 
 Hor. 1 see, she 's like to have neither cap nor gown. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well, 
 According to the fashion, and the time. 
 
 fet. IMarry, and did ; but if you be remeiuber'd, 
 
 1 did not bid you mar it to the lime. 
 Go, hop me over every kennel home, 
 
 For you shall hop without my custom, sir: 
 I'll none of it ; hence, make your best ol it. 
 
 Kath. I never saw a better fa>hion"d gown, 
 More quaint, more pleasing, nor more commendable : 
 Belike, you mean to make a puppet of me. 
 
 Pet. Why,truej hemeans to make a puppet of thee. 
 
 Tui, She says, your worship means to make a pup- 
 pet of her. [thread, 
 
 Pef. O monstrous arrogance ! Thou lie^t, thou 
 Thou thimble. 
 
 Thou yard, thiee-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail. 
 Thou flea, thou knit, thou winter cricket thou: — 
 Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread ! 
 Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; 
 Or 1 shall so be-mete thee with thy yard, 
 As thou shall think on prating wiiilst thou liv'st ! 
 I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. 
 
 Tai. Vour worship is deceived; tlie gown is made 
 Just as my master had direction ; 
 Grumio gave order how it should be done. 
 
 Gru. 1 gave him no order, 1 gave him the stuff. 
 
 7'ai. But how did you desire it should be made? 
 
 Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 
 
 Tai. But did you not request to have it cut'* 
 
 Gru. Thou hast faced many things. 
 
 Tai, I have. 
 
 Giu. Face not me : thou hast braved many men ; 
 brave not me ; 1 will neither be faced nor braved. X 
 say unto thee, — I bid thy master cut out the gown ; 
 but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : ergo, thou liest. 
 
 Tai. Why. here is the note of the fashion to testify. 
 
 Pet. Read it. 
 
 Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he say 1 said so. 
 
 7'ai. Impiiinis, a loose-bodied gown : 
 
 Gru. Master, if ever I said loose-bodied gown, sow 
 I me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with a 
 1 bottom of brown thread • I said, a gown. 
 
 Pet. Proceed. 
 
270 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Tai. With a small compassed cape ; 
 
 Gru. I confess the cape. 
 
 Tai, With a tnnik sleeve; 
 
 Gru, I confess two sleeves. 
 
 Tai, The ileei'cs citriously cut. 
 
 Pet. Ay, there's the villany. 
 
 Gru. f>rori' the bill, sir; error i' the bill. I com- 
 manded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed up 
 again: and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy 
 little finger be armed in a thimble. 
 
 Tai. This is true, that 1 say ; an I had thee in place 
 where, thou should'st know it. 
 
 Gru. I am for thee straight: take thou the bill, 
 give me thy mete-yard, and spare not me. 
 
 Hor, God-a-raercy, Gruraio ! then he shall have 
 no odds. 
 
 Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me. 
 
 Gtu. You are i' the right, sir ; 'tis for my mistress. 
 
 Pet. Go, take i' up unto thy master's use. 
 
 Gru. Villain, not for thy life : Take up my mis- 
 tress's gown for thy master's use ! 
 
 Pet. Why, sir, what's your conceit in that 1 
 
 Gi-^i. 0,sir, the conceit is deeper than you think for; 
 Take up my mistress' gown to his master's use ! 
 O, fye, fye, fye ! 
 
 Pet. Ilortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor paid : — 
 
 [Aiide. 
 Go take it hence ; begone, and say no more. 
 
 Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow. 
 Take no unkindness of his hasty words : 
 Avvay, I say; commend me to thy master. [ExitT^'i. 
 
 Pet. Weil, come, my Kate ; we will unto your 
 Even in these honest mean habiliments ; [father's, 
 Our purses siiall be proud, our garments poor: 
 •For 'tis the mind that makts the body rich ; 
 And as tlie sun breaks through the darkest cloud. 
 So honour peereth in the meanest habit. 
 What, is the jay more precious than the lark, 
 Because his feathers are more beautiful 1 
 Or is the adder better than the eel. 
 Because his painted skin contents the eye? 
 O, no, good Kate ; neither art thou the worse 
 For this poor furniture, and mean array. 
 If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me : 
 And therefore, frolic ; we will hence forthwith, 
 To feast and sport us at thy father's house. — 
 Go, call my men, and let us straight to him ; 
 And bring our horses unto Long-lane end, 
 There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. — 
 Let's see , I think, 'tis now some seven o'clock, 
 And well we niay come there by dinner time. 
 
 Kuth. ] dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two; 
 And 'twill be supi>er-time, ere you come there. 
 
 Pet. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse : 
 Look, wliat 1 speak, or do, or think to do. 
 You are still crossing it. — Sirs, let't alone: 
 I will not go to-day ; and ere I do, 
 It shall be what o'clock I say it is. 
 
 Hor. Why, so! this gallant will command the sun. 
 
 \_Eieuut. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Padua. Before Baptista's House. 
 Enter TnANio, arid the Pedant dressed /(/te Vince.ntio. 
 
 Tra. Sir, this is the house; Please it you, that I call? 
 
 Ped. Ay, what else? and, but I be deceived, 
 Signior Baptista may remember me, 
 Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where 
 We were lodgeft at the Pegasus. 
 
 Tra. 'Tis well ; 
 
 And hold your own, in any case, with such 
 Austerity as Tongeth to a father. 
 
 Enter Bioxdello. 
 
 Ped. 1 warrant you: But. sir, here comes your boy; 
 'Twere good, he were school'd. 
 
 Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondelio, 
 Now do your duty thoroughly, I advise you ; 
 Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio, 
 
 Bwn. Tut ! fear not me. 
 
 Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista ? 
 
 Bion. I told him, that your father was at Venice; 
 And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. 
 
 Tra. 'I'hou 'rt a tall fellow ; hold thee that to drink 
 Here comes Baptista: — set your countenance, sir. 
 
 Enter Baptista and Luukntio. 
 Signior Baptista, you arc happily met:— 
 Sir, [to the Pedant.] 
 This is the gentleman I told you of: 
 I pray you, stand good father to me now, 
 Give me Bianca for my patrimony, 
 
 Pcd. Soft, son ! 
 Sir, by your leave, having come to Padua 
 To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
 IMade me acquainted with a weighty cause 
 Of love between your daughter and iiimself ; 
 And, — for the good report 1 hear of you ; 
 And for the love he beareth to your daughter. 
 And she to him, — to stay liim not too long, 
 I am content, in a good father's care, 
 To have him matcli'd ; and, — if you pleas'd to Hlie 
 No worse than I, sir — upon some agreement, 
 Me shall you find most ready and most willing 
 With one consent to have liur so bestowed ; 
 For curious I cannot be with you, 
 Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 
 
 Bap. Sir, pardon me in what 1 have to say j — 
 Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well. 
 Bight true it is, your son Lucentio here 
 Doth love mv daugliter, and she loveth him. 
 Or both dissemble deeply liieir affections : 
 And, therefore, if you say no more than this. 
 That like a father you will deal with him. 
 And pass my daughter a sulficient dower, 
 The match is fully made, and all is done : 
 Your son sliall have my daughter with consent. 
 
 Tra. I thankyou, sir. Where tliendo you know best 
 We be affied ; and such assurance ta'en. 
 As shall with either part's agreement stand ! 
 
 Bnp. Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know, 
 Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants : 
 Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still ; 
 And, happily, we might be interrupted. 
 
 Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you, sir ■ 
 There doth my father lie ; and there, this night. 
 We'll pass the business privately and well : 
 Send for your daughter by your servant here, 
 I\Iy boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
 I'he worst is this, — that, at so slender warning, 
 You're like to have a thin and slender pittance. 
 
 Bap. it likes me well : — Cambio, hie you home. 
 And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; 
 And, if you will, tell what hath happened: — 
 Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua, 
 And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. 
 
 Luc. I pray the gods she may, with all my heart. 
 
 Tra. Dally not witii the gods, but get thee gone. 
 Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way? 
 Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer ; 
 Come, sir j we 'II better it in Pisa. 
 
 Bap. I follow you. 
 
 [Exeunt TnANio, Pedant, and Baptista. 
 
 Bion. Cambio. — 
 
 Luc, What say'st thou, Biondelio? 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 271 
 
 Bion. You SLiwmy masterwinkandlaughuponyou? 
 
 Luc. Biondello, what of tliat 1 
 
 Bion. 'Failli nothing ; but he has loft me here be- 
 hind, to expound the meaning or moral of his signs 
 and tokens. 
 
 Luc, I pray thee, moralize them. 
 
 Bion. Then thus, Baptista is safe, talking with 
 the deceiving father of a deceitful son. 
 
 Luc. And what of him ? 
 
 Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you to the 
 supper, 
 
 Luc. And then 1 — 
 
 Bion. The oUl priest at Saint Luke's church is at 
 your command at all hours. 
 
 Luc. And what of all this? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tell ; except they are busied about 
 a counterfeit assurance : Take your assurance of her, 
 cum privilegioad iniprimenilum solum: to the church; 
 — take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest 
 witnesses : 
 
 If this be not that you look for, I have no more to say, 
 But, bid Jiianca farewell for ever and a day. [Going. 
 
 Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello? 
 
 Bion. I cannot tarry: I knew a wench married in 
 an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley to 
 stufT a rabbit ; and so may you, sir ; and so adieu, 
 sir. My master lialh appointed me to go to Saint 
 Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against you 
 come with your appendix. ' [Eiit. 
 
 Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented : 
 She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt? 
 Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her; 
 It siiall go hard, if Cambio go witliout her. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ public RoatU 
 Enter Petruchio, KATUAniNA, and Hortensio, 
 
 Pet, Come on, o'God's name; once more toward 
 our father's. 
 Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon ! 
 
 Kiith. The moon! the sun; it is not moonlight now. 
 
 Pet. I say, it is the moon that siiines so brii^ht. 
 
 Katli. I know, it is the sun tiiat shines so biigiit. 
 
 Pet, Now, by my mother's son, and tiiat's myself, 
 It shall be moon, or star, or what I list. 
 Or ere 1 journey to your father's iiouse : — 
 Go on, and fetch our horses back again. — 
 Evermore cross'd, and oross'd : nothing but cross'd ! 
 
 Hoy. Say as he says, or we shall never go. 
 
 Kath. Forward, 1 pray, since we have come so far, 
 And be it moon, or sun, or what you please ; 
 And if you please to call it a rush candle, 
 Henceforth 1 vow it shall be so for me. 
 
 Pet. I say, it is the moon, 
 
 Kath. I know it is. 
 
 Pet. Nay, then you lie ; it is the blessed sun. 
 
 Kath. Then, God be blessed, it is the blessed sun : 
 But sun it is not, wlien you say it is not ; 
 And the moon changes, even as your mind. 
 What you will have it nam'd, even that it is , 
 And so it shall be so, for Katharine. 
 
 Har. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is won. 
 
 Pet. Weil, forward, forward: thus the bowl should 
 And not unluckily against the bias. — [run. 
 
 But soft ; what company is coming here 1 
 
 Enter Vincentio, in a travelling dress. 
 Good morrow, gentle mistress : Where away ?— 
 
 [To Vincentio. 
 Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too, 
 Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ? 
 Such war of white and red within her cheeks ! 
 What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty. 
 
 As those two eyes become that heavenly face ? — 
 Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee : — 
 Sweet Kate, embrace her for lier beauty's sake. 
 
 Hor. *A will make the man mad, to make a woman 
 of him. 
 
 Kath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh, and 
 Whither away ; or where is thy abode ? [sweet, 
 
 Happy the parents of so fair a child ; 
 Happier the man, whom favourable stars 
 Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, Kate! Ihopethouartnotmad: 
 Jhis is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither 'd ; 
 And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is. 
 
 Kiuh. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes. 
 That have been so bedazzled with the sun. 
 That every thing I look on seemeth green: 
 Now 1 perceive thou art a reverend father ; 
 Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking, [known 
 
 Pet. Do, good old grandsire; and, withal, make 
 Which way thou travellest : if along with us, 
 We shall be joyful of thy company. 
 
 Vin. Fair sir, — and you my merry mistress, — 
 That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me; 
 My name is call'd — Vincentio: my dwtdling— Pisa ; 
 And bound I am to Padua; there to visit 
 A son of mine, which long I have not seen. 
 
 Pet. What is his name ? 
 
 ^'". Lucentio, gentle sir. 
 
 Pet, Happily met; the happier for tliy son. 
 And now by law, as well as reverend age, 
 I may entitle thee — my loving father ; 
 The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman. 
 Thy son by this hath married : Wonder not, 
 Nor be not griev'd ; she is of good esteem. 
 Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth ; 
 Beside, so qualified as may beseem 
 The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
 Let me embrace with old X'incentio : 
 And wander we to see thy lionest son. 
 Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. 
 
 Via. But is this true ? or is it else your pleasure, 
 Like pleasant traveJlers, to break a je'^t 
 Upon the company you overtake ? 
 
 Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 
 
 Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth hereof; 
 For our first merriment hath made thee jealous. 
 
 [Eieunt pFTRiTirio, Kaihahina, <S|' ViNciivrio. 
 
 Hor. Well. Petruchio. thl*; hath put me in heart. 
 Have to my widow ; and if she be forward, 
 Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untuwaid.[Eji(. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Padua. Before Lucentio's House. 
 
 Enter on one si(/«BioNDEi.LO, Lucentio, onti Bian'ci . 
 Gkemio uatkhig on the other side. 
 Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir ; for the priest is readv. 
 Luc. I fly, Biondello ; but they may cliauce to 
 need thee at home, therefore leave us. 
 
 Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see tlie church o' your back; 
 and then come back to my master as soon as I can. 
 [F.ientit LicENTio, Bianca, and Biondello. 
 Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while. 
 
 Enter Petruchio, Katharina, V^i.ncentio, 
 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Pet. Sir, here 's the door, this is Lucentio's house^ 
 My father's bears more toward the market-place j 
 Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 
 
272 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW, 
 
 Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you go ; 
 I think, I shall command your vvclcoiue liere. 
 And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. [Knocks. 
 
 Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock 
 louder. 
 
 Enter Pedant a6oi/e, at a ivindow. 
 
 Fed. What 's he, that knocks as he would beat 
 down the gate t 
 
 Vin. Is signior Lucentio within, s^r ? 
 
 Pe(h He *s within, sir, but not to be spoken withal. 
 
 Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound 
 or two, to make merry withal? 
 
 Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself; he 
 shall need none, so long as 1 live. 
 
 Pet. Nay, 1 told you, your son was beloved in 
 Padua.. — Do you hear, sir? — to leave frivolous cir- 
 cumstances. — I pray you, tell signior Lucentio, that 
 his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the door 
 to speak with him. 
 
 Ped. Thou liest ; tis father is come from Pisa, 
 and here looking out at the window. 
 
 Vin. Art thou his father ? 
 
 Ped. Ay, sir; sohismothersays.iflmay believe her. 
 
 Pet. Why, how now, gentleman ! [To Vincen.] 
 why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another 
 man's name. 
 
 Ped. Lay hands on the villain ; I beKieve, 'a means 
 to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance. 
 
 Re-enter Biondello. 
 
 BioH, I have seen them in the church together ; God 
 send 'em good shipping! — But who is here! mine 
 old master, Vincentio ! now we are undone, and 
 brought to nothing. 
 
 Vin. Come hither, crack-hemp. [Seeing Biondel. 
 
 Bion. 1 hope, I may choose, sir. 
 
 Vin. Come, hither, you rogue ; What, have you 
 forgot me 1 
 
 Bion. Forgot you? no, sir: I could not forget 
 you, for I never saw you before in all my life. 
 
 Vin, What, you notoriousvillain, didst thou never 
 see thy master's father, Vincentio ? 
 
 Bion, What, my old, worshipful old master? yes, 
 marry, sir ; see where he looks out of the window. 
 
 Vin, Is 't so, indeed ? [iJeats Biondello. 
 
 Bion. Help, help, help ! here 's a madman will 
 murder me. [Exit. 
 
 Ped, Help, son ! help, signior Baptista ! 
 
 [Exit, from the window. 
 
 Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and see the 
 end of this controversy. [T^^^y ^'etire. 
 
 Re-enter ?fiAz.nibelow; Baptista,Tr.inio,(?i Servants. 
 
 Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my servant? 
 Vin, What am I, sir ? nay, what are you, sir ? — 
 
 immortal gods ? O fine villain! A silken doublet! 
 a velvet hose! a scarlet cloak! and a copatain hat! 
 — 0, I am undone ! I am undone ! while I play the 
 good husband at home, my son and my servant spend 
 all at the university. 
 
 Tra. How now ! what *s the matter ? 
 
 Bap. ^Vhat, is the man lunatic ? 
 
 Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman by 
 your habit, but yourwordsshewyouamadman : Why, 
 sir, what concerns it you, if I wear pearl and gold ? 
 
 1 thank my good father, I am able to maintain it. 
 
 Vin. Thy father ! O villain ! he is a sail- maker in 
 Bergamo. 
 
 B(i;i. You mistake, sir ; you mistake, sir : Pray, 
 what do you think is his name ? 
 
 f'm. His name ? as if I knew not his name ; I 
 
 have brought him up ever since he was three years 
 old. and his name is— Tranio. 
 
 Ped. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Lucentio ; 
 and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands of me, 
 signior Vincentio, 
 
 Vin. Lucentio ! O, he hath murdered his master! 
 — Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's 
 name : — 0, my son, my son ! — tell me, thou villain, • 
 where is my son, Lucentio ? 
 
 Tra. Call forth an officer: [Enter one with an 
 Officer.] carry this mad knave to the gaol : — Father, 
 Baptista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. 
 
 Vin, Carry me to the gaol ! 
 
 Gre. Stay, officer ; he shall not go to prison. 
 
 Bap, Talk not, signior Gremio ; I say, he shall go 
 to prison. 
 
 Gre. Take heed , signior Baptista, lest you be coney- 
 catched in ttiis business ; 1 dare swear, this is the 
 right Vincentio. 
 
 Ped. Swear, if thou darest. 
 
 Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. 
 
 Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not Lu- 
 centio. 
 
 Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio. 
 
 Bap. Away with the dotard ; to the gaol with hira. 
 
 Vin. Thus strangers may be haled and abus'd. — 
 monstrous villain ! 
 Re-enter Biondello. ivith Lucentio and Bi.anca, 
 
 Bion. O, we are spoiled, and — Yonder he is ; deny 
 him, forswear him, or else we are all undone. 
 
 Liic. Pardon, sweet father. [Kneeling, 
 
 Vin. Lives my sweetest son ? 
 
 [Biondello, Tranio, and Pedant ciin out. 
 
 Bian. Pardon, dear father. [Kneeling. 
 
 Bap. How hast thou uflendeii ? 
 
 Where is Lucentio ? 
 
 Lnc. Here 's Lucentio, 
 
 Right son unto the right Vincentio ; 
 That have by marriage made thy daughter mine, 
 \Vhile counterfeit supposes blear'd thine euie. 
 
 Gre. Here's packing, with a witness, to deceive us all! 
 
 Vin. Where is that damned villain, Tranio, 
 That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so ? 
 
 Bap. Why tell me. is not tliis my Cambio? 
 
 Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio. 
 
 Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca'slove 
 Made me exchange my state with Tranio, 
 While he did bear my countenance in the town 
 And happily I have arriv'd at last 
 Unto the wished haven of my bliss : — 
 What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to ; 
 Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 
 
 Vin, I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have 
 sent me to the gaol. 
 
 Bap. But do you hear, sir ? [Tu LucENxto.] Have 
 you married my daughter without asking my good- will] 
 
 Vin. Fearnot, Baptista ; wewillcontentyou,go to: 
 But I will in, to be revenged for this villany I [Eii(, 
 
 Bap. And Ito sound tiiedepthof this knavery. [Exit. 
 
 Luc, Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father will not 
 frown. [Exeunt Luc. and Bian. 
 
 Ore. My cake is dough : but I'll in among the rest ; 
 Out of hope of all, — but my share of the feast. [Eiit. 
 
 Petruchio and Katharina advance. 
 A'aM. Husband, let's follow to see the end of this ado. 
 Pet, First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 
 Kath. What, in the midst of the street? 
 Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me ? 
 Kath. No, sir ; God forbid : but ashamed to kiss. 
 Pet. Why, then let's home again : — Come sirrah, 
 let's away. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 273 
 
 Kalh. Nay, I will give thee aliss: now pray thee, 
 
 love, stay. 
 Pet. Is uot this well I— Come, my sweet Kate ; 
 Better once than never, for never too late. \^Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A room in Lucentio's House. 
 
 A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio, 
 Gkk.mio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Petru- 
 CHio, Katharina, Hortensio, and Widow. Tra- 
 Kio, BloNDELLO, Grumio, and otherSy attending. 
 Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree : 
 And time it is, when raging war is done. 
 To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. — 
 My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, 
 While 1 with self-same kindness welcome thine: — 
 Brother Petruchio, — sister Katharina, — 
 And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, — 
 Feast with the best, and welcome to my house ; 
 My banquet is to close our stomachs up. 
 After our great good cheer : Pray you, sit down ; 
 For now we sit to chat, as well as eat. [Theijsitat table. 
 Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat! 
 Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio. 
 Pet. Padua attbrds nothing but what is kind. 
 Hnr. For both our sakes I would that word were true. 
 Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow. 
 Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard. 
 Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my sense ; 
 I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. 
 
 Wid. He that is giddy thinks the world turns round. 
 
 Pet. Roundly replied. 
 
 Kath. Mistress, how mean you thatl 
 
 Wid. Thus I conceive by him. 
 
 Pet. Conceives by me ! — How likes Hortensio that? 
 
 Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives her tale. 
 
 Pet. Very well mended : Kfes him for that, good 
 
 widow. [round : 
 
 Kath. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns 
 I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 
 
 Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a shrew. 
 Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe : 
 And now you know my meaning. 
 Kath. A very mean meaning. 
 Wid. Right, I mean you. 
 
 Kath. .\nd I am mean, indeed, respecting you. 
 Pet. To her, Kate ! 
 Hor. To her, widow ! 
 
 Pel. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her down. 
 Hor. That's my office. 
 Pet. Spoke like an officer : — Ha' to thee, lad. 
 
 [Drinks to Hortensio. 
 Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks 1 
 Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well. 
 Bian. Head, and butt ? an hasty witted body 
 Would say your head and butt were head and horn. 
 Vin, Ay, mistress bride, hath that awaken'd you? 
 Bian. Ay, but not frighted me ; therefore I'll sleep 
 
 again. 
 Pet. Nay, that yon shall not; since you have begun, 
 Have at you for a bitter jest or two. 
 
 Bian. Am I your bird '. I mean to shiCt my bush, 
 And then pursue me as you draw your bow : — 
 You are welcome all. [Kx. Bian., Kath., {f Widow. 
 Pet. She hatli prevented me. — Here.signiorTranio, 
 This bird you aim'd at, though you hit lier not ; 
 Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd. 
 
 Tra. O, sir, Lycentioslipp'd me like his greyhound. 
 Which runs himself, and catches for his master. 
 Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish. 
 Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for yourself ; 
 Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay. 
 
 Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now. 
 
 Luc. I thank thee for that gird, good Tranio. 
 
 Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here ? 
 
 Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess ; 
 And, as the jest did glance away from me, 
 'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright. 
 
 Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
 I think thou hast tlie veriest. shrewiof all. 
 
 Pet. Well, I say — no : and therefore, for assurance 
 Let's each one send unto his wife ; 
 And he, whose wife is most obedient 
 To come at first when he doth send for her. 
 Shall win the wager which we will propose, 
 
 Hor. Content : What is the wager? 
 
 Luc. Twenty crowns. 
 
 Pet. Twenty crowns ! 
 I'M venture so much on my hawk, or hound. 
 But twenty times so much upon my wife. 
 
 Luc. A hundred then. 
 
 Hor. Content. 
 
 Pet. A match ; 'tis done. 
 
 Hor. Who shall begin ? 
 
 Luc. That will I. Go, 
 Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. 
 
 Bion. I go. [Exit. 
 
 Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes. 
 
 Luc. I'll have no halves ; I'll bear it all myself. 
 
 He-enter Biondello. 
 How now ! what news ? 
 
 Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word, 
 
 That she is busy, and she cannot come. 
 
 Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come ! 
 Is that an answer 1 
 
 Gre. Ay, and a kind one too : 
 
 Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 
 
 Pet. I hope, better. 
 
 Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife 
 To come to me forthwith, [Eiit Biondello. 
 
 Pet. O. ho! entreat her! 
 
 Nay, then she must needs come. 
 
 Hor. I am afraid, sir, 
 
 Do what you can, yours will not be entreated. 
 
 Re-enter Biondello. 
 Now Where's my wife ? 
 
 Bion. She says, you have some goodlyjestinhand; 
 She will not come ; she bids you come to her. 
 
 Pet. Worse and worse ; she will not come ! vile. 
 Intolerable, not to be endur'd ! 
 Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress ; 
 Say I command her come to me. [Eiit Grumio. 
 
 Hor. I know her answer. 
 
 Pet. What ? 
 
 Hor. She will not come. 
 
 Pel. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end. 
 
 Enter Katharina. 
 
 Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Katharina ! 
 
 Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me ? 
 
 Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife ? 
 
 Kath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire. 
 
 Pc(. Go, fetch them hither ; if they deny to come. 
 Swinge me them soundly forth unto their liusbands : 
 Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. 
 
 [_Erit Katharina. 
 
 Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder. 
 
 Hor. And so it is ; I wonder what it bodes. 
 
 Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love, and quiet life, 
 An awful rule, and right supremacy ; 
 And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy. 
 
 Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio ! 
 The wager thou hast won ; aud I will add 
 S 
 
274 
 
 TAMING OF THE SHREW. 
 
 Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns ! 
 
 Another dowry to another daughter, 
 
 For she is chang'd, as she had never been. 
 
 Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet ; 
 And shew more sign of lier obedience, 
 Her new-built virtue and obedience. 
 
 Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca and Widow. 
 See, where she domes ; and brings your froward wives 
 As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. — 
 Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not ; 
 Off with that bauble, throw it under foot. 
 
 [Katharina pulls ojf' her cap, and throws it doxvn, 
 
 Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh. 
 Till I be brought to such a silly pass ! 
 
 Bian. Fye ! what a foolish duty call you this ? 
 
 Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too : 
 The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
 Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time. 
 
 Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty. 
 
 Pet, Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head- 
 strong women. 
 What duty they do owe their lords and husbands. 
 
 Wid. Come, come, you're mocking j we will have 
 no telling. 
 
 Pet. Come on, I say ; and first begin with her. 
 
 Wid. She shall not. 
 
 Pet. I say, she shall ; — and first begin with her. 
 
 Kath. Fye, fye! unknit that threat'ning unkind brow; 
 And dart not scornful glances from those eyes. 
 To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : 
 It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads ; 
 Confounds thy fame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds ; 
 And in no sense is meet or amiable. 
 A woman mov'd is like a fountain troubled, 
 Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ; 
 And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty 
 Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it. 
 Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
 . Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee. 
 And for thy maintenance : commits his body 
 To painful labour, both by sea and land ; 
 To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, 
 
 While thou liest warm at home, secure and saft; 
 
 And craves no other tribute at thy hands. 
 
 But love, fair looks, and true obedience ; — 
 
 Too little payment for so great a debt. 
 
 Such duty as the subject owes the prince, 
 
 Even sucii a woman oweth to her husband: 
 
 And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour. 
 
 And not obedient to his honest will, 
 
 What is she, but a foul contending rebel. 
 
 And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? — 
 
 I am asham'd, that women are so simple 
 
 To offer war, where they should kneel for peace ; 
 
 Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway. 
 
 When they are bound to serve, love, and obey. 
 
 Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth, 
 
 Unapt to toil, and trouble in the world ; 
 
 But that our soft conditions, and our hearts. 
 
 Should well agree with our external parts ? 
 
 Come, come, you froward and unable worms ! 
 
 My mind hath been as big as one of yours. 
 
 My heart as great ; my reason, haply, more. 
 
 To bandy word for word, and frown for frown ; 
 
 But now, I see our lances are but straws ; 
 
 Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare, — 
 
 That seeming to be most, which we least are. 
 
 Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot ; 
 
 And place your hands before your husband's foot : 
 
 In token of which duty, if he please. 
 
 My hand is ready, may it do him ease, [me, Kate. 
 
 Pet. Why, there's a wench ! — Come on, and kiss 
 
 Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad: for thou shaltha't. 
 
 Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are toward. 
 
 Luc. But a harsh hearing, when women are froward. 
 
 Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed : • 
 
 We three are married, but you two are sped. 
 'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white ; 
 
 J [To LUCENTIO. 
 
 And, being a winner, God give you good night ! 
 
 l^Exeunt Petbucuio and Katharine. 
 Hor. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst 
 
 shrew. 
 Luc, 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be 
 tam'd so. [Eieunt. 
 
 OfthispIaythetwoplotsaresowelluDited.thattheycanhardly I The part bencoen Katharine and Petmchio is emiaeDtlr 
 be called two without injury to the art with which they are I sprightly and divertinp. At the marriage of Bianca the arrival 
 interwoven. The attention is entenained with all the variety of of the real lather, perhaps, produces more perplexity than plea- 
 a double plot, yet is not distracted by nncoonected incidents, I sure. The whole play is very popolaxanddiverang. — ^Jobnson. 
 
WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 The first etiition of this play is that of the Players, the folio 
 of 1623. It could Dot have been written before 1610, as we 
 find from the office-book of Sir Henry Herbert, that it was 
 liceused by Sir George Buck, who did not till that year get 
 fall possession of the office of Master of the Revels, whichhe 
 had obtained by a reversionary grant : neither could the co- 
 medy have been produced later than 1613, when it was per- 
 formed at Court. 
 
 The plot is t.'iken from the Pleasant History of Dotastta and 
 Faunia, writreo by Thomas Green. The poet nas changed the 
 names of the characters, and added the parts of Anttgonus, 
 Pauline, and Attit/lycus ; he has aI?o suppressed many circum- 
 stances of the original story ; in other respects he has adhered 
 clovely to the novel. The error of representing Bohemia as 
 a maritime country is not attributable to our author, but to 
 the original froni which he copied. Ben Jonson, in a conver- 
 sation with Drummoud of Hawthornden, in 1619, remarking 
 OQ this 1,-eo graphical mistake, observed that " Shakspeare 
 wanted art and snnietiraes sense, for in one of his plays he 
 broutjht in a number of meo, saylog they had suffered ship- 
 
 wreck in Bohemia, where is no sea near by a hundred miles.** 
 This remark, which was uttered in the course of private con- 
 versation, without the slightest suspicion of il-i ever t'eing 
 made i)ublic. and which was so well justified by the example 
 that he adduced to support it, has been quoted as another in- 
 stance in proof of Jonson's enmity to Shakspeare. Jonson 
 only proff-sses to love Shakspeare. " on this side idolatry," to 
 admire his excellences without beioc: blinded to his detects: 
 the incorrectness mentioned is decidedly a great fault, bat 
 there is no malignity or uudue severity expressed by the man- 
 ner in which it is censured> 
 
 Mr. Walpole has a ridicuUms conjecture that The Winter's Tale 
 is an historical play, that it was intended as a covert compH- 
 ment to Queen F.lizabeth, that il is designed as a supplement 
 to Henry the Eib'hth, and that Leontcs represents the bluff 
 monarch, Hermione, Anne HuUen, Perditn, <Jueen Klizabeth, 
 and Maniillius an elder brother of hers, who was still-born. 
 
 " T/ic 'Ittlc of (his play," says Schlegel, " jiibwers admirably 
 to its subject. It is one of those histories which appear framed 
 to delight the idleness of a long evening." 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Leon'tes, King of Sicilia. 
 
 Mamillius, his son. 
 
 Camillo, Antigonus, Cleomenes, Dion, 
 
 Sicilian lords. 
 Another Sicilian lord. 
 RoGEHO, a Siciliiin gentleinan. 
 An Attendant vn the young Prince Mamillius. 
 Officers of a Court of Judicature, 
 PoLiXENEs, /I'if/^ o/' liohemia. 
 Flohizel, his son 
 AncitiDAMUs, a Bohemian U)rd* 
 A Mariner. 
 Gaoler. 
 
 An old Shepherd, reputed father lyPerdita. 
 Clown, his son* 
 Sei'vant to the old shepherd, 
 AuTOLYCt's, a rogue. 
 Time, as Chorus, 
 
 Hermione, Qtieen to Leontes. 
 
 Perdita, daughter to Leontes and Hermione. 
 
 Pavlika, wife to Antigonus. 
 
 Emilia, a lady, i ^, ,. ^, ^ 
 
 T ,1. ( J- i attending the Queen. 
 
 Iwo other ladies, J o "* • 
 
 MopSA, Dorcas, shepherdesses. 
 
 Lords, LadieSy and Attendants; Saturs for a Dance ^ 
 ' Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, S>;c, 
 
 SCENE, — sometimes in Sicilia, sometimes 
 in Bohemia. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Sicilia. — An Antechamber in Leontes' Palace. 
 Enter Camillo and Archidamus. 
 
 Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohe- 
 mia, on the like occasion whereon my services are 
 now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great dif- 
 ference betwixt our Bohemia, and your Siciiia. 
 
 Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of Si- 
 cilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he 
 justly owes him. 
 
 Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us, 
 we will be justified in our loves : for, indeed, — 
 
 Cam. 'Beseech you, 
 
 Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of m} know- 
 
 ledge : we cannot with such magnificence — in so rare 
 
 — I know not what to say. We will give you 
 
 sleepy drinks ; that your senses, unintelligent of our 
 insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as 
 little accuse us. 
 
 Cam. You pay a great deal too dear, for what's 
 given freely. 
 
 Arch. Believe me, T speak as my understanding in- 
 structs me , and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. 
 
 Ctnn. Sicilia cannot shew himself over -kind to Bo- 
 hemia. They were trained together in their child- 
 hoods ; and there rooted betwixt them then such an 
 affection, which cannot choose but branch now. Since 
 their more mature dignities, and royal necessities, 
 made separation of their society, their encounters, 
 though not personal, have been royally attornied, with 
 interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies; that 
 they have seemed to be together, though absent ; 
 shook hands as over a vast ; and embraced, as it were, 
 from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens con- 
 tinue their loves ! 
 
 Arch. I think, there is not in the world either ma- 
 lice, or matter, to alter it. You have an unspeakable 
 comfort of your young prince Mamillius ; it is a gen- 
 tleman of the greatest promise, that ever came into 
 my note. 
 
 Cam. I very well agree with you in the liopes of 
 him : It is a gallant child; one that, indeed, physics 
 the subject, makes old hearts fresh ; they, that w^ent 
 on crutches ere he was born, desire yet their life, to 
 see him a man. 
 
 Arch. Would they else be content to die! 
 
 Cam. Yes : if there were no other excuse why they 
 should desire to live. 
 
 Arch. If the king had no son, they would desire 
 to live on crutches till he had one. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE n. 
 
 TTie same. — A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamiliii';^ 
 Camillo, and Attendants. 
 Pol, Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been 
 The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne 
 Without a burden ; time as long again 
 Would be fiird up, my brother, with our thanks ; 
 And yet we should, for perpetuity. 
 Go hence in debt : And therefore, like a cipher, 
 Yet standing in rich place, I multiply, 
 With one we-thank-you, many thousands more 
 That go before it. 
 
 S2 
 
27G 
 
 WINTERS TALE. 
 
 Leon. Stay your thanks awhile ; 
 
 And pay them when you part. 
 
 Pot. Sir, that's to-morrow. 
 
 I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance, 
 Or breed upon our absence : That may blow 
 No sneaping winds at home, to make us say. 
 This is -put forth too truly I Besides, 1 have stay'd 
 To tire your royalty. 
 
 Leon, We are tougher, brother, 
 
 Than you can put us to 't. 
 
 Pol. No longer stay. 
 
 Leon, One seven-night longer, 
 
 PoL Very sooth, to-morrow. 
 
 Leon. We'll part the time between's then . and in that 
 1 '11 no gainsaying. 
 
 Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you, so ; 
 
 There is no tongue that uioves, none, none i'the world. 
 So soon as yours, could win me ; so it should now. 
 Were there necessity in your request, although 
 'Twere needful I denied it. Jly affairs 
 Do even drag me homeward : which to hinder, 
 W'ere. in your love, a whip to me ; my stay. 
 To you a charge, and trouble ; to save both. 
 Farewell, our brother. 
 
 Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen ? speak you. 
 
 Her. Ihad thought, sir, to have held my peace, until 
 You had drawn oaths from hiin.not to stay. Vou, sir. 
 Charge him too coldly: Tell him. you are sure. 
 All in Bohemia 's well : this satisfaction 
 The by-gone day proclaira'd ; say this to him, 
 He 's beat from his best ward. 
 
 Leon, Well said, Hernjione. 
 
 Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong : 
 But let him say so then, and let him go ; 
 But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, 
 We *11 thwack him hence with distafts. — 
 Yetof your royal presence [(c Pol.] I'll adventure 
 The borrow of a week. \Vhen at Bohemia 
 You take my lord, 1 '11 give him my commission. 
 To let him there a month, behind the gest 
 Prefix'd for his parting: yet, good deed, Leontes, 
 I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind 
 What lady she her lord. — You '11 stay ! 
 
 Pol. No, madam. 
 
 Her, Nay, but you will ? 
 
 Pol. I may not verily. 
 
 Hel. A'crily! 
 You put me off with limber vows : But I, 
 Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with 
 Should yet say, Sir, no going. Verily [oaths. 
 
 You shall not go ; a lady's verily is 
 As potent sis a lord's. Will you go yet? 
 Force me to keep you as a prisoner. 
 Not like a guest ; so you shall pay yoiir fees, 
 W hen you depart, and save your thanks. How say you! 
 BIy prisoner ! or my guest? by your dread verily. 
 One of them you sb.all be. 
 
 Pol, Your guest then, madam : 
 
 To be your prisoner, should import offending ; 
 Whicli is for me less easy to commit. 
 Than you to punish. 
 
 Her. Npt your gaoler then, 
 
 But your kind hostess. Come, 1 '11 question you 
 Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys ; 
 You were pretty lordlings then. 
 
 Pol. We were, fair queen. 
 
 Two lads, that thought there was no more behind. 
 But such a day to-morrow as to-day. 
 And to be boy eternal 
 
 Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two? 
 
 Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the 
 sun, 
 
 And bleat the one at the other: What we chang'd 
 Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not 
 The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd 
 That any dul: Had we pursued that life. 
 And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd 
 ^Vith stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven 
 Boldly, Not guilty ; the imposition clear'd, 
 Hereditary ours. 
 
 Her. By this we gather. 
 
 You have tripp'd since. 
 
 Pot, O my most sacred lady. 
 
 Temptations have since then been born to us : for 
 In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ; 
 Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes 
 Of my young play-fellow. 
 
 Her. Grace to boot ! 
 
 Of this make no conclusion ; lest you say. 
 Your queen and I are devils : Yet, go on ; 
 The offences we have made you do, we'll answer ; 
 If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us 
 You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not 
 With any but with us. 
 
 Leon. Is he won yet ? 
 
 Her. He '11 stay, my lord. 
 
 Leon. At my request, he would not. 
 
 Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st 
 To better purpose. 
 
 Her. Never ? 
 
 Leon. Never, but once. [before. 
 
 Her. What ? have I twice said well ? when was 't 
 I pr'ythee, tell me: Cram uswith praise, and make us 
 As fat as tame things: One good deed,dying tongueless. 
 Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. 
 Our praises are our wages : Vou may ride us 
 With one soft kiss, a thousand fuilongs, ere 
 AA'ith spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ;— ■ 
 My last good was, to entreat his stay ; 
 AVhat was my first ? it has an elder sister. 
 Or 1 mistake you : O, would her name were Grace I 
 But once before I spoke to the purpose • When ? 
 Nay, let me have'l ; I long. 
 
 Leon. Why that was when 
 
 Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death. 
 Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, 
 .\nd clap thyself my love ; then didst thou utter, 
 / am yours for ever. 
 
 Her. It is Grace, indeed. — 
 
 Why, lo you now I have spoke to the purpose twice ; 
 The one for ever earn'd a royal husband ; 
 The other, for some while afriend. 
 
 [Git(/ii;' her hand to Poli-xenes. 
 
 Leon. Too hot, too hot: \^A$ide. 
 
 To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. 
 I have tremor cordis on me : — my heart dances ; 
 But not for joy, — not joy. — This entertainment 
 May a free face put on ; derive a liberty 
 From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom. 
 And well become the agent : it may, I grant : 
 But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers. 
 As now they are ; and making pnictis'd smiles. 
 As in a looking glass ; — and then to sigh, as 'twere 
 The mort o' the deer ; O, that is entertainment 
 My bosom likes not, nor my brows. — I\Ianiillius, 
 Art thou my boy ? 
 
 Mam. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Leon. I'fecks? [nose? — 
 
 Why, that's my bawcock. ^^'hat, hast smutch'd thy 
 They say, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain. 
 We must be neat ; not neat, but cleanly, captain : 
 And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf. 
 Are all call'd neat. — Still virginailing 
 
 \Obseriii\g Polixenes and Hermione;. 
 
fcts-:^JT.viij^v^j....uii^,.,,'^6V)i./«r^r^,7ir.v..jg^^ 
 
 ■■^n^i,nl•.flJ:::fj•,f^u,,,,..^,Jym■.<^^^ 
 
ACT I.— SCENE II. 
 
 277 
 
 Upon his palm ■•-How now, you wanton calfl 
 
 %ur Ve'/tfyou will, my lord. [.hat I have, 
 tl Thoi wanfst a rough pash, and the shoots 
 To be full like me -.-yet. they say we are 
 Almost as like as eggs ; women say so 
 That will say any thmg :. But were thej false 
 As o-er-died blacks, as wmd, as water. , false 
 As dice are to be wish'd. by one that fixes 
 iXo bourn 'twixt his and mine ; yet were it true 
 To sav his boy were like me.-Come. s,r page. 
 I ook on me with your welkin eye: Sweet v>llam! 
 J^CstdearsU my c'oUop '-Can thy dam-may the? j 
 Affection I thy intention stabs the centre . , 
 
 Thou dost make possible, things not so held 1 
 
 Communicafstwith dreams ;-( How can this be ?)- 
 With what's unreal thou coactive art. 
 And fellow'st nothing : Then, tis very "^^ent 
 Thou may-st co-join with someth.ng ; and thou dost , 
 (And that beyond commission ; and 1 tind it,; 
 And that to the infection of my brains, 
 And^hardening of my brows. ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^.^ , 
 
 Her. He something seems onsettled^^^^^ ^^ ^^^^^ 
 
 LeL Whatcheerl how is"! with you, best brother ' 
 
 jj 1 OU iOOK 
 
 As if you held a brow of much distraction : 
 Are vou mov'd, my lordl 
 
 ]^l"„ No. in good earnest,— 
 
 How'sometimes nature will betray it's folly. 
 Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime 
 To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines 
 Of my boy's lace, methoughts. I did recoil 
 Twenty-three years ; and saw myselt unbreech d. 
 In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled. 
 Lest it should bite its master, and so prove. 
 As ornaments oft do, too dangerous. 
 How like, methougl.t. 1 then was to this kernel 
 This squash, this gentleman -.-iNIine honest friend. 
 Will you take eggs for money 1 
 
 Mam. ^c, my lord. I 11 hgot. L-*? 
 
 Lem You will '. why. happy man be his dole !— 
 Are you so fond of your young pnnce, as we 
 
 Do seem to be of ours 1 
 
 p^l If at home, sir. 
 
 He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter : 
 Now ray sworn friend, and then mine enemy 
 My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all : 
 He makes a .Tuly's da, short as December ■ 
 And, with his varying childness cures in me 
 Thoughts that would thick my blood. 
 
 , " So stands this squire 
 
 Offic'd with me: We two will walk, my lord. 
 And leave you to your graver steps.-Hermione, 
 How thou lov'st us, shew in our brother's welcome; 
 Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap : _ 
 Next to thyself, and my young rover, he s 
 Apparent to my heart. 
 
 iVj ' If you would seek us. 
 
 We are your's i' the garden : Shall's attend you there! 
 Leo^. To your own bents dispose you: you be 
 Be you beneath the sky :-I am anglin- now , [found. 
 Though you perceive me not how I give line. 
 
 ^° '"'flsirff. Obscni,.j Poi.rXENES and Hermione. 
 
 How she holds up the neb. the bill to him! 
 
 ^nd arras her with the boldness ot a wile 
 
 To her allowing husband'. Gone already ; 
 
 Inch thick, kneideep. o'er head and ears a fork don 
 
 [Eieunt PoLLXENES. Hermione, anj Attendants. 
 Go, play, boy, play ;-thy mother plays, and 1 
 
 Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, ^^h^^^'; "^^^^^^ 
 Wi 1 hiss' me to my grave ; contempt ^n^ ^'j"™""; 
 WiUbe my knell.-Go, play. boy. play ;-T here ha.e 
 Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now ; [be.n. 
 And raanv a man there is. even at this P«sent 
 Now while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm. 
 That little thinks she has been sluic'd in his absence, 
 And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by 
 Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay. there s comfort mt, 
 W hiles other men have gates ; and hose gates open d, 
 As mine, against their will : Should all despair. 
 That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind 
 Would hang themselves. Physic for't there is none ; 
 It is a bawdy planet, that will strike . 
 
 Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it. 
 From east, west, north, and south : Be it concluded. 
 No barricado for a belly ; know it ; 
 It will let in and out the enemy. 
 With bag and baggage : many a thousand of us 
 Have the disease, and fcel't not.— How now, boy l 
 Mam. I am like you, they say. 
 j;_j,„„_ Wliy. that s some comfort.— 
 
 What ! CarniUo there 1 
 Cam. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Leon Go play, Mamillius ; thou'rt an honest man — 
 [Jiiit Mamillius. 
 Camillo, this great sir will yet stay linger. 
 
 Cam You had much ado to make his anchor hold : 
 When you cast out. it still came home^.^^^ ^^^^ .^^ 
 
 Cam. He would not stay at your petitions ; made 
 His business more material. • •,, 
 
 , ^ Didst perceive it? — 
 
 They're here with me already ; whispeiiug, rounding, 
 SicUia is a so-forth : 'Tis far gone. „,„■,. 
 
 When I shall gust it last.-How came t, CaraiUo, 
 
 That he did stay ? , . , r„o„ti 
 
 C„m At the good queens entreaty. \_T,enU 
 
 Leon. At the queen's, be't; good, should be pel ti- 
 
 But so it is, it is not. Was this taken 
 
 By any understanding pate but thine . 
 
 For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in 
 
 Alore than the common blocks :-Not noted, is t. 
 
 But of the Hner natures? by some severals, 
 ' Of head piece extraordinary ! lower messes, 
 
 I>erchance are to ilus business purblind: say. 
 
 Cam. Business, my lord '. 1 think, most understand 
 
 Bohemia stays here longer. ^ 
 
 J;*'""" ' Stays here longer. 
 
 Lam, J 
 
 Leon Av but why ? 
 
 Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties 
 Of our most gracious mistress. 
 
 Leon. , Satisfy 
 
 The entreaties of your mistress i.- — satisty — 
 Let that suffice. I have tru.ted thee, CaraiUo, 
 With all the nearest things to my heart as well 
 JNIy chamber-councils : wherein, priest-Uke, thou 
 Hast cleans'd mv bosom ; I from thee departed 
 Thy penitent reform'd : but we have been 
 Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd 
 ■ In that which 'seems so. 
 
 1 c„„ Be it forbid, my lord ! 
 
 ' Leon. To bide upon'f.-Thou art not honest: oi, 
 If thou inclin'st that way. thou art a coward ; 
 Which boxes honesty behind, restraining , 
 
 From course requir'd : Or else thou must be counted 
 A servant, grafted in my serious trust. 
 And therein negligent: or else a tool , , 
 
 That seest a game play'd home, the rich slake drawn, 
 And tak'st it all for jest. 
 
 Cam. My gracious lord, 
 
270 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful ; 
 lu every one of tiiese no man is free. 
 But tliat his negligence, his folly, fear. 
 Amongst the infinite doings of the world, 
 Sometime puts forth : In your affairs, my lord, 
 If ever I were wilful-negligent. 
 It was my folly ; if industriously 
 I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, 
 Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful 
 To do a thing, where I the issue doubted. 
 Whereof the execution did cry out 
 Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear 
 Wliich oft affects the wisest: these, my lord, 
 Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty 
 Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace, 
 Be plainer with me : let me know my trespass 
 By its own visage: if I then deny it, 
 'Tis none of mine. 
 
 Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo, 
 
 (But that's past doubt: you have ; or your eye-glass 
 Is thicker than a cuckold's horn;) or heard, 
 (For, to a vision so apparent, rumour 
 Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation 
 Resides not in that man, that does not think it,) 
 ISIy wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, 
 (Or else be impudently negative, 
 To have, nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say. 
 My wife's a hobbyhorse ; deserves a name 
 As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to 
 Before her troth-plight: say it, and justify it 
 
 Cum. 1 would not be a stander-by, to hear 
 My sovereign mistress clouded so, without 
 My present vengeance taken : 'Shrew my heart, 
 You never spoke what did become you less 
 Than this ; which to reiterate, were sin 
 As deep as that, though true. 
 
 Leim. Is whispering nothing ? 
 
 [s leaning cheek to cheek ** is meeting noses'? 
 Kissing with inside lip 1 stopping the career 
 Of laughter with a sigh? ^a note infallible 
 Of breaking honesty : ) horsing foot on foot ? 
 Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift 1 
 Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight? and all eyes blind 
 With the pin and web, but theirs, theirs only, 
 That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing? 
 Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; 
 The covering sky is nothing ; Boliemia nothing ; 
 My wife is nothing ; nor nothing have these nothings, 
 If this be nothing. 
 
 Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd 
 
 Of this diseased opinion, and betimes ; 
 For 'tis most dangerous. 
 
 Leon. Say, it be ; 'tis true. 
 
 Cam, No, no, my lord. 
 
 Leo7i. It is ; you lie, you lie : 
 
 I say, thou liest, Camillo, and 1 hate thee ; 
 Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave ; 
 Or else a hovering temporizer, that 
 Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil, 
 Inclining to them both : Were my wife's liver 
 Infected as her life, she would not live 
 The running of one glass. 
 
 Cam, Who does infect her? [ing 
 
 Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, hang- 
 About his neck, Boliemia ; Wiio — if I 
 Had servants true about me : tliat bare eyes 
 To see alike mine iionour as their profits, 
 Their own particular thrifts, — they would do that 
 Which should undo more doing : Ay, and thou. 
 His cupbearer, — whom I from meaner form 
 Have bench'd and reard to worship ; who may'st see 
 Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven. 
 
 How I am galled, — might'st bespice a cup, 
 To give mine enemy a lasting wink ; 
 Which draught to me were cordial. 
 
 Cam. Sir, my lord, 
 
 I could do this ; and that with no rash potion, 
 But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work 
 Maliciously like poison: But I cannot 
 Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, 
 So sovereignly being honourable. 
 I have lov'd thee, 
 
 Leon. IMake't thy question, and go rot ! 
 
 Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled. 
 To appoint myself in this vexation? sully 
 The purity and whiteness of my sheets, 
 Wliich to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted. 
 Is goads, tliorns, nettles, tails of wasps? 
 Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son, 
 Who, I do think is mine, and love as mine ; 
 Without ripe moving to't ? — Would I do this? 
 Could man so blench ? 
 
 Cam. I must believe you, sir j 
 
 I do ; and will fetch off Bohemia for't: 
 Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness 
 Will take again your queen, as yours at first ; 
 Even for your son's sake ; and, thereby, for sealing 
 The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms 
 Known and irilied to yours. 
 
 Leori, Thou dost advise me. 
 
 Even so as I mine own course have set down : 
 I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. 
 
 Cu7n. My lord, 
 Go then ; and with a countenance as clear 
 As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia^ 
 And with your queen : I am his cupbearer j 
 If from me he have wholesome beverage, 
 Account me not your servant. 
 
 Leon. This is all : 
 
 Do 't, and thou hast the one half of my heart ; 
 Do 't not, thou split'st thine own. 
 
 Cam. I *II do 't, my lord. 
 
 Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. 
 
 Cam. O miserable lady ! — But, for me. 
 What case stand 1 in I I must be the poisoner 
 Of good Polixenes : and my ground to do 't 
 Is the obedience to a master ; one. 
 Who, in rebellion with himself, will have 
 All that are his, so too. — To do this deed, 
 Promotion follows : If 1 could find example 
 Of thousands, that had struck anointed kin^s, 
 And flourish'd after, I'd not do 't : but since 
 Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one. 
 Let villany itself forswear 't. I must 
 Forsake the court : to do't, or no, is certain 
 To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now ! 
 Here comes Bohemia. 
 
 Ente^' Polixenes. 
 
 PoL This is strange ! methinks. 
 
 My favour here begins to warp. Not speak 1 
 
 Good-day, Camillo. 
 
 Cam. Hail, most royal sir : 
 
 Pol. What is the news i' the court ? 
 
 Cam. None rare, my lord. 
 
 Poi. The king halh on him such a countenance, 
 As he had lost some province, and a region, 
 Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him 
 With customary complmient ; when he. 
 Wafting his tyes, to the contrary, and falling 
 A lip of much contempt, speeds from me ; and 
 So leaves me, to consider wliat is breeding, 
 That changes thus his manners. 
 
ACT II.-SCENE I 
 
 And cannot say, you dare not. Go°^/_^™; »' 
 
 Your changd complextons are to me a „ ,rn>r,^ ^^ 
 
 Which shews me mine chaiig a too 
 
 A party in this alteration, hnding 
 
 Myself thus alter'd wtth it. ^^^^^ .^ ^ ^.^^^^^^ 
 
 Whfctputs some of us in distemper ; but , 
 I cannot name the d.sease ; and .t is caugtit 
 Of^yo^u that yet are well. ^^^ , ^^^^^^^ ^^ ^^ , 
 
 C erUke, experienVd. which no less adorns 
 
 Our tentr;, than our parents' noble names, 
 
 fn" hose J^ccess we a're gentle 1 beseech you. 
 
 If you know aught which does behove my knowledge 
 
 Thereof to be infonn'd, imprison it not 
 
 In ignorant concealment. ^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^,^^ 
 
 p"r A sickness caught of me, and yet Ijell ! 
 I must be answer-d.-Dost thou hear, Camillo, 
 I c6aiure thee, by all the parts of ■"«■;•,, .j 
 Which honour does acknowledge -wheeof the least 
 Is not this suit of mine,-that thou declare 
 What incidency thou dost guess of harra _ 
 
 Is creeping toward me ; how tar oft. how near , 
 Which wav to be prevented, it to be ; 
 
 Since™" am charg'd in honour, and by bun 
 Thatlttokhonfurable.Therefore markmycounsel ; 
 
 Which must be even as swittly follow d, as 
 I mean to utter it ; or both yourself and me 
 Cry^U.st. and so good-mght. ^^ ^^^^ ^^^.,,^ 
 
 Cam. I am appointed him to murder you. 
 
 Poi. Bv whom, Camillo 1 
 
 r„™ ' By the king. 
 
 ^'""- ' For what ^ 
 
 Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence heswears, 
 ■ As he had seen 't or been an instrument 
 To vice you to't,-that you have touch d h.s queen 
 Forbi^ en y. ^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 To aninfected jelly ; and my name 
 • Be yok'd with his, that d.d betray the best ! 
 Turn then my freshest reputation to 
 A savour, thit may strike the dullest nos .1 
 Where 1 arrive ; and my approach be shunn d 
 Nay hated too, worse than the greafst infection 
 That eer was heard, or read. ^^^ ^ .^ ^^^^ 
 
 Cum. , , 1 
 
 By each particular star in heaven, and 
 By all their influences, you may as well 
 Forbid tlie sea for to obey the moon. 
 As or, bv oath, remove, or counsel, shake 
 The fabr'ic of his folly ; whose foundation 
 Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue 
 The standing of his body. ^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^.^ ^^^^^, 
 S;. I know not: but, I am sure 'tis saler to 
 Avoid what's grown, than <iuest,on how t.s born. 
 If therefore you dare trust my.ho^es'y'-;,, 
 That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you 
 Bhall bear along impawn'd,— away to_ nijnt. 
 Your followers 1 will whisper to the business . 
 
 •279 
 
 And will, by twos, and threes, at -veral posterns. 
 
 Clear them o' the city : lor "V^e '• J '' V"' 
 
 My fortunes to your service, which are he e 
 
 By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain , 
 
 For, by the honour of my parents, 1 
 
 Have utter'd truth : which if you seek to P'ove, 
 
 1 dare not stand by ; nor shall you be saler 
 
 •rfian one condemned by the king's own mouth, thereon 
 
 H. execution sworn. ^ ^^ ^^^.^^^ ,,,, . 
 
 I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand ; 
 Be pilot to me, and thy places shall 
 Still neighbour-mine : My ships are ready, and 
 My people did expect my hence departure 
 Two days ago.— This jealousy 
 Is for a precious creature : as she s rare. 
 Must it be great ; and, as his person s mighty, 
 Must it be violent : and as he does conceive 
 He is dishonour'd by a man which ever 
 Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must 
 In tha? be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades mc ; 
 Good expedition be my friend, and comfort 
 The grac^ious queen, part of his theme, but nothing 
 Of his iU-ta'en suspicion 1 Come Camilla ; 
 I will respect thee as a father ; it 
 Thou bear'st my life off hence : let us avoid 
 Cam. It is in mine authority, to command 
 The keys of all the posterns : Please your h.ghnes. 
 To take the urgent hour: come, sir. away, [i-ae.i... 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE \.—T\\e iame. 
 
 Enter Hermionf., Mamiluus, mxA Ladies. 
 
 mr. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me, 
 
 'Tis past enduring. , , 
 
 1 hiv Come, my gracious lord. 
 
 ShaU I be your play-fellow ] ^^ ^ .^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^^_ 
 
 £^\:Sk!:imetr'd;'andspeaktomeasif 
 I were a baby stiU.-l love you better 
 
 , La.,y. And why so, my good lord^.^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^ 
 
 Yourb;ows are blacker •, yet black brows they say. 
 Become some women best ; so that there be not 
 Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle. 
 Or half-moon made with a pen^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^,^.^, 
 
 M;°i -nearn'd it out of women's faces.-Pray now 
 What colour are your eye-brows . ^^^^ ^^ ^^^^_ 
 
 \t:n%, that's a mock : 1 have seen a lady's nose 
 That has been blue, but not her eye-b.ows^^^^ ^^ ^ 
 
 Th' ^quee'n, your mother, rounds apace : we shall 
 
 "h^/rr^^^-;^^— «-- 
 
 IfwewoulJhaveyou. ^^^ .^ ^^^^^^ „f „,e 
 Into a goodly bulk : Good time encounter hej^ 
 
 H.r. What wisdom stirs among you ! Come s^ 
 I ^ for you again: Pray you, sit by us, [no 
 
 And tell's a tale. ,, . , , 
 
 Mam. Mervy. or sad, shall t 
 
 Her. As merry as yo^-']'^^^ ,^ ,^,, f„, Winter : 
 Mam. "■ ,y„, I 
 
 I have one of sprites and gohUns.^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ ^ 
 
 Her. 
 
280 
 
 Come on, sit down : -Come on, and do your best 
 '"gl" me with your sprites : you 're powerful at it. 
 mam. 1 here was a man, 
 
 Mam. Dwelt by a church-yard:— I will tell it 
 Yon crickets shall not hear it. rsoftlv ■ 
 
 .„,''■■ ,. . Come on then 
 
 And give t me in mme ear. 
 
 WINTER'S TALE, 
 
 Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, arid others. 
 
 Leon. Was he met there? his train ? Caraillo with 
 iiim : 
 
 1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I niet them ; never 
 saw 1 men scour so on their way : 1 ey'd them 
 i.ven to their ships. 
 
 ^ ^^o"- How bless'd am I 
 
 In my just censure ! in my true opinion i— 
 Alack, for lesser knowledge ! How accursd 
 In being so blest !~There may be in the cup 
 A spider sleep'd, and one may drink ; depart 
 And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge 
 Is not mlected : but if one present 
 The abliorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known 
 How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides 
 
 W.thv,olenthelts:_Ihavedraok,andseenthespider. 
 
 CamiUo was his iielp in this, his pander :— 
 
 Ihere is a plot agauist my life, my crown • 
 
 All s true that is mistrusted :— that false villain, 
 
 n hom I employ'd, was pre employ 'd by him : 
 
 We has discover'd my design, and I 
 
 Remain a pincii'd thing ; yea, a very trick 
 
 For them to play at will :-How came the posterns 
 
 00 easily open ! 
 
 „,}.^!"'''- ^V his great authority; 
 
 Which often hath no less prevail'd than so. 
 On your command. 
 
 .^^""^ I know 't too well. . 
 
 Give me the boy ; I am glad, you did not nurse him : 
 
 1 hough he does bear some signs of me, yet you 
 Have too much blood in him. 
 
 f"- „ ^ , , What is this ? sport 1 
 
 heon. Bear the boy hence, he shall not co;ne about 
 Away with him :— and let her sport herself fher • 
 With that she 's big .v,th ; for 'tis Polixenes 
 Has made thee swell thus. 
 
 k"x '';•», But I'd say, he had not. 
 
 And, 1 11 be sworn, you would believe my sayins 
 Howe er you lean to the nayward. •< J 5' 
 
 T ^^'"^' , , You, my lords. 
 
 Look on her, mark her well ; be but about 
 
 10 say, she is j goodlu lidq, and 
 
 The justice of your liearts will thereto add 
 
 1 tspitti, she 's nut hunest, honourable : 
 Fraise her but for this her without-door form, 
 (Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and 
 
 straight 
 The shrug, the hum, or ha ; these petty brands. 
 That calumny doth use -.-O, I am out 
 That mercy does ; for calumny will sear 
 ^rtue Itself : -these shrugs, these hums, and ha's. 
 When you have said, she's goodly, come between 
 Ere you can say she's honest : But be it known, 
 i rom him that has most cause to grieve it should be 
 &he s an adultress. ' 
 
 ■ ^"'- , Should a villain say so, 
 
 I he most replenisti'd villain in the world 
 He were as much more villain : you, ray 'lord 
 Do tut mistake. ' 
 
 Leon. You ha\e mistook, my lady, 
 
 Folixenes for Leontes : O thou thin.', 
 Wl»oh I'll not call a creature of thy^place, 
 Lest barbarism, making me the precedent 
 
 I Should a like language use to all degrees. 
 And mannerly distinguishment leave out 
 
 I Betwixt the prince and beggar !_I have said. 
 She s an adultress ; I have said, with whom : 
 More, she s a traitor ; and Camillo is 
 
 : A ederary with her ; and one that knows 
 What she should shame to know herself 
 But with her most vile principal, that she's 
 A bed-swerver, even as bad as those 
 Ihat vulgars give bold titles ; ay, and privy 
 1 this tl^-ir late escape. ' 
 
 t) ^'""" f*". by my life, 
 
 I Privy to none of this : How will this grieve you, 
 W hen you shall come to clearer knowledge, that 
 \ ou thus have published me ? Gentle my lord 
 \ou scarce can right me throughly then, to say 
 1 ou did mistake. •' 
 
 Tn'^r"' <■ . . ^''■''°' if I mistake 
 In those foundations which I build upon 
 
 Ihe center IS not big enough to bear ' 
 A school-boy's top.-Away with her to prison : 
 He who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty, 
 But that lie speaks. ^ 
 
 T ^^''' , . There's some ill planet reiens 
 
 I must be patient, till the heavens look 
 I With an aspect more favourable.-Good my lords, 
 lam not prone to weeping, as our sex 
 Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew 
 Perchance, shall dry your pities : but I hav^ 
 Ihat honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns 
 
 Whh M ,""'' '■'■'"? '■ '^'"'^''^ y°" ^"- ">y lords. 
 With houghts so qualified .is your charities 
 Shal best instruct you, measure me ;— and so 
 ihe king s will be perform'd ' 
 
 Leo«. Shall 1 be heard 1 [To the Guards. 
 
 Her. W ho ,s t that goes with me?-'Beseech you. 
 My woiuen may be with me ; for. you see, [highness. 
 My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools • 
 There is no cause : when you shall know, your mis- 
 Has deserv d prison ; then abound in tears, ftress 
 As I come out : this action I nowgo on ' 
 
 Is for my better grace.— .Adieu, my lord • 
 1 never wish'd to see you sorry • now 
 
 I trust, I shall. My women, come; ;«« haveleave. 
 
 Leon. Go, do our bidding; hence. 
 
 1 r , ,„ , [EieiiHt Queen and Ladies. 
 
 1 Lord. Beseech your highness, call the queeo 
 
 again. ^ 
 
 Ant. Be certain what you do, sir : lest your justice 
 Prove violence : in the which three great ones suffer, 
 ^ ourself, your queen, your son. 
 
 T I ^'"'''- ,., , For her, my lord,— 
 
 i dare my life lay down, and will do't sir 
 
 ease you to accept it, tha't the queen is Spotless 
 I the eyes of heaven, and to you; I mean, 
 In this which you accuse hei-. 
 
 ■ih^"'',u ■ X.. If it prove 
 
 She s otherwise, I'll keep my stables where 
 I lodge my wile : I'll go in "couples with her ; 
 Ihan when I feel, and see her, no further trust her • 
 i or every inch of woman in the world ' 
 
 Ay every dram of woman's flesh, is false 
 a she be. 
 
 Leon. Hold your peaces. 
 
 l^"''^-. , Good my lord,— 
 
 Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves: 
 \ ou are abus d, and by some putter-on 
 rhat will be daran'd for't ; 'would I knew the villain 
 I would land-damn him : Be she honour-tlaw'd — ' 
 1 have three daughters ; the eldest is eleven ■ ' 
 I he second and the third, nine, and some five • 
 If this prove true, they'll pay for't : by mine honour. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 281 
 
 I'll geld them all : tburteen they shall not see, 
 To bring- false generations : they are co-heirs j 
 And I had rather glib myself, ttiau they 
 Siiould not produce fair issue. 
 
 Leon, Cease ; no more. 
 
 You smell this business with a sense as cold 
 As is a dead man's nose : but I do see't and feel't, 
 As you feel doing thus : and see withal 
 The instruments that hel. 
 
 A7it. If it be so, 
 
 We need no grave to bury honesty ; # 
 
 There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten 
 Of the whole dungj- earth. 
 
 Leoiu What! lack I credit? 
 
 1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than 1, ray lord, 
 Upon this ground : and more it would content me 
 To have her honour true, than your suspicion ; 
 Be blam'd fov't how you might. 
 
 Leon. Why, what need we 
 
 Commune with you of this ? but rather follow 
 Our forceful instigation ■? Our prerogative 
 Calls not your counsels ; but our natural goodness 
 Imparts this: which — if you (or stupified. 
 Or seeming so in skill,) cannot, or will not, 
 Relish as truth, like us ; inform yourselves. 
 We need no more of your advice : the matter, 
 The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all 
 Properly ours. 
 
 Ant. And I wish, my liege. 
 
 You had only in your silent judgment tried it, 
 Without more overture. 
 
 Letm. IIow could that be 1 
 
 Either thou art most ignorant by age, 
 Or thou wert born a fool. Caraillo's flight, 
 Added to their familiarity, 
 
 (Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture, 
 That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation, 
 But only seeing, all other circumstances 
 Rlade up to the deed,) doth push on this proceeding. 
 Yet, for a greater confirmation, 
 (For, in an act of this importance, 'twere 
 Most piteous to be wild, ) 1 have dispatch'd in post, 
 To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, 
 Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know 
 Of stufTd sufficiency : Now, fiom the oracle. 
 They will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had, 
 Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well 1 
 
 1 Lord. Well done, my lord. 
 
 Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more 
 Than what I know, yet sliall the oracle 
 Give rest to the minds of others ; such as he. 
 Whose ignorant credulity will not 
 Come up to the truth : So have we thought it good. 
 From our free person she should be conhu'd ; 
 Lest that the treaciiery of the tw^o, fled hence, 
 Be left her to perform. Come, follow us ; 
 We are to speak in public ; for this business 
 Will raise us all. 
 
 Ant. [Aside,'\ To laughter, as I take it, 
 If the good truth were known. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. The outer Boom of a Prison. 
 
 Enter Paulina and Attendants. 
 
 Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him ; 
 
 [Eiit an Attendant. 
 Let him have knowledge wlio I am, — Good lady ! 
 No court in Europe is too good for thee. 
 What dost thou then in prison I — Now, good sir, 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, Jiith the Keeper. 
 
 Vou know me, do you not] 
 
 Keep. For a worthy lady, 
 
 And one whom much I honour. 
 
 Paul, Pray you then. 
 
 Conduct me to the queen. 
 
 Keep, I may not, madam ; to the contrary 
 I have express commandment. 
 
 Paul. Here's ado^ 
 
 To lock up honesty and honour from 
 The access of gentle visitors ! — Is it lawful. 
 Pray you, to see her women ? any of them 1 
 Emilia ? 
 
 Keep. So please you, madam, to put 
 Apart these your attendants, I shall bring 
 Emilia forth. 
 
 Paul, I pray now, call her. 
 
 Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend. 
 
 Keep, . And, madam, 
 
 I must be present at your conference. 
 
 Paul, Well, be it so, pry'thee. [Exit Keeper. 
 Here's such ado to make no stain a stain. 
 As passes colouring. 
 
 Pe-enter Keeper, with Emilia. 
 
 Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady t 
 
 Emil. As well as one so great, and so forlorn, 
 May hold together : on her frights, and griefs, 
 (Which never tender ladv hath borne greater,) 
 She is, something before her time, deliver'd. 
 
 Paul. A boy ! 
 
 Emit. A daughter ; and a goodly babe, 
 
 Lusty, and like to live : the queen receives 
 Much comfort in't: says My poor prisoner ^ 
 I am innocent as you. 
 
 ^ aul. I dare be sworn : 
 
 These dangerous unsafe lunes o'tiie king ! beshrew 
 
 He must be told on't, and he shall : the otfice [them ! 
 
 Becomes a woman best ; I'll take*t upon me : 
 
 IfT prove honey mouth'd, let my tongue blister j 
 
 And never to my red-look'd anger be 
 
 The trumpet any more :— Pray you, Emilia, 
 
 Commend my best obedience to the queen ; 
 
 If she dares trust me vvith her little babe, 
 
 I'll shew't the king, and undertake to be 
 
 Her advocate to th' loudest : We do not know 
 
 How he may soften at the sight o'the child j 
 
 The silence often of pure innocence 
 
 Persuades, when speaking fails. 
 
 Emit. Most worthy madam, 
 
 Your honour, and your goodness is so evident, 
 That your free undertaking cannot miss 
 A thriving issue ; tliere is no lady living. 
 So meet for this great errand: please your ladyship 
 To visit the next room, I'll presently 
 Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer ; 
 Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design ; 
 But durst not tempt a minister of honour. 
 Lest she should be denied. 
 
 Paul. Tell her, Emilia, 
 
 I'll use that tongue I have : if wit flow from it. 
 As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted 
 I shall do good. 
 
 Emil. Now be you blest for it ! 
 
 I'll to the queen: Please yon. come something nearer. 
 
 Keep. Madam, ift please the queen to send the babe 
 I know not what I shall incur, to pass it. 
 Having no warrant. 
 
 Paul. Vou need not fear it, sir : 
 The child was prisoner to the womb ; and is, 
 By law and process of great nature, thence 
 Free'd and enfranchis'd : not a party to 
 The anger of the king ; nor guilty of, 
 If any be, the trespass of the queen. 
 
202 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Keep. I do believe it. 
 
 Paul. Do not you fear : upon j 
 
 Mine honour, I will stand 'twixt you and danger. 
 
 [^Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— TAf same. A Rnom in the Palace. 
 
 Jlnter Lbontes, Antigonus, Lords, and 
 other Attendants. 
 
 Leon. Nor night, norday, no rest: Itisbutweak- 
 To bear the matter thus ; mere weakness, if [ness j 
 The cause were not in being ; — part o' the cause, I 
 She, the adultress ; for the harlot king 
 Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank 
 And level of my brain, plot-proof: but she 
 I can hook to me : Say, that she were gone, 
 Giveu to the fire, a moiety of my rest 
 Might come to me again. Who's there? 
 
 1 Atteii. ]\Iy lord ? \_Advanci71g. 
 
 Leon. How does the boy ? 
 
 1 Atten. He took good rest to-night ; 
 
 Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd. 
 
 LcfjK. To see, 
 
 His nobleness ! 
 
 Conceiving the dishonour of his mother. 
 He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply ; 
 Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself; 
 Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep. 
 And downright lauguish'd. — Leave me solely: — go. 
 See how he fares. [EiU Attend.] — Fye, fye ! no 
 
 thought of him ; 
 The very thought of my revenges that way 
 Recoil upon me : in himself too mighty : 
 And in his parties, his alliance, — Let him be. 
 Until a time may serve ; for present vengeance. 
 Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 
 Laugh at me ; make their pastime at my sorrow : 
 They should not laugh, if I could reach them ; noT 
 Shall she, within my power. 
 
 Enter Paulina, with a child. 
 
 1 Lord. You must not enter. 
 
 Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second tome : 
 Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas. 
 Than the queen's life ? a gracious innocent soul ; 
 More free, than he is jealous. 
 
 Ant. That's enough. 
 
 1 Attend. Madam, he hath not slept to-night ; com- 
 None should come at him. [manded 
 
 Paul. Not so hot, good sir ; 
 
 I come to bring liim sleep. 'Tis such as you,— 
 That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh 
 At each his needless heavings, — such as you 
 Nourish the cause of his awaking ; I 
 Do come with words as med'cinal as true ; 
 Honest, as either ; to purge him of that humour, 
 That presses him from sleep. 
 
 Leon. What noise there, hoi 
 
 Paul. No noise, my lord ; but needful conference ; 
 About some gossips for your highness. 
 
 Leon. How? 
 
 Away with that audacious lady : Antigonus, 
 
 I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me ; 
 
 1 knew, she would. 
 
 Ant. I told her so, my lord. 
 
 On your displeasure's peril, and on mine. 
 She should not visit you. 
 
 Leon. What, canst not rule her? 
 
 Paul. From all dishonesty, he can : in this, 
 (Unless he take the course that you have done. 
 Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it, 
 He shall not rule me. 
 
 Ant. Lo you now : you hear I 
 
 When she will take the rein, I let her run ; 
 But she'll not stumble. 
 
 Paul. Good my liege, I come, — 
 
 And. 1 beseech you, hear me, who profess 
 Myself your loyal servant, your physician. 
 You most obedient counsellor ; yet that dare 
 Less appear so, in comforting your evils. 
 Than such as most seem yours :— I say, I come 
 From your good queen. 
 
 Leon. Good queen ! [good queen ; 
 
 Poll/. 'Good queen, my lord, good queen : I say. 
 And would by combat make her good, so were 1 
 A man, the worst about you. 
 
 Leon. Force her hence. 
 
 Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes. 
 First hand me : on mine own accord, I '11 oft ; 
 But first, I'll do my errand. — The good queen. 
 For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter ; 
 Here 'tis ; commends it to your blessing. 
 
 [^Laying down the child. 
 
 Leon. Out ! 
 
 A mankind witch ! Hence with her, out 0' door • 
 A most intelligencing bawd ! 
 
 Paul. Not so : 
 
 I am as ignorant in that, as you 
 In so entitling me : and no less honest 
 Than you are mad; which is enough, I 'II warrant. 
 As this world goes, to pass for honest. 
 
 Leon. Traitors ! 
 
 Will you not push her out ? Give her the bastard— 
 Thou, dotard, [to Antigonus.] thou art woraan-tir'd, 
 
 unroosted 
 By thy dame Partlet here, — take up the bastard ; 
 Take't up, I say ; give't to thy crone. 
 
 Paul. For ever 
 
 Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou 
 I'ak 'st up the princess, by that forced baseness 
 Which he has put upon't ! 
 
 Leon. He dreads his wife. 
 
 Paul. So, I would, you did ; then 'twere past all 
 You 'd call your children yours. [doubt, 
 
 Leon. A nest of traitors ! 
 
 Ant. I am none, by this good light. 
 
 Paul. Nor I ; nor any. 
 
 But one, that's here ; and that's himself: for he 
 The sacred honour of himself, his (jueen's. 
 His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander. 
 Whose sting is sharper than the sword's ; and will noS 
 (For, as the case now stands, it is a curse 
 He cannot be compell'd to 't, ) once remove 
 The root of his opinion, which is rotten. 
 As ever oak, or stone, was sound. 
 
 Leon. A callat, [band. 
 
 Of boundless tongue ; who late hath beat her hus- 
 And now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine ; 
 It is the issue of Polixenes : 
 Hence with it ; and, together with the dam. 
 Commit them to the fire. 
 
 Paul. It is yours ; 
 
 And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge. 
 So like you, 'tis the worse. — Behold, my lords, 
 Although the print be little, the whole matter 
 And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip. 
 The trick of his frown, his forehead ; nay, the valley. 
 The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek ; his smiles ; 
 The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger : — 
 And tliou, good goddess nature, which hast made it 
 So like to him that got it, if thou hast 
 The ordering of the iniud too, 'mongst all colours 
 No yellow in't ; lest she suspect, as he does. 
 Her children not her husband's ! 
 
 Leon. A gross hag 1 — 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 283 
 
 And, lozel, thou art wortliy to be haug'd. 
 That wilt not stay her tongue. 
 
 Ant. Hang all the husbands, 
 
 That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself 
 Hardly one subject. 
 
 Leon. Once more, take her hence. 
 
 Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord. 
 Can do no more. 
 
 Leon. I'll have thee burn'd. 
 
 Paul. I care not : 
 
 It is an heretic, that makes the fire, 
 Not she, which burns in 't. I '11 not call you tyrant ; 
 But tdis most cruel usage of your queen 
 (Not able to produce more accusation 
 Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something sa- 
 Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, [vours 
 
 Yea, scandalous to the world. 
 
 Leotu On your allegiance, 
 
 Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant. 
 Where were her life ? she durst not call me so, 
 If she did know me one. Away with her. 
 
 Paul, I pray you. do not push rae ; I'll be gone. 
 Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove send her 
 A better guiding spirit ! — What need these hands'! — 
 You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies, 
 Will never do him good, not one of you. 
 So, so : — Farewell ; we are gone. [Eijt. 
 
 Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. — 
 My child 'i away with 't ! — even thou, lliat hast 
 A heart so tender o'er it. take it hence, 
 And see it instantly consumed with fire ; 
 Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight ; 
 AVithin this hour bring me word 'tis done. 
 (And by good testimony, ) or I '11 seize thy life, 
 \Vith what thou else call'st thine : If thou refuse, 
 And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ; 
 The bastard brains with these my proper liands 
 Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ; 
 For thou sett'st on thy wife. 
 
 Au(- I did not, sir: 
 
 These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, 
 Can clear me in't. 
 
 1 Lord. We can. my royal liege, 
 
 He is not guilty of her coming hither, 
 
 Leon. You are Hars all. [dit ; 
 
 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better cre- 
 We have always truly serv'd you ; and beseech 
 So to esteem of us : And on our knees we beg, 
 (As recompense of our dear services. 
 Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose ; 
 AVhich, being so horrible, so bloody, must 
 Lead on to some foul issue : We all kneel. 
 
 Leon, lam a feather for each wind that blows; — 
 Shall I live on to see tliis bastard kneel 
 And call me fatlier'! Better burn it now, 
 Than cuise it then. But, be it ; let it live : 
 It shall not neither. — You, sir, come you hither ; 
 
 [To As'TICONUS. 
 
 You, that have been so tenderly officious 
 
 With ladv Margery, your midwife, there. 
 
 To save this bastard's life : for 'tis a bastard. 
 
 So sure as this beard's grey, — what will youadven- 
 
 To save this brat's life ? [ture 
 
 Ant. Any thing, ray lord, 
 
 That my ability n;ay undergo, 
 And nobleness impose ; at least, thus much ; 
 I '11 pawu the little blood which I have left, 
 To save tite innocent: any thing possible. 
 
 Leon. It shall be possible : Swear by this sword, 
 Thou wilt perform my bidding. 
 
 Ant. I will, my lord. [fail 
 
 Leon, Mark, and perform itj (Bcestthou?) for the 
 
 Of any point in't shall not only be 
 Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife ; 
 Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin tiiee, 
 As thou art liegeman to us, tliat thou carry 
 This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it 
 To some remote and desert place, quite out 
 Of our dominions ; and that there thou leave it, 
 W'ithout more mercy, to its own protection. 
 And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune 
 It came to us. I do in justice charge thee. — 
 On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture, — 
 That thou commend it strangely to some place, 
 Where chance may nurse, or end it : Take it up. 
 
 Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death 
 Had been more merciful — Come on, poor babe : 
 Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens. 
 To be thy nurses! Wolves, and bears, they say. 
 Casting their savageness aside, have done 
 Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous 
 In more than this deed doth require ! and blessing, 
 Against this cruelty, fight on thy side. 
 Poor thing conderan'd to loss! [Exit, with the child. 
 
 Leon. No, I '11 not rear 
 
 Another's issue. 
 
 1 Atten. Please your highness, posts, 
 
 From those you sent to the oracle, are come 
 An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion, 
 Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, 
 Hasting to the court. 
 
 I Lurd. So please you, sir, their speed 
 
 Hath been beyond account. 
 
 Leoji. Twenty-three days 
 
 They have been absent : 'Tis good speed ; foretels. 
 The great Apollo suddenly will have 
 The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords j 
 Summon a session, that we may arraign 
 Our most disloyal lady . for. as she hath 
 Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have 
 A just and open trial. While she lives, 
 I\Iy heart will be a burden to me. Leave me , 
 And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — The same. A Street in some Town. 
 Enter Cleomenes and Dion. 
 
 Cleo. The climate's delicate ; the air most sweet; 
 Fertile the isle ; the temple much surpassing 
 The common praise it bears. 
 
 Dion. I shall report. 
 
 For most it caught me, the celestial habits, 
 (Methinks, 1 should so term them, ) and the reverence 
 Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice ! 
 How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly 
 It was i' the ofi'ering ! 
 
 Cleo. But, of all, the burst 
 
 And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle 
 Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpriz'd my sense, 
 That I was nothing. 
 
 Dion. If the event o' the journey. 
 
 Prove as successful to the queen, — O, be 't so !^ . 
 As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy, 
 The time is worth the use on 't, 
 
 Cleo. Great Apollo, 
 
 Turn all to the best ! These proclamations, 
 So forcing faults upon Hermione, 
 I little like. 
 
 Dion. The violent carriage of it 
 
 Will clear, or end, the business : When the oracle, 
 
284 
 
 WINTER'S TALE, 
 
 (Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,) 
 Shall the contents discover, something rare, 
 
 Even then will rush to knowledge. Go, — fresh 
 
 horses ; — 
 And gracious be the issue ! lExeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. A Court of Justice. 
 Leontes, Lords, ^ Officers, appear properly seated* 
 
 Leon* This sessions (to our great grief, we pro- 
 nounce,) 
 Even pushes 'gainst our heart : The party tried, 
 The daughter of a king : our wife ; and one 
 Of us too much belov'd. — Let us be clear'd 
 Of being tyrannous, since we so openly 
 Proceed in justice ; which shall have due course, 
 
 Even to the guilt, or the purgation. 
 
 Produce the prisoner. 
 
 Offi. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen 
 Appear in person here in court. — Silence ! 
 Hermione is brought in, guarded ; Paulina and 
 Ladies, attending, 
 
 Leon. Read the indictment. 
 
 OJJi, Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, hing 
 o/'Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of' high 
 treason, in cummittitig adnltenj uith Polixenes, kiiig 
 o/"Bohemia; and conspiring ivith Camillo to take away 
 the life of our sovereign lord the king, tht] roxfal hus- 
 band: the pretence whereof being by circumstances 
 partly laid open, thou^ Hermione, contrary to the faith 
 and allegiance of a true subject, didst counsel and aid 
 them, for their better safety, tojiy away by night. 
 
 Her, Since what I am to say, must be but that 
 Which contradicts my accusation ; and 
 The testimony on my part, no other 
 But what comes from myself ; it shall scarce boot me 
 To say. Not guilty ; mine integrity. 
 Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it, 
 Be so receiv'd. But thus, — If powers divine 
 Behold our human actions, (as they do,) 
 I doubt not then, but innocence shall make 
 False accusation blush, and tyranny 
 Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know, 
 (^Who least will seem to do so,) my past life 
 Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, 
 As I am now unhappy ; which is more 
 Than history can pattern, though devis'd, 
 And play'd, to take spectators : For behold me, — 
 A fellow of the royal bed, which owe 
 A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, 
 The mother to a hopeful prince, — here standing, 
 To prate and talk for life, and honour 'fore 
 Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it, 
 As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for honour, 
 *Tis a derivative from me to mine, 
 And only that 1 stand for. I appeal 
 To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes 
 Came to your court, how 1 was in your grace. 
 How merited to be so ; since he came, 
 \Vith what encounter so uncurrent I 
 Have slrain'd, to appear thus : if one jot beyond 
 The bound of honour ; or, in act, or will, 
 That way inclining ; harden'd be the hearts 
 .Of all tliat hear me, and my near'st of kin 
 Cry, Fye upon my grave ! 
 
 Leon. I ne'er heard yet. 
 
 That any of these bolder vices wanted 
 Less impudence to gainsay what they did. 
 Than to perfonn it tirst. 
 
 Her. That's true enough ; 
 
 Though 'tis a saying, sir. not due to me, 
 
 Leon. You will not own it. 
 
 Her* More than mistress of. 
 
 Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not 
 At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, 
 (With whom 1 am accus'd,) 1 do confess, 
 I lov'd him, as in honour he required ; 
 With sucli a kind of love, as might become 
 A lady like me ; with a love, even such. 
 So, and no other, as yourself commanded : 
 Which not to have done, I think, had been in me 
 Both disobedience and ingratitude, 
 Toyou, and toward your friend; whose love had spoke. 
 Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely, 
 That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy, 
 I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd 
 For me to try how: all I know of it. 
 Is, tliat Camillo was an honest man ; 
 And, why he left your court, the gods themselves. 
 Wotting no moie than I, are ignorant, 
 
 Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know 
 What you have underta'en to do in his absence. 
 
 Her. Sir, 
 You speak a language that I understand not : 
 My life stands in the level of your dreams. 
 Which I'll lay down. 
 
 Leon* Your actions are my dreams , 
 
 You had a bastard by Polixenes, 
 And 1 but dream'd itr — As you were past" all shame, 
 (Those of your fact are so,) so past all truth : 
 Which to deny, concerns more than avails : for as 
 Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself. 
 No father owning it, (which is, indeed, 
 More criminal in ihee, than it,) so thou 
 Shalt feel our justice ; in whose easiest passage, 
 Look for no less than death. 
 
 Her. Sir, spare your threats ; 
 
 The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. 
 To me can life be no commodity: 
 The crown and comfort of iny life, your favour, 
 I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone, 
 But know not how it went : My second joy, 
 And first-fruits of my body, from his presence, 
 I am barr'd, like one infectious : My third comfort^ 
 Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast. 
 The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth. 
 Haled out to murder : Myself on every post 
 Proclaim'd a strumpet ; with immodest hatred. 
 The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs 
 To women of all fashion : — Lastly, hurried 
 Here to this place, i' the open air, before 
 I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege. 
 Tell me what blessings 1 have here alive, 
 That I should fear to die '! Therefore, proceed. 
 
 But yet hear this ; mistake me not ; No ! life, 
 
 I prize it not a straw : — but for mine honour, 
 (Which 1 would free,) if I shall be condemn'd 
 Upon surmises ; all proofs sleeping else, 
 But what your jealousies awake ; 1 tell you 
 'Tis rigour, and not law. — Your honours all, 
 I do refer me to the oracle ; 
 Apollo be my judge. 
 
 1 Lord. This your request 
 
 Is altogether just : therefore, bring forth, 
 And iu Apollo's name, his oracle. 
 
 \_Eieunt certain Officers, 
 
 Hei'. The emperor of Russia was my father : 
 0, that he were alive, and here beholding 
 His daughter's trial ! that he did but see 
 The flatness of my misery ; yet with eyes 
 Of pity, not revenge ! 
 
 Re-enter Officers, with Cleomenes and Dion. 
 Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 285 
 
 That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have | 
 
 Been both at Delphos; an J from thence have brought 
 This seai'd-up oracle, by the hand dtliver'd 
 Of great Apollo's priest ; and that, since then, 
 You have not dar'a to break th(j holy seal. 
 Nor read the secrets in't. 
 
 Cleo. Dion, All this we swear. 
 
 Leiw. Break up the seals, and read. 
 
 Ofli. [Reads.] Hermione is t'ldsfe, Polixcnes 6/(imc. 
 less, Camillo a true S"/;/Vct, Leontes ajeidnus titrant, 
 his ^njiocent babe trulu begotten ; and the king sbalt \ 
 iiie without an heir, if that, which is tost, be notfoimd. 1 
 
 L:>rds. Now blessed be the great Apollo ! 
 
 Her. Praised ! 
 
 Leon. Hast thou read truth ? | 
 
 Ofli. Ay, my lord ; even so 
 
 As it is here set down. 
 
 Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle : 
 The sessions shall proceed ; this is mere falsehood. 
 
 Enter a Servant, hastily. 
 
 Serv. My lord the king, the king ! 
 
 Leon. What is the business 1 
 
 Serv. sir, I shall be hated to report it : 
 The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear 
 Of the queen's speed, is gone. 
 
 icon. How ! gone? 
 
 Serv. Is dead. 
 
 Leon. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves 
 Do strike at my injustice. [HEKMioNE^iii«(5.] How 
 now there ? 
 P(iii(.This news is mortal to the queen : — Look down. 
 And see what death is doing. 
 
 Lton. Take her hence : 
 
 Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover. — 
 I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion : — 
 'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her 
 Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon 
 
 [E.xennt Paumva and Ladies, ivith Her.-u. 
 Aly great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! — ■ 
 I'll reconcile me to Polixenes ; 
 New woo my queen ; recal the good Camillo ; 
 Whom 1 proclaim a man of truth, of mercy : 
 For, being transported by my jealousies 
 To bloody thoughts and to revenge, 1 chose 
 Camillo for the minister, to poison 
 My friend Polixenes : which had been done, 
 But that the good mind of Camillo tardied 
 My swift command, though 1 with death, and with 
 Reward, did threaten and encourage him, 
 Not doing it, and being done ; he, most humane. 
 And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest 
 Unclasp'd my practice ; quit his fortunes here. 
 Which you knew great ; and to the certain hazard 
 Of all incertainties himself commended. 
 No richer than his honour : — How he glisters ^ 
 Thorough my rust ! and how his piety 
 Does my deeds make the blacker ! 
 
 Re-enter Paulina. 
 
 Paul. Woe the while ! 
 
 O, cut my lace ; lest my heart, cracking it. 
 Break too ! 
 
 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady 1 
 
 Pant. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me 1 
 What wheels! racks! fires'! What flaying! boiling. 
 In leads, or oils ! what old, or newer torture 
 Must I receive ; whose every word deserves 
 To taste of thy most worst 1 Thy tyranny 
 Together working with thy jealousies, — 
 Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
 For girls of nine !— O, think, what they have done, 
 And then run mad, indeed ; stark mad ! for all 
 
 Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
 That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing, 
 That did but shew thee, of a fool, inconstant, 
 And damnable ungrateful : nor was't much. 
 Thou would'st have poison'd good Camillo's honour. 
 To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses. 
 More monstrous standing by ; whereof I reckon 
 The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter. 
 To be or none, or little ; though a devil 
 Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't : 
 Nor is 't directly laid to thee, the death 
 Of the young prince ; whose honourable thoughts 
 (Thoughts high for one so tender,) cleft the heart 
 That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire 
 Blemish'd his gracious dam : this is not, no, 
 Laid to thy answer: But the last, — O, lords. 
 When.1 have said, cry, woe! — the queen, the queen. 
 The sweetest, dearest creature's dead ; and vengeance 
 Not dropp'd down yet. [for 't 
 
 1 Lord. The higher powers forbid ! 
 
 Paul. I say. she's dead : I'll swear't : if word, nor 
 Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring [oath. 
 Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye. 
 Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you 
 As I would do the gods. — But, O thou tyrant ! 
 Do not repent these things ; for they arc heavier 
 Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee 
 To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
 Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting. 
 Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
 In stonn perpetual, could not move the gods 
 To look that way thou wert. 
 
 Leon. Go on. go on : 
 
 Thou canst not speak too much •, I have deserv'd 
 All tongues to talk their bitterest. 
 
 1 Liird. Say no more 
 
 Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault 
 r the boldness of your speech. 
 
 Paul. I am sorry for 't ; 
 
 All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, 
 I do repent : Alas, I have shew'd too much 
 The rashness of a woman : he is touch'd [help. 
 
 To the noble heart.— What's gone, and what's past 
 Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction 
 At mj^petition, I beseech you ; rather 
 Let me be punish'd, that have minded you 
 Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege. 
 Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman : 
 The love I bore your queen, — lo, fool, again ! — 
 I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children , 
 I'll not remember you of my own lord. 
 Who is lost too : Take your patience to you. 
 And I'll say nothing. 
 
 Leon. Thou didst speak but well. 
 
 When most the truth ; which I receive much better 
 Thaa to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me 
 To the dead bodies of my queen, and son : 
 One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall 
 The causes of their death appear, unto 
 Our shame perpetual : Once a day I'll visit 
 The chapel where they lie ; and tears, shed there. 
 Shall be my recreation : So long as 
 Nature will bear up with this exercise. 
 So long I daily vow to use it. Come, 
 And lead me to these sorrows. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Bohemia. A dese>-t Country near the Sea. 
 
 Enter Anttgonus, with the Child ; and a Mariner. 
 
 Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd 
 
 The deserts of Bohemia ! ["pon 
 
286 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Mar. Ay, my lord ; and fear 
 
 We have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly, 
 And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, 
 The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, 
 And frown upon us. 
 
 Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! — Go, get aboard ; 
 Look to thy bark ; I'll not be long, before 
 I call upon thee. 
 
 Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not 
 Too far i' the land : 'tis like to be loud weather ; 
 Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 
 Of prey, that keep upon't. 
 
 Ant. Go thou away; 
 
 I'll follow instantly. 
 
 Mar. I am glad at heart 
 
 To be so rid o'the business. lEiit. 
 
 Ant, Come, poor babe : 
 
 I have heard, (but notbeliev'd, ) the spirits of the dead 
 
 IMay walk again : if such thing be, thy mother 
 
 Appear'd to me last night ; for ne'er was dream 
 
 So like a waking. To me comes a creature. 
 
 Sometimes her head on one side, some another j 
 
 I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, 
 
 So fill'd, and so becoming : in pure white robes, 
 
 Like very sanctity, she did approach 
 
 IMy cabin where I lay : thrice bow'd before me ; 
 
 And, gasping to begin some speech, lier eyes 
 
 Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon 
 
 Did this break from her : Good Antigonus, 
 
 Since fate, against thy better disposition. 
 
 Hath made thy person for the tiirower-out 
 
 Of my poor b:;be, according to thine oath, — 
 
 Places reniote enougii are in Bohemia, 
 
 There weep and leave it crying ; and, for the babe 
 
 Is caunted lost for ever, Perdita, 
 
 1 pr'ylhee, caU't : for this migentle business. 
 
 Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see 
 
 Thy wife Paulina more: — and so, with shrieks. 
 
 She melted into air. AfTriglited much, 
 
 I did in time collect myself ; and thought 
 
 This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys : 
 
 Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously, 
 
 I will be squar'd by this. I do believe, 
 
 Hermione hath suffer'd death ; and that 
 
 Apollo would, this being indeed the issue 
 
 Of king Polixenes, it should liere be laid, • 
 
 Either for life, or death, upon the earth 
 
 Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well ! 
 
 l^Latjing down the Child, 
 There lie ; and there thy character : there these ; 
 
 [Ldijing down a bundle. 
 Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee pretty. 
 
 And still rest thine. The storm begins: — Poor 
 
 That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd [wretch, 
 
 To loss, and what may follow ! — Weep I cannot, 
 
 But my heart bleeds ; and most accurs'd am I, 
 
 To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell ! 
 
 The day frowns more and more — thou art like to have 
 
 A lullaby too rough : I never saw 
 
 The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour ! — 
 
 Well may I get aboard ! This is the chace ; 
 
 I am gone for ever. [^^^t, pursued by a Bear. 
 
 Enter an old Shepherd. 
 
 Hhep. I would, there were no age between ten and 
 
 three-and twenty ; or that youth would sleep out the 
 
 rest: for there is nothing in the between but getting 
 
 wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, 
 
 fighting. — Hark you now! Would any but these 
 
 boiled brains of nineteen, and twoand-twenty, hunt 
 this weather 1 They have scared away two of my best 
 sheep ; which, 1 fear, the wolf will sooner find, than 
 
 the master ; if any where I have tliem, 'tisbj' the sea- 
 side, biowzing on ivy. Good luck, an 't be thy will ! 
 what have we here? [Taking up the Child.] Mercy 
 on 's, a barne ; avery pretty barne ! A boy, or a child, 
 I wonder 1 A pretty one ; a very pretty one : Sure, 
 some scape ; though I am not bookish, yet I can read 
 waiting gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some 
 stair- work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work : 
 they were warmer that got this, than the poor tiling is 
 here. I '11 take it up for pity: yet I '11 tarry till my son 
 come ; he hollaed but even now. Whoa, ho boa! 
 Enter Clown. * 
 
 Clo. Hilloa, loa ! 
 
 Sliep. What, art so nearl If thou'lt see a tldngto 
 talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. 
 What ailest thou, manl 
 
 Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by 
 land ; — but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is now 
 the sky ; betwixt the firmament and it, you cannot 
 thrust a bodkin's point. 
 
 Shep. Why, boy, how isitl 
 
 Clo. I would, you did but see how it chafes, how 
 it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that 's not to 
 the point ! O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls ! 
 sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'era : now the 
 ship boring the moon with lier main-mast ; and anon 
 swallowed with yest and fi oth, as you 'd thrust a cork 
 into a hogshead. And then for the land service, — To 
 see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone ; how he 
 cried to me for help, and said, his name was Antigo- 
 nus, a nobleman : — But to make an end of the ship : 
 ■ — to see how the sea flap-dragoned it: but, first, how 
 the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them ; — and 
 ho\v the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked 
 him, botii roaring louder than the sea, or weather, 
 
 Shep. Name of mercy, when was this, boy 1 
 
 Clo. Now, now ; I have not winked since I saw 
 these sights : the men are not yet cold under water, 
 nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he's at it now, 
 
 Shep. Would 1 had been by, to have helped the 
 old man ! 
 
 Clo. I would you had been by the ship's side, t» 
 have helped her ; there your charity would have 
 lacked footing, [Aside. 
 
 Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look 
 thee here, boy. Now bless thyself ; thou met'st with 
 things dying, I with things new born. Here 's a sight 
 for thee ; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's 
 child I look thee here ! take up, take up, boy ; open't. 
 So let 's see ; It was told me, 1 should be rich by the 
 fairies ; this is some changeling : — open't : What 's 
 within, boy ? 
 
 Clo. You 're a made old man ; if the sins of your 
 youth are forgiven you, you 're well to live. Gold ! 
 all gold ! 
 
 Mep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so ; 
 up with it, keep it close ; home, home, the next way. 
 We are lucky, boy, and to be so still, requires no- 
 thing but secrecy. — Let my sheep go : — Come, good 
 boy, the next way home, 
 
 Clo, Go you the next way with your findings ; I'll 
 go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and 
 how much he hath eaten : they are never curst, but 
 when they are hungry : if there be any of him left, 
 I'll bury it. 
 
 Shep. That's a good deed : If thou may'st discern 
 by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to 
 the sight of him. 
 
 Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put him 
 i'the ground, 
 
 Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy ; and we'll do good 
 deeds on't. [Exeunt, 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 287 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Time, as Chorus. 
 
 Time X, — that please some, try ail , both joy, and 
 terror, 
 Of good and bad : that make, and unfold error, — 
 Now lake upon me, in the name ofTime, 
 To use my wings. Impute it not a crime. 
 To nie, or my swift passage, that I slide 
 O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried 
 Of that wide gap ; since it is in my power 
 To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour 
 To plant and o'erwhelm custom: Let me pass 
 The same I am, ere ancient'st order was, 
 Or what is now received : I witness to 
 The times that brought them in : so shall I do 
 To the freshest things now reigning ; and make stale 
 The glistering of this present, as my tale 
 Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 
 1 turn my glass ; and give my scene such growing, 
 As you had slept between. Leontes leaving 
 The effects of his fond jealousies ; so grieving, 
 That he shuts up himself ; imagine me, 
 Gentle spectators, that I now may be 
 In fair Bohemia ; and remember, well, 
 T mentioned a son o'the king's, which Florizel 
 I now name to you ; and with speed so pace 
 To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 
 Equal with wondering : What of her ensues, 
 I list not prophecy ; but let Time's news [daughter, 
 Be known, when 'tis brought forth; — a shepherd's 
 And what to her adheres, which follows after, 
 Is the argument of time : Of this allow, 
 If ever you have spent time worse ere now'; 
 If never yet, that Time himself doth say. 
 He wisiies earnestly, you never may. [^Exic, 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The same. A Boom in the Palace of Polixenes. 
 
 Enter PoLixENes and Camillo. 
 
 Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im- 
 portunate ; 'tis a sickness, denying thee any thing ; 
 a death, to grant this. 
 
 Cum. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country ; 
 Oiough I iiave, for the most part, been aired abroad, 
 I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni- 
 tent king, my master, hath sent for me : to whose 
 feeling sorrows 1 might be some allay, or I o'erween 
 to think so ; which is another spur to my departure. 
 PoL As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the 
 rest of thy services, by leaving me now: the need I 
 have of thee, thine own goodness hath made ; better 
 not to have had thee, than thus to want thee : thou, 
 having made me businesses, which none, without 
 thee, can sufficiently manage, must either stay to exe- 
 cute tliem thyself, or take away with thee tiie very 
 services thou hast done : which if I have not enough 
 considered, (as too much I cannot,) to be more thank- 
 ful to thee, shall be my study ; and my profit therein, 
 the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Si- 
 cilia, pr'ythee speak no more ; whose very naming 
 punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, 
 as thou call'st hira, and reconciled king, my brother ; 
 whose loss of his most precious queen, and children, 
 are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, 
 when saw'st thou the prince Florizel my son ] Kings 
 are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, 
 than they are in losing them, when they have ap- 
 proved their virtues. 
 
 Cam. Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince: 
 
 Whathis happier affairs maybe, are tome unknown: 
 but I have, missingly, noted, he is of late much re- 
 tired from court ; and is less frequent to his princely 
 exercises, than formerly he hath appeared. 
 
 PoL I have considered so much, Camillo ; and 
 with some care ; so far, that I have eyes under my 
 service, which look upon hisremovedness: from whom 
 I have tiiis intelligence ; That he is seldom from the 
 house of a most homely shepherd ; a man. they say, 
 that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination 
 of his neighbours, is grown intoan unspeakable estate. 
 
 Cam. 1 have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a 
 daughter of most rare note : the report of her is ex- 
 tended more, than can be thought to begin from such 
 a cottage. 
 
 Pot. That's likewise part of my intelligence. But, 
 I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou 
 shalt accompany us to the place : where we will, not 
 appearing what we are, have some question with the 
 shepherd ; from whose simplicity, I thinft it not un- 
 easy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. 
 Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this business, and 
 lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia, 
 
 Cain, I willingly obey your command. 
 
 PoL My best Camillo ! — We must disguise our- 
 selves. ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11. 
 
 The same. A Road near the Shepherd's Cottage. 
 Enter Autolycus, singing. 
 
 When dafiodils begin to peer, 
 
 With, heigh! the doxy over the dale, — 
 Whii, then comes in the stceet o'the year , 
 For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. 
 
 The ivhite sheet bleaching on the hedge, — 
 
 With, hey ! the sweet birds, 0, how they sing ' — 
 
 Doik set thy pngging tooth on edge ; 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 
 The lark, that .irra-lirra chants, — 
 
 With,hei^! with, hey! the thrush and the jay : — 
 Are summer songs for vie and my aunts. 
 
 While ive lie tumbling in the hay. 
 
 I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore 
 three-pile ; but now I am out of service : 
 
 But shall I go mourn for that, my dearf 
 
 The pule moon shines bq night : 
 And U'hen 1 wander here and there, 
 
 I then do most go right. 
 
 If tinkers may have leave to live. 
 
 And bear the sow-skin budget; 
 Then my account I well may give. 
 
 And in the stocks avouch it. 
 
 My traffic is sheets ; when the kite builds, look to 
 lesser linen. My father named me Autolycus , who, 
 being as I am. Uttered under Mercury, was likewise 
 a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles : With die, and 
 drab. I purchased this caparison ; andmy revenue is 
 tlie silly cheat: Gallows, and knock, are too power- 
 ful on the highway: beating, and hanging, are terrors 
 to me ; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought 
 of it. — A prize ! a prize ! 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 Clo. Let me see: — Every 'leven wether — tods; 
 every tod yields — pound and odd shilling: fifteen 
 hundred shorn, — What comes the wool to } 
 
 Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. I cannot do 't without counters. — Let me see ; 
 what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast 1 Tliree 
 pound of sugar; Jive pound of currarits ; rice 
 
288 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 What will this sister of mine do with rice 1 But my 
 father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she 
 lays it on. Slie liath made me four-and-twenty nose- 
 gays for the shearers : three-man song-men all, and 
 very good ones ; but they are most of them means 
 and bases : but one Puritan amongst them, and he 
 sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron, to 
 colour the warden pies ; mace, — dates, — none; that's 
 out of my note : nutmegs, seien ; a race, nr twn, of' 
 gi'iger : but that I may beg -j—foxir pound of prunes, 
 and as many of raisins o' the sun. 
 Ant. 0, that ever I was born ! 
 
 ^Groveliing on the ground. 
 
 Clo. V the name of me, 
 
 Aut. 0, help me, help me! pluck but off these 
 rags ; and then, death, death ! 
 
 Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more rags 
 to lay on thee, rather than have these off. 
 
 Aut. O. sir, the loathsomeness of them offends me 
 more than the stripes I have received ; which are 
 mighty ones, and millions. 
 
 Clo. Alas, poor man I a million of beating may 
 come to a great matter. 
 
 Aut. 1 am robbed, sir, and beaten ; my money and 
 apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things 
 put upon me. 
 
 Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man 1 
 Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man. 
 Clo. Indeed, he should be a footman, by the gar- 
 ments he halh left with Ihee ; if this be a hoise-man's 
 coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me thy 
 hand, I 'U help thee ; come, lend me thy hand. 
 
 [Helping liim up. 
 Aut. ! good sir, tenderly, oh ! 
 Clo. Alas, poor soul ! 
 
 Am. O, good sir, softly, good sir: I fear, sir, my 
 shoulder blade is out. 
 
 Clo. How now ^ canst stand ? 
 Aut. Softly, dear sir ; [piciss his pocket.] good sir, 
 softly ; you ha' done me a charitable office. 
 
 Clo. Dost lack any money 1 I have a little money 
 for thee. 
 
 Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: 
 I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile 
 hence, unto whom I was going ; 1 shall there have 
 money, or any thing I want : Offer me no money, I 
 pray you ; that kills my heart. 
 
 Clo. W hat manner of fellow was he that robbed you ] 
 Aut. A fellow, sir, that 1 have known to go about 
 with trol-my dames : I knew him once a servant of 
 the prince ; I cannot tell, good sir; for which of his 
 virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out of 
 the court. 
 
 Clo. His vices, you would say ; there's no virtue 
 whipped out of the court : they cherish it, to make it 
 stay there ; and yet it will no more but abide. 
 
 Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man 
 well : he hath been since an ape-bearer ; then a pro- 
 cess-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion 
 of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within 
 a mile where my land and living lies ; and, having 
 flown over many knavish professions, he settled only 
 in rogue ; some call him Autolycus. 
 
 Clo. Out upon him ! Prig, for my life, prig : hi 
 haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings. 
 
 Aut, Very tru * sir ; he, sir, he ; that's the rogue, 
 that put me into this apparel. 
 
 Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia ; if 
 
 you had but look'd big, and spit at him, he 'd have run. 
 
 Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter ; 
 
 I am false of heart that way ; and that he knew, I 
 
 warrant you. 
 
 Clo, How do you now ? 
 
 Ant. Sweet sir, much better than I was ; I can 
 stand, and walk : I will even take my leave of you, 
 and pace softly towards my kinsman's. 
 
 Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way ; 
 
 Aut. No, good faced sir ; no, sweet sir. 
 
 Clo. Then fare thee well ; 1 must go buy spices 
 for our sheap-shearing. 
 
 Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir! — [Exit Clown] Your 
 purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I '11 
 be with you at your sheep-shearing too : If I make 
 not this cheat bring out another, and the shearers 
 prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my name put 
 in the book of virtue ! 
 
 .^og on, jog on, the foot-path waUt 
 And merrily hent the stile-a : 
 
 A merra heart goes ail the daij. 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. A Shejiherd's Cottage. 
 Enter Florizki. and PEimiTA. 
 
 Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you 
 Do give a life : no shepherdess ; but Flora, 
 Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing 
 Is as a meeting of the petty gods. 
 And you the queen on "t. 
 
 Per. Sir, my gracious lord, 
 
 To chide at your extremes, it not becomes me ; 
 O, pardon, that I name them ; your high self. 
 The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscur'd 
 With a swain's wearing ; and me, poor lowly maid. 
 Most goddess-like prank'd up: But that our feasts 
 In eveiy mess have folly, and the feeders 
 Digest it with a custom, I should blush 
 To see you so attired ; sworn, I think, 
 To shew myself a glass. 
 
 Flo. T bless the time, 
 
 When my good falcon made her flight across 
 Thy father's ground. 
 
 Per. Now Jove afford you cause 1 
 
 To me, the difference forges dread ; your greatnes,s 
 Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble 
 To think, your father, by some accident. 
 Should pass this way, as you did ; O, the fates ! 
 How would he look, to see his work, so noble, 
 Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how 
 Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold 
 The sternness of his presence ? 
 
 Flo, Apprehend 
 
 Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves. 
 Humbling their deities to love, have taken 
 The shapes of beasts ujion them : Jupiter 
 Became a bull, and beilow'd ; the green Neptune 
 A ram, and bleated : and the fire-rob'd god. 
 Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, 
 As I seem now : Their transformations 
 AVere never for a piece of beauty rarer ; 
 Nor in a way so chaste : since my desiies 
 Run not before mine honour ; nor my lusts 
 Burn hotter than my faith. 
 
 Per. but, dear sir, 
 
 Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis 
 Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king; 
 One of these tivo must be necessities, 
 Which then will speak ; that you must change this 
 Or I my life. [purpose, 
 
 Flo. Thou dearest Perdita, 
 
 With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not 
 The mirth o'the feast : Or I' 11 be thine, my fair. 
 Or not my father's : for I cannot be 
 Mine own, nor any thing to any, if 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 289 
 
 I be not thine : to this 1 am most constant. 
 Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle ; 
 Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing 
 That you behold the while. Your guests are coining : 
 Lift up your countenance ; as it were the day 
 Of celebration of that nuptial, which 
 W'Q two have sworn shall come. 
 
 Per. O lady fortune 
 
 Stand you auspicious- 
 
 Enter Shepherd, jcith Polixenes and Camillo dis- 
 guised ; Clowe, MopsA, UoitcAs, and ofhers. 
 
 Flo. See, your guests approach : 
 
 Address yourself to entertain tliem sprightly. 
 And let's be red with mirth. 
 
 Shep. Fye, daughter I when my old wife liv'd upon 
 This day, she vvas both pantler, butler, cook ; 
 Both dame and servant : welcom'd all : serv'd all : 
 AVould sing her song, and dance her turn ; now here, 
 A.t upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle ; 
 On his shoulder, and his : her face o' fire 
 With labour ; and the thing, she took to quench it, 
 She would to each one sip : Vou are retir'd, 
 As if you were a feasted one, and not 
 The hostess of the meeting : Pray you, bid 
 These unknown friends to us welcome : for it is 
 A way to make us better friends, more known. 
 Come, quench your blushes ; and present yourself 
 That which vou are, mistress o" the feast: Come on. 
 And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing, 
 As your good flock shall prosper. 
 
 Per. Welcome, sir ! [To Pol. 
 
 It is my fatlier's will, I should take on me 
 Tlie hostess-ship o' the day : — You 're welcome, sir ! 
 
 [To Camillo. 
 Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. — Reverend sirs, 
 For you there's rosemary, and rue ; these keep 
 Seeming, and savour, all the winter long : 
 Grace, and remembrance, be to you both, 
 And welcome to our shearing ! 
 
 Pol. Shepherdess, 
 
 (A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages 
 With flowers of winter. 
 
 Per. Sir, the year growing ancient, — 
 
 Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth 
 Of trembling w inter, — the fairest flowers o' the season 
 Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers, 
 Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind 
 Our rustic garden 's barren ; and I care not 
 To get slips of them. 
 
 Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden. 
 
 Do you neglect them? 
 
 Per. For I have heard it said, 
 
 There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares 
 With great creating nature. 
 
 Pot. Say, there be ; 
 
 Yet nature is made better by no mean. 
 But nature makes that mean : so, o'er that art, 
 Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art, 
 That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry 
 A gentler scion to the wildest stock ; " 
 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 By bud of nobler race , This is an art 
 Which does mend naiure, — change it rather ; but 
 The art itself is nature. 
 
 Per. So it is. 
 
 Pot. Then make your garden rich in gillytlowers, 
 And do not call them bastards. 
 
 P^r. I'll not put 
 
 The dibble in earth to set one slip of them : 
 No more than, were I painted, 1 would wish 
 This youth should say, 'twere well ; and only therefore 
 
 Desire to breed by me. — Here's flowers for you ; 
 Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ; 
 The marigold, that goc to bed with the sun, 
 And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers 
 Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given 
 To men of middle age: You are very welcome. 
 
 Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, 
 And only live by gazing. 
 
 Per. Out, alas ! 
 
 You'd be so lean, that blasts of January [est friend. 
 Would blow you through and through. — Now. my fair- 
 I would. I had some flowers o'the spring, that migh 
 Become your time of day ; and yours, and yours j 
 That wear upon your virgin branches yet 
 Your maidenheads growing -. — O Proserpina, 
 For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall 
 From Dis's waggon! dart'ndils. 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of iMaich with beauty ; violets, dim, 
 But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, , 
 
 Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses, 
 That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
 Bright Phosbus in his strength, a malady 
 IMost incident to maids ; bold oxlips, and 
 The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds, 
 The flower-de-luce being one! O, these 1 lack. 
 To make you garlands of ; and, my sweet friend. 
 To strew him o'er and o'er. 
 
 Flo. What 1 like a corse 1 
 
 Per. No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on ; 
 Not like a corse : or if, — not to be buried, 
 But(iuick,and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers: 
 Methinks, I play as I liave seen them do 
 In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine 
 Does change my disposition. 
 
 Flo. What you do, 
 
 Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, 
 I'd have you doit ever: when you sing, 
 I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ; 
 Pray so; and, for tlie ordering your aff"airs, 
 To sing them too: When you do dance, I wii,h you 
 A wave o' tlie sea, thai vou might ever do 
 Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own 
 No other function: Each your doing, 
 So singular in each particular, 
 Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds. 
 That all your acts are queens. 
 
 Per. Doricles, 
 
 Your praises are too large : but that your youth, 
 And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it. 
 Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd ; 
 With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 
 You woo'd me the false way. 
 
 Flo. I think, you have 
 
 As little skill to fear, as I have purpose 
 To put you to't. — But, come ; our dance, I pray : 
 Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair, 
 'J'hat never mean to part. 
 
 Per. I'll swear for 'em. 
 
 Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever 
 Ran on the green sward : nothing she does or seems 
 But smacks of something greater than herself; 
 Too noble for this place. 
 
 Cum. He tells her something. 
 That makes her blood look out : Good sooth, she is 
 The queen of curds and cream. 
 
 Clo. Come on, strike up. 
 
 Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, gjirlick. 
 To mend her kissing with. 
 
 Mop. Now, in good time ! [ners. 
 
 Clo. Notaword, a word; we stand upon our man- 
 Come, strike up. [Music. 
 T 
 
290 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Here a dance fj/* Shepherds ajid Shepherdesses. 
 Pol. Pray, good shepherd, wliat 
 Fair swain is this, wliich dances with your daughter? 
 ■SV/e/7. They call liiin Doricles ; and he boasts hiniself 
 To have a worthy feeding : but I have it 
 Upon his own report, and I believe it ; 
 He looks like sooth : He says, he loves my daughter ; 
 1 think so too: for he never gaz'd the raooa 
 Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read, 
 As 'twere, my daughter's eyes ; and, to be plain, 
 I think, there is not half a kiss to choose, 
 Who loves another best. 
 
 PoL She dances featly. 
 
 Shep. So she does any tiling ; though 1 report it, 
 That should be silent : if young Doricles 
 Do light upon her, she shall bring him that 
 Which he not dreams of. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. master, if you did but hear the pedler at 
 the door, you would never dance again after a tabor 
 and pipe ; no, the bagpipe could not move you : he 
 sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell money ; 
 he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's 
 ears grew to his tunes, 
 
 Ch. He could never come better: he shall come 
 in : I love a ballad but even too well ; if it be dole- 
 ful matter, merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing 
 indeed, and sung lamentably. 
 
 Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all 
 sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves: 
 he has the prettiest love songs for maids ; so without 
 bawdry, which is strange ; with such delicate bur- 
 dens of dildos and fadings : j}tmp her and thxunp her ; 
 and where some stretch mouth'd rascal would, as it 
 were, mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the 
 matter, he makes the maid to answer, Tl'/yndp, da me 
 no harm, good man ; puts him ort', slights him, with 
 Whoop, do me no harm, good man. 
 Pol. This is a brave fellow. 
 
 Clo, Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable- 
 conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares ? 
 
 Sew. He hath ribands of all the colours i'the rain- 
 bow ; points, more than ail the lawyers in Bohemia 
 can learnedly handle, though they come to him by 
 the gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics, lawns; why, 
 he sings them over, 'as they were gods or goddesses ; 
 you would think, a smock were a she-angel : he so 
 chants to the sleeve-hand, and the work about the 
 square on't. 
 
 Clo. Pr'ythee, bring liim in; and let him approach 
 singing. 
 
 Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous 
 words in his tunes. 
 
 C'/i>. You have of these pedlers, that have more in 
 'em than you'd think, sister. 
 
 Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think. 
 Enter Autolycus, singing. 
 Lawn, as white as driven snow ; 
 CifpruSf black as e'er was crow ; 
 Gloves, us sweet as damask roses; 
 Masks for faces, and for noses; 
 Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber^ 
 Perfume for a ladfs chamber: 
 Golden quofs, and stomaclters. 
 For my lads to give their dears; 
 Pins, and poking-sticks of steel. 
 What maids lack from head to heel : 
 Come, 6»v of me, come; come buy, come buy; 
 Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry: 
 Come, buy. Sec. 
 Clo, If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou 
 
 should'st take no money of me ; but being entliralFd 
 as I am, it will also be tlie bondage of ceriain ribands 
 and gloves. 
 
 Mop. I was promis'd them against the feast j but 
 they come not too late now. 
 
 Dor. He hath promised you more than that, or 
 there be liars. 
 
 Mop, He hath paid you all he promised you : may 
 be, he has paid you more; which will shame you to 
 give him again. 
 
 Ctn. Is there no manners left among maids? will 
 they wear their plackets, where they should bear their 
 faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going 
 to bed, or kiln hole, to whistle oiT these secrets ; but 
 you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? *Tis 
 well they are whispering: Charm your tongues, 
 and not a word more. 
 
 Mop. I have done. Come, you promised me a taw- 
 dry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves. 
 
 Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by 
 the way, and lost all my money? 
 
 Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad ; 
 therefore it behoves men to be vvary. 
 
 Clo. Fear not lhou,man,lhou shall lose nothing here. 
 
 Ant, I hope so, sir; for 1 have about me many 
 parcels of charge. 
 
 Clo. What hast here? ballads? 
 
 Mop. Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in 
 print, a'-!ife; for then we are sure they are true. 
 
 Ant. Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a 
 usurer's wife was broiiglit to bed of twenty money- 
 bags at a burden ; and how she longed to eat adders' 
 heads, and toads carbonadoed. 
 
 Mop. Is it true, think you ? 
 
 Aut, Very true ; and but a month old. 
 
 Dor. Bless me from marrying a usurer ! 
 
 Aut. Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress 
 Taleporter; and five or six honest wives that were 
 present: WHiy should 1 carry lies abroad? 
 
 Mop. 'Pray you now, buy it. 
 
 Clo. Come on, lay it by: And let's first see more 
 ballads; we'll buy the other things anon. 
 
 Ant. Here's another ballad. Of a fish, that ap- 
 peared upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore 
 of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung 
 this ballad against the hard hearts of maids : it was 
 thought, she was a woman, and was turned into a cold - 
 fish, for she would not exchange Hesh with one that 
 loved her : The ballad is very pitiful, and as true. 
 
 Dor. Is it true too, think you ? 
 
 Aut. Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses, more 
 than my pack will hold. ^ 
 
 Cto. Lay it by too: Another. 
 
 Aut. This is a merry ballad ; buta very pretty one. 
 
 Mop. Let's have some merry ones. 
 
 Aut. Why, this is a passing merry one ; and goes 
 to the tune of Tuo maids wooing a man ; there's scarce 
 a maid westward, but she sings it ; 'tis in request, 1 
 can tell you. 
 
 Mop. We can both sing it"; if thou'It bear a part, 
 thou shall hear; 'tis in three parts. 
 
 Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago. 
 
 Aut, lean bear my part; you must know, 'tis my 
 occupation : have at it with you. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 A. Get yon hence, for I must go; 
 Where it fits not you to know. 
 
 D. Whither'*.' "SI. O, Whither? D. WhithtT? 
 M. It becomes thy oath full welt, 
 Thou to me t/iy secrets tell : 
 
 D. Me too, let me go thither. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 291 
 
 M. Or thou go'st (0 the grange, or mill : 
 
 U. If to eilher, thou dost ill. 
 
 A. Neither. U. What,neithsr7 A. Neither, 
 
 D. Thou hast swoni mil /ewe (o be, 
 
 RI. Th,m hast sworn it more to me : 
 
 Then, xikither go'st? say, whitherJ 
 
 Clo. We'll have thif song out anon by ourselves ; 
 My father and the gentlemen are m sad talk, and we'll 
 not trouble them : Come, bring away thy pack after 
 me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both :•— Pedler, let's 
 have the first choice — Follow me, girls. 
 
 Aut. And you shall pay well for 'em. lAside. 
 
 Will 1/0(1 hnif any tape. 
 
 Or lace for your cope, 
 M\i dainty duck, my deay-af 
 
 Anu silh, any thread, 
 
 Antf toijsfor your head. 
 Of the neto^st, andjin'st,^tinst wear^a^ 
 
 Come to the pedler ; 
 
 Money's a medler. 
 That doth utter all men's ware-a. 
 
 \^Eieunt Clown, Autoi.vcus, Dorcas, and Mopsa. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep- 
 herds, three neat herds, three swine-herds, that have 
 made themselves all men of hair ; they call them- 
 selves saltiers : and they have a dance which the 
 wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols, because 
 they are not in't ] but they themselves are o' tlie mind, 
 (if it be not too rough for some, that know little but 
 bowling,) it will please plentifully. 
 
 Shep. Away ! we'll none on't ; here has been too 
 much homely foolery already: — I know, sii, we 
 weary you. 
 
 f "i. You weary those that refresli us : Pray, let's 
 see these four threes of herdsmen. 
 
 Serv. One three of them, by their own report, sir, 
 hath danced before the king; and not the worst of the 
 three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the sipiire. 
 
 Shep. Leave your prating: since these good men 
 »re pleased, let them come in ; but quickly now. 
 
 Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Eiit. 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rustics, habited like 
 Satijrs. yhe\] dance, and Oien exeunt. 
 Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter. — 
 Is it not too far gone 1 — Tis time to part them. — 
 lie's simple and tells much. [.•Isiiye.] — How now, fair 
 
 shepherd ? 
 Your heart is full of something, that does take 
 Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young. 
 And liaiided love, as you do, I was wont 
 To load my she with knacks ; 1 would have ransack'd 
 The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it 
 To her acceptance ; you have let him go. 
 And nothing marted with him : If your lass 
 Interpretation should abuse ; and call this. 
 Your lack of love, or bounty ; you were straited 
 For a reply, at least, if you make a care 
 Of happy holding her. 
 
 Flo. Old sir, I know 
 
 She prizes not such trifles as these are : 
 The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd 
 Up in my lieart ; which I have given already. 
 But not deliver'd. — O, hear me breathe my life 
 Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem, 
 Halh sometime lov'd : I take thy hand ; this hand, 
 As soft as dove's down, and as white as it ; 
 Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow. 
 That 's bolted bv the northern blasts twice o'er. 
 Vol. What follows this?— 
 
 How prettily the young swain seems to wash 
 The hand, was fair before ! — I have put you out ;— 
 But, to your protestation ; let me hear 
 What you profess. 
 
 Flo. Do, and be witness to 't. 
 
 Pol. And this my neighbour too ? 
 
 Flo. And he, and more 
 
 Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all : 
 That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarch. 
 Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth. 
 That ever made eye swerve ; had force, and knowledge, 
 JMore than was ever man's, — I would not prize them. 
 Without her love : for her, employ tiiem all ; 
 Commend them, and condenm them, to her service, 
 Or to their own [terdition. 
 
 I'ot. Fairly offer'd. 
 
 Cam. This shews a sound affection. 
 
 Shep. But, my daughter, 
 
 Say you the like to him 1 
 
 Per. I cannot speak 
 
 So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better- 
 By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out 
 The purity of his. 
 
 Shep. Take hands, a bargain ; 
 
 And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't; 
 I give my daughter to him, and will make 
 Her portion equal his. 
 
 Flo. 0, that must be 
 
 I'the virtue of your daughter: one being dead, 
 I shall have more than you can dream of yet ; 
 Enough then for your wonder : But, come on, 
 Contract us 'fore these witnesses. 
 
 Shep. Come, your hand; 
 
 And, daughter, yours. 
 
 Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you ; 
 
 Have you a father ? 
 
 Flo. I have : But what of him ? 
 
 Pol. Knows he of this! 
 
 Fio. ile neither does, nor shall. 
 
 Pol. Methinks, a father 
 Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest 
 That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more ; 
 Is not your father grown incapable 
 Of reasonable affairs 1 is he not stupid 
 With age, and altering rheums? Can he speakl hear? 
 Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ? 
 Lies he not bed-rid ! and again does nothing. 
 But what he did being childish? 
 
 Flo, No, good sir ; 
 
 He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed. 
 Than most have of his age. 
 
 Pol. By my white beard . 
 
 You offer him, if this be so, a wrong 
 Something unfilial ; Heason, my son 
 Should choose himself a wife ; but as good reason, 
 'I'he father, (all wliose joy is nothing else 
 But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel 
 In such a business. 
 
 Plo. I yield all this ; 
 
 But, for some other reasons, my grave sir. 
 Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint 
 My father of this business. 
 
 Pol. Let him know 't. 
 
 Flo. He shall not. 
 
 Pol. Pr'ythee, let him. 
 
 Flo. No, he must not. 
 
 Shep. Let him, my son ; he shall not need to grieve 
 At knowing of thy choice. 
 
 Flo. Come, come, he must not: — 
 
 Mark our contract. 
 
 Pol, Mark your divorce, young sir, 
 
 [biscovering himself. 
 T2 
 
2.92 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base 
 To be acknowledg'd : TIiou a scepter's heir, 
 That thus art'ect'st a sheep-hook! — Thou old traitor, 
 I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but 
 Shorten tliy life one week. — And thou, fresh piece 
 Of excellent witchcraft ; who, of force, must know 
 The royal fool thou cop'st with ; 
 
 &hep. O, my heart! [made 
 
 Pol. I 'II have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and 
 More liomely than thy state. — For thee, fond boy, — 
 If 1 may ever know, thou dost but sigh. 
 That thou no more shall see this knack, (as never 
 I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession ; 
 IVot liold thee of our blood, no not our kin. 
 Far than Deucalion oH'; — Mark thou my words ; 
 Follow us to the court.— Thou churl, for this time. 
 Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee 
 From the dead blow of it. — -And you, enchantment, — 
 Worthy enough a herdsman ; yea, him too, 
 That makes himself, but for our honour therein, 
 Unworthy thee. — if ever, henceforth, thou 
 These rural latches to his entrance open. 
 Or hoop his body more with thy embraces, 
 I will devise a death as cruel for thee, 
 As thou art tender to't. [EaU. 
 
 Per, Kven here undone! 
 
 I was not much afeard : for once, or twice, 
 I was about to speak ; and tell him plainly. 
 The self-same sun, that shines upon liis court, 
 Hides not his visage from our cottage, but 
 Looks on alike. — Will't please you, sir, be gone? 
 
 [To Florizel. 
 I told you, what would come of this : 'Beseecli you, 
 Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, — 
 Being now awake, I 'II queen it no inch further, 
 But miik my ewes, and weep. 
 
 Cam, Why, how now, father? 
 
 Speak, ere thou diest. 
 
 Shep. I cannot speak, nor think. 
 
 Nor dare to know that which 1 know. — O, sir, 
 
 [To Florizel. 
 You have undone a man of fourscore three. 
 That thought to fill his grave in quiet ; yea, 
 To die upon the bed my father died. 
 To lie close by his honest bones : but now 
 Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me 
 Where no priest shovels-in dust. — O cursed wretch I 
 
 [To Peroita. 
 That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adven- 
 To mingle faith with him. — Undone! undone! [ture 
 If 1 might die within this hour, I have liv'd 
 To die when I desire. [Exit. 
 
 Flo. Why look you so upon me? 
 
 I am but sorry, not afeard ; delay 'd, 
 But nothing alter'd : What I was, I am : 
 More straining on, for plucking back; not following 
 My leash unwillingly. 
 
 Cam. Gracious my lord, 
 
 You know your father's temper : at this time 
 He will allow no speech, — which, I do guess, 
 You do not purpose to him ; and as hardly 
 Will he endure your sight as yet, 1 fear : 
 Then, till the fury of his highness settle, 
 Come not before him. 
 
 t'lo. I not purpose it. 
 
 I think, Camillo. 
 
 Cam. Even he, my lord. 
 
 Per. How often have 1 told you, 'twould be thus? 
 How often said, my dignity would last 
 But till 'twere known? 
 
 Flo. It cannot fail, but by 
 
 The violation of my faith ; And then 
 
 Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together. 
 
 And mar the seeds within ! Lift up thy looks : 
 From my succession wipe me, father I 1 
 Am heir to my alieciion. 
 
 Cam. Jie advised. 
 
 Flo. I am ; and by my fancy : if my reasou 
 Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ; 
 If not, my senses, belter pleas'd with madness. 
 Do bid it welcome. 
 
 Cam. 'I'his is desperate, sir. 
 
 Flo. So call it: but it does fulfil my vowj 
 I needs must think it honesty. CamiUo, 
 Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may 
 Be thereat giean'd ; for all the sun sees or 
 Tiie close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide 
 In unknown fathoms, will 1 break my oalh 
 To tiiis my fair belov'd : Therefore, I pray you. 
 As you have e'er been my father's honour'd friend, 
 When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not 
 To see him any more, ) Cast your good counsels 
 Upon his passion; Let myself and fortune. 
 Tug for the lime to come, 'i'his you may know. 
 And so deliver, — 1 am put to sea 
 Willi her, whom here 1 cannot hold on shore; 
 And, most opportune to our need, 1 have 
 A vessel ride^ fast by, but not prepar'd 
 For this design. What course 1 mean to hold. 
 Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor 
 Concern me the reporting. 
 
 Cam. O, my lord, 
 
 1 would your spirit were easier for advice. 
 Or stronger for your need. 
 
 Fin. Hark, Perdita. [Tahes her astde 
 
 I '11 hear you by and by. [To Camillo 
 
 Cam. He's irremovable, 
 
 Resolv'd for flight: Now were 1 happy, if 
 His going I could frame to serve my turn ; 
 Save him from danger, do him love and honour , 
 Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia, 
 And that unhappy king, my master, whom 
 I so much thirst to see- 
 
 Flo. Now, good Camillo, 
 
 1 am so fraught with curious business, that 
 I leave out ceremony. [Going. 
 
 Cam. Sir, I think, 
 
 You have heard of my poor services, i'the love 
 That 1 have borne your father? 
 
 Flo. Very nobly 
 
 Have you deserv'd : it is my father's music. 
 To speak your deeds ; not little of his care 
 To have them recompens'd as thougiit on. 
 
 Cam. Well, my lord. 
 
 If you may please to think I love the king ; 
 And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is 
 Vour gracious self; embrace but my direction, 
 (Hyour more ponderous and settled project 
 Alay suffer alteration, J on mine honour 
 I'll point you where you shall have such receiving 
 As shall become your highness ; where you may 
 Enjoy your mistress : (from tlie whom, I see, 
 There's no disjunction to be made, but by. 
 As heavens forfend ! ynur ruin ;) marry her; 
 And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,) 
 Your discontenting father strive to qualify. 
 And bring iiimup to liking. 
 
 Flo. How, Camillo, 
 
 May this, almost a miracle, be done I 
 That I may call thee something more than man. 
 And, after that, trust to thee. 
 
 Cam. Have you thought on 
 
 A place, whereto you'll go? 
 Fio. Not any yet : 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 293 
 
 Rut as the.unthought-on accident is guilty 
 To what we wildly do ; so we profess, 
 Ourselves to be tlie slaves of chauce, aad flies 
 Of every wind that blows. 
 
 Cam. Then list to me : 
 
 This follows, — if you will not change your purpose, 
 But undergo this tiiglit ; — Make for Sicilia ; 
 And there present yourself, and your fair princess, 
 (For so, I see, she must be, ) 'fore Leontes j 
 She shall be habited, as it becomes 
 The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see 
 Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping 
 His welcomes forth: asks thee, the son, forgiveness, 
 As 'twere i" the father's person ; kisses the hands 
 Of you fresh princess : o'er and o'er divides him 
 'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness ; the one 
 He chides to hell, and bids the other grow. 
 Faster than thought, or tune. 
 
 Fto, Worthy Camillo, 
 
 What colour for my visitation shall I 
 Hold up before him ? 
 
 Cam, Sent bv the king vour father 
 
 To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir, 
 The manner of your bearing towards him, with 
 What you, as from your father, shall deliver, 
 Thingsknown betwixt us three, I'll write you down : 
 The which shall point you forth at every sitting. 
 What you must say ; that he shall not perceive, 
 Hut that you have vour father's bosom there, 
 And speak his very heart. 
 
 Flo. I am bound to you : 
 
 There is some sap in this. 
 
 Cam. A course more promising 
 
 Than a wild dedication of yourselves 
 To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores ; most certain. 
 To miseries enough : no hope to help you : 
 Hut, as you shake off one, to take another : 
 Nothing so certain as your anchors ; who 
 Do their best otfice, if they can but stay you 
 Where you '11 be loath to be : Besides, you know, 
 Prosperity 's the very bond of love ; 
 Whose fre-^h complexion and whose heart together 
 Affliction alters. 
 
 Per. One of these is true : 
 
 1 think, aflliction may subdue the cheek. 
 But not take in the mind. 
 
 C(i7n. Vea, say you so 1 
 
 There shall not, at your father's house, these seven 
 lie born another such. [years, 
 
 Flfl. j\Iy good Camillo, 
 
 She is as forward of her breeding, as 
 She is i'the rear of birth. 
 
 Cam. ' 1 cannot say, 'tis pity 
 
 Site lacks instructions ; for she seems a mistress 
 I'o most that teach. 
 
 Per. Your pardon, sir, for this : 
 
 1 'II blush you thanks. 
 
 Flo. Mv prettiest Perdita. 
 
 But, O, .the thorns we stand upon! — Camillo, — 
 Preserver ot my father, now of me : 
 The medicin of our house ! — how shall we do ? 
 We are not furnish'd like Bohemia'o son; 
 Nor shall appear in Sicily 
 
 Cam. My lord. 
 
 Fear none of this : I think, you know, my fortunes 
 Do all lie there : it shall be so my care 
 To have you royally appointed, as if 
 The scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir. 
 That you may know you shall not want, — one word. 
 
 [They talk aside. 
 Enter AnTOi.vcus. 
 
 Ant. Ha. ha ! what a fool honesty is '. and trust, 
 his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! 1 have 
 
 sold al! my trumperv ; not a counterfeit stone, not a 
 riband, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, 
 knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, horn-ring, to 
 i keep my pack from fasting ; they throng who should 
 buy first ;. as if my trinkets liad been hallowed, and 
 brought a benediction to the buyer : by which means, 
 I saw whose purse was best in picture ; and, what 
 I saw, 'to mv good use, I remembered. JMy clown, 
 (who wants but something to be a reasonable man, ) 
 grew so in love with the wenches' song, that lie would 
 not stir his petitoes, till he had both tune and words ; 
 which so drew the rest of the herd to me, that all their 
 other senses stuck in ears : you might have pinched 
 a placket, it was senseless ; 'twas nothing, to geld a 
 codpiece of a purse ; 1 would have hied keys otF, that 
 hung in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's 
 song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this 
 time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their fes- 
 tival purses: and had not the old man come in with 
 a whoobub against his daughter and the king's son, 
 and scared my choughs from the chaff", I had not left 
 a purse alive in the whole armv. 
 
 [Cam. Flo. and Per. come forward. 
 
 Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being there 
 So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt. 
 
 Flo. And those that you'll procure fromking Leon- 
 
 Cain. Shall satisfy your father, [tes, 
 
 Per. Happy be you I 
 
 All, that you speak, shews fair. 
 
 Cam. Who have we here? [5e(?(Hg- Autolvcus, 
 
 We'll make an instrument of this ; omit 
 Nothing, may give us aid. 
 
 Ant. If they have overheard me now, why 
 
 hanging. [.-^suie. 
 
 Cam. How now, good fellow ] why shakest thou 
 so ? Fear not, man ; here's no harm intended to thee. 
 
 Ant. I am a poor fellow, sir. 
 
 Cam. Why, lie so still ; here's nobody will steal 
 that from thee : Yet, for the outside of thy poverty, 
 we must make an exchange : therefore, disease thee 
 instantly, (thou must think, there's necessity in 't,) 
 and change garments with this gentleman : Though 
 the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold 
 thee, there's some boot. 
 
 Ant. 1 am a poor fellow, sir: — I know ye well 
 enough. [Aside. 
 
 Cum, Kay, pr'ythee, despatch : the gentleman is 
 half tlayed already. 
 
 Ant. Are you in earnest, sir — I smell the trick of 
 it. — [Aside. 
 
 Flo. Despatch. 1 pr'ythee. 
 
 Ant. Indeed, 1 have had earnest; but 1 cannot 
 with conscience take it. 
 
 Cum. Unbuckle, unbuckle — 
 
 [Fuj. tiuit Ainoi.. exchange gminents. 
 Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy 
 Come home to you! — you must retire yourself 
 Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat. 
 And pluck it o'er your brows ; mufl^e your face ; 
 Di>niantle vou ; and as you can, disliken 
 The truth of your own seeming ; that you may, 
 ( For I do fear eyes over you,) to shipboard 
 Get undescried. 
 
 Per. I see, the play so lies, 
 
 That I must bear a part. 
 
 Cam. \o remedy. — 
 
 Have you done there ? 
 
 Flo. Should I now meet my father. 
 
 He would not call me son. 
 
 Cam. Nay, you shall have 
 
 No hat:— Come, lady, come.— Farewell, my friend, 
 
 Aut. Adieu, sir. 
 
 Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forget! 
 
294 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Pray you, a -word. [They converse apart. 
 
 Cam. What I do next, sliall be, to tell the king 
 Ot tills escape, and wliitlier they are bound; [Aside. 
 Wherein, my hope is, 1 shall so prevail, 
 To force him after ; in wliose company 
 I shall review Sicilia ; for whose sight 
 I have a woman's longing. 
 
 Plo. Fortune speed us I — 
 
 Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea- side. 
 Cam. The swifter speed, tlie better. 
 
 [Eieuiit Fi.ouizKL, Pfrdita, ami Camii.1,0. 
 Aut. I understand the business, I hear it : To have 
 an open ear, a quiclc eye, and a nimble hand, is ne- 
 cessary for a cut-purse ; a good nose is rer)uisite also, 
 to smell out work for the other senses. 1 see, this is 
 the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an 
 exchange had this been, without boot? what a boot 
 is here, with this exchange? Sure, the gods do this 
 year connive at us, and we may do any thing extem- 
 pore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity ; 
 stealing away from his father, with his clog at his 
 heels : "if 1 thought it were not a piece of honesty to 
 acquaint the king withal. I would do't: I hold it 
 the more knavery to conceal it: and therein am 1 
 constant to my profession. 
 
 Enter Clown and Shepherd. 
 Aside, aside ;— here is more matter for a hot brain : 
 Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang- 
 ing, yields a careful man work. 
 
 Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now ! there 
 is no other way, but to tell the king she's a change- 
 ling, and none of your flesh and bluod. 
 Shep. Nay, but hear me. 
 Clo. Nay, but hear me. 
 fHiep. Go to then. 
 
 Cln. She being none of your flesh and blood, your 
 flesh and blood has not oft'ended tlie king; and, so, 
 your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. 
 Shew those things you found about her ; those secret 
 things, all but what she has with her: This being 
 done, let the law go whistle ; 1 warrant you. 
 
 Sliep. 1 will tell the king all, every word, yea, 
 and his son's pranks too ; who, 1 may say, is no ho- 
 nest man neither to his father, nor to me, to go about 
 to make me the king's brother-in-law. 
 
 Clo. Indeed, brotlier-in-law was the furthest ofl'' 
 
 you could have been to him ; and then your blood had 
 
 been the dearer, by I know not how much an ounce. 
 
 Aut. Very wisely ; puppies ! [Asule. 
 
 Shep. Well ; let us to the king ; there is that in 
 
 this fardel, will make him scratch his beard. 
 
 Aut, I know not wliat impediment this complaint 
 may be to the flight of my master. 
 Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace. 
 Avt. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so 
 sometimes by chance : — Let me pocket up my ped- 
 ler's excrement. — [Takes off his Julie heard.} How 
 now, rustics * whither are you bound 1 
 
 Shep. To the palace, an it like your worship. 
 Aut. Your afi"aiis there? what? with whom? the 
 condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, 
 your names, your ages, of what having, breeding, 
 and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover. 
 Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir. 
 ^iit. A lie! you are rough and hairy: Let me 
 have no lying ; it becomes none but tradesmen, and 
 they often give us soldiers the lie ! but we pay them 
 for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel ; there- 
 fore they do not give us the lie. 
 
 Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one, 
 if you had not taken yourself with the manner. 
 Shep. -•Vre you a courtier, an't like you, sir ? 
 Aut. Whether it like me, or no. 1 am a courtier. 
 
 See'st thou not the air of the court in these enfold- 
 ings? hath not my gait in it, the measure of the 
 court ? receives not thv nose court-odour from me ? 
 reflect 1 not on thy baseness, court-contemnt ? Think'st 
 thou, for that 1 insinuate, or toze from thee thy bu- 
 siness, I am therefore no courtier? I am courtier 
 cap-a-pe ; and one that will either push on, or pluck 
 back thy business there : whereupon 1 command 
 thee to open thy afiair. 
 
 Shep. My business, sir, is to the king. 
 Aut. What advocate hast thou to him ? 
 Shep. I know not, an't like you. 
 Clo. Advocate 's the court-word for a pheasant ; 
 say, you have none. 
 
 Shei>. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock, nor hen. 
 Aut. Howbless'darewe, that are not simple men! 
 Yet nature might have made me as these are, 
 Tlierefore I'll not disdain. 
 
 Clo. This cannot be but a great courtier. 
 Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them 
 not handsomely. 
 
 Clo. He seems to be the more noble in being fan- 
 tastical : a great man, I'll warrant ; I know, by the 
 picking on's teeth. 
 
 Aut. The fardel there? what's i' the fardel ? 
 Wherefore that box ? 
 
 Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel, and 
 box, which none must know but the king ; and which 
 he shall know within this hour, if I may come to the 
 speech of him. 
 
 Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. 
 Shq,. Why, sir? 
 
 Aut. The king is not at the palace : he is gone 
 aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air 
 himself : For, if thou be'st capable of things serious, 
 thou must know, the king is full of grief. 
 
 Shep. So 'tis said, sir ; about his son, that should 
 have married a shepherd's daughter. 
 
 Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him 
 fly ; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall 
 feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster. 
 Clo. Think you so, sir ! 
 
 Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make 
 heavy, and vengeance bitter ; but those that are ger- 
 mane to him, though removed fifty times, shall all 
 come under the hangman : which though it be great 
 pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling rogue, 
 a rani-tender, to ofler to have his daughter come into 
 ■Jiace ! Some say, he shall be stoned ; but that death is 
 'oo soft for him, say I : Draw our throne into a sheep- 
 cote ! all deaths are too few, thesharpest too easy. 
 
 Clo. Has the old man e'er a"son, sir, do you hear, 
 an't like you, sir? „ , ,. 
 
 Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive ; 
 then 'nointed over witii honey, set on the head of a 
 wasp's nest; then stand, till he be three-quarters and 
 a dram dead : then recovered again with aqua-vitaj, 
 or some other hot infusion : then, raw as he is, and 
 in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, shall 
 he be set against i brick wall, the sun looking with a 
 southward eye ui>on him ; where he is to behold him 
 with flies blown to death. Butwhat talk we of these 
 traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smiled at, 
 their offences being so capital? Tell me, ( for you 
 seem to be honest plain men,) what you have to the 
 king; being something gently considered, I'll bring 
 you where he is aboard, tender your persons to his 
 presence, whisper him in your behalfs; and, it it be 
 in man, besides the king, to effect your suits, here is 
 man shall do it. . , . 
 
 Clo. He seems to be of great authority ■ close witb 
 him give him gold ; and though authority be a stub- 
 born bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with gold : 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I 
 
 295 
 
 slirw the inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, 
 and no more ado : Remember, stoned and flayed alive. 
 
 Shep, An't please you, sir, to undoitake the busi- 
 ness for us, here is thai gold 1 have : I'll make it as 
 much more ; and leave this young man in pawn, till 
 I bring it you. 
 
 Ant. After I have done what I promised 1 
 
 Shep. Ay, sir. 
 
 Aut. Well, give me the moiety : — Are you a party 
 in this bui^iness? 
 
 C7.), In some sort, sir : but though my case be a 
 pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. 
 
 Aut. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son: — 
 Hang him. he 'U be made an example 
 
 Clo. Comfort, good comfort : we must to the king, 
 and shew our strange sights ; he must know, 'tis none 
 of your daughter, nor my sister ; we are gone else. 
 Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, 
 when the business is perfonned ; and remain, as he 
 says, your pawn, till it be brought you. 
 
 Aut, I will trust you. Walk before toward the 
 sea-side ; go on tlie right hand ; 1 will but look upon 
 the hedge, and follow you. 
 
 Ch. \Ve are blessed in this man, as I may say, 
 even'blessed. 
 
 Shep. Let's before, as lie bids us: Hr was provided 
 to do us good. [EieuHt Shepherd and Clown. 
 
 Aut. U I had a mind to be honest, 1 see, fortune 
 would not suffer me ; siie drops booties in my mouth. 
 I am courted now with a double occasion ; gold, and 
 a means to do the prince my master good; which, 
 ■who knows how that may turn back to my advance- 
 ment.? 1 will bring these two moles, these blind ones, 
 aboard him : if he think it fit to shore them again, and 
 that the complaint they have to the king concerns him 
 nothing, let him call me, rogue, for being so far otW- 
 cious ; for I am proof against that title, and what 
 shatne else belongs to 't : lo him will I present them, 
 there may be matter in it. [Eiit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCEN E I. — Sicilia« A limuu in Leotites' Putaee^ 
 
 Enter Leontes, Ci.EOMKNts, Djon, Paulina, 
 
 and others. 
 
 CUo, Sir, you have done enough, and have perform *d 
 A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make, 
 Which you have not redeem 'd; indeed, paid down 
 More penitence, than done trespass: At the last 
 Do, as the heavens have done ; forget your evil j 
 With them, forgive yourself. 
 
 Leon. Whilst I remember 
 
 Her, and her virtues, I cannot forget 
 My blemishes in them ; and so still think of 
 The wrong I did myself: which was so much, 
 That heirless it liath made my kingdom ; and 
 Uestroy'd the sweet'st companion, that e'er man 
 Bred his hopes out of. 
 
 I'aul. True, too true, my lord: 
 
 If, one by one, you wedded all the world. 
 Or, from the all that are. took something good. 
 To make a perfect woman ; she, you kiU'd, 
 Would be unparallel'd. 
 
 Leon. I think so. Kill'd ! 
 
 She I kill'd 1 I did so : but thou strik'st me 
 Sorely, to say 1 did ; it is as bitter 
 Upon thy tongue, as in my thought: Now, good now, 
 Say so but seldom. 
 
 Cleo. Not at all, good lady: 
 
 You might have spoken a thousand things that would 
 Have done the time more beneht, and grac'd 
 Your kindness better. 
 
 Punl. You are one of those, 
 
 Would have him wed again. 
 
 Vion. If you would not so, 
 
 You pity not the state, nor the remembrance 
 Of his most sovereign dame ; consider little, 
 What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue, 
 May drop upon his kingdom, and devour 
 Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy. 
 Than to rejoice, the former riueen is well } 
 What holier, than, — for royalty's repair, 
 For present comfort and for future good, — 
 To bless the bed of majesty again 
 With a sweet fellow to 't ! 
 
 Pniil. There is none worthy. 
 
 Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods 
 Will have fulfiU'd theii secret purposes : 
 For has not the divine Apollo said. 
 Is 't not the tenour of his oracle, 
 That king Leontes shall not have an heir, 
 Till his lust child be found? which, that it shall. 
 Is all as monstrous to our human reason. 
 As my Antigonus to break his grave, 
 And come again to me ; ^vho, on my life. 
 Did perish with the infant. ''J'is your counsel. 
 My lord should to the heavens be contrary. 
 Oppose against their wills. — Care not for issue , 
 
 [Tti Leontes, 
 The crown will find an heir : Great Alexander 
 Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor 
 Was like to be the best. 
 
 I^eon. Good Paulina, — 
 Who hast the memory of Hermione, 
 I know, in honour, — 0, that ever I 
 Had squar'd me to thy counsel! — then, even now, 
 I mij^ht have look'd upon my queen's full eyes ; 
 Have taken treasure from her lips, 
 
 Paul. And left tlicm 
 
 More rich, for what they yielded. 
 
 Leon. Thou speak'st truth. 
 
 No more such wives ; therefore, no wife : one worse, 
 And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit 
 Again possess her corps ; and, on this stage, 
 (Where we offenders now appear,) soul-ve.\ed. 
 Begin, .ind whij to me? 
 
 P'inl. Had she such power. 
 
 She had just cause. 
 
 Leon. She had ; and would incense me 
 
 To murder her I married. 
 
 Pnnl. I should so: 
 
 Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark 
 Her eye ; and tell me, for what dull part in 't 
 You chose her : then I'd shriek, that even your ears 
 Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow'd 
 Should be. Remember mine! 
 
 Leon. Stars, very stars. 
 
 And all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife, 
 I '11 have no wife, Paulina. 
 
 Poul. Will you swear 
 
 Never to marry, but by ray fiee leave ! 
 
 Leon. Never, Paulina ; so be bless'd my spirit ! 
 
 Poul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath 
 
 Cleo. You tempt him over-much. 
 
 Paul. Unless another. 
 
 As like Hermione as is her picture. 
 Affront his eye. 
 
 Cleo. Good madam, — 
 
 Panl. I have done. 
 
 Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir. 
 No remedy, but you will • give me the office 
 To choose you a queen ; she shall not be so young 
 As was your former ; but she sl.all be such. 
 As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, if should take joy 
 To see her in your arms. 
 
296 
 
 WINTER'S TALE. 
 
 Leon. My true Paulina, 
 
 We shall not marry, till thoubidd'st us. 
 
 Paul. That 
 
 Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath j 
 Never till then. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 Gent. One that gives out himself prince Florizel, 
 Son of Polixenes, with iiis princess, {^she 
 The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access 
 To your high presence. 
 
 Leon. What with him ? he comes not 
 
 Like to his father's greatness : his approach. 
 So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us, 
 'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd 
 By need, and accident. What train 1 
 
 ^">t. But few. 
 
 And those but mean. 
 
 Leon. His princess, say you, with himl 
 
 Gent. Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think, 
 That e'er the sun shone bright on. 
 
 Punl. O Hermione, 
 
 As every present time doth boast itself 
 Above a better, gone ; so must thy grave 
 Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself 
 Have said, and writ so, (but your writing now 
 Is colder than that theme,) ATie had not been, 
 ^or was not to be equaled ; — thus your verse 
 Flow'd with her beauty once ; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd. 
 To say you have seen a better. 
 
 Gent. Pardon, madam ; 
 
 The one I have almost forgot : (your pardon,) 
 The other, when she has obtain'd your eye. 
 Will have your tongue too. This is such a creature. 
 Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal 
 Ot all professors else ; make proselytes 
 Of who she but bid follow. 
 
 PauU How? not women? 
 
 Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman. 
 More worth than any man ; men, that she is ' 
 
 The rarest of all women. 
 
 Leon. Go, Cleomenes ; 
 
 Yourself, assisted with your honour'd fiiends. 
 Bring them to our embracement. — Still 'tis strange, 
 [Eietint Cleomi-m.s, Lords, and Gentleman 
 He thus should steal upon us. 
 
 Paul. Had our prince, 
 
 (.Jewel of children.) seen this hour, he had pair'd 
 Well with this lord ; there was not full a month 
 Between their births. 
 
 Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; thou kno\v'st. 
 He dies to me again, ivhen talk'd of: sure. 
 When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches 
 Will bring me to consider that, which may 
 Unfurnish me of reason. — They are come. 
 
 He-enter Cleomenes, with Fi-onizEL, Pekdita 
 and Attendants. 
 Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince j 
 For she did print your royal father oif, 
 Conceiving you : Were 1 but twenty-one. 
 Your father's image is so hit in you. 
 His very air, that I should call you brother. 
 As I did him ; and speak of something, wildly 
 By us perform'd before. RIost dearly welcome ! 
 And your fair princess, goddess ! — O. alas ! 
 I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth 
 Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as 
 You, gracious couple, do ! and then I lost 
 (All mine own folly,) the society. 
 Amity too, of your brave father ; whom. 
 Though bearing misery, I desire my life 
 Once more to look upon. 
 
 Fto. By his command 
 
 Have I here touch'd Sicilia : and from him 
 Give you all greetings, that a king, and friend. 
 Can send his brother : and, but infirmity 
 ( Which waits upon worn times,) hath something seiz'd 
 His wish'd ability, he had himself 
 The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his 
 I Measur'd. to look upon you ; whom he loves 
 (He bade me say so,) more than all the scepters, 
 ', -■ind those that bear them, living. 
 I Leon. 0, my brother, 
 
 (Good gentleman !) the wrongs I have done thee, stir 
 Afresh within me ; and these thy otiices. 
 So rarely kind, are as interpreters 
 Of njy behind-hand slackness I — Welcome hither, 
 .\s is the spring to the earth. And halh he too 
 Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage 
 , (At least, ungentle) of the dreadful Neptune, 
 'fo greet a man, not worth her pains ; much less 
 I The adventure of her person ? 
 
 Plo. Good my lord. 
 
 She came from Libya. 
 
 Leon. Where the wailike Smalus, 
 
 That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd ! 
 Flo. aiost royal sir, fiom thence; from him, whose 
 daugliter 
 His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her : thence 
 ( A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we have cross'd. 
 To execute the charge my father gave me. 
 For visiting your higliness : My best train 
 I have from your Sicilian shores dijiniss'd ; 
 Who for Bohemia bend, to signify 
 Not only my success in Libya, sir, 
 But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety 
 Here, where we aie. 
 
 Leon, Tiie blessed gods 
 
 Purge all infection from our air, whil.^t you 
 Do climate here I You have a holy father, 
 A graceful gentleman ; against whose person. 
 So sacred as it is, 1 have done siu : 
 For which the heavens, taking angry note, 
 Ha\'e left me issueless ; and your father's bless'd, 
 (As he from heaven merits it,) with you. 
 Worthy his goodness. What might I have been. 
 Might 1 a son and daughter now have look'd on. 
 Such goodly things as you? 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 Lm-d, Most noble sir, 
 
 That which I shall report, will bear no ciedit, 
 Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, gieatsir, 
 Bohemia greets you fioiu himself by me : 
 Desires yuu to attach his son ; who has 
 (His dignity and duty both cast off,) 
 Fled from his father, fiom his hopes, and with 
 A shepherd's daughter. ^ 
 
 Leon. Where's Bohemia ? speak 
 
 Lord, Here in the city ; 1 now came fiom him : 
 I speak amazedly ; and it becomes 
 Rly niar\ el, and my message. To vour court 
 Whiles he was hast'ning, (in the chase, it seems, 
 Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way 
 'The father of this seeming lady, and 
 Her biother, having both their country quitted 
 With this young prince. 
 
 Flo. Camillo has botray'd me ; 
 
 Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now, 
 Eadur'd all weatlieis. 
 
 Lord. Lay't so to his charge ; 
 
 He's with the king your father. 
 
 Lean. Who? Camillo 1 
 
 Lord. Camillo, sir; I spake with hira ; who now 
 Has these poor men in question. Never saw I 
 W retches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the earth ; 
 Forswear themselves as often as thoy speak: 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 297 
 
 Bohemia stops his ears, anil threatens them 
 Witli divers deaths in death. 
 
 Per. O, my poor father ! — 
 
 The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have 
 Our contract celebrated. 
 
 Leon. You are married 1 
 
 Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ; 
 The stars, 1 see, will kiss the vallies first: — 
 The odds for high and low's alike. 
 
 Leon. My lord. 
 
 Is this the daughter of a king'! 
 
 Flo. She is. 
 
 When once she is my wife. 
 
 Leon. That once, 1 see, by your good father's speed, 
 Will come ou very slowly. I am sorry. 
 Most sorry, you have broken from his liking, 
 Where you were tied in duty : and so sorry. 
 Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty, 
 That you might well enjoy her. 
 
 Flo. Dear, look up ; 
 
 Though fortune, visible an enemy, 
 Should chase us, with my father : power no jot 
 Hath she to change our loves. — 'Beseech you, sir. 
 Remember since you ow'd no more to time 
 Than I do now ; with thought of such affections, 
 Step forth mine advocate ; at your request, 
 My father will grant precious things, as trifles. 
 
 Leon. Would he do so. I'd begyour precious mistress. 
 Which lie counts but a trifle. 
 
 Paul. Sir, my liege, 
 
 Your eye hath too much youth in 't : not a month 
 'Foreyo\ir ([ueen died, she was more worth such gazes 
 Than wliat you look on now. 
 
 Leon. I thought of her. 
 
 Even in these looks I made. — But your petition 
 Is yet unanswer'd ; I will to your father ; [To Flo. 
 Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires, 
 I am a friend to them, and you ; upon which errand 
 I now go toward him ; therefore follow me. 
 And mark what way I make : Come, goad my lord. 
 
 ^Kxeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. Before the Palace. 
 Enter AuTOLVCUs and a Gentleman. 
 
 Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this 
 relation ? 
 
 1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard 
 the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found 
 it : whereupon, alter a little amaiedness, we were all 
 commanded out of the chamber ; only this, methought 
 I heard the shepherd sav, he found the child. 
 
 AuL I would most gladly know the issue of it. 
 
 1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business : 
 — But the changes 1 perceived in the king, and Ca- 
 millo, were very notes of admiration: they seemed 
 almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases 
 of their eyes : theie was a speech in their dumbness, 
 language in their very gesture ; they looked, as they 
 had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed : A 
 noble passion of wonder appeared in them : but the 
 wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could 
 not say, if the importance were joy, or sorrow: but 
 in the extremity of the one it must needs be. 
 
 Enter another Gentleman. 
 Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more : 
 The news, Rogeio ? 
 
 •i Gent. Nothing but bonfires: The oracle is ful- 
 filled ; the king's daughter is found : such a deal of 
 wonder is broken out within this hour, that batlad- 
 ciakers cannot be able to express it. 
 
 Kr.ter a thiril Gentleman. 
 Here comes the lady Paulina's steward ; he can de- 
 liver vou more. — JIow goes it now, sir ! this news. 
 
 which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the 
 verity of it is in strong suspicion: lias the king found 
 his heir 1 
 
 ii Gent. Most true ; if ever truth were pregnant 
 by circumstance ; that, which you hear, you '11 swear 
 you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle 
 of queen Herinione : — her jewel about tlie neck of 
 it; — the letters of Antigonus, found with it, which 
 they know to be his character; — the majesty of the 
 creature, in resemblance of the mother ; — the affec- 
 tion of nobleness, which nature shews above her 
 breeding, — and many other evidences, proclaim her, 
 with certainty, to be the king's daughter. Did you 
 see the meeting of the two kings 1 
 
 2 Gent. No. 
 
 ' 3 Gent, 'J'hen have you lost a sight, which was 
 to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you 
 have beheld one joy crown another ; so, and in such 
 manner, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave of 
 them ; for tlieir joy waded in tears. There wascast- 
 
 j ing up of eyes, holding up of hands ; with counte- 
 nance of such distraction, that they were to be known 
 by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready 
 to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter ; 
 as if that joy were now become a loss, cries, 0, thy 
 mother, thii wother I then asks liuhemia forgiveness; 
 then enibnires liis son-in-law ; then again worries he 
 his daughter, with clipping her ; now he tli.inks the 
 old sheplierd, wlucli stands by, like a weailier-bitten 
 conduit of may kings' reigns. I never iiearil of such 
 another encounter, which lames report to follow it, 
 and undoes description to do it. 
 
 i; Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, 
 that carried hence the child 1 
 
 3 Gent. Like an old tale still ; which will have 
 matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, aud not 
 an ear open : lie was torn to pieces with a bear : this 
 avouciies the shepherd's son ; wholias not only his in- 
 nocence (which seems much,) to justify liiin, but a 
 handkerchief, and rings, of his, tiiat Paulina knows- 
 
 1 Cent. Wliatbecameof his bark, and hisfolloiversl 
 3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their mas- 
 ter's death ; and in the view of the shepherd ; so that 
 all the instruments, which aided to expose the child, 
 
 , were even then lost, when it was found. But, O, 
 the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sorrow, was 
 fought in Paulina ! She had one eye declined for the 
 loss of her husband ; another elevated that the oracle 
 
 i vvas fulfilled ; She lii'ted the princess from the earth ; 
 
 j and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pia 
 her to her heart, that she might no more be in dan- 
 
 I ger of losing. 
 
 1 Gent. 'File dignity of this act was worth the au- 
 dience of kings and princes ; for by such was it acted. 
 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and 
 that which angled for mine eyes (caught the vvater, 
 
 I though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of the 
 
 1 queen's death, with the manner how she came to it, 
 (bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,; how 
 attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from one 
 sign of dolour to another, she did, with an ulas! I 
 
 j \vould fain say, bleed tears ; for, I am sure, my heart 
 wept blood. Who was most marble there, changed 
 colour; some swooned, all sorrowed ; if all the world 
 could have seen it, the woe had been universal. 
 
 I 1 Gent. Are they returned to the court ? 
 
 I J Gent. No: the princess hearing of her mother's 
 statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, — a piece 
 many years in doing, and now newly performed by 
 that rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had 
 he himself eternity, and could put breath into his 
 work, would beguile nature of her custom, so per- 
 fectly he is her ape : he so near to Heiuiione hath 
 
298 
 
 ^VINTER'S TALE. 
 
 done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to 
 her, and stand in hope of answer : thither, with all 
 greediness of afl'ection, are they gone ; and there they 
 intend to sup. 
 
 a Gent. I thought, she had some great matter there 
 in hand ; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, 
 ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed 
 house. Shall we thither, and with our company 
 piece the rejoicing 1 
 
 1 dent. \Vho would be thence, that has the be- 
 nefit of access ? every wink of an eye, some new grace 
 will be born : our absence makes us unthrifty to our 
 knowledge. Let 's along. [Exeunt Gentlemen. 
 
 Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in 
 me, would preferment drop on my head. 1 brought 
 the old man and his son aboard the prince ; told him, 
 I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know not what ; 
 but he at that time, over-fond of the shepherd's 
 daugh:er, (so he then took her to be, J who began to 
 be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity 
 of weatiier continuing, this mystery remained un- 
 discovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been 
 the finder out of this secret, it would not liave relished 
 among my other discredits. 
 
 Enter Shepherd and Clown. 
 Here comes those I have done good to against my 
 will, and already appearing in the blossoms of tlieir 
 fortune. 
 
 Shep. Come, boy ; I am past more children, but 
 thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. 
 
 do. Vou are well met, sir ; Vou denied to fight 
 with me this other day, because I was no gentleman 
 born: ;See you these clothes* say, you see them not, 
 and think me still no gentleman born : you were best 
 say, these robes are not gentleman born. Give me 
 the lie; do ; and try whether 1 am not now a gen- 
 tleman born. 
 
 Aut I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born. 
 
 Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. 
 
 Shep. And so have I, boy. 
 
 Clo. So you have: but 1 was a gentleman born 
 before my father: for the king's son took me by tha 
 hand, and called me, brother ; and then the two kings 
 called my father, brother ; and then the prince, my 
 brother, and the princess, my sister, called my father, 
 father ; and so we wept : and there was the first gen- 
 tleman-like tears that ever we shed. 
 
 Sliep. \\'e may live, son, to shed many more. 
 
 C/«i. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck; being in so 
 preposterous estate as we are. 
 
 Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all 
 the faults i have committed to your worship, and to 
 give me your good report to the prince my master. 
 
 Slipp. Pr'ytiiee, son, do; for we must be gentle, 
 now we are gentlemen. 
 
 Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life 1 
 
 AiU. Ay, an it like your good worship. 
 
 do. Give me thy hand ; 1 will swear to the prince, 
 thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia, 
 
 Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. 
 
 do. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let 
 boors and franklins sav it, I '11 swear it. 
 
 Shep. How if it be false, son ? 
 
 Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may 
 swear it, in the beiialf of his friend : — And I'll swear 
 to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, 
 and that thou wilt not be drunk ; but I know, thou 
 art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that tliou wilt be 
 drunk; but I'll swear it: and 1 would, thou would'st 
 be a tall fellow of thy hands, 
 
 Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. 
 
 Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: Tf T 
 
 do not wonder, liow thou darest venture to be drunV., 
 not being a tall fellow, trust me not. — Hark! the 
 kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see 
 the queen's picture. Come, follow us : we '11 be thy 
 good masters. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE 111. — Thesame. A Room in Paulina's House. 
 
 Enter Leontes, Polixknes, Fi.okizel, Pf.bdita, 
 Camit.lo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Leoii. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort 
 That 1 have had of thee ! 
 
 h*uuL What, sovereign sir, 
 
 I did not well, I meant well : All my services. 
 You have paid home : but that you have vouchsafd 
 With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted 
 Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit ; 
 It is a surplus of your grace, which never 
 ]My life may last to answer. 
 
 Leon. O Paulina, 
 
 We honour you with trouble : but we came 
 To see the statue of our <|ueen : your gallery 
 Have we pass'd through, not without much content 
 In many singularities ; but we saw not 
 That which my daughter came to look upon. 
 The statue of her mother. 
 
 Paul. As she liv'd peerless, 
 
 So her dead likeness, I do well believe, 
 Excels whatever yet you look'd upon. 
 Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it 
 Lonely, apart : But here it is: prepare 
 To see the life as lively niock'd, as ever 
 Still sleep mock'd death : behold ; and say, 'tis well, 
 [Paulina luidTaws a cnrtahi and discovers a statue, 
 I like your silence, it the more shews off 
 Your wonder : But yet speak ; — first, you, my liege ; 
 Comes it not something near? 
 
 Leon. Her natural posture ! — 
 
 Chide me, dear stone ; that I may say, indeed. 
 Thou art Hermione ; or, rather, thou art she, 
 Jn thy not chiding ; for she was as tender. 
 As infancy and grace. — But yet, l^aulina, 
 Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing 
 So aged, as this seems. 
 
 Pol. O, not by much. 
 
 Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence ; 
 Which lets £10 by some sixteen years, and makes her 
 As she iiv'd now. 
 
 Leon. As now she might have done^ 
 
 So much to my good comfort, as it is 
 Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, 
 Kven with such life of majesty, (warm life, 
 As now it coldly stands,) when tirst I woo'd her i 
 I am ashamM : Does not the stone rebuke me, 
 For being more stone than it ? — 0, royal piece, 
 There's magic in thy majesty ; which has 
 My evils conjur'd lo rejjiemhraiice ; and 
 From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, 
 Standing like stone with thee ] 
 
 Per. And give me leave ; 
 
 And do not say, 'tis superstition, that, 
 I kneel, and then implore her blessing. — Lady, 
 Dear queen, that ended when I but began, 
 Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. 
 
 Pavl. O, patience ; 
 
 The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's 
 Not dry. 
 
 Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on : 
 Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, 
 So many summers, dry ; scarce any joy 
 Did ever so long live ; no sorrow, 
 But kill d itself much sooner. 
 
 Pol, Dear my brother, 
 
 Let him, that was the cause of this, have power 
 
 .i 
 
ACT v.- -SCENE III. 
 
 299 
 
 To take off so much grief from you, as lie 
 Will piece up in himself. 
 
 Faui. Indeed, my lord. 
 
 If I had thought, the sight of my poor image 
 Would thus have wrought you (for tlie stone is mine,) 
 I'd not have shew'd it. 
 
 Leon. Do not draw the curtain. 
 
 Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't ; lest your 
 May think anon, it moves. [fancy 
 
 Leon. Let be, let be. 
 
 Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already — 
 What was he, that did make it * — See, my lord. 
 Would you not deem, it breath'd! and that those veins 
 Did verily bear blood } 
 
 PoL Masterly done: 
 
 The very life seems warm upon her lip. 
 
 Leoit. The fixture of her eye has motion in't, 
 As we are mock'd with art. 
 
 Paul. I'll draw the curtain ; 
 
 My lord's almost so far transported, that 
 He'll think anon, it lives. 
 
 Leon, sweet Paulina, 
 
 Make me to think so twenty years together ; 
 Ko settled senses of the world can match 
 The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. 
 
 Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but 
 I could afflict you further. 
 
 Leon. Do, Paulina ; 
 
 For this affliction has a taste as sweet 
 As any cordial comfort.— Still, methinks, 
 There is an air comes from her : What fine chisel 
 Could ever yet cut breath 1 Let no man mock me, 
 For 1 will kiss her. 
 
 Paul. Good my lord, forbear : 
 
 The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ; 
 You'll mar it, if you kiss it ; stain your own 
 With oily painting : Shall I draw the curtain'! 
 
 Leon. NOy not these twenty years. 
 
 Per. So long could 1 
 
 Stand by, a looker on. 
 
 Paul. Either forbear, 
 
 Quit presently the chapel ; or resolve you 
 For more amazement : If you can behold it, 
 I'll make the statue move indeed ; descend. 
 And take you by the hand : but then you'll think, 
 (Which 1 protest againstj lam assisted 
 By wicked powers. 
 
 Leon. What you can make her do, 
 
 I am content to look on : what to speak, 
 I am content to hear ; for 'tis as easy 
 To make her speak, as move. 
 
 Paul. It is requir'd, 
 
 You do awake your faith : Then, all stand still ; 
 Or those, tlial think it is unlawful business 
 I am about, let them depart. 
 
 Lean. Proceed; 
 
 No fool shall stir. 
 
 Dear liferedeems you. — You perceive, she stirs ; 
 
 [Ib.RMiONE comes dounfrom the pedestal. 
 Start not : her actions shall be holy, as. 
 You hear, my spell is lawful : do not shun her. 
 Until you see her die again ; for then 
 Youkill her double ; Nay, present your hand : 
 When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in age. 
 Is she become the suitor. 
 
 Leon. O, she's warm ! [^Kmbradng her. 
 
 If this be magic, let it be an art 
 Lawful as eating. 
 
 PoU She embraces him. 
 
 Cam. She hangs about his neck ; 
 If she pertain to life, let her speak too. 
 
 Pot. Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd, 
 Or, how stol'n from the dead 1 
 
 Paul. That she is living. 
 
 Were it but told you, should be hooted at 
 Like an old tale ; but it appears, she lives, 
 Thougli yet she speak not. Mark a little while. — 
 Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel, 
 And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good lady ; 
 Our Perdita is found. 
 
 [Presenting Piludit A, who hneehto Hermtoni:. 
 
 Jfer. You gods, look down, 
 
 And from your sacred vials pour your graces 
 Upon my daughter's head ! — Tell me, mine own. 
 Where hast thou been preserv'd ] where liv'd ! how 
 found 
 I Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I, — 
 Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle 
 Gave hope tiiou wa^t in being, — have preserv'd 
 Myself, to see the issue. 
 
 Paul. There's time enougli for that; 
 
 Lest they desire, upon this push to trouble 
 Your joys with like relation. — Go together, 
 You precious winners all ; your exultation 
 Partake to every one. I. an old turtle. 
 Will wing me to some withei'd bough ; and there 
 My mate, tiiat's never to be found again, 
 Lament till I am lost. 
 
 Leon. O peace, Paulina ; 
 
 Thou sliould'st a husband take by my consent, 
 As I by thine, a wife ; this is a match, 
 Andraadebetween'sby vows, 'i'liou hast found mine; 
 But how, IS to be question'd : for I saw her, 
 As I thought, dead ; and have, in vain, said many 
 A prayer upon her grave : I'll not seek far 
 (For him, I partly know his mind,) to *ind thee 
 An honourable husband : — Come, Camillo, 
 And take her by the hand : whose worth, and honesty, 
 Is richly noted; and here justified 
 By us. a pair of kings. — Let's from this place. — 
 \\ hat? — Look upon my brother ;— both your pardons, 
 That e'er I put between your holy looks 
 My ill suspicion. — This your son-in-law. 
 And son unto llie king, (whom heavens directing.) 
 Is troth-plight to your daughter. — Good Paulina, 
 
 Paul. Music; awake her: strike. — [^liisir. 
 
 'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more : approach ; ' Lead us from hence ; where we may leisurely 
 Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; Eacli one demand, and answer to his part 
 
 I'll fill your grave up : stir ; nay, come away ; , Perform 'd in this wide gap of time, since first 
 
 Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him j We were dissever'd : Hastily lead away. [EAeiint. 
 
 This play, as Dr. Warbarton justly observes, is, vriih all its i 
 absurdities, very eiuenaiimie. J he charatter ot .Auiolycus is i 
 oaiurally conceived, and strongly reiireb-ciiiea.— Iohnson. 
 
 NVarbunoD is noi euiIiv of a criiiciam so frigid as Johnson 
 lias rei)re*ented.— l lis words art i 
 
 "This jilay. throughout, is writleo in the very spirit of its i 
 author. And in telling this homely and simple, inouyh agree- ! 
 &ble, couQtry tale, i 
 
 Our t:reeifst Hhaispeare. /ancy't e/it/d, i 
 
 li'aiblti his name uood-not£i vild. 
 This was necessary to observe in mtre justice to the play ; as j 
 the meaaoetisol'the I'able.and the ettravai^aiit conduct ofit. had i 
 
 misled some of irreat name into a wrong judgment of its merit; 
 which, as far as ii rtsardsstntiinent and character, is scarce io- 
 ferior to any in the whole collection." 
 
 The persons of great name to whom Warburlon alludes arc 
 Drvden and Pope. I'he former of whom mentions this play 
 witn no great indulgence, in the Essav at the end of the second 
 pan of the Conquest of Grennda ; whife the taller, in the preUce 
 to bis edition of our author's works, is rdsh enough to class ii 
 with Love's Labour's Lost, the Comedy <>i Lrrors. and litus 
 Andronicus, as one of the plays, iu which .Shaltsi>t.ire had pro. 
 daced only some cbaracien. or siDglf'Mieues, or perhaps a tgw 
 particular passages. 
 
COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 This i>Iar, of which the first edition was that of the folio 1623, is mentioned by Meres in l.'t'.>0, and exhibits ioterntil proofs of 
 haviuy bten one of -Shakspeare's earliest productiuns. A translntion of ilie Memsckmi of Plnutus by W. W (i, c. Dccording 
 to Ward, William WarnerJ was published iu 1395, and may have afforded the ground work of the present comedy. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 SouNus, D«/^e (j/'Ephesus. 
 
 ^^GEON, a merchant (i/' Syracuse. 
 
 , /■ T> 1 i twin brothers, and sous to 
 
 * ,o V /I-eeon and ^Lmilia, out 
 
 Antipholuso/ Syracuse,) f . i w 
 
 -' -^ %^ uuhnown to each other. 
 
 Dromio o^ Ephesus, ^ twin brothers, and Attendants 
 
 Dromio ti/'Syracuse, \ on the tivo Aatipholus's. 
 
 Balthai'-ar, a merchant. 
 
 Angei.o, a goldsmith, 
 
 A Merchant, friend to Antipholus <)/" Syracuse. 
 
 Pinch, a schoolmaster, and a conjurer. 
 
 ..Emilia, wife to JEgeon, an Abbess at Ephesus. 
 Adriana, wife to Antipholus o/' Ephesus. 
 LuciANA, her sister. 
 Luce, her servant. 
 A Courtezan, 
 
 Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants. 
 SCENE, — -Ephesuo. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ Hall in the Duke's Palace. 
 
 Enter Duke, ..Egeon, Gaoler, Officers, and other 
 
 Attendants. 
 
 .^ge. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, 
 And, by the doom of death, end woes and all. 
 
 Dnke. i\Ierchant of Syracusa, plead no more; 
 I am not partial, to infringe our laws : 
 The enmity and discord, which of late 
 Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke 
 To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, — 
 Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives, 
 Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods, — 
 Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks. 
 For, since the mortal and intestine jars 
 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, 
 It hath in solemn synods been decreed, 
 Both by the Syracusans and ourselves, 
 To admit no traffic to our adverse towns ; 
 Nay, more, 
 
 If any, born at Ephesus, be seen 
 At any Syracusan marts and fairs, 
 Again, If any Syracusan born, 
 Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies. 
 His goods confiscate to the duke dispose ; 
 Unless a thousand marks be levied, 
 To quit the penalty, and to ransom him. 
 Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, 
 Cannot amount unto a hundred marks ; 
 Therefore, by tiie law thou art condemned to die. 
 
 ^ge. Vet this my comfort; when your words are 
 My woes end likewise with the evening sun. [done, 
 
 Duke, Well, Syracusan, say in brief the cause 
 Why thou departedst from thy native home ; 
 And for what cause thou carn'st to Ephesus. 
 
 yEge. A heavier task could not have been impos'd, 
 Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable : 
 Yet, that the world may witness, that my end 
 Was wrought by nature, not by vile oifence, 
 I 'U utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 
 In Syracusa was 1 born ; and wed 
 
 Unto a woman, happy but for me. 
 
 And by me too, iiad not our hap been bad. 
 
 With her 1 liv'd in joy ; our wealth increas'd. 
 
 By prosperous voyages I often made 
 
 To Epidamnum, till my factor's death, 
 
 And he (great care of goods at random left) 
 
 Drew me from kind embracenients of my spouse : 
 
 From whom my absence was not six months old, 
 
 Before herself (almost at fainting, under 
 
 The pleasing punishnitnt that women bear,) 
 
 Had made provision for her following me, 
 
 And soon, and safe, anived where 1 was. 
 
 There she had not been long, but she became 
 
 A joyful mother of two goodly sons ; 
 
 And, which was strange, the one so like the other, 
 
 As could not be distinguisii'd but by names. 
 
 That very hour, and in the self same inn, 
 
 A poor mean woman was delivered 
 
 Of such a burden, male twins, both alike : 
 
 Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 
 
 I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 
 
 My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, 
 
 Made daily motions for our home return : 
 
 Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon. 
 
 We came aboard 
 
 A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd, 
 
 Before the always-wind-obeying deep 
 
 Gave any tragic instance of our harm : 
 
 But longer did we not retain much hope ; 
 
 For what obscured liglit the heavens did grant , 
 
 Did but convey unto our fearful minds 
 
 A doubtful warrant of immtdiale death ; 
 
 Whicii, though myself would gladly have "embrac'd. 
 
 Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 
 
 Weeping before for what she saw must come, 
 
 And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, 
 
 Tiiat mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, 
 
 Korc'd me to seek delays for them and me. 
 
 And this it was, — for other means was none. — 
 
 The sailors sought for safety by our buit, 
 
 And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us : 
 
 My wife, more careful for the latter-born, 
 
 Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast. 
 
 Such as sea-faring men provide for storms : 
 
 To him one of the other twins was bound, 
 
 Whilst 1 had been like heedful of the other. 
 
 The children thus dispos'd, my wife and 1. 
 
 Fixing our eyes on w^m our care was fix'd, 
 
 Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ; 
 
 And floating straight, obedient to the stream. 
 
 Were carried towards Corintli, as we thought. 
 
 At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 
 
 Dispersed those vapours that offended us ; 
 
 And, by the benefit of his wish'd light. 
 
 The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered 
 
 Two ships from far making amain to us. 
 
 Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this : 
 
 But ere they came, — 0, let me say no more ! 
 
 Gather the sequel by liiat went before. 
 
 Dulie. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so , 
 For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 
 
 ^ge. O, had the gods done so, 1 had not now 
 Worthily terra'd them merciless to us ! 
 For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues. 
 We were encounter'd by a mighty rock ; 
 
ACT I. -SCENE II. 
 
 301 
 
 Which being violently boine upon, 
 
 Ourlielpful ship was splitted in the midst. 
 
 So that, in this unjust divorce of ns, 
 
 Fortune had left to both of us alike 
 
 What to delight in, what to soirow for. 
 
 Her part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened 
 
 With lesser wei^^ht, but not with lesser woe, 
 
 "Was carried with more speed before the wind j 
 
 And m our sight they three were taken up 
 
 By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. 
 
 At length, another ship had seiz'd on us ; 
 
 And, knowing whom it was tlieir hap to save. 
 
 Gave helpful welcome to their j-hipwrcck'd guests 
 
 And would have reft the fishers of their prey. 
 
 Had not their bark been very slow of sail, 
 
 And therefore homewaid did they bead their course. — 
 
 Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss ; 
 
 That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, 
 
 'J'o tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 
 
 Duke. And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, 
 Do me the favour to dilate at full 
 What hath befaU'n of them, and thee, till now. 
 
 ^ge. My youngest boy. and yet iny ehlest care, 
 At eighteen years becnnn? in([uisltive 
 After his bruther ; and inipurtun'd me. 
 That his attendant, ;^for his case was like, 
 Heft of his brother, but relain'd his name,) 
 Might bear him company in the quest of him : 
 Whom whilst I labour'd" of a love to see, 
 I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'J. 
 Five summers have 1 spent in furthest Greece, 
 Koaming clean through the bounds oi Asia, 
 And, coasting homeward, came to Kphesus ; 
 Hopeless to Hud, yet loath to leave unsouglit. 
 Or that, or any place that harbours men. 
 But here must end the story of my life ; 
 And happy were I in my timely death, 
 Could all my travels warrant me they live. 
 
 Duke. Hapless ,tgeon, whom the fates liave mark'd 
 To bear the extremity of dire mishap! 
 Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, 
 Again^t my crown, my oath, my dignity, 
 Which princes, would they, may not disannul, 
 My soul sliould sue as advocate for tliee. 
 But, though thou art adjudged to the death, 
 And passed sentence may not be recalTd, 
 But to our honour's great disparagement. 
 Yet will 1 favour thee in what 1 can : 
 Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day, 
 To seek thy help by beneficial help : 
 Try all the friends thou hast in Epiiesus : 
 Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, 
 And live ; if not, then thou art doom'd to die :— 
 Gaoler, take him to thy custody. 
 Gaot. 1 will, my lord. 
 
 jEge. Hopeless, and helpless, doth ..TEgcon wend, 
 But to procrastinate his lifeless end. [Ej:eant. 
 
 SCENE IT.— ^ public Place. 
 
 E7ttcr Antipholus ami Dkomio of Syracuse, and a 
 Merchant. 
 
 Mei: Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum, 
 Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. 
 This very day a Syracusan merchant 
 Is apprehended for arrival here ; 
 And, not being able to buy out his life. 
 According to the statute of the town, 
 Dies ere the weary sun set in tiie west. 
 There is your money that 1 had to keep. 
 
 Ant. A'. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host. 
 And stay there, Dromio. till I come to thee. 
 Within this hour ii will be dinner-time : 
 
 Till that, I'll view the manners of the town, 
 Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings. 
 And then return, and sleep within mine inn ; 
 For with long travel 1 am stiff and weary. 
 Get thee away. 
 
 DhkS. Many a man would take you atyourword. 
 And go indeed, having so good a mean. [Exit Duo. S. 
 
 Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir ; that very oft, 
 When I am dull with care and melancholy, 
 Lightens my himiour with his merry jests. 
 What, will you walk with me about the town. 
 And then go to my inn, and dine with me 1 
 
 Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, 
 Of whom 1 hope to make much benefit ; 
 I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock. 
 Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart, 
 And afterwards consort you till bed-time ; 
 My present business calls me from you now. 
 
 Ant. S. Farewell till then : I will go lose myself, 
 And wander up and down to view the city. 
 
 Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content. 
 
 [Eiit IMernhant. 
 
 Ant- S, He that commends me to mine own content, 
 Commeniis me to the thing I cannot get. 
 I to the world am like a drop of water. 
 That in the ocean seeks another drop ; 
 Who, falling there to find liis fellow forth. 
 Unseen, inquisitive, confounds iumself • 
 So I, to find a mother, and a brother 
 In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. 
 
 E)iter Dromio <>/" Epiiesus. '" 
 Here comes the almanac of my true date. — ■ 
 What now"! How chance, thou art return'd so soon? 
 Dro. is. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late; 
 The capon burns, the pig falls from the sj)it ; 
 The clock halh strucken twelve upon the bell, 
 My mistress made it one upon my cheek: 
 She is so hot, because the meat is cold ; 
 The meat is cold, because you come not home ; 
 You come not home, because you have no stomach ; 
 You have no stomach, having broke your fast ; 
 But we, that know what 'tis to fa^>t and pray. 
 Are penitent for your default to-day. 
 
 Ant. S, Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray; 
 Where have you left the money that I gave you? 
 
 D)i).E.O, — sixpence, that I hado' Wednesday last, 
 To pay the saddler for my mistress* crupper ; — ■ 
 The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. 
 
 Ant. S. 1 am not in a sportive humour now : 
 Tell me, and dally not, where is the money '. 
 \\ e being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust 
 So great a charge from thine own custody? 
 
 Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinnei : 
 I from my mistress come to you in post ; 
 If I return, I shall be post indeed ; 
 For she will score your fault upon my pate. 
 Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock, 
 And strike you home without a messenger. 
 
 Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of 
 Reserve them till a merrier hour than this : [season ; 
 Where is the gold I gave in charge to tliee ? 
 
 Dro. jE. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me. 
 
 Ant.S. Come on, sir knave j have done your fool- 
 ishness, 
 And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge. 
 
 Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart 
 Home to your house, the Phcenix. sir, to dinner; 
 My mistress, and her sister, stay for you. 
 
 Ant. S. Now, as 1 am a christian, answer me, 
 In what safe place you have bestow'd my money; 
 Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, 
 That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd: 
 
302 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Where is the tliousanj marks ihou hadst of me ? 
 
 Dm. K. 1 have Mime maiks of yours upon my pate, 
 Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders, 
 But not a thousand maiks between you both. — 
 If I should pay your worship those again, 
 Perchance, you will not bear them patiently. 
 
 Ant. 6'. Tliy mistress' marks ! what mistress, slave, 
 hast thou ^ [Phoenix ; 
 
 Dio. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the 
 She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner. 
 And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner. 
 
 Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face. 
 Being forbids There, take you that, sir knave. 
 
 Dro. E. What mean you, sir t for God's sake, hold 
 your hands : 
 Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels. [Exit. 
 
 Ant, i. Upon my life, by some device or otherj 
 The villain is o'er-raught of all ray money. 
 They say, this town is full of cozenage ; 
 As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye, 
 Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind, 
 Soul-killing witches, that deform the body; 
 Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 
 And many such like liberties of sin : 
 If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. 
 1 '11 to the Centaur, lo go seek this slave ; 
 I greatly fear, my money is not safe. 
 
 [Eiir 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— A public Place. 
 Enter Adriana and Luciana. 
 
 Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd 
 That in such haste 1 sent to seek his master ! 
 Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock. 
 
 Ltic. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him, 
 And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner. 
 Good sister, let us dine, and never fiet : 
 A man is master of his liberty : 
 Time is their master ; and, when they see time, 
 They'll go, or come : If so, be patient, sister. 
 
 Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more ? 
 
 Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door. 
 
 Adr. Look, when I serve liim so, he takes it ill. 
 
 Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will. 
 
 Adr. There's none, but asses, will be bridled so. 
 
 Luc. Why, headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe. 
 There's nothing, situate under heaven's eye, 
 But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky : 
 The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, 
 Are their males' subject, and at their controls : 
 Wen, more divine, the masters of all these. 
 Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas. 
 Indued with intellectual sense and souls. 
 Of more pre-eminence than fibli and fowls, 
 Are masters to their females and their lords : 
 Then let your will attend on their accords. 
 
 Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed. 
 
 Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. 
 
 Adr. But, were you wedded, you would bear some 
 
 Luc. Ere 1 learn love, I'll practise to obey. [sway. 
 
 Adr. How ityuurhusband start some other where! 
 
 Luc. Till he coine home again, I would forbear. 
 
 Adr. Patience, unraov'd, no marvel though she 
 They can be meek, that have no other cause, [pause ; 
 A wretched soul, bruis'd witii adversity. 
 We bid be riuiet, when ^ve hear it cry ; 
 But were we burden'd with like weight of pain, 
 As much, or more, we should ourselves complain: 
 So thou, that hast no unkind male to grieve thee. 
 With urging helpless patience would'st relieve me: 
 
 But, if thou live to see like right bereft. 
 This fool-begg'd patience in thee will be left. 
 
 Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but lo try :— 
 Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh 
 
 Enter Dhomio (^"Ephesus. 
 Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ? 
 Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and tliat 
 my two ears can witness. [iiis mind ? 
 
 Adr, Say. didst thou speak with him 1 know'stthou 
 Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear ; 
 Be-shrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. 
 
 Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel 
 his meaning ? 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I couid too well 
 feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully, that] could 
 scarce understand them. 
 
 Adr. But say. I pr'ythee, is he coming home ? 
 It seems he hath great care to please his wile. 
 Dro.E. Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. 
 Adr, Horn-mad, thou villain ? [stark mad : 
 
 Dro. E. I mean not cuckold mad ; but, sure, he's 
 Wiien I desir'd him to come home to dinner, 
 He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold : 
 Tis dinner time, (luotli 1 ; My ^otd, c|iioth he : 
 Your meat doth burn, quoth I ; My gold, quoth he : 
 IViU yon come home ? (juoth 1 ; Mti gold, quoth he ; 
 Where is the thousand marks 1 gave thee, villain ? 
 The pig, quoth I, is burn'd ; My gold, quoth he ; 
 My mistress, sir, quoth I ; Hang up thy mistress ; 
 1 know not tliy mistress; out on thy mistress.' 
 Luc. Quoth who 1 
 Dro. E. Quoth iny master : 
 I htoiv, tiuoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress ; 
 So that my errand, due unto my tongue, 
 I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders ; 
 For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. 
 
 Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home, 
 Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home ? 
 For God's sake send some other messenger. 
 
 Adr. Back, slave, or 1 will break thy pate across. 
 
 Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other 
 
 Between you 1 shall have a holy head. [beating: 
 
 Adr. Hence, prating peasant ; fetch thy master home, 
 
 Dro. E. -'Vm 1 so round with you. as you with me, 
 
 'i'hat like a football you do spurn me thus! 
 
 Vou spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither; 
 
 If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. 
 
 [Exit 
 Luc. Fye, how impatience lowreth in your face ! 
 Adr. His company must do his minions grace. 
 Whilst 1 at home starve for a merry look. 
 Math homely age the alluring beauty took 
 From my poor cheek ! then he hath wasted it ; 
 Are my discourses dull ! barren my wit? 
 If voluble and sharp^iscourse be marr'd, 
 Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard. 
 Do their gay vestments his affections bait ! 
 That's not my fault, he's master of my state : 
 What ruins are in me. that can be found 
 By him not ruin'd ! then is he tlie ground 
 Of my defeatures : My decayed fair 
 A sunny look of his would soon repair : 
 But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale. 
 And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. 
 Luc. Self-harming jealousy I — fye, bear it hence- 
 /I(/r. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. 
 I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ; 
 Or else, what lets it but he would be here? 
 Sister, you know, he promised me a chain ; — - 
 Would that alone alone he would detain, 
 So he would keep fair (juarler with his bed ! 
 1 see the jewel, best enamelled. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 303 
 
 Will lose his beauty ; and though gold 'bides still 
 That others touch, yet often touchiug will 
 Wear gold ; and so no man that hatli a name. 
 But falsehood and corruption doth it shame. 
 Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, ■) j 
 
 I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die. > ] 
 
 Lnc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy ! J 
 
 [L'.ie)(M(. 1 
 SCENE II.— r/ie same. [ 
 
 Enter Antipholus <i/' Syracuse. 
 Ant. S. The gold I gave to Ijromio, is laid up 
 Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave 
 Is wander'J forth, in care to seek me out. 
 liv computation, and mine host's leport, 
 I "could not speak with Uromio, since at first 
 I sent him from the mart : See, here he comes. 
 
 Enter Drojiio of Syracuse. 
 How now, sir] is your merry humour alter'dT 
 As you love strokes, so jest with me again. • 
 You know no Centaur f you receiv'd no gold] 
 Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner 1 
 My house was at the Phoenix ? Wast thou mad. 
 That thus so madly thou didst answer me t 
 Dro. i. W hat answer, sir 1 when spake 1 such a word ? 
 ^iil. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour since. 
 Dro. S. 1 did not see you since you sent me hence. 
 Home to the Centaur, with the gold you gave me. 
 
 Aut. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt ; 
 And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner ; 
 For which, I hope, thou felt'st 1 was displeas'd. 
 
 Dro S. I am glad to see you in this merry vein : 
 What means this jest 1 I pray you, master, tell me. 
 
 Ant, a. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the teeth 1 
 Think'st thou, I jest ? Hold, take thou that, and that. 
 
 [^Beating him. 
 
 Dro.fi. Hold, sir, for God's sake : now your jest is 
 Upon what bargain do you give it me] [earnest: 
 
 Ant.S. Because that I familiarly sometimes 
 Do use you for my fool, and cliat with you, 
 Y'our sauciness will jest upon my love. 
 And make a common of my serious hours. 
 When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport, 
 But creej) in crannies, when he hides his beams. 
 If you will jest with me, know my aspect. 
 And fashion your demeanour to my looks. 
 Or I will beat this method in your sconce. 
 
 Dro. S. Sconce, call you it ! so you would leave 
 battering, 1 had rather have it a head : an you use 
 these blows long, 1 must get a sconce for my head, 
 and insconce it too ; or else I shall seek my wit in 
 my shoulders. But, I pray sir, why am 1 beaten 1 
 
 Ant. i>. Dost thou not know ] 
 
 Dro. S. Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten. 
 
 Ant. a. Shall I tell you why? 
 
 Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for, they say, 
 every why hath a wherefore. 
 
 .4ni. S. Why, first, — for flouting me ; and then, 
 For urging it a second time to me. [wherefore, — 
 
 Dro. .b. Was tliere ever any man thus beaten out 
 of season ? 
 When, in the why, and the wherefore, i-s neither rhyme 
 Well, sir, i thank you. [nor reason! — 
 
 Ant. S. Thank me, sir] for what? 
 
 Dro. a. Marry, sir, for this something that you 
 gave me for nothing. 
 
 Ant.S. I'll make you amends next, to give you no- 
 thing for something. But, say, sir, is it dinner-time ? 
 
 Dro..S. No, sir; i think the meat wants tiiat I have. 
 
 Ant. S, In good time, sir, what's that ? 
 
 Dro. S. Basting. 
 
 Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry. 
 
 Drit S If it be, sir, I pray yuu eat none of it. 
 
 Ant. S. Your reason ? 
 
 Dro. S. Lest it make yoi choleric, and purchase 
 me another dry basting. 
 
 .■int. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time ; 
 There's a time for all things. 
 
 L)ro. S. 1 durst have denied that, before you were 
 so choleric. 
 
 Ant. .S". By what rule, sir? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain 
 bald pate of fatlier Time himself. 
 
 Ant. S. Let's hear it. 
 
 Dro. S. There 's no time for a man to recover his 
 hair, that grows bald by nature. 
 
 Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery? 
 
 Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and re- 
 cover the Inst hair of another man. 
 
 Ant. S. Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, 
 as it is, so plentiful an excrement '. 
 
 Dro. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows 
 on beasts : and what he hath scanted men in hair, 
 he hath given them in wit. 
 
 Ant, i. Why, but there's many a man hath more 
 hair than wit. 
 
 Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit 
 to lose his hair. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain 
 dealers without wit. 
 
 Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : Yet 
 he loseth it in a kind of jollity. 
 
 Ant. S. For what reason ? 
 
 Dro, S, For two ; and sound ones too,. 
 
 Ant. S. Nay, not sound, 1 pray you. 
 
 Dro. S. Sure ones then. 
 
 Ant, S, Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. 
 
 Dro, S. Certain ones then. 
 
 Ant. S, Name them. 
 
 Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he spends 
 i in tiring ; the other, that at dinner they should not 
 drop in his porridge. 
 
 Ant. S. You would all this time have proved, 
 there is no time for all things. 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, no time to 
 recover iiair lost by nature. 
 
 .-l(i(. A'. But your reason was not substantial, why 
 there is no time to recover. 
 
 Dro. S. Thus I mend it ; Time himself is bald, and 
 therefore, to the world's end, will have bald followers. 
 
 Ant. S, I knew, 'twould be a bald conclusion : 
 But soft 1 who wafts us yonder ? 
 
 Enter Adriana and Luciana. 
 Adr, Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange, and frown ; 
 
 Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects, 
 
 I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. 
 
 The time was once, when thou unurg'd wouldst vow 
 
 That never words were music to thine ear, 
 i That never object pleasing in thine eye, 
 i That never touch well welcome to thy hand, 
 j That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste, 
 ; Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee. 
 1 How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it, 
 ■ That thou art then estranged from thyself ! 
 
 Thyself I call it, being strange to me. 
 
 That undividable, incorporate. 
 
 Am better than thy dear self's better part. 
 '■ Ah, tlo not tear away thyself from me ; 
 
 For know, my love, as easy may'st thou fall 
 
 A drop of water in the breaking gulph. 
 
 And take unmingled thence that drop again. 
 
 Without addition or diminishing, 
 
 As take from me thyself, and not me too. 
 
 How dearly would it touch thee to the quick 
 , Should'st thou but hear 1 were licentious ? 
 
304 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS 
 
 And tliat tins body, consecrate to thee, 
 
 liy ruffian lust sliould be contaminale ? 
 
 Would'.-t tliou nut spit at nic, and spurn at me, 
 
 And liurl tlie name of husband in my face, 
 
 And tear the stain'd skin off my iiarlot brow, 
 
 And from my false hand cut the wedding ring. 
 
 And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? 
 
 I know ihou canst ; and therefore, see, thou do it. 
 
 I am possess'd with an adulterate blot ; 
 
 Aly blood is mingled with the crime of lust: 
 
 For, if we two be one, and thou play fai^e, 
 
 I do digest the poison of thy Hesh. 
 
 Being strumpeted by thy contagion. 
 
 Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ; 
 
 I live dis-stain'd, thou, undishonour'd. 
 
 Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I know you 
 In Ephesus I am but two hours old, [not: 
 
 As strange unto your town, as to your talk ; 
 Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd. 
 Want wit in all one word to understand. 
 
 Luc, Fye, brother! how the w'oild is chang'd with 
 When were you wunt to use my sister thus? [you : 
 She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. 
 Arit. S. By Dromio ? 
 JJro. S. By me 1 
 
 Adv. By thee ; and this thoudidstreturn from him, — 
 That he did buffet thee, and, in Ids blows, 
 Denied my house for his, me for his wife. [man 1 
 Ant. 6'. Did.you converse, sir, with tliis gentlewo- 
 What is the course and drift of your compact? 
 Dro. S.tl, sir? I never saw lier till this time. 
 Ant. S, Villain, thou liest ; for even her very words 
 Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. 
 
 iJro. 6', I never spake with her in all my life. 
 Ant.S. How can she thus tlicncall usbyournaincs, 
 Unless it be by inspiration? 
 
 Adv. ilow ill agrees it with your gravity, 
 To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, 
 Abetting him to thwart me in my mood? 
 Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, 
 Put wrong not that wrong with a more contempi. 
 Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine : 
 Thou art an elm, my hu.^band, 1 a vine ; 
 Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, 
 Makes me with thy strength to communicate : 
 If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, 
 Usurping ivy, briar, or idle moss ; 
 Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion 
 Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion, [theme : 
 Am, 6. To me she speaks; she moves me for her 
 What, was 1 married to her in my dream? 
 Or sleep 1 now, and think 1 hear all this? 
 What error drives our eyes and ears amiss 1 
 Until 1 know this sure uncertainty, 
 1*11 entertain the offer'd fallacy. 
 
 Ljic. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. 
 Dm. A". O, for my beads ! I cross me for a sinner. 
 This is the fairy land ; — 0, spite of spites ! — 
 We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites; 
 If we obey tliem not, tliis will ensue. 
 They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. 
 Luc. W hy prat' St thou to thyself, and answer'stnot ? 
 Dromio, tliou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot! 
 Dro. i>. 1 am transformed, master, am not I ? 
 Ant, 6'. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I. 
 Dro.S' Nay, master, buthin mind, and inmyshape. 
 W;/f. 6". Thou hast thine own form. 
 Dro, S. No, I am an ape. 
 
 Luc, If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass. 
 Dro.St 'Tis true ; she ndesme, and I longforgrass 
 Tis so, 1 am an ass j else it could never be, 
 But J should know her as well as she knows me. 
 
 I Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, 
 
 I To put the finger in the eye and weep, 
 Whilst man. and master. I'au^h my woes to scorn. — ■ 
 Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep tlie gute : — 
 
 ; Husband, 1 '11 dine above with you to-dav, 
 
 j And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks ■ 
 Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, 
 Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter, — 
 Come, sister :■ — Dromio, play the porter well. 
 Ant. 3. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell "^ 
 
 , Sleeping or wakinp;? mad, or well advis'd ? 
 Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd ! 
 I'll say as they say, and persever so, 
 And in this mist at all adventures go. 
 
 I Dro. S. Master, shall 1 be porter at the gate? 
 
 \ Adr. Ay; and let none enter, lest 1 break your pate. 
 
 j Lite. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine'loo late. 
 
 [EltfUMf. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCKNE I. -The sume. 
 Enter AmiI'iioh's ii/" Kijliesiis, UHOMro ■/Ephesus, 
 A\oi:r.o, ami Baitiiazar. 
 Ant. E. Good signior Angelo.jou must excuse us 
 My wife is shrewish, when 1 keep not liouis : [all. 
 Say, that I linger'd with you at your shoj). 
 To see the making of her carkanet, 
 And that to-morrow you will bring it home. 
 But here's a villain, that would face me down 
 He met me on the mart ; and that I beat him, 
 And charg'd him with a thousand marks in gold ; 
 And that 1 did deny my wife and house : — 
 Thou drunkard, thou, what didst ihou mean by thisi 
 Dro. E. Say what you will, sir, but 1 know wliat 
 1 know : [shew . 
 
 That you beat me at the mart, I have your hana to 
 If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gavs 
 
 were ink. 
 Your own handwriting would tell you what I think 
 Aiit. E. I think, thou art an ass. 
 i->ro. E. Marry, so it doth appear 
 
 I!y the wrongs I suffer, and the blows 1 bear. 
 I should kick, being kiuk'd ; and, being at that pass. 
 You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. 
 AiU. E. Vou are sad, signior Balthazar: 'Pray 
 God, our cheer [here. 
 
 May answer my good will, and your good welcome 
 Bat. 1 hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your wel- 
 come dear. 
 Avt. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish, 
 A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. 
 But. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every churl 
 affords. [nothing but words. 
 
 E. And welcome more common ; for that 's 
 Small checr.^and great welcome, makes a 
 merry feast. [guest. 
 
 £. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more sparing 
 But though my cates be mean, take them in good part ; 
 Better cheer you may have, but not with better heart, 
 But, soft; my door is lock'd ; Go bid them let us in. 
 Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian.Cicely, Gillian, Jen'.' 
 Dro.S. [II'it/ii«.] Mome, malt-horse, capon, cox- 
 comb, idiot, patch ! 
 Either get thee from the door, or sit down at tlie hatch- 
 Uost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call'sl for 
 such store, [door. 
 
 When one is one too many ? Go, get thee from the 
 Dro. E. What patch is made our porter ? My 
 
 master stays in the street. 
 Dm. S. Let him « alk from whence he came, lest 
 he catch cold en's feet. 
 
 Ant. 
 Bat. 
 
 Ant. 
 

 *' ^^ . 1 -^t llll ^'''rf' [-!l l (if(''r i ^fiflrfin fW.7VTK aiai:T»^ 
 
ACT III.- -SCENE II. 
 
 305 
 
 Ant. E. Who talks ■witliin there ? ho, open the door. 
 Dro. S. Eight, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll tell 
 
 me wherefore. [to-day. 
 
 Ant. E. Wherefore? for my dinner; I have notdin'd 
 Dro. S. Nor to day here you must not ; come again, 
 
 when vou may. 
 Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from 
 
 the house I owe ! [Dromio. 
 
 Dro. .S. The |iorter for this lime, sir, and my name is 
 Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both my office 
 
 and my name ; 
 The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame. 
 If thou had'st been Dromio to-day in my place, 
 Thou would'st have chang'd thy face for a name, or 
 
 ihv name for an ass. 
 Luce. [Within] What a coil is there! Dromio, 
 
 who are those at the gate ? 
 Dro. E. Let my master in. Luce. 
 Luce. Faith no ; he comes too late; 
 
 And so tell vour master. 
 
 Dro. £. " ' O Lord. I must laugh : — 
 
 Have at you with a proverb. — Shall I set in my staff? 
 
 Luct. Have at you with another : that's — When ? 
 
 can you tell ? 
 Dro. S. If thy name be called Luce, Luce, thou 
 
 hast answer'd him well. 
 Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion ? you'll let us in, 
 Luce. I thought to have asked you. [I hope ? 
 
 Dro. S. And you said. no. 
 
 Dro.E. So, come, help; well struck; there was blow 
 Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in. [for blow. 
 
 Luce. Can you tell for whose sake. 
 
 Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard. 
 Luff. Let him knock till it ake. 
 
 Ant. E. You '11 cry for this, minion, if I beat the 
 
 door down. [the town ? 
 
 Luce. AVhat needs all that, and a pair of stocks in 
 Ally. [ Within] Who is that at the door, that keeps 
 all this noise ? [ruly boys. 
 
 Dro. S. gy my troth, your town is troubled with un- 
 Ant. E. Are you there, wife ! you might have come 
 
 before 
 Adr. Your wife, sir knave ! go, get you from the door. 
 Dro. E. If you weui in pain, master, tiiis knave 
 
 would go sore. 
 Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome ; we 
 
 would fain have either. [neither. 
 
 Bal. In debating which was best, we shall part with 
 Dro. E. They stand at the door, master ; bid them 
 
 welcome hither. [not get in. 
 
 Ant.E. There is something in the wind, that we can- 
 Dr.i. E. You would say so, master, if your garments 
 
 were thin. [cold: 
 
 Y'our cake here is warm within ; you stand here in the 
 It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought 
 
 and sold. [gate. 
 
 Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope the 
 Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break 
 
 vour knave's pate. 
 Dro. E. A man may break a word with you, sir ; 
 
 and words are but wind ; 
 Av, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. 
 Dro. S. It seems, thou wantest breaking ; Out upon 
 
 thee, hind ! [let me in. 
 
 Dro.E. Here's too much, outupon thee'. I pray thee, 
 Dro. S. .\\\ when fowls have no feathers, and fish 
 
 have no tin. 
 Ant. E. Well, I'll break in ; Go borrow me a crow. 
 Dio. E. A crow without a feather ; roaster, mean 
 
 you so ? 
 For a fish without a fin, there's afowl without a feather: 
 If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow together. 
 
 Ant. E. Go get thee gone, fetch me an iron crow. 
 
 Bal. Have patience, sir, O, let it not be so ; 
 Herein you war against your reputation. 
 And draw within the compass of suspect 
 The unviolated honour of your wife. 
 Once this, — Y'our long experience of her w-isdom. 
 Her sober virtue, years, and modesty. 
 Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ; 
 And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse 
 Why at this time the doors are made against you. 
 Be rui'd bv me ; depart in patience. 
 And let us to the Tigc-r all to dinner : 
 And, about evening, come yourself alone, 
 To know the reason of this sti-ange restraint. 
 If bv strong hand you otfer to break in, 
 Now in the stirring passage of the day, 
 A vulear comment will be made on it ; 
 And that supposed by the common rout 
 .Against your yet ungalled estimation, 
 That mav with foul intrusion enter in. 
 And dwell upon your grave when you are dead 
 For slander lives upon succession ; 
 For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession. 
 
 Ant. E. Y'ou have prevail'd : i will depart in quiet, 
 And, in despight of mirth, mean to be merry. 
 I know a wench of excellent discourse. — 
 Pretty and witty ; wild. and. yet too. gentle : — 
 There will we dine : this woman that 1 mean, 
 My wife (but, I protest, without desert,) 
 Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal ; 
 To her will we to dinner.— Gel you home, 
 -And fetch the chain ; by this, I know, 'tis made • 
 Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine ; 
 For there 's the house ; that chain will I bestow 
 (Be it for nothing but to spite my wife,) 
 Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make haste : 
 Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, 
 I '11 knock elsewhere, to see if they '11 disdain me. 
 
 Ang. I '11 meet you at that place, some hour hence. 
 
 Am. E. Do so ; This jest shall cost me some ex- 
 pense. [Eieunt, 
 
 SCENE n.— The same. 
 Enter Lcci.»>a and Antipholus o/' Syracuse. 
 Luc. And may it be that you have quite forgot 
 
 A husband's office 1 shall, Antipholus, hate. 
 Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot ? 
 
 Shall love, in building, grow so ruinate ? 
 If you did wed my sister for her wealth. 
 
 Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with more kind- 
 Or, if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ; [ ness. 
 
 IMuffle your false love with some show of blindness: 
 Let not my sister read it in your eye ; 
 
 Be not thy tongue thv own shame's orator ; 
 Look sweet, speak fair, become dislovaltv ; 
 
 Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger : 
 Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted ; 
 
 Teach sin the carriage of a holv saint , 
 Be secret-false : AVhat need she be acquainted? 
 
 What simple thief brags of his own attaint ! 
 'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed, 
 
 And let her read it in thy looks at board: 
 Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ; 
 
 111 deeds are doubled with am evil word. 
 Alas, poor women I make us but believe. 
 
 Being compact of credit, that you love us ; 
 Though others have the arm, shew us the sleeve ; 
 
 We in your motion turn, and you may move us. 
 Then, gentle brother, get you in again ; 
 
 Comfort my sister, cheer her. call her wife . 
 'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain, 
 
 AVhen the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. 
 V 
 
.'30G 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Ant.S. Sweet mistress, (whatyournameiselse, I know 
 
 Nor by what woi>der you do liit on mine, ) [not, 
 Less, in your know ledge, and your grace, you shew not, 
 
 Tlian our earth's wonder ; more than earlii divine. 
 Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak j 
 
 Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, 
 Smother'd in errors, feeble, shallow, weak. 
 
 The folded meaning of your words' deceit. 
 j\ gainst my soul's pure truth why labour you, 
 
 To make it wander in an unknown field l 
 Arc you a god 1 would you create me new ? 
 
 Transform me then, and to your power 1 'U yield. 
 But if that I am I, then well 1 know. 
 
 Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, 
 Nor to her bed no nomage do 1 owe ; 
 
 Far more, far more, to you do I decline. 
 
 train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, 
 To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears ; 
 
 Sing, syren,, for thyself, and I will dote : 
 
 Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, 
 And as a bed I '11 take thee, and there lie ; 
 
 And, in that glorious supposition, think 
 He gains by death, that hath such means to die ■ — 
 
 Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink ! 
 
 Xwr. What, are you mad, that you do reason soT 
 
 Ant. S. Not mad, but mated ; how, I do not know, 
 
 Luc. It is a fault that springeth from your eye. 
 
 Ant.S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. 
 
 Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear 
 your sight. 
 
 Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. 
 
 Luc. Why call you me love^ call my sister so. 
 
 Ant. S. Thy sister's sister. 
 
 Luc. That's my sister. 
 
 Ant. S, No J 
 
 Tt is thyself, mine own self's better part ; 
 Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart j 
 J\Jy food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, 
 iMy sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim. ' 
 
 Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be. 
 
 Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee : 
 Thee will 1 love, and with thee lead my life , 
 Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife • 
 Give me thy hand. 
 
 Liic. 0, soft, sir, hold you still ; 
 
 1 '11 fetch my sister, to get her good will. [Eiit Luc. 
 
 Enter from the house (>^' Antipholus ii/'Ephesus, 
 Dro.aiio of Syracuse 
 
 Ant. S. AVhy, how now, Dromio ? where run'sl 
 thou so fast? 
 
 Dio. S. Do you know me, sir 1 am I Dromio ? am 
 I your man? am I myself? 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou 
 art thyself. 
 
 Dio. S, I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and 
 besides myself. 
 i4/U.S. What woman's man? and how besides thyself? 
 
 Dro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, 1 am due to a 
 woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me, one 
 that will have me. 
 
 Aut. i'. What claim lays she to thee? 
 
 Dro. S, Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to 
 your horse ; and she would have me as a beast: not 
 that, I being a beast, she would have me ; but that she, 
 being a very beastly creatuie, lays claim to me. 
 
 Ant. S. What is she? 
 
 Dro, S. A very reverend body ; ay, such a one as 
 a man may not speak of, without he say, sir-rever- 
 ence : I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is 
 she a wondrous fat marriage. 
 
 Ant. S. liow dost thou mean a fat marriage? 
 
 Dro, S. Marry, sir, she's the kitchen-wench, and 
 
 all grease ; and I know not what use to put her to, 
 but to make a lamp of her, and run from her by her 
 own light. I warrant, her rags, and the tallow in them, 
 will burn a Poland winter : if she lives till doomsday, 
 she '11 burn a week longer than the whole world. 
 
 Ant. S. What complexion is she of? 
 
 Dro. S, Swart, like my shoe, but her face nothing 
 like so clean kept : For why ? she sweats, a man 
 may go over shoes in the grime of it. 
 
 Ant. S, That 's a fault that water \vill mend. 
 
 Dro. S. No, sir, *tis in grain j Noah's flood could 
 not do it. 
 
 Ant. S. What's her name? 
 
 Dro.S. Nell, sir; — but her name and three quar- 
 ters, that is an ell and three quarters, will not mea- 
 sure her from hip to hip. 
 
 Ant. S. Then she bears some breadth ? 
 
 Dro. S. No longer from head to foot, than from 
 hip to hip : she is spherical, like a globe j 1 could 
 find out countries in her. 
 
 Ant. S. In what part of her body stands Ireland'! 
 
 Dro. S. IVlarry, sir, in her buttocks ; I found it 
 out by the bogs. 
 
 Ant. S. Where Scotland? 
 
 Dro. S. I found it by the barrenness ; hard, in the 
 palm of the hand. 
 
 Ant. S. Where France ? 
 
 Dro. S. In her forehead ; armed and reverted, mak- 
 ing war against her hair. 
 
 Ant. S. Where England? 
 
 Dm. S. 1 looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could 
 find no whiteness in them: but 1 guess, it stood in 
 iier chin, by the salt rheum that ran between France 
 and it. 
 
 Ant.S. W^here Spain? 
 
 Dro. S. Faith, 1 saw it not ; but I felt it, hot in 
 her breath. 
 
 Ant. S. Where America, the Indies? 
 
 Dro.S, O, sir, upon her nose, all o'er embellished 
 with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their 
 rich aspect to the hot breath of Spam •, who sent whole 
 armadas of carracks to be ballast at her nose. 
 
 Ant. S. Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? 
 
 Dro. S. O, sir. I did not look so low. To conclude, 
 this drudge, or diviner, laid claim to me; called me 
 Dromio; swore. I was assured to her ; told me what 
 privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoul- 
 der, the mole in my neck, the great wart on my left 
 arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a witch: and, 
 I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and 
 my heart of steel, she had transformed me to a cur- 
 tail-dog, and made me turn i'the wheel. 
 
 Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to the road ; 
 And if the^ind blow any way from shore, 
 I will not harbour in this town to-night. 
 If any bark put forth, come to the mart, 
 Where 1 will walk, till thou return to me. 
 If every one knows us, and we know none, 
 'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone. 
 
 Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for life^ 
 So fly I from her that would be my wife. [K.iit, 
 
 Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here ; 
 And therefore 'tis high time that 1 were hence. 
 She, that doth call me husband, even my soul 
 Doth for a wife abhor : but her fair sister, 
 Possess'd with such a gentle sovereign grace, 
 Of such enchanting presence and discourse. 
 Hath almost made me traitor to myself: 
 But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, 
 ' I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song. 
 
 Enter Angelo, 
 I An^, Master Antipholus ? 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 307 
 
 Ant. S. Ay, ihal's my naiue. 
 
 j4ri». I know it well, sii- : Lo, here is the chain ; 
 X thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine : 
 The chain unlinish'd made me stay thus long. 
 
 Ant. A'. What is your will, that I shall do with this • 
 
 Aug. What please yourself, sir; I have made it 
 for you. 
 
 Ant. S. Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. 
 
 Xiig-.Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have: 
 Go home with it, and please your wife withal ; 
 And soon at supper-time I'll visit you, 
 .Vnd then receive my money for the chain. 
 
 Ant. S. 1 pray you, sir, receive the money now. 
 For fear y^u ne'er see chain, nor money more. 
 
 Ang. Vou are a merry man, sir ; fare you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ant. S. What I should think of this, I cannot tell : 
 But this I think, there's no man is so vain. 
 That would refuse so fair an oft'er'd chain. 
 I see, a man here needs not live by shifts, 
 When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. 
 I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay ; 
 U any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I,— The same. 
 Enter a Merchant, Anrei.o, and an Officer 
 
 Mer. You know, since Pentecost the sum is due. 
 And since I have not much importun'd you ; 
 Nor now 1 had not, but that I am bound 
 To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage: 
 Therefore make present satisfaction, 
 Or I'll attach you by this officer. 
 
 Ang- Even just the sum, that I do owe to you. 
 Is growing to me by Antipholus : 
 And, in tlie instant that 1 met with you, 
 He had of me a cliain ; at five o'clock, 
 I shall receive the money for the same: 
 Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, 
 I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. 
 
 Enter Antipholus o/'Ephesus, and Dromio 
 oj Ephesus. 
 
 Off. That labour may you save ; see where he comes. 
 
 Ant. E. While I go to the goldsmith's house, go thou 
 And buy a rope's end ; that will 1 bestow 
 Among my wife and her confederates. 
 For locking me out of my doors by day. — 
 But soft, 1 see the goldsmith : — get thee gone j 
 Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. * 
 
 Dvo^ E. I buy a thousand pound a year ! I buy a 
 rope! [Eait Dromio. 
 
 Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you. 
 5 promised your presence, and the chain ; 
 But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me : 
 Belike, you thought our love would last loo long, 
 If it were ohain'd toj^ether ; and therefore came not. 
 
 Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note, 
 How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat ; 
 The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion; 
 Which doth amount to three odd ducats more 
 Than I stand debted to this gentleman : 
 I pray you, see him presently discharg'd, 
 For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. 
 
 Ant. I'. I am not furnish'd with the presentmoney ; 
 Besides 1 have some business in the town : 
 Good signior, take the stranger to my house. 
 And with you take the chain, and bid my wife 
 Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof; 
 Perchance I will be there as soon as you. 
 
 Ang. Then you will bring thechain to her yourself ■» 
 
 Ant, E. No ; bear it witii you, lest I come not time 
 enough. [you? 
 
 Ang, Well, sir, I wilt : Have you the chain about 
 
 Ant. E. An if 1 have not, sir, I hope you have ; 
 Or else you may return without your money. 
 
 Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me thechain ; 
 Roth wind and tide stays for this gentleman, 
 And I, to blame, have held him here too long. 
 
 Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance toexcuse 
 Your breach of promise to the Porcupine : 
 I should have chid you for not bringing it. 
 But, like a shre.w. you first begin to brawl. 
 
 Mer. The hour steals on ; I piay you, sir, despatch, 
 
 zing. You hear how he impui tunes me; thechain — 
 
 Ant. E. Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your 
 money. [now ; 
 
 Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even 
 Either send the chain, or send me by some token. 
 
 Ant. E. Fye ! now you run this humour out of breath. 
 Come, where's the chain l 1 pray you, let me see it. 
 
 Mer, My business cannot brook this dalliance : 
 Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me. or no. 
 If hot, I'll leave him to the officer. 
 
 Ant. E. lansweryou! What should I answer you ? 
 
 Ang. The money, that you owe me for the chain. 
 
 Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain. 
 
 Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour since. 
 
 Aiit. E. You gave me none; you wrong me much 
 to say so. 
 
 Ang. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it * 
 Consider, how it stands upon my credit. 
 
 Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. 
 
 Off. I do ; and charge you in the duke's name, to 
 
 Ang. This touches me in reputation : — [obey me. 
 Either consent to pay this sum for me. 
 Or I attach you by this officer. 
 
 Ant. E. Consent to pay tiiee that I never had I 
 Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer ; — 
 I would not spare my brother in this case. 
 If he should scorn me so apparently. 
 
 0//'. 1 do" arrest you, sir ; you hear the suit. 
 
 Ant. E. 1 do obey thee, till I give thee bail : — 
 Rut, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear 
 As all the metal in your shop will answer. 
 
 Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, 
 To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. 
 Entgr Dromio n/' Syracuse. 
 Dro. S, Master, there is a bark of Epidamnura, 
 That stays but till her owner comes aboard. 
 And then, sir, bears away : our fraughtage, sir, 
 I have convey'd aboard ; and 1 have bought 
 The oil. the balsamum, and aqua-vita. 
 The ship is in her trim ; the meiTy wind 
 HIoivs fair from land : they stay for nought at all, 
 But for tlieir owner, master, and yourself. [sheep. 
 
 Ant. E. How now ! a madman! Why thou peevish 
 What ship of Kpidamnum stays for me ? 
 
 JJro. .*). A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope ; 
 And told thee to what purpose, and what end. 
 
 Dro. a. You sent me, sir, for a rope's-end as soon: 
 You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. 
 
 Ant. E. 1 will debate this matter at more leisure. 
 And teach your ears to listen with more heed. 
 To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight; 
 Give her this key, and tell her, in the desk 
 That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry. 
 There is a purse of ducats ; let hei send it ; 
 Tell her, I am arrested in the street. 
 And that shall bail me: hie thee, slave; begone. 
 U 2 
 
308 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 On, officer, to prison till it come. 
 
 fEx^uiK Merchant, .•isc.F.i.o, Officer, tind Ant. E. 
 
 Ura. S. To Adriana ! that is where we ilind, 
 AVhere Dow-abel did claim me for her husbaad. 
 She is too bis, I hope, for me to compass. 
 Thither ' must, although against my will. 
 For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE n.—Tliesame. 
 Enter Adriana nnd Luciana. 
 
 Adr. .\h. Luciana, did he tempt thee so ? 
 Might'st thou perceive austerely in his eye 
 That he did plead in earnest, yea or no ! 
 
 Look'd he or red, or pale ; or sad, or merrily ^ 
 What obsen'ation raad'st thou in this case, 
 Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face t 
 
 L71C. First, he denied you had in him no right. 
 
 Adr. He meant, he did me none ; the more my spite. 
 
 Luc. I'hen swore he, that he was a stranger here. 
 
 Jidr.. \nd true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. 
 
 Luc. Then pleaded I for you. 
 
 Adr. And what said he ? 
 
 Luc. That love I bcgg'd for you, he begg d of me. 
 
 Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy 1« e ! 
 
 Luc. With words, that in an honest suit might move. 
 First, he did praise my beauty ; then, my speech. 
 
 Adr. Did'st speak iiim fair ! 
 
 Luc. Have patience, I beseech. 
 
 Adr. I cannot, nor 1 will not. hold me still ; 
 My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. 
 He is defonned, crooked, old, and sere, 
 Ill-fae'd, worse-bodied, shapeless every where ; 
 Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind; 
 Stiginatical in making, worse in mind. 
 
 Lkc. Who would be jealous then of such a one? 
 No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone. 
 
 Adr. Ah ! but I think him better than I say, 
 And yet would herein others' eyes were wor=e : 
 Far from her nest, the lapwing cries, away ; [curse. 
 My heart prays for him, though my tongue do 
 
 Enter Dp.omio of Syracuse. 
 Drd. S. Here, go : the Qesji, the purse : sweet now, 
 Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ? [make haste. 
 Dro. S. By running fast 
 
 Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio 1 is he well ? 
 Vro. S. No. he's in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. 
 A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, 
 One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel ; 
 A tiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough -. 
 A wolf, nay, worse, a fellow all in buff; [mands 
 A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that counter- 
 The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands ; 
 A hound that runs counter, and yet drawsdry foot well; 
 One that, before the judgment, carries poor souls to 
 Adr. Why, man, what'is the matter? (hell. 
 
 Vro. S. Ido not know the matter ; he is 'rested on 
 
 the case. 
 
 Adr. What, is he arrested 1 tell me, at whose suit. 
 
 Dro. S. Iknownotatwhosesuitheis arrested, well; 
 
 But he's in a suit of buff, which "rested him, that can I 
 
 tell: [the desk? 
 
 ■Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in 
 
 Adr. Go fetch it, sister. — This 1 wonder at, 
 
 (iril LnciANA. 
 That he. unknown to me. should be in debt : — 
 Tell me, was he arrested on a band ? 
 
 Dro. .b Not on a band, but on a stronger thing ; 
 A chain, a chain : do you not hear it ring? 
 Ailr. What, the chain? 
 
 Dro. S. No.no.thebell: 'tis time, thatlweregone. 
 
 It was two ere 1 left him, and now the clock strikes one. 
 
 Adr. The hours come back ! that did 1 never hear. 
 
 Dro. S. Oyes. If any hourmeetasergeant, a'ttims 
 
 back for very fear. [reason ! 
 
 Adr, As if lime were in debt! how fondly dost tlioti 
 
 Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt , and owes more than 
 
 he's worth, to season 
 
 Nay, he's a thief too ; Have you not heard men say, 
 
 That time comes stealing ou'by night and day ? 
 
 If he be in debt, and theft, and a sergeant in the v»ay. 
 
 Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in the day ? 
 
 Enter Luciana. 
 Adr. Go, Dromio ; there's the money, bear it straight; 
 And bring thy master home immediately. — 
 Come, sister ; I am press'd down with conceit : 
 
 Conceit, my comfort, and my injury, [£ic«nt. 
 
 SCENE in.— The same. 
 £)it«r Antipholus i^" Syracuse. 
 Ant. S. There'snotamanlmeet.butdothsaluteme 
 .4.S if I were their well acquainted friend ; 
 ,\nd every one doth call me by my name. 
 Some tender money to me, some invite me ; 
 Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ; 
 Some offer me commodities to buy : 
 Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop, 
 And she'.v'd me silks that he had bought for me, 
 Aad, therewithal, took measure of my body. 
 Sur3, these are but imaginary wiles, 
 And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. 
 
 Enter Dromio (i/ Syracuse. 
 Dro. S. Master, here 's the gold you sent me for • 
 What, have you got the picture of Old Adam nevr 
 apparelled ? [mean ? 
 
 Ant. S. What gold is this? What Adam dost thou 
 Dro. S. Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but 
 that Adam, that keeps the prison : lie that goes in the 
 ; calfs skin that was killed for the prodigal ; he that 
 '1 came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you 
 forsake your liberty. 
 I Ant. S. I understand thee not. 
 
 Dro. S. No? why, 'tis a plain case : he that went 
 like a base-viol, in a case of leather ; the man, sir, 
 that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob, and 
 ; 'rests them ; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men, 
 and "rives them suits of durance ; he that sets up 
 , his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than a 
 morris- pike. 
 
 Ant. S. What! thou mean'st an officer ? 
 I Dro. S. Av, sir, the sergeant of llie band ; he, that 
 brings any man to answer it, that breaks his band ; 
 at tliinks a man always going to bed, and says, 
 e yon crood I est 
 
 ' one that 
 
 ' Got^ive ^...,^- ". 
 
 Ant. S. \yell, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is 
 
 there any ship puts forth to-night ? may we be gone ? 
 ! Dro. S. \\ hy. sir, 1 brought you word an hour 
 
 since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night ; 
 I and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry 
 
 for the boy. Delay ; Here are the angels that you 
 
 sent for, to deliver you. 
 
 Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ; 
 
 .'\nd here we wander in illusions ; 
 
 Some blessed power deliver us from hence ! 
 
 I Enter a Courtezan. 
 
 i Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus. 
 
 I I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now : 
 ' Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day ! 
 
 I Aut. S. Satan, avoid ! I charge thee tempt me not : 
 
 Dro. S. iSlaster. is this mistress Satan ! 
 I Ant. S. It is the devil. 
 
 ! Dro. S. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; 
 and here she comes in tlie habit of a light wench; 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 
 
 :i09 
 
 and thereof comes, that the wenches say, God damn 
 me, that's as much as to say, God make me a light 
 wench. It is written, they appear to men like angels 
 of light: light is an effect of hre. and fire will burn ; 
 ergo, light wenches will burn ; Come not near her. 
 
 Cour. Your man and you aremarvelious merry, sir. 
 Will you go with me I We '11 mend our dinner here. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, if you do expect spoon-meat, oi' 
 bespeak a long spoon. 
 
 Ant. S. Why, Dromio 1 
 
 Dro. 5. INIarry, he must have a long spoon, that , 
 must eat with the devil. [supping! ; 
 
 Ant. S. Avoid then, fiend ! whattell'st thou meof . 
 Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress : i 
 
 I conjure thee to leave lue, and be gone. 
 
 Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner. 
 Or for my diamond, the chain you promis'd* 
 And I'll "be gone, sir, and not trouble you. ■ 
 
 Dro.S. Somedevilsask. but the parings of one's nail, 
 A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, 
 A nut, a cherry-stone ; but she, more covetous. 
 Would have a chain. 
 Master, be wise ; an' if you give it her, 
 The devil will shake her chain, and fright us with it. 
 
 Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain ; 
 I hope, you do not mean to cheat me so. 
 
 Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, let 
 us go. [you know. 
 
 Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress, that 
 \^ExeHitt Ant. S. and Dro. S. 
 
 Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad. 
 Else would he never so demean himself: 
 A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, 
 And for the same he promis'd me a chain ; 
 Both one, and other, he denies me now, 
 The reason tbat I gather he is mad, 
 ''Besides this present instance of his rage,) 
 Is a mad tale, lie told to-day at dinner, 
 Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. 
 Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits. 
 On purpose shut the doors against his way. 
 My way is now, to hie home to his house. 
 And tell his wife, that, being lunatic. 
 He rush'd into my house, and took perforce 
 My ring away : This course I fittest choose; 
 For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Ez/t. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 Enter AsTiPHOLUs o/'Ephesus, and an Officer. 
 
 An(. E Fear me not, man, I will not break away: 
 I Tl give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money 
 To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for. 
 My wife is in a wayward mood to day ; 
 .■Ind will no' li^^htly trust the messenger. 
 That I should be attach'd in Ephesus : 
 I tell you 'twill sound harshly in her ears. — 
 
 Enter Dhomio (•/'Ephesus, with a rope's end, 
 
 Jlere comes my man ; I think, he brings the money. 
 How now. sir? have you that I sent you for"? 
 
 i^rtj.^. Here's that. I warrantyou, will pay them all. 
 
 Ant. E. But where 's the money I 
 
 Dm, E. Whv, sir, I gave the money for the rope. 
 
 Ant. K. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope 1 
 
 Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. 
 
 Ant.E. To what end did I bid thee hie Uieehome? 
 
 JJro, E. To a rope's end, sir ; and to that end am I 
 return'd. 
 
 Aut, E, And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. 
 
 \_heating him. 
 
 Of. Good sir, be patient. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I ain in 
 adversity. 
 
 Of. Good now, hold thy tongue. 
 
 Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him tohold his hands. 
 
 Ant. E. Thou whoreson, senseless villain! 
 
 Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I might 
 not feel your blows. 
 
 Ant. ?■'. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, 
 and so is an ass. 
 
 Dro. E. I am an ass, indeed ; you may prove it by 
 my long ears 1 have served him from the hour of 
 my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his 
 hands for my service, but blows : when I am cold; 
 he heats me with beating: when I am warm, he 
 cools me with beating: 1 am waked with it, when 
 I sleep ; raised with it, when I sit ; driven out of 
 doors with it, when I go from home ; welcomed home 
 with it, when I return: nay, I bearit on my shoulders, 
 as a beggar wont her brat: and, I think, when he 
 hath lamed me, I shali beg with it from door to door. 
 
 Enter Adriana, Luciana, and the Courtezan, icith 
 Pinch, and others. 
 Ant. E. Come, go along; my wifeiscominffyonder. 
 
 Dro. E. Mistress, respire finem, respect your end ; 
 or rather the prophecy, like the parrot. Beware the 
 rope's end. 
 
 Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk > [Bents him. 
 
 Cour. How say you now? isnotyourhusband mad] 
 
 Adr. His incivility confirms noless.-- 
 Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer ; 
 Establish him in his true sense again. 
 And I will please you what you will demand. 
 
 Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp be looks ! 
 
 Cour. Maik, how he trembles in his extacy ! 
 Finch. Givemeyourhand.andletmefeel your pulse. 
 
 Ant. E. There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. 
 
 Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this man. 
 To yield possession to iny holy prayers. 
 And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight ; 
 X c6njure thee by all the saints in heaven. 
 
 Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ; I am not mad. 
 
 Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul ! 
 
 Ant. E. Vou, minion, you, are tliese your customers! 
 Did this companion with the saffron face 
 Revel and feast it at my house to-day, 
 Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut. 
 And I denied to enter in my house 1 
 
 ddr. O husband, G od doth know, you din'd at home, 
 Where 'would you had remain'd until this time. 
 Free from tliese slanders, and this open shame! [thou? 
 
 Ant. E. 1 din'd at home t Thou villain, what say'st 
 
 Dro. £. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. 
 
 Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I shut 
 out? [out. 
 
 Dro. E. Perdy, yourdoors were lock'd, and you shut 
 
 Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there? 
 
 Dro. E. Sans fable, she herself revil'd you there. 
 
 Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and 
 scorn me ? » [you. 
 
 Dro. E. Certes, she did ; the kitchen-vestal scom'il 
 
 Ant. E. And did not 1 in rage depart from tiience ? 
 
 Dro. £. In verity . you did ; — my bones bear witness, 
 That since have felt the vigour of his lage. 
 
 Adr. Is 't good to sooth him in these contraries T 
 
 Pinch. It is no shame ; the fellow finds his vein ; 
 And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy, [me. 
 
 Ant.E. Thou hastsuborn'd the goldsmith to arrest 
 
 Adr. Alas ! 1 sent you money to redeem you. 
 By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. 
 
 Dro.E. Money by me ^ heart and good-will you 
 But, surely, master, not a rag of money. [might, 
 
 Ant.E. Wenfst not thou to her for a purse of ducats ? 
 
310 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Adr, He came to me. and T deliver'd it. 
 
 Luc. And I am witness with her, that she did. 
 
 Dro. E. God and the rope-maker bear me witness, 
 That I was sent ("or nothing but a rojie ! 
 
 Puich. Mistress, both man and master is possess'd? 
 I know it by their pale and deadly looks : 
 They must be bound, and laid in some dark room. 
 
 Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth 
 And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ? [to-day, 
 
 Adr. 1 did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. 
 
 Dro. E. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no gold ; 
 But I confess, sir, that we were lock'd out. 
 
 ^(/r. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st faJse in both, 
 
 Ant. E. Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all ; 
 And art confederate with a damned pack, 
 To make a loathsome abject scorn of me : 
 But with thijse nails I '11 pluck out these false eyes, 
 That would behold me in this shameful sport. 
 
 [Pinch and /ij'.-: Assistants bind Ant. E. &; Dito. E. 
 
 Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come near 
 me. [him. 
 
 Pinch. More company ; — the fiend is strong within 
 
 Luc. Ah me, poorman ! howpale and wan he looks! 
 
 Ant. E. What, will you murder me? Tliou gaoler, 
 I am thy prisoner : wilt thou suffer them [thou. 
 To make a rescue? 
 
 Off. IMasters, let him go : 
 
 He is my prisoner, and you shall not have )iim. 
 
 Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. 
 
 Adv. What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer 1 
 Hast thou delight to see a wretched man 
 Do outrage and displeasure to himself'' 
 
 Off. He is my prisoner : if I let him go, 
 The debt he owes, will be requir'd of me. 
 
 Adr. I will discharge thee, ere 1 go from thee : 
 Bear me forthwith unto his creditor. 
 And, knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. 
 Good master doctor, see him safe conveyed 
 Home to my house. — O most unhappy day ! 
 
 Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet ! 
 
 Dro. E. Master, I am here enter'd in bond fnr you. 
 
 Ant, E. Out on thee villain! wherefore dost thou 
 mad me 1 
 
 Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing? be mad. 
 Good master; cry, the devil. — ■ 
 
 Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk ! 
 
 Adr. Go bear him hence. — Sister, go you with me.— 
 [Exeunt Finch ^ Assistants, u'it/i Ant-E. ^' Duo. E. 
 Say now, whose suit is he arrested at? 
 
 Off. One Angelo, a goldsmith ; Do you know him ? 
 
 Adr. 1 know the man: What is the sum he owes? 
 
 Off. Two hundred ducats. 
 
 Adr. Say, how grows it due? 
 
 Off. Due for a chain, your husbancl had of him. 
 
 Adr, He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. 
 
 Conr. When as your husband, all in lage, to-day 
 Came to my house, and took away my ring, 
 (The ring I saw upon his finger now,) 
 Straight atier. did I meet him with a chain. 
 
 Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it : — 
 Come, gaoler, bring me where tlie goldsmith is, 
 I long to know ihe truth hereof at large. 
 
 Enter Antipholvs n/' Syracuse, ivith his rapier 
 drawn, and Duomio n/ Syracuse. 
 
 Lnc God, for thy mercy I they are loose asrain. 
 
 Adr. And come with naked swords ; let's call more 
 To have them bound again. [help. 
 
 Off, Away, they'll kill us. 
 
 [Eieunt Officer. Ann, and Luc. 
 
 Ant. S. 1 see, these witches are afraid of swords. 
 
 Dro. S. She, that would be your wife, now ran from 
 you. 
 
 Ant,S. Come to the Centaur; fetch our stufT fr(mj 
 I long, that we were safe and sound aboard, [thence. 
 
 Dro.S. Faith, stay here this night, they will surely 
 do us no hann ; you saw, they speak us fair, give us 
 gold : methinks they are such a gentle nation, tlial 
 but for the mountain of mad flesli that claims mar- 
 riage of me, I could find in my heart to stay here 
 still, and turn witch. 
 
 Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town ; 
 Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE \,—The same. 
 Enter Merchant and Ancei.o 
 
 Ang. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd vou ; 
 But, 1 protest, he had the chain of mc, 
 Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. 
 
 Mer, How is the man esteem'd here in the city ? 
 
 Ans^. Of very reverent reputation, >ir, 
 Of credit infinite, highly belov'd, 
 Second to none that lives here in the city ; 
 His word might bear my wealth at any time. 
 
 Mer. Speak softly: yonder, as I think, he walks. 
 
 Enter Antipholus and DnoMio of Syracuse. 
 
 Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his neck. 
 Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have. 
 Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him. — 
 Signior Antipholus, 1 wonder much 
 That you would put me to this shame and trouble i 
 And not without some scandal to yourself, 
 With circumstance and oaths, so to deny 
 This chain, which now you wear so openly: 
 Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment, 
 You have done wrong to this my honest friend ; 
 Who, but for staying on our controversy. 
 Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day : 
 This chain you had of me, can you deny it? 
 
 Ant. S. I think, I had ; I never did deny it. 
 
 Mer, Yes. that you did, sir ; and forswore it toe. 
 
 Ant, S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it ? 
 
 Mer, These ears of mine, thou knowest, did hear 
 Fye on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity, that thou liv'st [thee : 
 To walk where any honest men resort. 
 
 Ant. S. Thou art a villain to impeach me thus: 
 I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty 
 Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand. 
 
 Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. 
 
 [Theii draw. 
 Enter AdrUna, Li'ciana, Courtezan, and others. 
 
 Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for God's sake; he is mad ; 
 Some get within him, take his sword away : 
 Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. 
 
 Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for God's sake, take a 
 
 This is some priory; — In, orwearespoil'd. [house. 
 
 [EieuHt Axt. S. and Dro. S. to the Prioru. 
 
 Enter the Abbess. 
 -^feft. Be quiet. people; Wherefore throngyou hither. 
 
 Adr, To fetcii my poor distracted husband hence : 
 Let us come in. that we may bind him fast. 
 And bear him home for his recovery. 
 
 Ang. I knew, he was not in his perfect wits. 
 
 Mer. I am sorry now. that T diil draw on him. 
 
 Abb. How long hath this possession held the man! 
 
 Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad» 
 And much, much different from the man he was; 
 But, till this afternoon, his passion 
 Ne'er brake into extremity of rage. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 311 
 
 A hh Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck at sea 1 
 Brd"t'd?ar friend . U.^r^^^ »- ^^^ 
 Stray'd his affection m unlawtul love ' 
 A s?n prevailins much in youthful men, 
 Who gL their eyes the liberty of ga.n,. 
 Which of these sorrows is he subject to ! 
 ^^r To none of these except U be t e^.a. ^^_ 
 
 ^Tr"vr:ho,:,d' forn,f:r Le reprehended him. 
 AJr. Why. so I did. 1^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^,g,,_ 
 
 aL As roughly, as my modesty would let me. 
 ^W. Haply, in private j ^^ ^^^^,„^,ies too 
 
 Adr. , 
 
 Alih. Ay, but not enough. 
 A,h- 11 was the copy of our conference : 
 In bed, he slept not for my urgmg it ; 
 At board, lie fed not for my urgmg it ; 
 Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; 
 In companv, I often glanced i' 5 | 
 
 Still did 1 tell him it was vile and bad. 
 
 "f,t. And thereof came it, that the man was mad . 
 The venom clamours of a jealous woman 
 Poison more deadly than ^^f^.d"? \ °:^^;,i„,, 
 It seems, his sleeps were hinder d by tl'«/f '"?• 
 And therefore comes it, that his head is light- 
 Thou sav'st>ismeatwas sa^^c'dwith thyupbraiJings : 
 Unquiet meals make ill digestions. 
 Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ; 
 And what's a fever but a ht of madness . 
 Thou sav'st, his sports were hinder d by thy b.awls . 
 Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue, 
 But moody and dull melancholy, 
 (Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair ,) 
 And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop 
 Of pale distemperatures. and foes to lUe . 
 In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest _ 
 To lie disturb'd, would mad or man, or beast . 
 The consequence is tlien, thy jealous hts 
 Have scar'd thy husband from the use of wits. 
 " iL She ne'ver reprehended him but mi W ly 
 When he demean'd himself rough rude and w ■ ly. 
 Why bear von these rebukes, and answer not 
 
 Mr. Sh'e did betray me to my own reproof.— 
 Good people, enter, and lay hold on him. 
 Ahb No, not a creature enters in my ''""^e- 
 A^r Then,let your servants bnng my husband forth. 
 il,h Neither ; he took tliis place for sanctuary. 
 And it shall privilege h,m from your hands, 
 Till I have brought him to his wits again. 
 Or lose my labour in assaying it. 
 
 Adr. 1 will attend my husband, be his nuise, 
 Diet his sickness, for it is my office. 
 And will have no attorney but myself ; 
 And therefore let me have him home with me. 
 ibb Be patient: for I will not let h.m stir, 
 Till I have used the approved means 1 have. 
 With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prajeis. 
 To make of him a formal man again : 
 It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, 
 A charitable duty of my order • 
 Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. 
 
 Adr A will not hence, and leave my husband here . 
 And ill it doth beseem your holiness 
 Tn spnarate the husband and the wife. . 
 
 ^°i;:.':Te"uiet,anddepart.thoushalt^nothavehi,n^ 
 
 Lkc-. Complain unto the duke of this ind;gn''y; 
 
 Adr. Come, go ; I will fall prostrate at his feet, 
 And never rise until my tears and Payers 
 Have won his grace to come in person hitue'-. 
 And taU perforce my husband from the abbess. 
 
 Wer By this, 1 think, the dial points at five : 
 Anon,'l am sure, the duke himself m person 
 Comes this way to the melancholy vale ; 
 The place of death and sorry execution. 
 Behind the ditches of the abbey here. 
 Ano-. Upon what cause? 
 J/er. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant. 
 Who put unluckily into this bay 
 Against the laws and statutes of this town, 
 lilheadcd publicly for his offence. .M^^T' 
 
 A,,^. See, where they come ; we will behold his 
 L,^c. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey. 
 
 Enter -Dvviz. attended; Aiouot^. hare-beaded ; ujiti 
 tbe Headsman and other Officers. 
 Dahe. Vet once again proclaim it publicly. 
 If any friend will pay the sum for him. 
 He shall not die, so much we tender him 
 
 Adr. Justice.most sacred duke, against the abbess 1 
 Uuke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady ; 
 It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong. 
 
 idr Alav it please your grace, Antipholus, my 
 I Whom' I'made lord of me and all 1 had, [husband. - 
 ' At your important letters,-this ill day 
 A most outraaeous fit of madness took him ; 
 Thatdesperafely he hurried through the street, 
 (With him his bondman, all as mad as he,) 
 Doing displeasure to the citizens 
 By rushing in their houses, bearing tlienee 
 Ein-s, jewels, any thing his rage did like. 
 1 Onc°e did I get him bound, and sent him home. 
 Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, 
 That here and there his fury had committed. 
 Anon, 1 wot not by what strong escape, 
 fie broke from thofe that had the guard of hun , 
 And with his mad attendant and himself. 
 Each one with ireful pas,sion, with drawn swords, 
 Met us again, and, madly bent on us. 
 Chased us away; till, raising of more aid 
 We came again to bind them : then they fled 
 Into this abbey, whither we pursued them ; 
 And here the abbess shuts the gates on us, 
 And will not suffer us to fetch him out 
 Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence. 
 Therefore most gracious duke, with thy command, 
 le him be".ought forth, and borne hence for help. 
 " Long stnce, thy husband serv'd me in my 
 And I to thee engag'd a prince's word [wars ; 
 
 When thou didst make him master of thy bed. 
 To do him all the grace and good I could.— 
 Go some of you, knock at the abbey-gate ; 
 And bid the lady abbess come to me ; 
 i will determine this, before I stir. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself ! 
 My master and his man are both broke loose, 
 Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor 
 Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire , 
 And ever as it blazed, they threw on him , 
 Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair : 
 T^Iy master preaches patience to him, while 
 His man with scissars nicks him like a tool : 
 And sure, unless you send some present help. 
 Between them they will kill the conjurer. ^ 
 
 Adr. Peace, fool, thy masterandhisman are here, 
 And that is false, thou dost report to us. 
 
 Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true , 
 I have not breath'd almost, since I did see it. 
 He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, 
 Toscorch your face andtodisfigure y""' [CT^int/i.n. 
 Hark, hiik. I hear him, mistress ; fly, be gone. 
 
312 
 
 COMEDY OF ERRORS. 
 
 Duhe, Come, stand by ine, fear nothing: Guard 
 with halberds. 
 
 Adr. All me, it is my husband ! Witness you 
 That he is borne about invisible: 
 Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here ; 
 And now he's there, past thought of human reason. 
 
 E?iter Antipholus and Duomio (i/'Ephesus, 
 
 A7it. E. Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grant me 
 justice ! 
 Even for the service that long since I did thee, 
 When 1 bestrid thee in the wars, and took 
 Deep scars to save thy life ; even for the biood 
 That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. 
 
 ^ge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, 
 I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio. 
 
 Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman 
 She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife ; [there. 
 Tliat hath abused and dishonour'd me, 
 Even in the strength and height of injury! 
 Beyond imagination is the wrong, 
 That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 
 
 Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. 
 
 Ant. E. This day, great duke, she shut the doors 
 While she, with harlots feasted in my house, [upon me, 
 
 Duke, A grievous fault : Say, woman, didst thou so? 
 
 Adr. No, my good lord ; — myself, he, and my sister, 
 To-day did dine together : So bcfal my soul, 
 As this is false, he burdens me withal ! 
 
 Luc. Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night. 
 But she tells to your highness simple tiulii I 
 
 Ang. O perjur'd woman ! they are both forsworn. 
 In this the madman justly chargeth them. 
 
 Ant, E. My liege, I am advised what I say; 
 Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine. 
 Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire, 
 Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad. 
 This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner : 
 That goldsmith there, were he not pack'd with her, 
 Could witness it, for he was with me then ; 
 Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, 
 Promising to bring it to the Porcupine, 
 Where Balthazar and I did dine together. 
 Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, 
 I went to seek him ; In the street 1 met him ; 
 And in his company, that gentleman. 
 There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down, 
 That I this day of him receiv'd the chain, 
 Which, God he knows, I saw not : for the which, 
 He did arrest me with an officer. 
 I did obey ; and sent my peasant home 
 For certain ducats : He with none returned. 
 Then fairly I bespoke the officer, 
 To go in person with me to my house. 
 By the way we met 
 
 My wife, her sister, and a rabble more 
 Of vile confederates ; along with them 
 They brought one Pinch ; a hungry lean-faced villain, 
 A meer anatomy, a mountebank, 
 A thread bare juggler, and a fortune-teller ; 
 A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch, 
 A living dead man : this pernicious slave, 
 Forsooth took on him as a conjurer ; 
 And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse. 
 And with no face, as *lwere, outfacing me. 
 Cries out, I was possessed : then altogether 
 They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence ; 
 And in a dark and dankish vault at home 
 There left me and my man, both bound togetlier : 
 Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, 
 I gain'd my freedom, and inimediately 
 Kan hither to your grace ; whom 1 beseech 
 
 To give me ample satisfaction 
 
 For these deep shames, and great indignities. 
 
 Avg. My lord, in trutli, thus far 1 witness with him; 
 That he dined not at home, bui was lock'd out. 
 
 Duke, liut had he such a chain of thee, or no ? 
 
 Ang. He had, my lord ; and when he ran in here. 
 These people saw the chain about his neck. 
 
 Mer. Besides, I will be sworn. the:>e ears of mine 
 Heard you confess, you had the chain of him_, 
 After you hist forswore it on the mart. 
 And, thereupon 1 drew my sword on you ; 
 And then you fled into this abbey here. 
 From whence, I think, you are come by miracle. 
 
 Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls. 
 Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me; 
 I never saw the ciiain, so help me Iveaven ! 
 And this is false, yOu burden me withal. 
 
 Duke. What an intricate impeach is this ! 
 I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup. 
 If here you hous'd him, here he would have been : 
 1( he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : — 
 You say, he dined at home ; the goldsmith here 
 Denies that saying ; — Sirrah, what say you ? 
 
 Dro. F.. Sir, he dined with her there, at the Por- 
 cupine, [ririg* 
 
 Cour. He did ; and from my finger snatch'd that 
 
 Ant^ E. "ris true, my ^^ege, this ring I had of her. 
 
 Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here'? 
 
 Cour. As sure, ray liege, as I do see your grace. 
 
 Duke. Why, this is strange : — Go call the abbess 
 
 I think, you are all mated, or stark mad. [hither; 
 
 [Exit u« Attendant. 
 
 i'Eo-e.INIost mighty duke, vouchsafeme speak a word. 
 Haply, I see a friend will save my life. 
 And pay the sum that may deliver me. 
 
 Duke. Speak freely, Syiacusan, what thou wilt. 
 
 ■''Ege. Is not your name, sir, call'd Antipholus * 
 And is not that your bondman Dromio 1 
 
 Dro. E. Within this hour, I was his bondman, sir. 
 But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords : 
 Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. 
 
 jEge. I am sure, you both of you remember me. 
 
 Dm. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you ; 
 For lately we were bound, as you are now. 
 Vou are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ^ 
 
 ^£ge. Why look you strange on me ? you know me 
 
 Ant. E. 1 neversawyou in my life, till now, [well. 
 
 j-Ege. Oh ! grief hath chang'd me. since you saw 
 me last ; 
 And careful hours, with time's deformed hand. 
 Have written strange defeatures in my face ; 
 But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice ? 
 
 Ant. E. jyeither. 
 
 jEge. Dromio, nor thou ? 
 
 Dio. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I. 
 
 ■•Ege. lam sure, thou dost. 
 
 Dro. E. Ay, sir? but I am sure. I do not; and 
 whatsoever a man denies, you are now bound to be- 
 lieve him. 
 
 ^ge. Not know my voice ! 0, time's extremity ! 
 Hast thou so crack 'd and spHtted my poor tongue. 
 In seven short years, that here my only sou 
 Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares ? 
 Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
 In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, 
 And all the conduits of my blood froze up ; 
 Vet hath my night of life some memory. 
 My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, 
 iMy dull deaf eajs a little use to hear : 
 All these old witnesses (1 cannot err,) 
 Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. 
 
 Ant, E. ] never saw my father m ray Ufa. 
 
ACT V -SCENE I. 
 
 313 
 
 ^ge. But seven years since, in Svracusa, boy, 
 Thou know'st, we parted : but, perhaps, my son, 
 Thou shani'st to acknowledge me in misery. 
 
 Ant. K. The duke, and ali ihat know me in the city, 
 Can witness with me that it is not so ; 
 I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life. 
 
 Duke, I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years 
 Have I been patron to Antipholus, 
 During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa : 
 I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote. 
 
 ■i 
 Enter the Ahhc6S, uith Antii'iiolus Syracusan, and 
 Dromio Syracusan. 
 
 A!<h. Most mighty duke, behold a man much 
 wrong 'd. [All gather to see htm. 
 
 Atlr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. 
 
 Duke. One of these men is genius to the other ; 
 And so of these : Which is the natural man. 
 And which the spirit I Who deciphers them ? 
 
 Ore, .V. I, sir, am Dromio ; comnian<l him away. 
 
 Dro. E. 1. sir, am Dromio ; pray, let me stay. 
 
 Ant. S. ^l^geon. art thou not"! or else his ghost? 
 
 Iho, S. O.myold master, who hath bound him here? 
 
 Abb. Whoever bound him. 1 will louse his bonds, 
 And gain a husband by his liberty : — 
 Speak, old ^^geon, if thou be'st the man 
 That had'st a wife once called .Emilia, 
 That bore thee at a burden two fair sons : 
 
 0, if thou be'st the same .^geon, speak, 
 And speak unto the same .'Emilia ! 
 
 ^gp. If I dream not, thou art yEmilia ; 
 If thou art she, tell me, where is that son 
 I'hat floated with thee on the fatal raft ? 
 
 Abb, By men of Epidamnum, he, and I, 
 And the twin Dromio, all were taken up : 
 But, by and by. rude fishermen of Corinth 
 I5y force took Dromio, and mv son from them, 
 And me they left with those of Epidamnum : 
 What then became of them, I cannot tell ; 
 
 1, to this fortune that you see me in. 
 
 l)iikt\ Why, here begins his morning story right : 
 These two Aatipholus's, these two so like, 
 And these two Dromio's, one in semblance, — 
 Besides her urging of her wreck at sea,— 
 These are the parents to these children, 
 Which accidentally are met together. 
 Antipholus, thou cain'st from Corinth first. 
 
 Aiit. S. No, sir, not 1 ; 1 came from Syracuse. 
 
 Duke. Stay, stand apart ; I know not which is 
 which. [lord. 
 
 Ant. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious 
 
 Dro. E. And I mth him. 
 
 Ant. E. Brought to this town by that most famous 
 Duke ^lenaphon, yourmostrenowneduncle. [warrior 
 
 Adr. Which of you two did dine with me to- day 1 
 
 Ant. S. 1, gentle mistress. 
 
 Adr^ And are not you my husband 
 
 Ant. E. No, I say nay to that. 
 
 Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so ; 
 And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, 
 
 Did call me brother : — What I told you then, 
 I hope, I shall have leisure to make good ; 
 If this be not a dream I see and hear. 
 
 .1//^. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. 
 
 Ant. S. I think it be, sir ; I deny it not. 
 
 Ant. K. And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. 
 
 Ang. I think I did, sir ; 1 deny it not. 
 
 Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail, 
 By J)romio ; but I think he brought it not. 
 
 Dili. E. No, none by me. 
 
 Ant. S. This purse of ducats I receiv'd from you. 
 And Dromio my man did bring them me : 
 I see, we still did meet each other's man, 
 And I was ta'en for him, and he for me. 
 And thereupon these errors are arose. 
 
 Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here. 
 
 Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life. 
 
 C-inr. Sir. I must have that diamond from vou. 
 
 Ant, E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my 
 good cheer. 
 
 Ahh. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains. 
 To go with us into the abbey here. 
 And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes: — 
 And all that are assembled in this place, 
 That by this sympathized one day's error, 
 Have sufler'd wrong, go, keep us company. 
 And we shall make full satisfaction.— 
 Twenty-five years have 1 but gone in travail 
 Of you, my sons ; nor, till this present hour, 
 My heavy burdens are delivered : — 
 The duke, my husband, and my children both, — 
 And you the calendars of their nativity. 
 Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me ; 
 After so long grief, such nativity! 
 
 Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this (east. 
 [_Exeunt Duke, Abbess, ^£geon, Courtezan, 
 IMerchant, Angelo, and Attendants. 
 
 Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch yourstufi' from ship- 
 board ? fbark'd? 
 
 Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou era- 
 
 Dro. S. Your goods, that lay at bust, sir, in the 
 Centaur. [mio : 
 
 Ant. S. He speaks to me ; I am your master, Dro- 
 Come, go with us ; we'll look \o that anon ; 
 Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. 
 
 [Exeunt Antipholus S. and E,, Adr. and Luc. 
 
 Dm. S. There is a fat friend at your master's house. 
 That kitchen'd me for you to-day at dinner ; 
 She now shall be my sister, not my wife. 
 
 Dro. E. Methinks, you are my glass, and not my 
 I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth, [brother; 
 Will you walk in to see their gossiping? 
 
 Dii). S. Not I, sir ; you are my elder. 
 
 Dro. E. That's a question: how shall we try it? 
 
 Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior : till 
 then, lead thou first. 
 
 Dro. E. Nav, then thus: 
 We came into the world like brother and brother : 
 And now let's go hand in hand, not one before an- 
 other, [Exeunt. 
 
 On a careful revision of the foregoing scenes, I do not hesi- 
 tate 10 jiroimunce them the comiinsilion of two very uuet|ii:tl 
 writers, .shakspeare had undoubtedly a share in them ; but 
 thut tlie entire pfay was no work of his, is aii opiiiioii which 
 Cas I'eut'Uict says) "' fire cannot uielt out of me; I will die in 
 it at the stake." Thus, as we are informed by Aulus (ielhus, 
 lib. lii. ea|i. S. some plays were aciually ascribed to Plautus, 
 which in truth had only been (retracts et expolitsJ retouched 
 and pniishcd by him. , 
 
 In this comedy we find more intricacy of plot than distinc- 
 tion of character; and our attention is less forcibly eni,-at.'ed, 
 because we can guess in a great measure how the denouement 
 will be broiii-'ht nhout. Yet the subject appears to hive been 
 nltictantly dismissed, eveD in this last ana annecessary'iicene, | 
 
 where the same mistakes are continued, till their power of af- 
 tordiiiK euterlainmeni is entirely lost.— Steevens. 
 
 Ihe hwih'dob'grel verses that s'hakspeare has attributed in this 
 play to the two Uromios, are written in that kind of metre which 
 was usually attributed, by the dramatic iJoets before his ume. 
 in their comic pieces, to some of their inferior characters ; and 
 this circumstance is one of the maiiv that authorizes us to pUire 
 the preceding comedy,. as well as Lovers Lahour's Lvsi,an(\Th€ 
 faming oj the Hhrczo, (where the same kind of versification is 
 likewise loundj amonR our author's earliest productions . com- 
 posed probably at a time when he was imi)ercei)nblv infected 
 with theprevajline moite, and before he had completely leanied 
 " to deviate boldly from the common track."— -Malo.ne. 
 
MACBETH. 
 
 Of this splendid poem the first edition was that of the players 
 in 162^. It was, however, in the opinion of Mr. Alafone, 
 written either in 1606 or 1607 .— When iMr. Jteed lirst disco- 
 vered tlip Ms. of Middleion's tragi-coniedy ihe \Viii:h,iiwas 
 snppohpd that Shakspeare had taken from it the hint of the 
 super natural portion of this iraRedy. I'here is uo reason for 
 suspecting that lUe play of Middlelon was anterior to that of 
 ijhakspeare, and r\lr. iMalone has adduced several very strong 
 artfuments to shew that it was written several years later. 
 The following Essay on the superstitious opinions prevalent 
 in Shakspeare's time is from Dr. Johnson. 
 
 * In order to make a true estimate of the abilities and merit of 
 a writer, it is always necessary to examine the genms of his 
 age, una the opinions of his contemporaries. A poet who 
 should now make the whole action of his tragedy depend upon 
 enchantment, and produce the chief evems oy the assistance 
 of supernatural agents, would he censured as transgressing the 
 bounds of probability, be banished from the theatre to the nur- 
 sery, and condemned to write fairy tales instead of tragedies ; 
 but a survey of the notions that prevailed at the lime when 
 this play was written, will prove that Shakspeare was in no 
 danger of such censures, since he only turned the system that 
 was then universally admitted, to his advantage, and was iar 
 from overburdening the credulity of his audience. 
 
 " The reality of witchcraft or enchantment, which, though not 
 strictly the same, are confounded in this play, has in all ages 
 and countries been credited by the cooiinmi people, and in 
 most, by the learned themselves. The phantoms have indeed 
 appeared more frequently, in proportion as the darkness of 
 ignorance has been more gross ; but it cannot be shewn, that 
 the brightest gleiinis of knowledge have at any time been suf- 
 ficient to drive them out of the world. The lime in which this 
 kind of credulity was at its height, seems to have been that of 
 the holy war, in which the Christians imputed all their defeats 
 to enchantments or diabolical opposition, as they ascribed their 
 success to the assistance of the military saints ; and the learned 
 Db, Warburton appears to believe C SuppleniKnc to the Intro- 
 iluctivjt (0 Don QititoteJ, that the first accounts of enchant- 
 ments were brought into this part of the world by those who 
 returned from their eastern expeditions. But there is always 
 some distance between the birth and maturity of folly as of 
 wickedness: this opinion had long existed, though perhaps the 
 application of it had in no foregoing age been so freiiuent, nor 
 the reception so general. Olytopiodorus, in Photius's Jlx- 
 tiacts, tells us of one Lihanius who practised this kind of 
 military magic, and having promised x<"P'L' ottXitwiv kut« 
 ^afj/ScJpwv kVipfQlv, to perform great things nsaitist the Bar- 
 barians wic/tout soldiers, was, at the instance of the empress I'la- 
 cidia.putto dc-slh, whenhe was about to have given proofs of 
 his abilities. The empress shewed some kindness in her anger, 
 
 „by cutting him off at a time so convenient for his reputation. 
 But a more remarkable proof of the antiquity of this notion 
 may be found in St. Chrysostom's book de Sacerdolio, which 
 exhibits a scene of enchantments not exceeded by an>; romance 
 of the middle age: he supposes a spectator overlooking a field 
 of battle, attended by one that points out all the various objects 
 of horror, theeaginesof destruction and ihe arts of slaughter. 
 AerKi'i'Tu 6e tTi fl"<(p<i Tui(,' ivavTion^ Kat TreTo/iei/oiig tir'novg 
 &ia Tivor; /iU77av€ta(,", Kai onKiTaQ 6i' uf'pog ^epOfxii'oT'Q, Kai 
 TTtitrnf yonreiag 6i'-vafiiv Kai iSeav. Lei him then proceed to 
 shew him in ihe opposite armies Jhjing hones hy enchantment, 
 armed men transported ihiongh the air, and every power and 
 form of magic. Whether St. Chrvsostom believed that such 
 performances were really to be seen in a day of battle, or only 
 
 endeavoured to enliven his description, by adopting the notions 
 of the vulgar, it is equally certain, that such notions were id 
 his time received, and tliat therefore they were not imported 
 from the Saracens in a later age ; the wars with the Saracens, 
 however, gave occasion to their propagation, not only as bi- 
 gotry naturally discovers prodigies, but as the scene of action 
 was removed to a great distance. 
 
 * '1 he Ueformation did nut immediately arrive at its meridian, 
 aud though day was gradually increasing upon us, the goblins 
 of witchcraft still continued to hover in the twilight. In the 
 time of Uueen Elizabeth was the remarkable trial of the 
 witches of Warhols, whose conviction is still commemorated 
 in an aimual sermon at liuntiugdon. Hut in the reign of King 
 James, in which this tragedy was written, many circumstances 
 concurred to propagate and confirm this oidnion. 1 he kiner, 
 who was much celeoraied for his knowledge, had, before his 
 arrival in filneland, not only examined in person a woman ac- 
 cused of witcncr-ift, but had given a very formal account of 
 the practices and illusions oi evil spirits, the compacts of 
 witches, [he ceremonies used by them, the manner of detect- 
 ing them, and the justice of punishing them, in his dialogues 
 of Damonohgie, written in the Scottish dialect, and published 
 at Edinburgh. Ihis book was, soon after his succession, re- 
 printed at London; and as the ready way to gain King James's 
 favour was to Hatter liis speculations, the system of Damono- 
 Iv^ie was immediately adopted by all who desired either to 
 gain preferment or not to lose it. Thus the doctrine of witch- 
 craft was very powerfully inculcated ; and as the greatest j)art 
 of mankind have no other reason for their opinions than that 
 they are in fashion, it cannot be doubted but this persuiision 
 made a rapid progress, since vanity and credulity co-openited 
 in its favour. The infection soon reached the parliament, 
 who, in the first year of King James, made a law, by which 
 it was enacted, chap. xii. I'hat ' if any person shall use any 
 invocation or conjuration of any evil or wicked spirit ; 2. or 
 shall consult, covenant with, entertain, employ, feed, or re- 
 ward any evil or cursed spirit, to or for a.nv intent or purpose ; 
 3. or take up any dead man, woman, or child,outof the grave, 
 — or the skin, bone, or any part of the dead |)erson,tobe em* 
 ployed or used in any mannerof witchcraft, sorcery, charm, 
 or enchantment; 4. or shall use, practise, or exercise any sort 
 of witchcraft, sorcery, charm, or enchantment ; 5. whereby 
 any person shall be destroyed, killed, wasted, consumed, ptnea, 
 or lamed in any part of the body ; 6. Thai every .^ruch iierson 
 being convicted shall suffer death.' This law was repealed 
 in our own time- 
 
 "Thus, in the time of Shakspeare, was the doctrine of witch- 
 craft at once established hy law and by the fashion, and it be- 
 came not only unpolite, but criminal, to doubt it ; and as pro- 
 digies are always seen in proportion as they are expected, 
 witches were every day discovered, and multiplied so fast in 
 some places, that Bishop Hall mentions a village in Lanca- 
 shire, where their number was greater than that of the houses. 
 The Jesuits and sectaries took advantage of this universal 
 error, and endeavoured to promote the interest of their p.ir- 
 ties by pretended cures of persons affected by evil spirits; 
 but they were detected and exposed by the clergy of the es- 
 tablished church. 
 
 " Upon this general infatuation Shakspeare might be easily al- 
 lowed to found a play, especially since he has followed with 
 great exactness such histories as were then thought true; nor 
 can it be doubted that the scenes of enchantment, however 
 they niaynow be ridiculed, were both by himself andhis au- 
 dience thought awful and affecting."— Johmson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Duncan, King of Scoilvcn^. 
 
 Malcolm, Donalbain, his f^ons. 
 
 Macbeth, Banquo, generals of the King's army* 
 
 Macduff, Lenox, Rossf., Mf.stf.th, Angus, Cath- 
 
 NEss, noblemen (»/' Scotland. 
 Fleance, son to Banqiio. 
 SiWARD, Earl of Northumberland, geiieral of the 
 
 English furces. 
 Ymmg SiWAiin, his son. 
 Seyton, an officer attending on Macbeth. 
 Son to I\IacdufF. 
 
 An Eughsli Doctor. A Scotch Doctor, 
 A Soldier. A Porter* An old Man, 
 
 Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady Macduff. 
 
 Gentlewcrman attending on Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Hecate, and three Witches. 
 
 LardSf Gentlemen, 0/^cers, Soldiers, Murderers, 
 
 Attendants, and Messengers. 
 
 The Ghost (f Banquo, and several other Apparitions, 
 
 SCENE, — in the end of the Fourth Act, ties in Eng- 
 land ; ^krough the rest of the Flay, in Scotland ; 
 andf chiefif, at Macbeth's Castle. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 SCENE I. — An open Place. Thunder and Lightning, 
 Enter three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again, 
 In thunder, licihlning. or in rain? 
 
 '2 Witch. When the hurlyburly's done. 
 When the battle 's lost and won : 
 
 3 Witch, That will be ere set of sun. 
 
 1 Witch. Where the place 1 
 
 2 Witch. Upon the l>eath : 
 
 3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
 1 Witch. I come, Graymalkin ! 
 
 All. Paddock calls :— Anon. — 
 Fair is foul, and foul is fair : 
 Hover through the fog and filthy air. [Witches vanish. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 315 
 
 SCENE II. — A Camp near Fores. AiarumwHIun. 
 
 Enler King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lenox 
 leith AttenJauti, meeting a bleeding Soljier. 
 
 Dim. What bloody man is that ? He can report. 
 As seemetli by his plight, of the revolt 
 The newest state. 
 
 Mid. This is the sergeant. 
 
 Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought 
 'Gainst my captivity :— Hail, brave friend ! 
 Say to the king the knowledge of the broil. 
 As thou didst leave it. 
 
 So;. Doubtfully it stood ; 
 
 As two spent swimmers, that do cling together, 
 And choke their art. I'he merciless JIacdonwald 
 (Worthy to be a rebel ; for, to tliat. 
 The multiplying villanies of nature 
 Do swarm upoii kirn. ,) from the western isles 
 Of Kernes and Gallowglasses is supplied ; 
 And fortune, ou liis damned quarrel smiling, 
 Shew'd like a rebel's whore ; But all 's too weak : 
 For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,) 
 Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel, 
 Wliicii smok'd with bloody execution, 
 Like valour's minion, 
 
 Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave ; 
 And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to liim, 
 Till he unNcam'd him from the nave to the chaps, 
 And fix'd his head upon eur battlements. 
 
 Dun. 0, valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman .' 
 
 Sol. As whence the sun 'gins his refiection 
 Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break ; 
 So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come, 
 Discomfort swells. Jlark, king of Scotland, mark. 
 No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd, 
 Compeird these skipping Kernes to trust their heels : 
 But the Xorweyan lord, surveying vantage. 
 With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men, 
 Began a fresh assault. 
 
 Dun. Dismay'd not this 
 
 Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo ? 
 
 &i/. Ves ; 
 
 As sparrows, eagles ; or the hare, the lion. 
 If I say sooth, I must report they were 
 As cannons overcharg'd with double cracks : 
 So they 
 
 Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe : 
 Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds, 
 Or memorize another Golgotha, 
 I eannot tell : 
 But I am faint, my gashes cry for help. 
 
 Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds; 
 
 They smack of honour both : — Go, get him surgeons. 
 
 [£ai£ Soldier, attended. 
 
 Enter Kosse. 
 Who comes herel 
 
 Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse. 
 
 Lea. What a haste looks through his eyes ! So should 
 That seems to speak things strange. [he look, 
 
 Roue. GoA save the king ! 
 
 Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ! 
 
 Basse. From Fife, great king, 
 
 Where the Norweyan banners flout the sky, 
 And fan our people cold. 
 Norway himself, with terrible numbers, 
 Assisted by tliat most disloyal traitor 
 The thane of Cawdor, 'gaii a dismal conflict ; 
 Till that liellona's bridegroom, lapp'd in proof. 
 Confronted him with self-comparisons. 
 Point ayainst point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm, 
 Curbing his lavish spirit: And, to conclude, 
 Xlie victory fell on us ; 
 
 Dun. Great happiness ! 
 
 Kosse. That now 
 Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ; 
 Nor would we deign kim burial of his men. 
 Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes' inch. 
 Ten thousand dollars to our general use. 
 
 Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive 
 Our bosom interest:— Go, pronounce his present death. 
 And with his former title greet Macbeth. 
 
 Rosse. I'll see it done. 
 
 Dun. What he hath lost, noble Macbeth hath won. 
 
 [ Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.-.^ Heath. Thunder. 
 Enter the three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Where hast thou been, sister t 
 
 2 yVitch. Killing swine. 
 
 3 Witch. Sister, where thou ? 
 
 1 ]\'itch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap, 
 And mounch'd and mounch'd and mounch'd : — Give 
 
 me, quoth I : 
 Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries. 
 Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'tlie Tiger • 
 But in a sieve I'll thither sail. 
 And, like a rat without a tail, 
 I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. 
 
 '2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind. 
 
 1 Witch. Thou art kind. 
 ■ 3 Witch. And I another. 
 
 1 Witch. I myself have all the other ; 
 And the very ports they blow, 
 
 All the quarters that they know 
 I'the shipman's card. 
 1 will drain him dry as hay : 
 Sleep shall, neither night nor day, 
 Hang upon his pent-house lid j 
 He shall live a man forbid : 
 Weary sev'n-nights, nine times nine, 
 Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine : 
 Though this bark cannot be lost. 
 Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd. 
 Look what 1 have. 
 
 2 Wilch. Shew me, shew me. 
 
 1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thum, 
 Wreck'd as homeward he did come. \^Drum within. 
 
 .5 Witch. A drum, a drum : 
 Macbeth doth come. 
 
 All. The weird sisters, hand in hand. 
 Posters of the see and land. 
 Thus do go about, about ; 
 Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine. 
 And tlirice again, to make up nine: 
 Peace! — the charm's wound up. 
 
 Enter BIacbeth and Bansi'o. 
 
 Much. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. 
 
 Ban. How faris't cali'd to Fores ! — What are these, 
 So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ; 
 That look not like the inhabitants o'the earth. 
 And yet are on'tl Live you ? or are you au^ht 
 That man may question '. You seem to undersUud rae. 
 By each at once her choppy finger laying 
 Upon her skinny lips : — You should "be women, 
 And yet your beards forbid me to interpret 
 That you are so. 
 
 Jtiaci. Speak, if you can; — What are you? [Glainis! 
 
 1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, llianeof 
 
 2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth! hail to thee, thane of 
 
 Cawdor ! [after. 
 
 switch. All hail, Macbeth! thatshaltbeking bere- 
 
 Ban. Good sir, wliy do you start ; and seem to fear 
 
 Things that do sound so fair ?— I'the name of trulli. 
 
316 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Are ye fantastical, ov that indeed 
 
 Wliich outwardly ye shew? My noble partner 
 
 You grcei with present grace, and great prediction 
 
 Ol noble having, and of royal hope. 
 
 That he seems wrapt witlial ; to me you speak not; 
 
 If vou can lool( into tlie seeds of time, 
 
 And say, whicii grain will grow, and wliicli will not; 
 
 i;]ieak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear, 
 
 Your favours, nor your hate. 
 
 1 Witch. Hail! 
 
 2 Witch. Hail I 
 
 3 Witch. Hail! 
 
 1 Witch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater. 
 
 2 Witch. IVot so happy, yet mucii happier. 
 
 3 Witcli, Thou shah getkings, tliough thou be none; 
 So all hail, j\l:icbeth and 15anquo I 
 
 1 Witch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail ! 
 
 Macb. .Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more; 
 By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis; 
 But how of Cawdor ? the thane of Cawdor lives, 
 A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be king, 
 Stands not within the prospect of belief. 
 No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence 
 Yon owe this strange intelligence f or why 
 Upon this blasted heath you stop our way 
 With such prophetic greeting 1 — Speak, I charge you. 
 
 [Witches canish. 
 
 Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has. 
 And these are of them; Whither are they vanish'd ? 
 Mud). Into the air : and what seem'd corporal, melted 
 As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had staid I 
 
 Ban. Were such things here, as we do speak about? 
 Or have we eaten of the insane root, 
 That takes the reason prisoner? 
 
 Macb. Your children shall be kings. 
 
 Bart. You shall be king. 
 
 Much. And thane of Cawdor too ; went it not so ! 
 
 Bull. To the self-same lune, and words. Who's here? 
 
 Enter Rosse and Angus. 
 
 Basse. The king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth, 
 The news of thy success ; and when he reads 
 Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight, 
 His wonders and his praises do contend. 
 Which should be thine, or his : Silenc'd with that, 
 In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day. 
 He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks. 
 Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make. 
 Strange images of death. As thick as hail. 
 Came post with post ; and every one did bear 
 Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence. 
 And pour'd them down before liim. 
 
 Atig. We are sent. 
 
 To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ; 
 To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee. 
 
 liosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour, 
 He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor : 
 In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ! 
 For it is thine. 
 
 Ban. What, can the devil speak true ? 
 
 Macb. ThethaneofCawdorlives; Why do you dress 
 In borrow'd robes ? [me 
 
 Ang- Who was the thane, lives yet ; 
 
 But under heavy judgment bears that life 
 Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was 
 Combin'd with Norway ; or did line the rebel 
 With hidden help and vantage ; or that with both 
 He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not ; 
 But treasons capital, confess'd, and prov'd, 
 Have overthrown him. 
 
 Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor ; 
 
 The greatest is behind. — 1 hanks for your pains. — 
 
 Do you not hope your children shall be kings. 
 When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me, 
 Promis'd no less to them ? 
 
 Bun. That, trusted home. 
 
 Might yet enkindle you unto the crown. 
 Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange : 
 And oftentimes to win \is to our harm. 
 The instcumcnts of darkness tell us truths ; 
 Win us wiih honest triHes, to betray us 
 In deepest consetjuences. — 
 Cousins, a word, I pray you. 
 
 Macb. Two truths are told. 
 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme. — 1 tliaak you, gentlemen. — 
 This supernatural soliciting 
 Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : — If ill. 
 Why hath it given me earnest of success. 
 Commencing in a truth ? I am thane fif Cawdor ; 
 If good, why do I yield to tlat suggestion 
 Whose horrid image doth unfix my iiair, 
 And make my seated heart knock at my ribs. 
 Against the use of nature ? Present fears 
 Are less than horrible imaginings : 
 My thought, whose murdt;r yet is but fantastical, 
 ■Shakes so ray single state of man, that function 
 Is smother'd in surmise ; and nothing is. 
 But what is not. 
 
 Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt. 
 
 illiic/i. If chance will have me king, why, chance may 
 Without my stir. [crown me. 
 
 Ban. New honours come upon him 
 
 Like our strange garments ; cleave not to their mould. 
 But with the aid of use. 
 
 Much. Come what come may ; 
 
 Time and the hour runs through the roughest day. 
 
 Ban. Worthy Macbeth, we slay upon your leisure. 
 
 Macb. Give me your favour: — my dull brain was 
 wrought 
 With thingi forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains 
 Are register'd where every day I turn 
 The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. — 
 Think upon what hatii chanc'd ; and, at more tinoe, 
 'I'he interim having weigh'd it, let us speak 
 Our free hearts each to other. 
 
 Ban. Very gladly. 
 
 Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends. \_Eieunt, 
 
 SCENE IV.— Fores. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Evter Duncan, MAT.cor.M, Donaluain, 
 Lenox, ajtd Attendants. 
 
 Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor? Are not 
 Those in <*5mmlssion yet returu'd? 
 
 Mai. My liege. 
 
 They are not yet come back. But I have spoke 
 With one that saw him die; who did report. 
 That very frankly he confess'd his treasons ; 
 Implor'd your highness' pardon ; and set forth 
 A deep repentance : nothing in his life 
 Became him, like the leaving it ; he died 
 As one that had been studied in his death, 
 To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd. 
 As 'twere a careless tride. 
 
 Dun. There 's no art. 
 
 To find the mind's construction in the fac-e : 
 He was a gentleman on whom I built 
 An absolute trust. — O worthiest cousin ! 
 
 Enter Machetu, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus. 
 The sin of my ingratitude, even now 
 Was heavy on me : Thou art so far before. 
 That swiftest wing of recompense is slow 
 [ To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd ; 
 
ACT I.— SCENE VI. 
 
 317 
 
 That the proportion both of thanks and payment 
 iNligiit have been mine ! only I have left to say, 
 More is thy due than more llian all can pay. 
 
 Much. The service and the loyally I owe, 
 In doing it, pays itself. Your highness" part 
 Is to receive our duties : and our duties 
 Are to your throne and state, children, and servants ; 
 "Which do but ^vhat they shouid. by doing every thin; 
 Safe tow'ard your love and honour. 
 
 Dun. Welcome hither: 
 
 I have begun to plant thee, and will labour 
 To make thee full of growing. — Noble Banqno, 
 That hast no less deserv'd. nor must be known 
 Ko less to have done so, let me infold thee. 
 And hold thee to my heart. 
 
 Ban. There if I grow, 
 
 The harvest is your own. 
 
 Dun, My plenteous joys, 
 
 AVanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves 
 In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsmen, thanes, 
 And you whose places are the nearest, know, 
 ^\'e will establish our estate upon 
 Our eldest. Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter 
 The prince of Cumberland : which honour must 
 Not, unaccompanied, invest him only. 
 But sisrns of nobleness, like stars shall shine 
 On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness, 
 And bind us further to you. 
 
 Macft. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you: 
 I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful 
 The hearing of my wife with your approach ; 
 So, humbly take my leave. 
 
 Dun. My worthy Cawdor ! 
 
 Marl). The prince of Cumberland ! — Tliat is a step. 
 On which I must fall down, or else o"er-leap, [AiUle., 
 For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires ! 
 Let not light see my black and deep desires : 
 The eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be. 
 Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [Krit, 
 
 Dun. True, worthy Banquo ; he is full so valiant ; 
 And, in his commendations 1 am fed ; 
 Et is a banquet to me. Let us after him. 
 Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome : 
 It is a peerless kinsman. \^Fiouynh. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Inverness. A Room in Maobeth's Castte. 
 Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter. 
 Lady M. Theii m^t me in the daij of snrcei^s ; and I 
 have learned bij the j'eyfectest report, thexf have more in 
 them tliun mortal knouledge. 11 hen I htirned inr desire 
 to question them further, theu made themselves — air, 
 into uhich thei/ vanished. Whiles I stood rapt in the 
 wonder of it. Clime missives from thekinir, uho all-hailed 
 me. Thane of Cawdor ; />!/ which title, before, these 
 weird Sisters sainted me, and referred me to the coming 
 on of time, tvith, Hail, king that shalt be! This have 
 I thought good to deliver thee, rni/ liearest partner of 
 greatness ; that thou niightest not lose the dues of re- 
 JQicing,'b^ being ignorant of what greatness is promised 
 thee. Lay it to thi) heart, and fareuell. 
 Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be 
 What thou art proinis'd : — ^'et do 1 fear thy nature; 
 It is too full o' the milk of human kindness. 
 To catch the nearest way. Thou would'st be great; 
 Art not withotU ambition ; but without [higlily, 
 The illness should attend it. Wh;it thou would'st 
 That wuuld'st thou hulily ; would'st not play false, 
 And yet would'st wrongly win: tbou'd>t have, great 
 
 Glamis, 
 That which cries. Thus thou must do, if thou have it ; 
 
 And that which rather thou dost fear to do, 
 
 Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither, 
 
 That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ; 
 
 And chastise with the valour of my tongue 
 
 All that impedes thee from the golden round, 
 
 Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem 
 
 To have thee crown'd withal. What is your tidings'* 
 
 Enter an Attendant, 
 Atten. The king comes here to-night. 
 Lady M. Thou'rt mad to say it: 
 
 Is not thy master with him? who, wer't so. 
 Would have inform'd for preparation. 
 
 Atten, So please you, it is true; our thane is corn- 
 One of my fellows had the speed of him ; [ing : 
 Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more 
 Than would make up his message- 
 
 Lady M. Give him tending;. 
 
 He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse, 
 
 [Kiit Attendant. 
 That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
 Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits 
 That lend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here ; 
 And fill me. from the crown to the toe. top-full 
 Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood, 
 Stop up the access and passage to remorse ; 
 That no compunctious visitings of nature 
 Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between 
 The effect, and it ! Come to my woman's breasts, 
 And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers, 
 Wherever in your sightless substances 
 You wait on nature's mischief! Come, thick night, 
 And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell ! 
 That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ; 
 Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark. 
 
 To cry, Hold, hold! Great Glamis 1 worthy 
 
 Cawdor ! 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter ! 
 Thy letters have transported me beyond 
 This ignorant present, and I feel now 
 The future in the iustant. 
 
 Much. My dearest love, 
 
 Duncan comes here to-night. 
 
 Lady 31. And when goes hence ? 
 
 Much. To-morrow, — as he purposes. 
 
 Lady M. O, never 
 
 .Shall sun that morrow see ! 
 Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men 
 May read strange matters ;— To beguile the time, 
 Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye, 
 Your iiand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, 
 But be the serpent under it. He that's coming 
 Must be provided for : and you shall put 
 This night's great business into my despatch ; 
 Which shall to ail our nights and days to como 
 Give solely sovereign s\\ay and niasterdom. 
 
 Macb. We will speak furtiier. 
 
 Lady M. Only look up clear ; 
 
 To alter favour ever is to fear : 
 Leave all the rest to me. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE Vh—The same. Before the Custle. 
 
 Hautboys. Servants o/" Macbeth attending. 
 
 Enter Duncan, "Mai-colm, Donalbain, Banqi'o, 
 Lenox, RLvcdvff, Rosse, Angus, and Attendants. 
 
 Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air 
 Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
 Unto our gentle senses. 
 
 Ban. This guest of summer, 
 
310 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 The teinple-Iiauntino; martlet, docs approve, 
 By his iov'd mansionry, tiiat tlie heaven's breath 
 Smells wooingly here : no jntty, frieze, buttress, 
 Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made 
 His pendent bed, and proereant cradle : Where they 
 Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, the air 
 Is delicate. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Dun. See, see 1 our honour'd hostess ! 
 
 The love that follows us, sometimes is our trouble, 
 Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you. 
 How you shall bid God yield us for your pains, 
 And thank us for your trouble. 
 
 Lady M. All our service 
 
 In every point twice done, and then done double, 
 Were poor and single business to contend 
 Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith 
 Your majesty loads our house : For those of old. 
 And the late dignities heap'd up to them, 
 We rest your hermits. 
 
 Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor? 
 
 We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose 
 To be his purveyor: but he rides well ; 
 And his great love, sharp as liis spur, hath holp him 
 To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess. 
 We are your guest to-night. 
 
 Ladu M. Your servant? ever 
 
 Have theirs, themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, 
 To make their audit at your highness' pleasure. 
 Still to return your own. 
 
 Dun. Give me your hand : 
 
 Conduct me to mine host ; we love him highly, 
 And shall continue our graces towards him. 
 By your leave, hostess. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE VII The same. A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Hiinthniis and torches. Enter, and -pass over the stage, 
 
 a Sewer, and divers Servants with dishes a7id service. 
 
 Then enter AlAcisE'rn. 
 
 Much. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere 
 It were done quickly : If the assassination [well 
 Could trammel up the consequence, and catcli. 
 With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
 Might be the be-all and the end-all here. 
 But here, upon this bank and slioal of time, — 
 We'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases. 
 We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 
 Bloody instructions, which being taught, return 
 To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 To our own lips. He 's here in double trust : 
 First, as I am his kinsman and his subject. 
 Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 
 AVlio should against his murderer shut the door. 
 Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 
 Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 
 So clear in his great office, that his virtues 
 W^ill plead like angels, trumpet' tongued, against 
 The deep damnation of his taking-otf : 
 And i>ity, like a naked new-born babe. 
 Striding tiie blast, or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
 Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 
 Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye. 
 That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur 
 To prick the sides of mv intent, but only 
 \'aulting ambition, u hich o'er-lcaps itself. 
 And falls on the other.--l[ow now. what news? 
 
 Enter Lady ]MACBr^TH. 
 Lady M. He has almost supp'd ,- Why have you left 
 Mac. Hath be ask'd for me 1 [the chamber ? 
 
 Lady M. Know jou not, he hast 
 
 Mach. We will proceed no further in this business; 
 He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of people. 
 Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, 
 Not cast aside so soon. 
 
 Lady ill. Was the hope drunk. 
 
 Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since 1 
 And wakes it now. to look so green and paJe 
 At what it did so freely 1 From this time. 
 Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard 
 To be the same in thine ow-n act and valour. 
 As thou art in desire ? Would'st thou have that 
 \\ hich thou esteem'st the ornament of life, 
 And live a coward in thine own esteem j 
 Letting I dare not wait upon I would. 
 Like the poor cat i' the adas^e ? 
 
 Mach. Pr'ythee, peace : 
 
 I dare do all that may become a man ; 
 Who dares do more, is none. 
 
 Ludy M. \Vhat beast was it then, 
 
 That made you break this enterprise to me ? 
 When you durst do it, then you were a man ; 
 And, to be more than what you were, you would 
 Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place. 
 Did then adhere, and yet you would make both : 
 1 hey have made themselves, and that their fitness now 
 Does unmake you. I have given suck ; and know 
 How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me : 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face. 
 Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums. 
 And dash'd the brains out, had 1 so sv/orn, as you 
 Have done to this. 
 
 Mach. If we should fail, 
 
 Lady M. We fail ! 
 
 But screw your courage to the sticking place. 
 And we '11 not fail. When Duncan is asleep, 
 (^\'hereto the rather shall his day's hard journey 
 Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains 
 Will I with wine and wassel so convince. 
 That memory, the warder of the brain. 
 Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
 A limbeck only: When in swinish sleep 
 Their drenched natures lie, as in a death, 
 ^^'hat cannot you and I perform upon 
 The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon 
 His spongy officers ; who shall bear- the guilt 
 Of our great quell ? 
 
 Much. Bring forth men-children only ! 
 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 Nothing but males. Will it not be receiv'd. 
 When we have mark'd with blood those sleepy two 
 Of his *wn chamber, and us'd their very daggers, 
 That they have done 't I 
 
 Lady M. Who dares receive it other, 
 
 As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar 
 Upon his death ? 
 
 Mach. I am settled, and bend up 
 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. 
 Away, and mock the time with fairest show : 
 False face must hide what the false heart doth knmv. 
 
 [_Exennt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — The same. Court within the Castle. 
 
 Enter Banquo and Fi.fanci:, and a Ser%'ant with a 
 torch before them. 
 
 Ban. How goes the night, boy ? 
 
 Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the clock. 
 
iwt°»'"'fnai''"P'|''*''"'' MPW f"»"*^''^ "'•'''"'" """•• i" Ti ;'"WiMifi ■"f t'ii'nrA i.iiWfi'"""°"""""f;f 
 
 ■•■^g'°-"*?"y"^^-i-ffM(' 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 .319 
 
 Ban> And she goes down at twelve. 
 Fte. 1 take't, 'tis later, sir. [lieavun, 
 
 Bun. Hold, take my sword. — There's husbandry in 
 Their candles are all out. — Take tliee that too. 
 A heavy summons lies like lead upon me, 
 And yet I would not sleep : Jlerciful powers ! 
 Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature 
 Gives way to in repose ! — Give me my sword ; — 
 
 Ester Macbeth, ami a Servant with a MrcA. 
 
 Who 's there ? 
 
 Much. A friend. 
 
 Bun. What, sir, not yet at rest1 The king's a-bed : 
 He hath been in unusual pleasure, and 
 8ent forth great largess to your olhces ; 
 This diamond he greets your wife withal. 
 By the name of most kind hostess ; and shut up 
 In measureless content. 
 
 Much. Being unprepar'd. 
 
 Our will became the servant to defect ; 
 Which else should free have wrought. 
 
 Ban. All 's well. 
 
 X dreamt last night of the three w'eird sisters ; 
 To you they have shew'd some truth. 
 
 Macb. I think not of them : 
 
 Yet, when we can entreat an hour to serve, 
 AVould spend it in some words upon that business, 
 If you would grant the time. 
 
 Bun. At your kind'st leisure. 
 
 yiucb. If you shall cleave to my consent, — when 'tis. 
 It shall make honour for you. 
 
 Ban. So I lose none, 
 
 In seeking to augment it, but still keep 
 My bosom frauchis'd, and allegiance clear, 
 I shall be counsel'd. 
 
 Macb. Good repose, the while '. 
 
 Ban. Thanks, sir ; The like to you ! [Exit Ban. 
 
 Mach. Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is ready, 
 She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed. [ExifServ. 
 Is this a dagger, which I see before me. 
 The handle toward my hand ] Come, let me clutch 
 
 I have thee not, and yet 1 see thee still, [thee: 
 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 
 To feeling, as to sight 1 or art thou hut 
 
 A dagger of the mind ; a false creation. 
 
 Proceeding from the heat- oppressed brain t 
 
 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 
 As this which now X draw. 
 
 Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going ; 
 
 And such an instrument 1 was to use. 
 
 Mine eyes are made the fools o'the other senses. 
 
 Or else worth all the '"est : I see thee still ; 
 
 And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood, 
 
 Which was not so before. — There's no such thing : 
 
 It is the bloody business, which informs 
 
 Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world 
 
 Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 
 The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 
 
 Pale Hecate's oHerings ; and vvither'd murder, 
 
 Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf. 
 
 Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
 
 With 'I'arquin's ravishing strides, toward his design 
 
 Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm set earth. 
 
 Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
 Thy very stones prate of my where-ahout. 
 And take the present horror from the time. 
 Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he lives; 
 Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. 
 
 [.,4 bell rings, 
 1 go, and it is done ; the hell invites me. 
 Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
 That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE 11.— We same. 
 Enter Ludu IMacueth. 
 
 LaJy M. That which hath made them drunk, hath 
 made rae bold : [Hark ! — Peace ! 
 
 What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire . — 
 It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, 
 Which gives the stern'st good night. He is about it: 
 The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
 Do mock their charge with snores : I have dnigg'd 
 
 their possets. 
 That death and nature do contend about them. 
 Whether they live, or die. 
 
 Macb. [Wnliiii.] Who's there? — what, ho ! 
 
 Ladu M. Alack ! I am afraid they have awak'd, 
 And 'tis not done : — the attempt, and not the deed. 
 Confounds us; — Hark I — 1 laid their daggers ready. 
 He could not ir.iss them. — Had he not resembled 
 ily father as he slept I had done't. — flly husband? 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. I have done the deed : — Didst thou not hear 
 a noise t 
 
 Lad If M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets 
 Did not you speak ! [cry. 
 
 Macb. Wlien ? 
 
 Lad;) M. Now. 
 
 Macb. As I descended ? 
 
 Ladii M. Ay. 
 
 Macb. Hark! — 
 Who lies i' the second chamber'' 
 
 Ladfi M. Donalbain. 
 
 Macb. T'his is a sorry sight. [Laitkinj^ an bis hands. 
 
 Ladii M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 
 
 Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one 
 cried, murder ! [them: 
 
 That they did wake each other ; I stood and heard 
 But they did say their prayers, and address'd them 
 ••igain to sleep. 
 
 Lady M. There are two lodg'd together. 
 
 Macb. One cried, God bless us! and, yl"JP/i, the other ; 
 As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands, 
 Listening their fear, I could not say, amen. 
 When they did say, God bless us. 
 
 Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 
 
 Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, amen ! 
 I had most need of blessing, and amen 
 Stuck in my throat. 
 
 Lady M, These deeds must not be thought 
 
 After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 
 
 Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry. Sleep no 
 Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ; [^inore! 
 Sleep, that knits up the ravelVd sleave of care. 
 The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course^ 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast. 
 
 Lady M. What do you mean 1 
 
 Macb. Still it cried. Sleep no more ! to all the house ; 
 Glamis hath murder'd sleep: and therefore Caudor 
 Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more! 
 
 Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ! Why, wor- 
 thy thane, 
 You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
 So brainsickly of things ; — Go, get some water. 
 And wash this filthy witness from your hand. — 
 Why did you bring these daggers from the place 1 
 They must lie there : Go, carry them ; and smear 
 The sleepy grooms with blood. 
 
 Macb. I 'U go no more ■ 
 
 I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
 Look on 't again, I dare not. 
 
 Lady M. Infirm of purpose! 
 
320 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Give inc the daggers : The sleeping, and the dead, 
 Are but as pictures: 'tis tiie eye of childhood, 
 That ferjs a ])ainted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
 For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. K nnckhig within. 
 Much. Whence is that knocking 1 
 
 How is 't with me, when every noise appals me 1 
 What hands are here ? Ha! they pluck out mine eyes! 
 Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this bhiod 
 Clean from my hand? No ; this my hand will rather 
 The multitudinous seas incarnardine, 
 IVlaking tiie green — one red. 
 
 Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 LikIii M. My hands are of your colour ; but I shame 
 To wear a heart so white, [hnock.] I hear a knocking 
 At the south entry : — retire we to our chamber. 
 A little water clears us of this deed ; 
 How easy is it then ? Your constancy [knocking: 
 Hath left you unattended. — [Knoching.] Hark! more 
 Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us. 
 And shew us to be watchers : — Be not lost 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 
 Macb. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know 
 
 myself. [Knock. 
 
 Wake Duncan with thy knocking; Ay, 'would thou 
 
 could'st! [Eieuitt. 
 
 SCENE 111.— The same. 
 
 Enter a Porter. [Krit'chitig u-ithin. 
 
 Porter. Here's a knocking, indeed! If a man were 
 porter of hejl-gate, he should have old turning the 
 key-lKnockihg.] Knock, knock, knock : Who's there, 
 i' the name of Belzebub I Here's a faimer, that 
 hanged himself on the expectation of plenty : Come 
 in time ; have napkins enough about you ; here you'll 
 sweatfor't. [/un'c/cin^.j Knock, knock: Who'sthere, 
 i' the other devil's name? 'Faith, here's an equivo- 
 cator, that could swear in both the scales against 
 either scale ; who committed treason enougii for God's 
 sake, yet could not equivocate to heaven ; 0, come 
 in equivocator. [Knocking] Knock,, knock, knock: 
 Who's there I "faith, here's an English tailor come 
 hither, for stealing out of a French hose : Come in, 
 tailor ; here you may roast your goose. [Knocking.] 
 Knock, knock: Never at quiet! What are you? — 
 But this place is too cold for hell. I'll devil porter 
 it no further: I had thought to have let in some of 
 all professions, that go the primrose way to the ever- 
 lasting bonfire. [Ainic/iin^.] Anon, anon ; I pray you, 
 remember the porter. [Opens the gate. 
 
 Enter Macouff and Lenox. 
 
 Mucd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed. 
 That you do lie so lato ? 
 
 Port. 'Faith, sir, we were carousing till the second 
 cock : and drink, sir, is a great provoker of three tilings. 
 
 ilacd. What three things does drink especially 
 provoke ? 
 
 Port. Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. 
 Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes : it pro- 
 vokes the desire, but it takes away the performance : 
 Therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivo- 
 cator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him ; 
 it sets hirn on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, 
 and disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not 
 stand \u : in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, 
 and, giving him the lie, leaves him. 
 
 Macd. 1 believe, drink gave thee the lie last night. 
 
 Port. That it did, sir, i'llie very throat o'me : Hut 
 1 requited him for his lie ; and, 1 think, being too 
 
 strong for him. though lie took up my legs sometime, 
 yet 1 made a shift to cast him. 
 
 Macd. Is thy master stirring ! — 
 Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he comes. 
 
 Etiter Macbeth. 
 
 Len. Good-morrow, noble sir ! 
 
 Macb, Good-morrow, both ! 
 
 Macd. Is the king stirring, ^vortliy thane ! 
 
 Macb. jvot yeu 
 
 Macd. He did command me to call timely on him : 
 I have almost slipp'd the hour. 
 
 Much. I '11 bring you to him. 
 
 Macd. I know, this is a joyful trouble to you ; 
 But yet, 'tis one. 
 
 Much. The labour we delight in, physics pain. 
 This is the door. 
 
 Macd. I'll make so bold to call, 
 
 For 'tis my limited service. [Eiit Macduff, 
 
 Len. Goes the king 
 
 From hence to-day t 
 
 Macb. He does :— he did appoint so. 
 
 Len. The night has been unruly : Where we lay. 
 Our chimneys were blown down : and, as they say, 
 Lamentings heard i'the air ; strange screams of death ; 
 And prophesying, with accents terrible. 
 Of dire combustion, and confus'd events. 
 New hatch'd to the woeful lime. The obscure bird 
 Clamour'd the livelong night ; some say, the earth 
 Was feverous, and did shake. 
 
 Macb. 'Twas a rough night. 
 
 L«i. My young remembrance cannot parallel 
 A fellow to it. 
 
 Re-enter Macduff. 
 
 JUucJ. O honor ! honor! horror! Tongue, nor heart. 
 Cannot conceive, nor name thee ! 
 
 Macb. Len. ^ What 's the matter? 
 
 Macd. Confusion now hath made his master-piece ! 
 Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope 
 The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence 
 The life o' the building. 
 
 Macb. ^ What is 't you say? the lite? 
 
 Len. Mean you his majesty ? [si'dil 
 
 Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your 
 With a new Gorgon : — Do not bid me speak ; 
 
 See, and then sj>eak yourselves. — Awake ! awake ! 
 
 [Excnut Macijeth and Leno,^. 
 Ring the alarum-bell : — Murder ! and treason I 
 Banquo, and Donalbain ! iUalcolm ! avi'ake ! 
 Shake off this downy ileep, death's counterfeit 
 And look on death itself! — up, up, and see 
 
 The great doom's image Malcolm ! Banquo ! 
 
 As fiom your graves rise up, and walk like sprights. 
 To countenance this horror ! [lietl rings. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth. 
 
 Lady M. What's the business. 
 That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley 
 The sleepers of the house I speak, speak, 
 
 Macd. 0, gentle lady, 
 
 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak : 
 'The repetition, in a woman's ear. 
 Would murder as it fell. O Banquo ! Banquo ! 
 
 Enter Banquo. 
 
 Our royal master's murder'd ! 
 
 Lady M. Woe, alas ! 
 
 What, in our house ? 
 
 Ban. Too rnicl, any xdiere. 
 
 Dear Uuff, I pr'j-thee, contradict thyself. 
 And say, it is not so. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 321 
 
 Re-e»fer Macbeth and Lenox. 
 Mach. Had I but died an hour before this chance, 
 1 had liv'd a blessed lime ; for, from this instaut, 
 There's nothing serious in mortality : 
 All is but toys : renown, and ^race, is dead ; 
 The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
 Cs left this vault to brag of. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and Donalbain. 
 
 Don. What is amiss > 
 
 Mach. You are, and do not know it : 
 
 The spiing, the head, the fountain of your blood 
 Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stoppVi. 
 
 Macd, Vour royal father 's murder'd. 
 
 Mai. O, by whom ? 
 
 Ze«.Thoseof hischamber, asit seem'd.had done't : 
 Their hands and faces were alt badg'd with blood, 
 So were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found 
 Upon their pillows : 
 
 They star'd. and were distracted ; no man's life 
 Was to be trusted with them. 
 
 Macb. O, vet I do repent me of my fury, 
 That I did ki'll them. 
 
 Macd. Wherefore did you so? [furious, 
 
 Macb. Who can be v/ise, amaz'd, temperate, and 
 Loyal and neutral, in a moment? >.'o man : 
 The expedition of my violent love 
 Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan, 
 His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood; 
 And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature 
 For ruin's wasteful entrance : there, the murderers, 
 Steep'd in t'ne colours of their trade, their daggers 
 Unmannerly breech'd with gore: Who could refrain, 
 That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
 Coura'^^e to make his love known? 
 
 Lady M. Help me hence, ho! 
 
 Macd. Look to the lady. 
 
 Mai. Why do we hold our tongues. 
 
 That most may claim this argument for ours? 
 
 Don. What should be spoken here, 
 Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole. 
 May rush, and seize us? Let's away ; our tears 
 Are not yet brew'd. 
 
 Mai. Nor our strong sorrow on 
 
 The foot of motion. 
 
 Ban. Look to the lady : — [Lady Mac. is carried out. 
 And when we have our naked frailties hid. 
 That suffer in exposure, let us meet, 
 And question this most bloody piece of work. 
 To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us : 
 In the great hand of God I stand ; and. thence. 
 Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight 
 Of treasonous malice. 
 
 Macb. And so do I. 
 
 AIL So all. 
 
 Mach. Let's briefly put on manly readiness, 
 And meet i' the hall together. 
 
 All. Well contented. [Eieunt all but Mal. 5fDoN. 
 
 Mai. What will you do? Let's not consort with 
 To shew an unfelt sorrow, is an office [them : 
 
 Which the false man does easy : I'll to England. 
 
 Don. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune 
 Shall keep us both the safer : where we are, 
 There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood, 
 The nearer bloody. 
 
 Mai. This murderous shaft that's shot, 
 
 Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way 
 Is. to avoid the aim. Therefore to horse ; 
 And let us not be dainty of leave-taking, 
 But shift away : There's warrant in that theft 
 Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left. 
 
 [ Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV.— Tn^/uiiK the Castk. 
 Enter Rosse and an old Man. 
 
 Old M, Threescore and ten I can remember well : 
 Within the volume of which time, I have seen 
 Hours dreadful, and things strange; but this sore 
 Hath trifled former knowings. [night 
 
 Rosi^e. Ah, good father, 
 
 Thou see'st the heavens, as troubled with man's act, 
 Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock, 'tis day. 
 And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp : 
 Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame, 
 That darkness does the face of earth intomb, 
 When living light should kiss it 1 
 
 Old M. 'Tis unnatural, 
 
 Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last, 
 A falcon, tow'ring in her pride of place, 
 Was by a mousing owl havvk'd at. and kill'd. 
 
 Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most strangt 
 and certain,) 
 Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race, 
 Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out, 
 Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make 
 War with mankind. 
 
 Old M. 'Tis said, they eat each other. 
 
 Rosse. They did so ; to the amazement of mine eyes. 
 That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Mac- 
 duff; 
 
 Enter Macduff. 
 How goes the world, sir, now t 
 
 Macd. Why. see you not 1 
 
 Rosse. Is't known, who did this more than bloody 
 
 Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain? [deed? 
 
 Rosse. Alas, the day 
 
 What good could they pretend ? 
 
 Macd. They were suborn'd 
 
 Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons, 
 Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them 
 Suspicion of the deed. 
 
 Rnsse. 'Gainst nature still : 
 
 Thriftless ambition, that wi!t ravin up 
 Thine own life's means ! — Thea 'tis most like, 
 The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth. 
 
 Macd. He is already nam'd ; and gone to Scone, 
 To be invested. 
 
 Rosse. Where is Duncan's body ? 
 
 Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill ; 
 The sacred storehouse of his predecessors, 
 And guardian of their bones, 
 
 Rosse. Will you to Scone? 
 
 Macd. No, cousin. I'll to Fife. 
 
 Rosse. Well, I will thither. [ — adieu ! 
 
 Macd, Well, may you see things well done there : 
 Lest our old robes sit easier than our new ! 
 
 Rosse. Father, farewell. 
 
 Old M. God's benison go with you ; and with those 
 That would make good of bad, and fiiends of foes! 
 
 [E.iennt, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I — Fores. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Banquo. 
 Ban. Thou hastit, now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all. 
 As the weird women promis'd ; and, I fear. 
 Thou play'dst most foully for't : yet it was said. 
 It should not stand in thy posterity ; 
 But that myself should be the root and father 
 Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
 (As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,) 
 Why, by the verities on thee made good, 
 X 
 
322 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 May they not be my oracles as well. 
 
 And set me up in hope? But, hush ; no more. 
 
 Senet sounded, F.nter Macbeth, as King : Ladv 
 Macbeth, as Qupen ; Lenox, Rosse, Lords, La- 
 dies, and Attendants. 
 
 Much. Here's our chief guest. 
 
 Lady M. If he had been forgotten, 
 
 It had been as a gap in our great feast, 
 And all-things unbecoming. 
 
 Macb, To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir, 
 And I'll request your presence. 
 
 Ban. Let your highness 
 
 Command upon me ; to the wliich, my duties 
 Are with a most indissoluble tie 
 For ever knit. 
 
 Mach. Ride you this afternoon'* 
 
 Ban, Ay, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. We should have elsedesir'd your good advice 
 (Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,) 
 In this day's council ; but we'll take to-morrow. 
 Is't far you ride 1 
 
 Bofji. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time, 
 'Twixt this and supper: go not my horse the better, 
 I must become a borrower of the night. 
 For a dark hour, or twain. 
 
 Macb. Fail not our feast. 
 
 Ban. i\Iy lord, I will not. 
 
 Mach, We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd 
 In England, and in Ireland ; not confessing 
 Their cruel parricide, tilling their hearers 
 With strange invention : But of that to-morrow; 
 When, therewithal, we shall have cause of state, 
 Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : Adieu, 
 Till you return at night Goes Fleance with you ? 
 
 Ban. Ay,ray good lord : ourlimedoescallupon us. 
 
 Maclf. I wish your horses swift, and sure of foot ; 
 And so I do commend you to their backs. 
 
 Farewell. \_Eiit Banquo. 
 
 Let every man be master of his time 
 Till seven at night ; to make society 
 The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself 
 Till supper time alone : while then, God be with you. 
 l^Exeunt h'uiy i\Iacbf/ih, Lords, Ladies, ti^f. 
 Sirrah, a word : Attend those men our pleasure? 
 Attend. They are, my lord, wiiUout the palace gate. 
 Mach. Bring tliem before us. — [Exit Atlen.] 
 To be thus, is nothing ; 
 But to be safely thus; — Our fears in Banquo 
 Stick deep ; and in his royally of nature [dares; 
 Reigns that, wlilch would be fear'd : 'Tis much he 
 And, to tliat dauntless temper of his mind, 
 He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour 
 To act in safety. There is none, but he 
 Whose being I do fear : and, under him, 
 My genius is rebuk'd; as, it is said, 
 Mark Antony's was by Cicsar. He chid the sisters, 
 When first tliey put the name of king upon me. 
 And bade them speak to him ; then, prophet-like, 
 They hail'd him father to a line of kings : 
 Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown, 
 And put a barren sceptre in my gripe, 
 Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand, 
 No son of mme succeeding. If it be so. 
 For Banquo's issue have 1 fil'd my mind ; 
 For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd; 
 Put rancours in the vessel of my peace 
 Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel 
 Given to Jie common enemy of man, 
 To mako them kinjjs ; the seed of Banquo kings ! 
 Rather tiian so, come, fate, into the list. 
 And champion me to the utterance ! — Who's there 1 — 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, uith two fllurdercrs. 
 
 Now to the door, and stay there till we call. 
 
 [Eiit Attendant. 
 Was it not yesterday we spoke together? 
 
 1 Mar. It was,«so please your highness. 
 
 Macb* Well then, now 
 
 Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know, 
 That it was he, in the times past, which held you 
 So under fortune ; which, you thought, had been 
 Our innocent self: this I made good to you 
 In our last conference ; pass'd in probation with you. 
 How you were borne in hand; how cross'd; the in- 
 struments; [might, 
 Who wrought with them; and all things else, that 
 To half a soul, and a notion craz'd, 
 Say, Thus did Banquo. 
 
 1 Mm: You made it known to us. 
 
 Much. I did so ; and went further, which is now 
 Our point of second meeting. Do you find 
 Your patience so predominant in your nature, 
 That you can let this go ? Are you so gospell'd. 
 To pray for this good man, and for his issue. 
 Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave, 
 And beggar'd yours for ever ? 
 
 1 Mur. We are men, my Itcge* 
 Mach. Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men ; 
 
 As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs 
 Shoughs, water-rugs, and demi-wolves, are cleped 
 All by the name of dogs : the valued file 
 Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle. 
 The house-keeper, the hunter, every one 
 According to the gift which bounteous nature 
 Hath in him clos'd ; whereby he does receive 
 Particular addition, from the bill 
 That writes them all alike : and so of men. 
 Now, if you have a station in the file. 
 And not in the worst rank of manhood, say it j 
 And I will put that business in your bosoms, 
 Whose execution takes your enemy ofl"; 
 Grapples you to the heart and love of us. 
 Who wear our health but sickly in his life, 
 Which in his death were perfect. 
 
 y Mur, I am one, my liege, 
 
 Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
 Have so incens'd, that I am reckless what 
 I do, to spite the world. 
 
 ■1 Mur. And I another, 
 
 So weary with disasters, tugg'd witli fortune, 
 That I would set my life on any chance, 
 To mend it, or be rid on't. 
 
 Mach. . Both of you 
 
 Know, Banquo was your enemy. 
 
 2 Mnr. True, my lord. 
 Mach. So is he mine ; and in such bloody distance. 
 
 That every minute of his being thrusts 
 Against my near'st of life : And though I could 
 With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight, 
 And bid my will avouch it ; yet I must not. 
 For certain friends that are both his and mine, 
 Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall 
 Whom I myself struck down : and thence it is. 
 That I to your assistance do make love ; 
 -Masking the business from the common eye. 
 For sundry weighty reasons. 
 
 2 Mur. We shall, my lord. 
 
 Perform what you command us. 
 
 1 Mur. Though our lives [hour, at most, 
 
 Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within this 
 I will advise you where to plant yourselves. 
 Acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time. 
 The moment on't; for't must be done to-night, 
 
ACT in.— SCENE IV. 
 
 323 
 
 And something; from the palace ; always thought, 
 That 1 require a clearness : And with him, 
 (To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,) 
 Fleance his son, that keeps him company, 
 Whose absence is no less material to me 
 Than is his father's, must embrace the fate 
 Of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart ; 
 I'll come to you anon. 
 
 g Aiur. We are resolv'd. my lord, 
 
 Macb. I'll call upon you straight ; abide within. 
 
 It is concluded : Banquo, thy soul's flight. 
 
 If it find heaven, must find it out to-night l^Kieunt* 
 
 SCENE II — The same. Another Boom. 
 Enter Ladij Maciieth and a Servant. 
 
 Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ? 
 
 Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night. 
 
 Lad}] M. Say ta the king, 1 would attend his leisure 
 For a few words. 
 
 5p?t. IMadam, I will. [Ej)>. 
 
 J^dy M. Nought's had, all's spent. 
 
 Where our desire is got without content : 
 *Tis safer to be that which we destroy. 
 Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy. 
 
 Enter Macbeth. 
 
 How now, mv lord 7 why do you keep alone. 
 Of sorriest fancies your companions making? 
 TTsing those thoughts, which should Indeed have died 
 With them they think on f Things without remedy, 
 Should be without regard : what's done, is done. 
 
 Much. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it ; 
 She'll close, and be herself; whilst our poor malice 
 Remains in danger of her former tooth. 
 But let 
 
 The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds sufTer, 
 Ere we will eat our meal in fear, and sleep 
 In the affliction of these terrible dreams. 
 That shake us nightly : better be with the dead, 
 Whom we, to gain our place, have sent to peace. 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
 In restless ecstacy. Duncan is in his grave ; 
 After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well ; 
 Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison. 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing, 
 Can touch him further ! 
 
 Lady M. Come on ; 
 Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ; 
 Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night. 
 
 Macb. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be you : 
 Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ; 
 Present him eminence, both with eye and tongue ; 
 Unsafe the while, that we 
 
 Must lave our honours in these flattering streams ; 
 And make our faces vizards to our hearts. 
 Disguising what they are. 
 
 Lady M. You must leave this. 
 
 Mach, O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife ! 
 Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives. 
 
 Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. 
 
 Macb. There's comfort yet ; they are assailable ; 
 Then be thou jocund : Ere the bat liath flown 
 His cloister'd flight ; ere, to black Hecate's summons. 
 The shard-borne beetle, with his drowsy hums, 
 Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done 
 A deed of dreadful note. 
 
 Lady M. What's to be done 1 
 
 Macb. Be innocentof the knowledge, dearestchuck. 
 Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling night, 
 Skarf up the fender eye of pitiful day ; 
 And, with thy bloody and invisible hand, 
 
 Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond 
 Which keeps me pale ! — Light thickens ; and the crow 
 Makes wing to the rooky wood ; 
 Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ; 
 Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse. 
 Thou marvell'st at my words : but hold thee still ; 
 Things bad begun, make strong themselves by ill : 
 So, pr'ythee, go with me. [£ieunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— TAe same. A Park or Lawn, with 
 
 a Gate leading to the Palace. 
 
 Enter three Jlurderers. 
 
 1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us t , 
 
 3 Mnr. Macbeth. 
 
 ■i Mm: He needs not our misti'ust; since he delivers 
 Our oflices, and what we have to do. 
 To the direction just. 
 
 1 Mur. Then stand with us. 
 
 The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day : 
 Now spurs the lated traveller apace. 
 To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches 
 The subject of our watch. 
 
 3 Mur. Hark ! I hear horses. 
 
 Ban. [IFilftin.] Give us a light there, ho ! 
 
 'J Mur. Then it is he ; the rest 
 
 That are within the note of expectation. 
 Already are i'the court. 
 
 1 Mur. His horses go about. 
 3 Mur. Almost a mile ; but he does usually, 
 
 So all men do, from hence to the palace gate 
 Make it their walk. 
 
 Enter Banquo and Fleanot, a Servant with a torch 
 preceding them. 
 
 2 Mur. A light, a light ! 
 
 3 Mur. 'Tis he. 
 1 Mill-. Stand fo't. 
 
 Ban. It will be rain to-night. 
 1 Mur. Let it come down. [.issauks Banquo. 
 Ban. O, treachery ! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly ; 
 Thou may'st revenge. — O slave ! 
 
 [Dfes. Fleance and Servant escape. 
 3 Mur. Who did strike out the light ? 
 
 1 Mur, Was't not the way? 
 3 Mur. There's but one down ; the son is fled. 
 
 2 Mur. We have lost best half of our afi"air. 
 
 1 Mur, Well, let's away, and say how much is 
 • done. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV — A Room of State in the Palace, 
 
 A Banquet prepared. 
 Enter Macbeth, Ladii Macbeth, Rosse, Lenox, 
 
 Lords, and Attendants. 
 Macb. You knowyourown degrees, sitdown: atfirst 
 And last, the hearty welcome. 
 
 Lords, Thanks to your majesty. 
 
 Macb. Ourself will mingle with society. 
 And play the humble host. 
 Our hostess keeps her state ; but, in best time. 
 We will require her welcome. 
 
 Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all my friends ; 
 For my heart speaks they arc welcome. 
 
 Enter first Murderer, to the door. 
 Macb. See, they. encounter thee with their hearts 
 
 thanks ; 
 
 Both sides are even : Here I'll sit i'the midst : 
 Be large in mirth ; anon, we'll drink a measure 
 The table round. — There's blood upon thy face. 
 Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then. 
 Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within. 
 Is hedespateh'd? 
 
 X » 
 
324 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that 1 did for him. 
 Mach. Thou art tiie besto'thecut tiiroats: Vethe's 
 That did the like for Fleance; if thou didst it, [good, 
 Thou art the nonpareil. 
 
 Mur. Most royal sir, 
 
 Fleance is 'scap'd. [perfect ; 
 
 Much, Tlien comes my fit again : I Iiad else been 
 AVhole as the marble, founded as the rock ; 
 As broad, and general, as the casing air : 
 But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in 
 To saucy doubts and fears. I'ut Banquo's safe * 
 
 Mvr. Ay, my good lord : safe in a ditch he bides, 
 AVith twenty trenched gashes on his iiead j 
 The least a death to nature. 
 
 Macb. Thanks for that : 
 
 There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that's 6ed, 
 Hath nature tliat in time will venom breed, 
 Is'o teeth for the present. — Get thee gone : to-morrow 
 We '11 hear, ourselves again. [Etit Murderer. 
 
 Ladii M. My royal lord, 
 
 Vou do not give the cheer ; tlie feast is sold. 
 That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making, 
 'Tis given with welcome : To feed, were best at home ; 
 From thence, the sauce to meat is ceremony, 
 Meeting were bare vfithout it. 
 
 Macb. Sweet remembrancer ! — 
 
 Now, good digestion wait on appetite. 
 And health on both ! 
 
 Lett, ^lay it please your highness sit? 
 
 [T/if Ghost of Banqi'O rises, and sits in 
 i\i.\rHF.TH's place. 
 
 Mach. Here had we now our country's honour roof 'd, 
 Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present ; 
 Who may I rather challenge for unkindness 
 Than pity for mischance ! 
 
 Hesse. His absence, sir. 
 
 Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your highness 
 To grace us with your royal company ? 
 
 Much. The table 's full. 
 
 Len. Here 's a place reserv'd, sir. 
 
 Mitcb. Where? 
 
 Len. Here, my lord. Whatis'tthat moves yourhigh- 
 
 Mucb. Which of you have done this? [ness'! 
 
 Lords. What, my good lord? 
 
 Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it : never shake 
 Thy gory locks at me. 
 
 Rosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not weU. 
 
 Ladij M. Sit, worthy friends : — my lord is often thus, 
 And hath been from his youth : 'pray you, keep seat; 
 The fit is momentary ; upon a thought 
 He will again be well ; If much you note him, 
 You shall offend him, and extend his passion ; 
 Feed, and regard him not. — -Are you a man? 
 
 Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that 
 Which might appal the devil. 
 
 Lad II M. proper stuflT! 
 
 This is the very painting of your fear : 
 This is the air-drawn dagger, which, you said. 
 Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws, and starts, 
 (Impostors to true fear) would well become 
 A woman's story, at a winter's fire, 
 . Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself! 
 AVhy do you moke such faces? When all's done, 
 You look but on a stool. [say you? 
 
 Macb. Pr'ythee, see there! behold! look! lo! how 
 Why. what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too. — 
 If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send 
 Those that we bury, back, our monuments 
 Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost distippears. 
 
 I,adiiM. What! quite unmann'd in folly? 
 
 Macb. If 1 stand here, I saw him. 
 
 Lady M. Fye, for shame ! 
 
 Macb. Blood halh been shed ere now, i' the olden 
 Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ; [time, 
 Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd 
 Too terrible for the ear : the times have been, 
 That, when the brains were out, the man would die. 
 And there an end ; but now, they rise again. 
 With twenty mortal murders on their crowns. 
 And push us from our stools ; This is more strange 
 Than such a murder is. 
 
 Ladu M. My worthy lord. 
 
 Your noble friends do lack you. 
 
 Macb. I d(i forget : — 
 
 Do not muse at me, my most worthy friends ; 
 I have a strange infirmity, wiiich is nothing 
 To those that know me. Come, love and health to all j 
 Then I'll sit down : — Give me some wine, fill full : — 
 I drink to the general joy of the whole table. 
 
 Ghost risos,' 
 And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss ; 
 Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst, 
 And all to all. 
 
 Lords. Our duties, and the pledge. 
 
 Macb. Avaunt! and quitmy sight! Let the earth hide 
 Thy bones are marrowiess, thy blood is cold ; [thee ! 
 Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
 Which thou dost glare with ! 
 
 Ladi) M, Think of this, good peers. 
 
 But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other j 
 Only it spoils the pleasure of the time. 
 
 Macb. What man dare, I dare ; 
 Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
 The arm'd rhinocer<js, or the Hyrcan tiger. 
 Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves 
 Shall never tremble : Or, be alive again. 
 And dare me to the desert with thy sword ; 
 If trembling I inhibit thee, protest me 
 The baby of a gii 1. Hence, horrible shadow I 
 
 [Ghost disappears. 
 Unreal mockery, hence ! — -Why, so ; — being gOne, 
 I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still. 
 
 Lad II M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the 
 W^ith most admir'd disorder. [good meeting, 
 
 Macb. Can such things be. 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud. 
 Without our special wonder? You make me strange 
 Even to the disposition that I owe, 
 When now I think you can behold such sights. 
 And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks. 
 When mine are blanch'd witli fear. 
 
 Rosse. W hat sights, my lord ? 
 
 Ladii M. I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and 
 Question enrages him : atonce, good night: — [worse ; 
 Stand not upon the order of your going. 
 But go at once. 
 
 Len. Good night, and better health 
 
 Attend his majesty ! 
 
 Lady M. A kind good night to all ! 
 
 [Eiennt Lords and Attendants. 
 
 Macb. It will have blood; they say, blood will have 
 blood : 
 Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak ; 
 Augurs, and understood relations, liave 
 By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth 
 The stcret'st man of blood. — What is the night ? 
 
 Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which is 
 which. 
 
 Maeb. How say'st thou, thatMacdufF denies his per- 
 At our great bidding ? [son. 
 
 Lady M. Did you send to him, sir? 
 
 Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send : 
 There's not a one of tliem, but in his house 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 325 
 
 I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow, 
 
 (Betimes T will,) unto the weird sisters : 
 
 More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know, 
 
 By the worst means, the worst: for mine own good. 
 
 All causes shall give way ; I am in blood 
 
 Stept in so far, that, should I wade no more, 
 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er : 
 
 Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ; 
 
 Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd. 
 
 Ladu M. Vou lack the season of all natures, sleep. 
 
 Mach. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange and self- 
 Is the initiate fear that wants hard use : — [abuse 
 We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— The Heath, Thtmder. 
 Enter Hecate, meeting the three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate? you look angerlv, 
 
 Hec. Have I not reason, beldams as you are, 
 Saucy, and over-bold t How did you dare 
 To trade and traffic with Macbeth, 
 In riddles, and affairs of death ; 
 And I, the mistress of your charms. 
 The close contriver of all harms. 
 Was never call'd to bear my pait. 
 Or shew the glory of our ait ? 
 And, which is worse, all you have done, 
 Hath been bat for a wayward son, 
 Spiteful, and wrathful ; who. as others do, 
 Loves for his own ends, not for you. 
 But make amends now : Get you gone, 
 And at the pit of Acheron 
 Meet me i' the morning ; thither he 
 Will come to know his destiny. 
 Your vessels, and your spells, provide. 
 Your charms, and every thing beside : 
 I am for the air ; this night I '11 spend 
 Unto a dismal-fa*al end. 
 Great business must be wrought ere noon : 
 Upon the corner of the moon 
 There hangs a vaporous drop profound ; 
 I '11 catch it ere it come to ground: 
 And that, distill'd by magic slights. 
 Shall raise such artificial sprights, 
 As, by the strength of their illusion, 
 Shall draw hini on to his confusion : 
 He shall spurn fate, scoin death, and hear 
 His hopes 'hove wisdom, grace, and fear : 
 And you all know, security 
 Is mortal's chiefcst enemy. 
 
 Song. [Withiu.'^ Come away, come away, &c. 
 Hark, I am call'd ; my little spirit, see. 
 Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit, 
 
 1 Witch. Come, let's make haste: she'll soon be 
 back again. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Fores. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Lenox, and another Lori 
 
 Len. My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, 
 Which can interpret further: only, I say, [can 
 
 Things have been stiangely borne: The gracious Dun- 
 Was pitied of iVIacbeth : — marry, he was dead : — 
 And the right-valiant Banquo walked too late ; 
 Whom, you mav say. if it please you. Fleance kill'd, 
 For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late. 
 W^ho cannot want the thought, how monstrous 
 It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, 
 To kill their gracious father? damned tact! 
 How It did grieve JMacbeth ! did he not straight, 
 In pious rage, the two delinquents tear. 
 That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep : 
 
 Was not that nobly done? Ay, and wisely too; 
 For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive, 
 To hear the men deny it. So that, I say. 
 He has borne all things well : and I do think. 
 That, had he Duncan's son under his key, 
 (As,an'tplease heaven, he shall not,) they should find 
 What 'twere to kill a fattier ; so should Fleance. 
 But, peace! — for from broad words, and 'cause he fail'd 
 His presence at the tyrant's feast, 1 hear, 
 Macduff lives in disgrace : Sir, can you tell 
 Where he bestows himself? 
 
 Lord. The son of Duncan, 
 
 From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth, 
 Lives in the English court •, and is receiv'd 
 Of the most pious Edward with such grace, 
 That the malevolence of fortune nothing 
 Takes from his high respect : Thither Macduff 
 Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid 
 To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward : 
 That, by the help of these, (^with Him above 
 To ratify the work.) we may again 
 Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ; 
 Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives ; 
 Do faithful homage, and receive free honours, 
 All which we pine for now : And this report 
 Hath so exasperate the king, that he 
 Prepares for some attempt of war. 
 
 Len. Sent he to Macduff 1 
 
 Lord. He did ; and with an absolute, Sir, tiot J, 
 The cloudy messenger turns me his back, 
 And hums ; as who should say, You Hi rue the time 
 That clogs me with this answer. 
 
 tew And that well might 
 
 Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance 
 His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel 
 Fly to the court of England, and unfold 
 His message ere he come ; that a swift blessing 
 May soon return to this our suffering country 
 Under a hand accurs'd ! 
 
 Lord. My prayers with him ! [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A dark Cave. In the middle, a 
 Canldroti boiling. Thunder, 
 
 Enter the three Witches. 
 
 1 Witch, Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. 
 
 2 Witch. Thrice; and once the hedge-pig whin'd. 
 
 3 Witch. Harper cries: — 'Tis time, 'tis time. 
 
 1 Witch, Kound about the cauldron go , 
 
 In the poison'd entrails throw. 
 
 Toad, that under coldest stone, 
 Days and nights hast thirty-one ! 
 Swelter'd venom sleeping got, 
 
 Boil thou first i' the chamied pot ! 
 All. Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 
 In the cauldron boil and bake : 
 Eye of newt, and toe of frog, 
 Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 
 Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting, 
 Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing, 
 
 For a charm of powerful trouble ; 
 Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
 AIL Double, double toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 
 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf; 
 
 Witches mummy ; maw, and gulf, 
 Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark ; 
 
326 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 Root of hemlock, digg'd i' the dark j 
 Liver of biasplieming Jew ; 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew, 
 Silver'd in the moon's eclipse ; 
 Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips ; 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe, 
 Ditch-deliver'd by a drab, 
 Make the gruel thick and slab : 
 Add thereto a tiger's chaudron, 
 For the ingredients of our cauldron. 
 AIL Double, double toil and trouble; 
 Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble. 
 £ Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood, 
 Then the charm is firm and good. 
 Filter Hecate, and the other three Witches. 
 Hec. O, well done ! I commend your paius ; 
 And every one shall share i' the gains. 
 Aud now about the cauldron sing. 
 Like elves and fairies in a ring, 
 Enchanting all that you put in. 
 SONG. — Black spirits and white 
 Red spirits and grey ; 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, 
 You that mingle ina\). 
 2 Witch, By the pricking of my thumbs. 
 Something wicked this way comes : — 
 Open, locks, whoever knocks. 
 
 T.nter Macbeth. 
 
 Macb. How now, you secret, black, and midnight 
 What is 't you do 1 [iiags ? 
 
 All. A deed without a name. 
 
 Much. T c6njure you, by that which you profess, 
 (Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me : 
 Though you untie the winds, and let them fight 
 Against the churches; though the yesty waves 
 Confound and swallow navigation up ; 
 Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down ; 
 Though castles topple on their warders' heads ; 
 Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope 
 Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
 Of nature's germins tumble all together, 
 Even till destruction sicken, answer me 
 To wliat I ask you. 
 
 1 Witch, Speak. 
 
 2 Witch. Demand. 
 
 3 Witch. We'll answer. 
 
 1 Witch, Say, if thou 'dst rather hear it from our 
 Or from ourmasters"? [mouths, 
 
 Much. Call them, let me see them. 
 
 1 ^I'itch, Pour in sow's blood, that hath eaten 
 Her nine farrow ; grease, that's sweaten 
 From the murderer's gibbet, throw 
 Into the flame. 
 AH. Come, high, or low ; 
 
 Thyself, and office, deftly show. 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition oj an armed Head rises. 
 
 Macb. Tell me, thou unknown power, 
 
 1 Witch. He knows thy thought ; 
 
 Hear his speech, but say thou nought. [duff; 
 
 App. Macbeth! Macbeth! Macbeth! beware Mac- 
 Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me: — Enough. 
 
 [Vescetids, 
 
 Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good caution 
 
 thanks; [more: — 
 
 Thou hast harp'd my fear aright : — But one word 
 
 1 Witch. He will not be commanded: Here's an- 
 
 More potent than the first. [other. 
 
 Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises. 
 App, Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! — 
 
 Much. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee. 
 
 App. Be bloody, bold. 
 
 And resolute ; laugh to scorn the power of man, 
 For none of woman born shall harm ^lacbt:th. 
 
 [Descends. 
 
 Mach. Then live, Macduff; What need 1 fear of 
 But yet I 'II make assurance double sure, [thee j 
 And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ; 
 That I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, 
 And sleep in spite of thunder. — What is this, 
 
 Thunder, An Apparition of a Child crowned, with 
 
 a Tree in his Hand, rises. 
 That rises like the issue of a king ; 
 And wears upon his baby brow tlie round 
 And top of sovereignty ? 
 
 All. Listen, but speak not. 
 
 App. Be lion-mettled, proud ; and take no care 
 Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are : 
 Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until 
 Great Eirnam wood to high Dunsinane hill 
 Shall come against him. [Descends, 
 
 Macb. That will never be ; 
 
 Who can impress the forest; bid the tree 
 Unfix his earth-bound root? sweet bodements! good! 
 Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood 
 Of Birnain rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth 
 Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath 
 To time, and mortal custom. — Vet my heart 
 Throbs to know oiie thmg ; Tell me, (if your art 
 Can tell so much,) shall Bauquo's issue ever 
 Reign in this kingdom ] 
 
 AIL Seek to know no more. 
 
 Mach. I will be satisfied : deny me this. 
 And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know : — 
 Why sinks that cauldron ! and what noise is this? 
 
 [Hautbuifs. 
 i Witch. Show! 2 Witch. Show! ^ Witch. Show! 
 
 All. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart ; 
 Come like shadows, so depart. 
 
 Eight Kings appear, and pass over the stage in order ; 
 the last with a Glass in his Hand ; IjAf^QVoJolloiving. 
 
 Mach. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo ; down! 
 Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls: — And thy hair. 
 Thou otlier gold-bound brow, is like the first • — 
 A third is like the former: — Filthy hags! 
 Why do you shew me this ? — A fourth? — Start, eyes! 
 What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom 1 
 Another yet? — A seventii } — I'll see no more : — ■ 
 And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, 
 Which sliews me many more ; and some 1 see, 
 That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry : 
 Horrible sight! — Ay. now, 1 see. 'tis due ; 
 For the blood-bolted Banquo smiles upon me. 
 And points at them for his. — What, is this sot 
 
 1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so: — But why 
 Stands Macbeth thus amazedly? — 
 Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights, 
 And shew the best of our delights ; 
 I 'M charm the air to give a sound, 
 While you perform your antique round : 
 That this great king may kindly say. 
 Our duties did liis welcome pay. 
 
 [i^ld.sir. The Witches dance, and vanish, 
 
 Macb. Where are ihey? Gone? — Let this pernicious 
 Stand ave accursed in the calendar! — [hour 
 
 Come in, without there ! 
 
 Enter Lenox. 
 
 Len. W^hat's your grace's will ! 
 
 Macb, Saw you the weird sisters ? 
 
 Len, No, my lord. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 327 
 
 Much. Came they not by you ? 
 
 Len. ' No, indeed, my lord. 
 
 Mach. Infected be the air whereon they rule ; 
 And d.imn'd, all those that trust them! — 1 did hear 
 f he galloping of horse : Who was 't came by ? 
 
 Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you word, 
 Macduff is fled to England. 
 
 Mcicb. ried to England I 
 
 Len. Ay, my good lord. 
 
 I^lncb. I'ime, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits ; 
 riie flighty purpose never is o'ertook. 
 Unless liie deed go witii it : From this moment. 
 The very firstlings of my heart shall be 
 The firstlings of my hand. And even now. 
 To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and 
 The castle of Macduff I will surprise ; [done : 
 
 Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o' the sword 
 His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls 
 That trace his line. No boasting like a fool ; 
 This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool: 
 But no more sights ! — Where are these gentlemen"? 
 Come, bring me where they ate. [A'aeuHt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle. 
 Enter Ladij Macduff, her Son, and Rosse. 
 
 i«rfi/ Mucd. What had he done, to make him fly the 
 
 Rosse. Vou must have patience, madam, [land ? 
 
 L. Mucd. He had none : 
 
 His flight was madness ; When our actions do not, 
 Our fears do make us traitors. 
 
 liosse. You know not, 
 
 Whether it was his wisdom, or liis fear. 
 
 L. Miicd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave his 
 His mansion, and his titles, in a place [babes, 
 
 From whence himself does fly 1 He loves us not ; 
 He wants the natural touch : for the poor wren, 
 The most diminutive of birds, will fight, 
 Her young ones in her nest, against the owl. 
 All is the fear, and notliiug is the love ; 
 As little is the wisdom, where the flight 
 So runs against all reason. 
 
 Eosse. My dearest cor, 
 
 I pray you, school j'ourself : But, for your husband. 
 He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows 
 The fits o' the season. 1 dare not speak much further ; 
 But cruel are the times, when we are traitors. 
 And do not know ourselves ; when we hold rumour 
 From what we fear ; yet know not what we fear ; 
 But float upon a wild and viulent sea, 
 Each way. and mo^e. — I take my leave of you : 
 Shall not be long but i '11 be here again : 
 Tilings at the worst will cease, or else climb upward 
 To what they were before.— JMy pretty cousin. 
 Blessing upon you ! 
 
 L» Macd, Father'd he is, and yet he 's fatherless. 
 
 Basse. I am so much a fool, should I stay louger, 
 It would be my disgr.ice, and your discomfort : 
 I take my lea\e at once. [i:^.ii( Rosse. 
 
 X. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead ; 
 And what will you do now? How will you live? 
 
 Sun. As birds do, mother. 
 
 L. Mucd. What, with worms and flies ? 
 
 Son. With what I get, I mean ; and so do they. 
 
 L. Macd. Poor biiti ! thou 'dst never fear the net, 
 The pit-fall, nor the gin. [nor lime, 
 
 ion. Why should 1, mother? Poorbirds they are not 
 My father is not dead, for all your saying, [set for. 
 
 L. Macd. Yes, he is dead ; how wilt thou do for a 
 father ! 
 
 Soil. Nay, how will you do for a husband ? 
 
 L. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty atauy market. 
 
 San. Then you 'Ij buy 'era to sell again. 
 
 L. Mucd. Thou speak 'st with all thy wit; and yet 
 With wit enough for thee. [i 'faith, 
 
 San. Was my father a traitor, mother? 
 
 L. Macd. Ay, that he was. 
 
 Son. What is a traitor? 
 
 L. Macd. Wily, one that swears and lies. 
 
 Son. And be all traitors that do so ? 
 
 L. Mucd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and 
 must be hangeil. 
 
 San. And must they all be hanged that swear and lie ? 
 
 L Macd. Every one. 
 
 Son. Who must hang them? 
 
 L. Macd. Why, the honest men. 
 
 Sun. Then the liars and swearers are fools: forthere 
 are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men, 
 and hang up ihem. 
 
 L. Macd. Now God help thee, poor monkey ! But 
 how wilt thou do for a father ? 
 
 Son. If he weie dead, you'd weep for him : if you 
 would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly 
 have a new father. 
 
 L. Macd. Poor prattler ! how thou talkest. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Meis. Bless you, fair dame! I am not to you known, 
 Though in your state of honour I am perfect. 
 I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly : 
 If you will take a homely man 's advice. 
 Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones. 
 To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage ; 
 To do worse to you, ware fell cruelty. 
 Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve you! 
 I dare abide no longer. [Etit Messenger. 
 
 L. Macd. Whither should I Hy ? 
 
 I have done no harm. But 1 remember now 
 I am in this earthly world ; where, to do harm, 
 Is often laudable ; to do good, sometime, 
 Accounted dangerous folly : why then, alas ! 
 Do I put up that womanly defence, faces? 
 
 To say, I have done no harm? What are these 
 
 Enter Murderers. 
 
 Mur. Where is your husband ? 
 
 L. Macd. I hope, in no place, so unsanctified, 
 Where such as thou may 'st find him. 
 
 Mur.^ He 's a traitor. 
 
 San. Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear 'd villain. 
 
 Mur. What, you egg? [Stahhing him. 
 
 Young fry of treachery ? 
 
 *""• He has kiU'd me, mother : 
 
 Run away, I pray you. [Dies. 
 
 \_Eiit Ladii IMacduff, criiing murder, 
 and pursaed by the murderers. 
 
 SCENE III . — England. A Room in (/ic King's Palace. 
 Enter M.tLcOL.M and IMacduff. 
 
 Mul. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there 
 Weep our sad bosoms empty. 
 
 ^l"cd Let us rather 
 
 Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men. 
 Bestride our down-fall'n birihdoni : Each new morn. 
 New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrows 
 Strike heaven on the face, that it resounds 
 As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out 
 Like syllable ot dolour. 
 
 'M"'- What I believe, 1 '11 wail ; 
 
 ^ What know, believe ; and, what I can redress. 
 As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 
 What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance. 
 This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues, 
 Was once thought honest , you have lov'd him well ; 
 
328 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 He hath not touch'dyou yet. I am young, but something 
 You may deserve of him througli me ; and wisdom 
 To offer up a weak, ;)00r innocent lamb, 
 To appease an angry God. 
 
 Macd. I am not treacherous. 
 
 Mid. But STaebeth is. 
 
 A good and virtuous nature may recoil, 
 In an imperial charge. But 'crave your pardon ; 
 That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose : 
 Angels are bright still, thougli the brightest fell : 
 Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, 
 Yet grace must still look so. 
 
 Macd. I have lost my hopes. 
 
 Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find my 
 doubts. 
 Why in that rawness left you wife, and child, 
 (Those precious motives, those strong knots of love,) 
 Without leave-taking! — I pray you. 
 Let not my jealousies be your dishonours. 
 But mine own safeties : — You may be rightly just, 
 Whatever I shall think. 
 
 Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country ! 
 
 Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure, [wrongs. 
 For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thou thy 
 Thy title is affeer'd. — Fare thee well, lord : 
 I would not be the villain that thou think'st 
 For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp, 
 And tlie rich East to boul. 
 
 Mat. Be not offended : 
 
 I speak not as in absolute fear of you. 
 I think, our country sinks beneath the yoke ; 
 It weeps, it bleeds : and each new day a gash 
 Is added to her wounds : I think, withal. 
 There would be hands uplifted in my right ; 
 And here, from gracious England, have I offer 
 Of goodly thousands : But, for all this. 
 When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head. 
 Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country 
 Shall liave more vices than it had before ; 
 More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever. 
 By him that shall succeed. 
 
 Macd. 1 What should he be I 
 
 Mat. It is myself I mean : in whom I know 
 All the particulars of vice so grafted, 
 That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth 
 Will seem as pure as snow ; and tne poor state 
 Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd 
 With my confineless harms. 
 
 Macd. Not in the legions 
 
 Of horrid hell, can come a devil more damn'd 
 In evils, to top Macbeth. 
 
 Mai. I grant him bloody. 
 
 Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful. 
 Sudden, malicious, smacking of every sin 
 That has a name : But there's no bottom, none. 
 In my voluptuousness ; your wives, your daughters. 
 Your matrons, and your maids, could not fill up 
 The cistern of my lust ; and my desire 
 All continent impediments would o'erbear, 
 That did oppose my will : Better Macbeth, 
 Than such a one to reign. 
 
 Macd. Boundless intemperance 
 
 In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been 
 The untimely emptying of the happy throne. 
 And fall of many kings. But fear not yet 
 To take upon you what is yours : you may 
 Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty, 
 And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood-wink. 
 We have willing dames enough ; there cannot be 
 That vulture in you, to devour so many 
 As will to greatness dedicate themselves, 
 Finding it so inclia'd. 
 
 Mat. With this there grows, 
 
 In my most ill-conipos'd affection, such 
 A stanchlcss avarice, that, were 1 king. 
 I should cut off the nobles for their lands ; 
 Desire his jewels, and this other's house: 
 And my more-having would be as a sauce 
 To make me hunger more ; that I should foige 
 Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal. 
 Destroying them for wealth. 
 
 Macd. This avarice 
 
 Sticks deeper ; grows with more pernicious root 
 Than summer- seeding lust ; and it hath been 
 'I'he sword of our slain kings: Yet do not fear; 
 Scotland hath foysons to (ill up your will. 
 Of your mere own : All these are portable, 
 \\'ith other graces weigh 'd. 
 
 Mai. But 1 have none : The kiug-becoming graces, 
 As justice, verity, temperance, stableness. 
 Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, 
 Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, 
 I have no relish of them ; but abound 
 In the division of each several crime, 
 .'Voting it many ways. Nay, had I power, I should 
 Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, 
 Uproar the universal peace, confound 
 All unity on earth. 
 
 Macd. O Scotland ! Scotland ! 
 
 Mai. If such a one be fit to govern speak • 
 I am as 1 liave spoken. 
 
 Macd. Fit to govern ! 
 
 No, not to live.— O nation miserable. 
 With an untitled tyrant, bloody-scepter'd. 
 When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again t 
 Since that the truest issue of thy throne 
 By his own interdiction stands accurs'd, 
 .•\nd does blaspheme his breed? — Tliy royal father 
 Was a most sainted king : the queen that bore thee, 
 Oft'ner upon her knees than on her feet, 
 Died every day she lived. Fare thee well ! 
 These evils thou repeat'st upon thyself. 
 Have banish'd me from Scotland. — O, my breast. 
 Thy hope ends here ! 
 
 i\Iat. Macduff, this noble passion. 
 
 Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
 Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts 
 To thy good truth and lionour. Devilish i\Iacbeth 
 By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
 Into his power ; and modest wisdom plucks me 
 From over-credulous haste : But God above 
 Deal between thee and me ! for even now 
 I put myself to thy direction, and 
 Unspeak mine own detraction ; here abjure 
 The taints and blames I laid upon myself. 
 For strangers to my nature. I am yet 
 Unknown to woman ; never was forsworn ; 
 Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ; 
 At no time broke my faitli ; would not betray 
 The devil to his fellow ; and delight 
 No less in truth, than life : my first false speaking 
 Was this upon myself: What I am truly. 
 Is thine, and my poor country's, to command* 
 Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach, 
 Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men. 
 All ready at a point, was setting forth : 
 Now we'll together ; And the thance, of goodness. 
 Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent f 
 Macd. Such v\-elcome and unwelcome things at once, 
 'Tis hard to reconcile. 
 
 Eater a Doctor. 
 Mai. Well ; more anon.— Comes the king forth, I 
 pray you 1 
 
ACT V. -SCENE I. 
 
 329 
 
 Doct. Ay, sir . there are a crew of wretched souls, 
 That stay his cure : their jnalady convinces 
 The great assay of art ; but. at his touch, 
 Such sanctity hath heaven given in his hand. 
 They presently amend. 
 
 Mai. I thank you, doctor.' [Exit Doctor. 
 
 Macd. What's the disease he means f 
 
 Mai. Tis call'd the evil : 
 
 A most miraculous work in this good king : 
 Which often, since my here-remain in England, 
 T have seta him do. How he solicits heaven, 
 Himself best knows ; but strangely-visited people, 
 All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye, 
 The mere despair of surgery, he cures ; 
 Hanging a golden stamp about their necks, 
 Put on with holy prayers: and 'tis spoken. 
 To the succeeding royalty he leaves 
 The healing benediction. With this strange virtue. 
 He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy; 
 And sundry blessings hang about his throne, 
 That speak him full of grace. 
 
 Enter Rosse. 
 
 Macd. See, who comes here ? 
 
 M(i/, My countryman ; but yet I know liim not 
 
 Macd. My ever gentle cousin, welcome hither. 
 
 Mat. I know him now : Good God, betimes remove 
 The means that make us strangers ! 
 
 Rosse. Sir, Amen, 
 
 Mucd. Stands Scotland where it did ? 
 
 Rosse* Alas, poor country ; 
 
 Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot 
 Be call'd our mother, but our grave : where nothing. 
 But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ; 
 W^bere sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air, 
 Are made, not mark'd ; where violent sorrow seems 
 A modern ecstacy ; the dead man's knell 
 Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's lives 
 Expire before the flowers in their caps. 
 Dying, or ere they sicken. 
 
 Macd. 0, relation, 
 
 Too nice, and yet too true ! 
 
 Mai. What is the newest grief? 
 
 Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker; 
 Each minute teems a new one. 
 
 Macd. How does my wife 1 
 
 Rosse. Why, well. 
 
 Macd. And all my children 1 
 
 Ross*;. Well too. 
 
 Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace ? 
 
 Rosse. No ; they were well at peace, when I did 
 leave them. [it I 
 
 Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech ; How goes 
 
 Rosse. U'heu I came hither to transport the tidings, 
 W^hich I have heavily borne, tliere ran a rumour 
 Of many worthy fellows tliat were out ; 
 Which was to my belief witness'd the rather, 
 For that I saw the tyrant's power a-fool : 
 Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland 
 Would create soldiers, make our women tight 
 To doff their dire distresses. 
 
 Mat. Be it their comfort, 
 
 We are coming thither : gracious England hath 
 Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ; 
 An older, and a better soldier, none 
 That ChribLendom gives out. 
 
 Rosse. 'Would I could answer 
 
 This comfort with the like! But I have words, 
 That would be howl'd out in the desert air, 
 Where heaiing should not latch them. 
 
 Macd. What concern they t 
 
 The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief. 
 
 Due to some single breast 1 
 
 Rosse. No mind, that's honest. 
 
 But in it shares some woe ; though the main paxt 
 Pertains to you alone. 
 
 Macd. If it be mine. 
 
 Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. 
 
 Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, 
 Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound. 
 That ever yet they heard. 
 
 Macd. Humph ! I guess at it. 
 
 Rosse. Your castle is surpriz'd ; your wife, and 
 Savagely slaughter'd : to relate the manner, [babes. 
 Were, on the quarry of these raurder'd deer, 
 To add the death of you, 
 
 Mai. Merciful heaven ! — 
 
 What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ; 
 Give sorrow words : the grief, that Joes not speak, 
 Whispers the o'er-fraugiit heart, und bids it break. 
 
 Macd. My children too 1 
 
 Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all 
 
 That could be found. 
 
 Macd. And I must be from thence ! 
 
 My wife kill'd too I 
 
 Rosse. \ have said. 
 
 MaL Be comforted : 
 
 Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge, 
 To cure this deadly grief. 
 
 Macd. He has no children, — All mv pie.tv ones t 
 Did you say, all ?— O, liell-kite !— Ail ! 
 What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam, 
 At one fell swoop? 
 
 Mai. Dispute it like a man. 
 
 Macd. I shall do so j 
 
 But I must also feel it as a man : 
 I cannot but remember such things were. 
 That were most prtjcious to me. — Did heaven look on. 
 And would not take their part I Sinful .MacdufF, 
 They were all struck for thee ! naught that 1 am. 
 Not for their own demerits, bat for mine. 
 Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now ! 
 
 Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword : letgrief 
 Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it. 
 
 Macd. O, I could play the woman with mine eyes, 
 
 And braggart with my tongue! But gentle heaven, 
 
 Cut short all intermission ; front to front, 
 Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself; 
 Within my sword's length set him ; if he 'scape. 
 Heaven forgive him too ! 
 
 Mai. This tune goes manly. 
 
 Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready j 
 Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth 
 Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above [may ; 
 Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you 
 The night is long, that never hnds the day. lEieiint. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Dunsinane. A Boom in the Castle. 
 Enter aDoctoT of Phi/iic .and a tvaitiiig Genlkwomin. 
 
 Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but 
 can perceive no truth in your report. When was it 
 she last walked ? 
 
 Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have 
 seen her rise from her bed, llirow her nightj^own 
 upon her, unlock lier c'oset, take forth paper, fold it, 
 write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it. and again 
 return to bed ; yet all this while in a must fast sleep. 
 
 Doct. A great perturbation in nature ! to receive 
 at once the benefit of sleep, and do the ellects of 
 watching. — In tins slunibry agitation, besides her 
 
330 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 walking and other actual performances, what, at any 
 time, have you licaril her say 1 
 
 Gent. That, sir, whicli 1 will not report after her. 
 
 l)i>ct. Vou nia} , to me; and 'tis most meet you 
 should. 
 
 Ge:n. Neither to you, nor any one ; having no 
 witness to confiini my speech. 
 
 Enter Lady IVIacdf.th, with a taper. 
 
 Lo you, here she comes ! This is her very guise ; and, 
 upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her : stand close. 
 Doct. How came she by that light! 
 Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her 
 continually ; 'tis her command. 
 Doct. You see, her eyes are open. 
 Gent. Ay, but tiieir sense is shut. 
 Doct. What is it she does now; Look how she 
 rubs her hands. 
 
 Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem 
 thus washing her hands ; I have known her continue 
 in tliis a quarter of an liour. 
 Lady Hi. Yet here's a spot. 
 
 Dvct. Hark, she speaks ; I will set down what 
 comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more 
 strongly. 
 
 Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say !— One ; 
 
 Two: Why, then 'lis lime to do't: Hell is 
 
 murky! — i'ye, my lord, fye ! a soldier, and afeard ? 
 ^\ hat need we fear who knows it, when none can call 
 our power lo account [—Yet who would have thouglit 
 the old man to have had so much blood in him ? 
 Doct. Do you mark that 1 
 Lady M. 'J'he thane of Fife had a wife ; Where 
 
 is she now ? What, will these hands ne'er be 
 
 clean? — No more o'tluit, my lord, no more o'that : 
 you mar all wUli this starling. 
 
 Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what you 
 should not. 
 
 Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am 
 sure of that : Heaven knows what she has known. 
 
 Lady llj. Here's tlie smell of the blood sliU : all 
 the jiei fumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little 
 hand. Oh ! oh ! oh ! 
 
 Doct. Wliat a sigh is there I The heart is sorely 
 charged. 
 
 Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, 
 for the dignity of the whole body. 
 Doct. Uell, well, well,— 
 Gent. 'Pray Uod, it be, sir. 
 
 Doct. This disease is beyond my practice : Y"et I 
 have known ihusu which have walked in their sleep, 
 who have died holily in their beds. 
 
 Lady M. W ash your hands, put on your night- 
 gown ; look not so pale. — I tell you yet again, Ban- 
 quo's buried ; he cannot come out of his grave. 
 Doct. Even so ! 
 
 Lady M. To bed, to bed ; there's knocking at the 
 gale. Come, come, come, come, give me your hand ; 
 'vVhat's done, cannot be undone ; To bed, to bed, to 
 bed. [Kiit Lady Maculth. 
 
 Doct. Will she go now to bed \ 
 Gent. Directly. [deeds 
 
 Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad : Unnatural 
 Do breed unnatural troubles: Infected minds 
 To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 
 More needs she the divine, than the physician. — 
 God, God, forgive us all ! Look after her ; 
 Remove from her the means of all annoyance. 
 And still keep eyes upon her : — So, good night ; 
 My mind she has mated, and amaz'd my sight : 
 1 iJiink, but dare not speak. 
 
 Gent. Good night, good doctor. \Exeunt. 
 
 SCKNE II — Tite Country 7iear Duosinane. 
 
 Enter^ with drum and colours, Mknteth, Cathncss, 
 
 Ancvs, Lenox, and Soldiers. 
 
 Ment. The English power is near, led on by Wal- 
 His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff. [colni, 
 Revenges bum in them ; for their dear causes 
 Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm. 
 Excite the mortified man. 
 
 ^"g. Near Birnam wood 
 
 Shall we well meet them ; that way are they coming. 
 
 Cath. Who, knows, if Donalbain be with hisbro- 
 
 Leii. For certain, sir, he is not : 1 have a file [tlierl 
 Of all the gentry ; there is Siward's son. 
 And many unrough youths, that even now 
 Protest their first of manhood. 
 
 Ment. What does the tyrant ■> 
 
 Cath. Great Dunsinane he strongly foilifies : 
 Some say he's mad ; others, that lesser hate him. 
 Do call it valiant fury: but, for certain. 
 He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause 
 Within the belt of rule. 
 
 /ing- Now does he feel 
 
 His secret murders sticking on his hands ; 
 Now minutely revolts upbraid his failh-breach ; 
 Those he commands, move only in command, 
 Notliing in love : now does he feel his litle 
 Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe 
 Upon a dwarfish thief. 
 
 Ment. Who then shall blame 
 
 His pester'd senses to recoil, and start, 
 When all that is within him does condemn 
 Itself, lor being there 1 
 
 Cath. Well, march we on, 
 
 To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd: 
 Meel we the mediciu of the sickly weal : 
 And with him pour we, in our country's purge. 
 Each drop of us. 
 
 Len. Or so much as it needs, 
 
 To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds. 
 Make we our march towu.rds IBirnam. [Ex. imichin^. 
 
 SCENE III. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants. 
 Macb. Bring me no more reports ; let them fly all ; 
 Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane, 
 I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm ! 
 Was he not born of woman? The spirits ihal know 
 All mortal consequents pronounc'd me thus ; 
 Fear not, Macbeth; no man, that's born of' woman, 
 SluUL e'er imve power on thee. Then fly, laUe thanes. 
 And mingle with the English epicures : 
 The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear. 
 Shall never sagg with doubt, nor shake with fear. 
 
 Enter a Servant, 
 
 The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon. 
 Where got'st ihou that goose look? 
 
 Serv. 'i'here is ten thousand 
 
 Macb. Geese, villain ? 
 
 Heri;. .Soldiers, sir- 
 
 Macb. £jo, prick thy face, and over-red thy fear. 
 Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, jiatch ? 
 Death of lliy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine 
 Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ? 
 
 Serv. The English force, so please you. 
 
 Macb. Take thy fare hence. — Seyton! — I am sick at 
 W^lien I behold — Seyton. I say ! — This push [heart, 
 Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now. 
 I have liv'd long enough : my way of life 
 Is fall'n into the sear, the yellow leaf ; 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 
ACT V SCENE V. 
 
 331 
 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have ; but, in their steiid. 
 Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath. 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not. 
 
 Sey ton ! 
 
 Enter Seyton. 
 
 Sey. What is your gracious pleasure? 
 
 Macb. What news more? 
 
 Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was reported. 
 
 Macb.l'W fight, till from my bones my fleshbe hack'd. 
 Give rae my armour. 
 
 Sei/. Tis not needed yet. 
 
 Macb. I'll put it on. 
 Send out more horses, skirr the country round ; 
 Hang those that talk of fear. — Give me mine armour, — 
 How does your patient, doctor ? 
 
 Doct. Not so sick, my lord, 
 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 
 Macb. Cure her of that ; 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ; 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; 
 And, with some sweet oblivious antidote. 
 Cleanse the stufTd bosom of that perilous stuff, 
 Which weighs upon the heart? 
 
 Doct. Therein the patient 
 
 Must minister to himself. 
 
 Macb. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. — 
 Come, put mine armour on ; give me my staff": — 
 Se\ ton, send out. — Doctor, the thanes fly from me : — 
 Come, sir, despatch : — If thou could'st, doctor, cast 
 The water of my land, find her disease, 
 And purge it to a sound and pristine health, 
 I would applaud thee to the very echo, 
 That should applaud again. — PuU't off, I say. — ■ 
 What rhubarb, senna, orwhat purgative drug, [them? 
 Would scour these Englisli hence ? Hearest thou of 
 
 Doct» Ay, my good lord; your royal preparation 
 Makes us hear something. 
 
 Macb, Bring it after me. 
 
 I will not be afraid of death and bane, 
 
 Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Eiit, 
 
 Doct. Were I from Dunsinane away and clear. 
 Profit again should hardly draw me here. [Eiit, 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 CountJ'i/ near Dunsinane: A Wood in view. 
 
 Enter, with drums and colours, IMalcoi.m, old Siward, 
 and his Son, JMacdi'ff. iMenteth, Cathness, An- 
 gus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers, marching. 
 Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand, 
 
 That chambers will be safe. 
 
 Ment. We doubt it nothing. 
 
 Siw. What wood is this before us? 
 Ment. The wood of Birnam. 
 
 Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough, 
 
 And bear't before him ; iheieby shall we shadow 
 
 Tiie numbers of our host, and make discovery 
 
 Err in report of us. 
 
 Sold. It shall be done. 
 
 Hiw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant 
 
 Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will enduie 
 
 Our setting down before't, 
 
 MaL 'Tis his main hope : 
 
 For where there is advantage to be given. 
 
 Both more and less have given him the revolt ; 
 
 And none serve with hira but constrained things,- 
 
 M^hose hearts are absent too. 
 
 Macd» Let our just censures 
 
 Attend the true event, and put we on 
 Industrious soldiership. 
 
 Siu-. The time approaches, 
 
 That will with due decision make us know 
 What we shall say we have, and what we owe. 
 Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate ; 
 But certain issue strokes must arbitrate: 
 Towards which, advance the war. [^EieiuU, marching. 
 
 SCENE v.— Dunsinane. Within the Castle. 
 
 Enter, with drums and cohmrs, MAriiETU, Sevton, 
 and Soldiers. 
 
 Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward walls ; 
 The cry is still, Theu come : Our castle's strength 
 Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie. 
 Till famine, and the ague, eat them up ; 
 Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours, 
 We might have met them dareful. beard to beard. 
 And beat them backward home. What is that noise? 
 [A crp within, of women. 
 
 Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord. 
 
 Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears : 
 The time has been, my senses would have cool'd 
 To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell of hair 
 Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir 
 As life were in't: I have supp'd full with honors ; 
 Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, 
 Cannot once start me. — Wherefore was that cry ? 
 
 Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead 
 
 Mac. She should have died hereafter ; 
 There would have been a time for such a word. — 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow 
 Creeps in this petty puce from day to day. 
 To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out. brief candle ' 
 Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player, 
 That struts and fiets his hour upon the stau-e, 
 And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Thou com'st to use thy tongue; tliy story quickly. 
 
 Mess. Gracious my lord, 
 I shall report that which I say I saw, 
 But know not how to do it. 
 
 Macb. 'Well, say, sir. 
 
 Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
 I looked toward Birnam, and anon, methought. 
 The wood began to move. 
 
 Macb. Liar, and slave ! [Striking hijn. 
 
 Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so ; 
 Within this three mile may you see it coming ; 
 I say, a moving grove. 
 
 Macb, If thou speak'st false, 
 
 Upon the next tree shalt iliou hang alive, 
 Till famine cling thee : if thy speech be sooth, 
 I care not if thou dost for me as much. — 
 I pui! in resolution ; and bej^in 
 To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, 
 That lies like truth : Fear not, till Birnam wood 
 Do come to Dunsinane ; — and now a wood 
 Comes toward Dunsinane.— Arm, arm, and out!— 
 If this, which he avouches, does appear. 
 There is nor Hying hence, nor tarrying here. 
 I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun, 
 And wish the estate o'the world were now undone. — 
 Ring the alarum beil : — Blow wind ! come, wrack ! 
 At least we'll die with harness on our back. [Exeunt, 
 
3.'i2 
 
 MACBETH. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Be same. A Plain before the Castle. 
 
 Eytter, with (hums and colours, Malcolm, old Siward, 
 IMacdufi, iSc. and their Anntj, vnth boughs. 
 
 Mai. Now, near enough ; your leavy screens throw 
 down. 
 And shew like those you are: — You, worthy uncle, 
 Shall with my cousin, your right-noble son. 
 Lead our first battle : worthy Macduff, and we, 
 Shall take upon us what else remains to do, 
 According to our order. 
 
 S'U). Fare you well.— 
 
 Do we but find the tyrant's power to- night, 
 Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight. [breath, 
 
 Macd. Make all our trumpets speak; give them all 
 Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death. 
 
 [Exeunt. Alarums continued. 
 
 SCJCNE VIL — The same. Another ■part oj the Flain, 
 Enter Macueth. 
 Macb. Tliey have tied me to a stake ; I cannot fly. 
 But, bear-like, I must tight the course. — What's he, 
 'I'hat was not born of woman ! Such a one 
 Am I to fear, or none. 
 
 Enter young Siward, 
 
 Yo. Siio. What is thy name? 
 
 Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it. 
 
 Yo. Siw. No; though thou call 'st thyself a hotter 
 Than any is in hell. [name 
 
 Macb. My name's Macbeth. 
 
 Yo. ,S7h>. The devil himself could not pronounce a 
 More hateful to mine ear. [title 
 
 Macb. No, nor more fearful. 
 
 I'll. Silt'. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant ; witli my sword 
 I'll prove the lie thou speak'st. 
 
 [Theyjight, and young Siward is slain. 
 
 Macb. Thou wast born of woman. — 
 
 But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn, 
 Brandish'd by man that's of a woman born. [Exit. 
 
 Alarums. £Hter Macduff. 
 Macd. That way the noise is: Tyrant, shew thy face: 
 If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine. 
 My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still. 
 1 cannot strike at wretched kernes, whose arms 
 Are hir'd to bear their staves; either thou, Macbeth, 
 Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge, 
 1 sheathe again undeeded. There thou should'st be' 
 By this gieat clatter, one of greatest note 
 Seems bruited. Let me find him, fortune ! 
 And more i beg not. [Exit. Alurum. 
 
 Enter Malcolm and old Siward. 
 
 Siw. This way, my lord ; the castle's gently render'd : 
 The tyrant's people on both sides do fight ; 
 The noble thanes do bravely in the war ; 
 The day almost itself professes yours, 
 And little is to do. 
 
 Mai. We have met with foes 
 
 That strike beside us. 
 
 Siu>. Enter, sir, the castle. [Exeunt. Alarum. 
 
 Re-enter Macbeth. 
 Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die 
 On mine own sword ? whiles I see lives, the gashes 
 Do better upon them. 
 
 Re-enter BIacduff. 
 
 Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn. 
 
 Macb. Of all men else I have avoided theft : 
 But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd 
 With blood of thine already. 
 
 Macd. I have no words. 
 
 My voice is in my sword ; thou bloodiei villain 
 Than terms can give thee out ! [JbeyJigUt 
 
 Macb. Thou losest labour 
 
 As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air 
 With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed: 
 Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ; 
 I bear a charmed life which must not yield 
 To one of woman born, 
 
 Macd. Despair thy charm ; 
 
 And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd. 
 Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
 Untimely ripp'd. 
 
 JlJnc6. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so. 
 For it hath cow'd my better part of man '. 
 And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd. 
 That palter with us in a double sense ; 
 That keep the word of piomise to our ear. 
 And break it to our hope I'll not fight with thee. 
 
 Macd. Then yield thee, coward. 
 And live to be the show and gaze o'the time. 
 We'll have thee, as our rarer monster.-s are, 
 Painted upon a pole ; and underwrit, 
 Here may you see the tifrant. 
 
 Macb. ' I'll not yield. 
 
 To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, 
 And to be baited with the rabble's curse. 
 Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsinane, 
 And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born, 
 ■i'et I will try the last: Before my body 
 I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff; 
 And damn'd be him that first cries. Hold, enough. 
 
 [Exeunt, fighting. 
 
 Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with drtim and colours, 
 Malcolm, old Siward, Rosse, Lenox, Angi"S, 
 Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers. 
 
 Mai. I would, the friends we mi.is were safe arriv'd. 
 
 Siw. Some must go off; and yet, by these 1 see. 
 So great a day as this is cheaply bought. 
 
 Mai. Macduff is missing, and y(mr noble son. 
 
 Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt : 
 He only liv'd but till he was a man ; 
 The which no sooner had his powers confirm'd 
 In the unshrinking station where he fought. 
 But like a man he died. 
 
 Siw. Then he is dead ? [sorrow 
 
 Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field : your case of 
 Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then 
 It hath no end. 
 
 Siw. Had he his hurts before ? 
 
 Rosse. Ay, on the front. 
 
 Siw. W'hy, then, God's soldier be he ! 
 
 Had I as many sons as I have hairs, 
 I would not wish them to a fairer death : 
 And so his knell is kuoll'd. 
 
 Mai. He's worth more sorrow. 
 
 And that I 'II spend for him. 
 
 Siw. He's worth no more , 
 
 They say, he parted well, and paid his score : 
 So, God be with hiin ! —Here comes newer comfort. 
 
 Re-enter Macimiff, with Macbeth's head on a pole. 
 
 Macd. Hail, king! for so thou art : Beliold, where 
 The usurper's cursed head ; the time is free : [stands 
 I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl. 
 That speak my salutation in their minds ; 
 W hose voices I desire aloud with miue, — 
 Hail, king of Scotland ! 
 
 All. King of Scotland, hail ! [Flourish. 
 
 Mai. We shall not spend a large e.vpence of time. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE VII. 333 
 
 Before v,^ reckon with your several loves, i Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen : 
 
 Aud make us even with j-ou. My thanes and kinsmen, Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands 
 
 Heucefurth be earls, the first that ever Scotland 
 In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do, 
 Which would be planted newly with tlie time, — 
 As calling home our exil'd friends abroad, 
 That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ; 
 Producing forth the cruel ministers 
 
 Took off her life ; — This, and what needful else 
 That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace, 
 
 ' We will perform in measure, time, and place : 
 So thanks to all at once, and to each one, 
 Whom we invite to see us crown 'd at Scone. 
 
 I [Flourish, Exeunt. 
 
 This play is deserveJIy celebrnfed for the propriety of its I 
 fiction!!, and soItrQiiiily , grandeur, aLd variecy ol us action ; but 
 it has uo nice distriiuiuaiiuns of ch&racier: the events are too 
 great lo admit the jiiflueuce of particular disposilious, and the 
 course of the actiou necessarily determines the conduct of the 
 agents. 
 
 The danger of ambition is well described ; and I know not 
 
 whether it may not be said, in defence of some parts which now 
 seem improbatile, that, in Shakspe.iie's time, it was necessary 
 tu warn credulity against vam ami illusive predictions. 
 
 ine passions are directed to their true end. Lady Macbeth 
 is merely detested ; and ihouyh the courage of Macbeth pre- 
 serves some esteem, yet every reader rtgoices at his fall.— 
 Johnson, 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 This play appears to have been written in 15'P6, but was not 
 published till lt5^3. It was founded on the old play called 
 fhe troublesome reien of Kuis Jc/jh, which was printed in l5yi, 
 and is attributed by Pope, though he does not state his au- 
 thority, to the joint efforts of shakspeare and Rowley.— The 
 elder play was twice published with the initials of .Shakspeare 
 on the title page. Shakspeare has preser^'pd the greatest part 
 of theconduct of it, as well as some of the lines. The num- 
 ber of quotations from Horace, and similar scraps of learning 
 scattered over this piece, ascertain it to have been the work of 
 a scholar. It contains likewise a quantity of rhyming Latin, 
 and ballad-metre; aud in a scene where the Bastard is repre- 
 
 sented as plundering a monastery, there are strokes of humour, 
 which seem, from their particular turn, to have been most 
 evidently produced by another hand than that of our author. 
 
 Of this historical drama there is a subsequent edition in 1611, 
 printed for John Helme. whose name appears before none of 
 the genuine pieces of Shakspeare. Mr. Sttevens admitted 
 this play as our author's own, among the iw.?nty which he 
 published from the old editions: he afterwards, perhaps with- 
 out sufficient grounds, receded from that opinion. 
 
 The action of the i)re5ent tragedy occupies a space of about 
 seventeen years ; begmning at the thirty-fourth year of King 
 John's life. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Kino John. 
 
 Prince Henry, his son ; afterwards King Henry III. 
 
 AflTHnB, Duke of Bretagne, sou of Geffrey, late Duke 
 
 of Bretagne, the elder brother of King John. 
 William MARESHiLL, Earl o/' Pembroke. 
 Geffrey Fitz-Peter, Earl o/'Essex, chief justiciary 
 
 of England. 
 William Loncsword, Earl of Salisbury. 
 Robert Bigot, Earl of Norfolk. 
 Hubert de Buhgh, chamberlain to the King. 
 Robert Faulconbridge, son o/' Sir Robert Faulcon- 
 
 bridge. 
 Philip Faulconbridge, his half-brother, bastard son 
 
 to King Richard the First. 
 James Gurnev, servant to Lady Faulconbridge. 
 Peter of Ponifret, a prophet. 
 Philip, King of France. 
 Lewis, the Daupliin. 
 Archduke of Austria. 
 Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope's legate. 
 Melun, a French lard. 
 Chatillon, ambassador from France to King John. 
 
 Elinor, the widow of King Henry II., and mother of 
 
 King John. 
 Constance, mother to Arthur. 
 Blanch, daughter to Alphonso, King o/" Castile, and 
 
 niece to King John. 
 Lady Faulconrridge, mother to the Bastard and 
 
 Robert Faulconbridge. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Anglers, Sheriff, Heralds, 
 OJicers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, — sometimes in England, and 
 sometimes in France. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Northampton. — A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pe.mbroke, Essex, 
 Salisiiuby, and others, with Cbatillpn. 
 
 King .%(in. Now, say, Chatilion,whatiToiild France 
 with us ^ 
 
 C/in(. Thus, aftergreeting, speaks the king of France, 
 In my behaviour, to the majesty. 
 The borrow'd majesty of England here. 
 
 Eli. A strange beginning ; — borrow'd majesty I 
 
 K. John. Silence, good mother; hear the embassy. 
 
 Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf 
 Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son, 
 Arthur Plantagenet, lays most lawful claim 
 To this fair island, and the territories ; 
 To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine : 
 Desiring thee to lay aside the sword. 
 Which sways usurpingly these several titles ; 
 And put the same into young Arthur's hand. 
 Thy nephew and right royal sovereign. 
 
 K.John. What follows, if we disallow of ihis? 
 
 Chat. The proud controul of fierce and bloody war. 
 To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld, [blood, 
 
 K.John. Here have we war for war, and blood for 
 Controlment for controlment : so answer France. 
 
 Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my mouth. 
 The furthest limit of my embassy. 
 
 K.John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in peace : 
 Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ; 
 For ere thou canst report I will be there. 
 The thunder of my cannon shall be heard : 
 So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrathj 
 And sudden presage of your own decay, — 
 An honourable conduct let him have : — 
 
334 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Pembroke, look to*t : Farewell, Chatillon. 
 
 \^Eieunt CEtATiLLON and Pr.MBROKE. 
 FJi, ^Vhat now, my son ! have I not ever said, 
 
 How that ambitious Coostance would not cease, 
 
 Till she had kindled France, and all the world, 
 
 T'pon tlie riffiit and party of her son? 
 
 'J'his might have been prevented, and made whole. 
 
 With very easy arguments of love ; 
 
 M hich now the manage of two kingdoms must 
 
 With fearful bloody issue arbitrate. 
 K.John. Our strong possession, and our right, for us, 
 FAi. Your strong possession, much more than your 
 
 Or else it must go wrong with you, and me : [right ; 
 
 So much my conscience whispers in your ear ; 
 
 Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear. 
 
 Enter the Sheriff (j/* Northamptonshire, ivho 
 whispers Essex. 
 Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy. 
 Come from the country to be judged by you, 
 That e'er I heard : Shall I produce the men? 
 ^ A'. Juhn. Let them approach. — [Exit Sheriff. 
 C_ Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay 
 
 Re-enter Sheriff, with Rohert Faulconbridce, and 
 
 Philip, his bastard Brother. 
 This expedition's charge, — What men are you? 
 
 Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman, 
 Born in Northamptonshire ; and eldest son, 
 As T suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge ; 
 A soldier, bv the honour-giving hand 
 Of Coeur-de-lion knighted in the field. 
 
 A'. John. VVIiat art thou? 
 
 Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulconbridge. 
 
 A'. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir? 
 You came not of one motlter then, it seems. 
 
 Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king. 
 That is well known : and, as 1 think, one father : 
 TSut, for the certain knowledge of that truth, 
 1 put you 'er to heaven, and to my mother ; 
 Of that I doubt, as all men's children may. 
 
 Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame thy 
 And wound her honour with this diffidence, [mother. 
 
 Bast. I, madam ? no, I have no reason for it ; 
 That is ray brother's plea, and none of* ine ; 
 The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out 
 At least from fair five hundred pound a- year: 
 Heaven guard my mother's honour, and my land ! 
 
 A". ./('/(». A good blunt fellow: — Why,beingyounger 
 Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ? [born, 
 
 Bast. I know not why, except to get the land. 
 But once he slander 'd me with bastardy: 
 But whe 'r I be as true begot, or no, 
 That still I lay upon my mother's head; 
 But, that I am as well begot, my liege, 
 (Fair fall the bones that took the pains for me '.) 
 Compare our faces, and be judge yourself. 
 If old sir Robert did beget us both. 
 And were our father, and this son like him ; — 
 
 old sir Robert, father, on my knee 
 
 1 give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee. 
 
 K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent us 
 
 Eli. He hath a trick of Coeur-de lion's face, [here! 
 The accent of his tongue affecteth him : 
 Do you not read some tokens of my son 
 In the large composition of this man ? 
 
 A. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts. 
 
 And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak. 
 
 What doth move you to claim your brother's land? 
 
 Bnst. Because he hath a half-face, like my father ; 
 With that half-face would he have all my land : 
 A half-faced groat five hundred pound a-year ! 
 
 J2o6 , Wy gracious liege, when that my father livM, 
 
 Your brother did employ my father mucli ; — 
 ' Bast. Well, sir, by tliis you cannot get my land: 
 Your tale must be, how he employ'd my mother. 
 
 Rob. And once despatch'd him in an embassy 
 To Germany, there, with the emperor. 
 To treat of high affairs touching that time : 
 The advantage of his absence took the king. 
 And in the mean time sojourn'd at my father's ; 
 Where how he did prevail, 1 shame to speak : 
 hut truth is truth ; large lengths of seas and shores 
 Between my father and my mother lay, 
 f As I have heard my father speak himself,) 
 When thii same lusty gentleman was got. 
 Upon his death-bed lie by will bequeath'd 
 His lands to me ; and took it, on his death, 
 'I'hat this, my mother's son, was none of his ; 
 And, if he were, he came into the world 
 Full fourteen weeks before the course of time. 
 Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine, 
 My father's land, as was my father's will. 
 
 A'. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate; 
 Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him : 
 And, if she did play false, the fault was her's ; 
 Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands 
 That marry wives. Telljne, how if my brother. 
 Who, as you say. took pains to get this son, 
 Had of your father claira'd this son for his ? 
 In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept 
 This calf, bred from his cow, from all the world ; 
 In sooth, he mi^ht : then, if he were my brother's. 
 My brother might not claim him ; nor your father. 
 Being none of his, refuse him : This concludes, — 
 My motlier's son did get your father's heir; 
 Your father's heir must have your father's land. 
 
 Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force, 
 To dispossess that child which is not his? 
 
 Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir, 
 Than was his will to get me, as I think. 
 
 Eli. Whether hadst thou rather, — be a Faulcon- 
 And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land ; [bridge^ 
 Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion, 
 Lord of thy presence, and no land beside? 
 
 Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape. 
 And I had his, sir Robert his, like him ; 
 And if my legs were two such riding-rods, 
 My arms such eel- skins stuft'd ; my face so thin. 
 That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose, 
 Lestmenshouldsay, Look, where three-farthings goes! 
 And, to his shape, were heir to all this land, 
 'Would I might never stir from off this place, 
 I'd give it every foot to have this face ; 
 I would not be sir Nob in any case. 
 
 Eli. I liketheewell ; Wilt thou forsake thy fortune. 
 Bequeath thy land to him. and follow me? 
 1 am a soldier, and now bound to France. 
 
 Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take my chance. 
 Your face hath got five hundred pounds a-year; 
 Yet sell your face for five pence, and 'tis dear. — 
 Madam, I'll follow you unto the death. 
 
 Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither. 
 
 Bast. Our country manners give our betters way, 
 
 A'. John. What is thy name? 
 
 Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun; 
 Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son. 
 
 K.John. From henceforth bear his name whose form 
 thou bear'st : 
 Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great ; 
 Arise, sir Richard, and Plantagenet. [hand ; 
 
 Bast. Brother, by the mother's side, give me your 
 My father gave me honour, yours gave land : — 
 Now blessed be the hour, by night or day, 
 When I was got, sir Robert was away. 
 
ACT II.--SCENE I. 
 
 J35 
 
 Kli. The very spirit of Plantagenet!— 
 I am ihy granclame, Richard ; call me so. 
 
 Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth: What 
 Somelliin^ about, a little from the right, [though'! 
 
 In at the window, or else o'er the hatch ; 
 Who dares not stir by day, must walk by night; 
 
 And have his have, however men do catch 
 Near or far off, well won is stil! well shot ; 
 And I am I, howe "er I was begot. [sire, 
 
 K.John. Go, Faulconbridge ; now hasttliou thyde- 
 A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire. — 
 Come, madam, and come, Kichavd ; we must speed 
 For France, for France ; for it is more than need. 
 
 Bast. Brother, adieu ; Good fortune come to thee! 
 For thou wast got i' the way of honesty. 
 
 [Exeunt all but the Bastard. 
 A foot of honour better than I was; 
 But many a i'oot of laud the worse. 
 
 Well, now can I make any Joan a lady : 
 
 Good den, sir Richard, — God-a-merci) , fellow : — 
 And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter : 
 For new-made honour doth forget men's names ; 
 Tis too respective, and too sociable. 
 For your conversion. Now your traveller, — ■ 
 He and his tooth -pick at my worship's mess ; 
 And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd, 
 Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise 
 
 My picked man of countries: Mii dear sir, 
 
 (Thus, leaning on my elbow, I begin,) 
 I shall beseech you — That is question now ; 
 And then comes answer like an ABC-book: — 
 O, sir, says answer, at your best command; 
 
 At your employment ; at your service, sir: 
 
 No, sir, says question, 7, sweet sir, at yours : 
 
 And so, ere answer knows what question would, 
 
 (Saving in dialogue of compliment ; 
 
 And talking of the Alps and Apennines, 
 
 The Pyrenean, and the river Po,) 
 
 It draws toward supper in conclusion so. 
 
 But this is worshipful society. 
 
 And fits the mounting spirit, like myself: 
 
 For he is but a bastard to the time. 
 
 Who doth not smack of observation ; 
 
 (And so am I, whether I smack, or no ;) 
 
 And not alone in habit and device, 
 
 Exterior form, outward accoutrement; 
 
 But from the inward motion to deliver 
 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth . 
 
 Whichrt though I will not practise to deceive, 
 
 Yet to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ; 
 
 For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. — 
 
 But who comes in such haste, in riding robes'? 
 
 What woman-post is this? hath she no husband, 
 
 That will take pains to blow a horn before her 1 
 
 Enter Lady FAULCOxuniDCE, and James Gl'rney. 
 O me! it is my mother:— How now, good lady? 
 What brings you here to court so hastily? 
 
 Ladij F. \Vhereisthatslave,thybrother? where is 
 That holds in chase mine honour up and down ? [he 1 
 
 Bast. My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son? 
 Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man ? 
 Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so? 
 
 Lady F. Sir Robert's son! Ay, thouunreverendboy, 
 Sir Robert's son: Why scorn 'st thou at sir Robert? 
 He is sir Robert's son? and so art thou. 
 
 Bast. James Gurney, wilt thou give us leave awhile ? 
 
 Our. Good leave, good Philip. 
 
 Sir Robert might have eat his part in me 
 
 Upon Good-friday, and ne'er broke his fast: 
 
 Sir Robert could do wpU ; Marry (to confess !) 
 
 Could he get me? Sir UobL-rt could not do it; 
 
 We know his handy-work ; — Therefore, good mother, 
 
 To whom am I beholden for these limbs? 
 
 Sir Robert never holp to make this leg. 
 
 Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too, 
 Thatforthineowngainshould'stdefend mine honour ? 
 What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave? 
 
 B(7S(. Knight, knight,good mother, — BasiUsco-Uke: 
 What ! I am dubb'd ; I have it on my shoulder. 
 But, motlier. I am not sir Robert's son ; 
 I have disclaim 'd sir Robert, and my land ; 
 Legitimation, name, and all is gone : 
 Then, good my mother, let me know my father ; 
 Some proper man, I hope ; Who was it, mother? 
 
 Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulconbridge? 
 
 Bast. As faithfully as 1 deny the devil. 
 
 Lady F.KingRichardCneur-de-lion was thy father: 
 By long and vehement suit 1 Avas seduc'd 
 
 To make room for him in my Imsband's bed : 
 
 Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge ! — 
 
 Thou art the issue of my dear offence, 
 
 Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence. 
 
 Bjst. Now, by this light, were 1 to get again, 
 Madam, I would not wish a better father. 
 Some sins do bear their privilege on earth, 
 And so doth yours: your fault was not your folly: 
 Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose,— 
 Subjected tribute to commanding love, — 
 Against whose fury and unmatched force 
 The aweless lion could not wage the fight, 
 Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand. 
 He, that perforce robs lions of their hearts, 
 IMay easily win a woman's. Ay, my mother. 
 With all my heart I thank thee for my father! 
 Who lives and dares but say, thou did'st not well 
 ^^ hen I was got, I'll send his soul to hell. 
 Come lady, 1 will shew thee to my kin ; 
 
 And they shall say, when Richard me begot. 
 If thou hadst said him nay, it had been sin : 
 
 Who says it was, he lies; 1 say, 'twas not. [Exeunt, 
 
 Bust. 
 
 Philip ! — sparrow I — James, 
 
 There's toys abroad; anon I'll tell thee more. 
 
 [Exit Gurnet, 
 Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son ; 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — France. Be/ore the Walls of Angiers. 
 
 Enter on one side, the Archduke of AusmiA, and 
 Forres : ok the other, Philip, King of France, and 
 Forces ; Lewis, Constance, AiiTHun, and At- 
 tendants. 
 
 Lew. Before Angiers well met, brave Austria. — 
 Arthur, that great fore runner of thy blood, 
 Richard, that robb'd the lion of liis heart, 
 Ami fought the holy wars in Palestine, 
 By this brave duke came early to his grave : 
 And, for amends to his posterity. 
 At our importance hither is he come. 
 To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf ; 
 And to rebuke the usurpation 
 Of thy unnatural uncle, English John ; 
 Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither. 
 
 Arth. God shall forgive you Coeur-de-lion's death. 
 The rather, that you give his offspring life. 
 Shadowing their right under your wings of war : 
 I give you welcome with a powerless hand. 
 But with a heart full of unstained love: 
 Welcome before the gates of Anglers, duke. 
 
 Lew. A noble boy ! Who would not do thee right 1 
 
336 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss. 
 As seal to this indenture of my love ; 
 That to my home I will no more return, 
 Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France, 
 Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore, 
 Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides, 
 And coops from other lands her islanders, 
 Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main, 
 That waler-wailed bulwark, still secure 
 And confident from foreign purposes. 
 Even till that utmost corner of <he west 
 Salute thee for her king : till then, fair boy, 
 Will I not think of home, but follow arms. 
 
 Const, O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks. 
 Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength. 
 To make a more requital to your love. 
 
 Aiibt. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift their 
 In such a just and charitable war. [swords 
 
 A'. Phi. Well then, to work ; our cannon shall be 
 
 Against the brows of this resisting town. [bent 
 
 Call for our chiefest men of discipline, 
 To cull the plots of best advantages : — 
 We'll lay before this town our royal bones, 
 A'Vade to the market place in Frenchmen's blood, 
 But we will make it subject to this boy. 
 
 Conit. Stay for an answer to your embassy, 
 Lest unadvis'd.you stain your swords with blood : 
 My lord Chatillon may from England bring 
 That right in peace, wliich here we urge in war ; 
 And then we shall repent each drop of blood. 
 That hot rash haste so indirectly shed. 
 
 Enter Chatillon. 
 
 A'. Phi, A wonder, lady!— lo, upon thy wish, 
 Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. — 
 What England says, say brieliy, gentle lord. 
 We coolly pause for thee ; Chatillon, speak. 
 
 dial. J'hen turn your forces from this paltry siege. 
 And stir ihem up against a mightier task. 
 England, impatient of your just demands. 
 Hath put himself in arms ; ihe adverse winds, 
 Whose leisure 1 have staid, have given him time 
 To land his legions all as soon as I : 
 His marches are expedient to this town, 
 His forces strong, his soldiers confident. 
 With him along is come the mother-queen. 
 An Ate, stirring him to blood and strife ; 
 With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain: 
 With them a bastard of the king deceased: 
 And all the unsettled humours of the land, — 
 Rash, inconsiderate, fiery, voluntaries, 
 With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, — 
 Have sold their fortunes at their native homes, 
 Bearing their birthrights proudly on tiieir backs. 
 To make a hazard of new fortunes here. 
 In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits, 
 Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er, 
 Did never float upon the swelling tide, 
 To do offence and scath in Christendom. 
 The interruption of their churlish drums [^D rums beat. 
 Cuts off more circumstance : they are at hand. 
 To parley, or to fight ; therefore, prepare. 
 
 A'. Phi. How mxich unlook'd-foris this expedition! 
 
 Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much 
 We must awake endeavour for defence; 
 For courage mounteth with occasion : 
 Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd. 
 
 Enter Kino John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastard, 
 ^KMBKOKE, and Forces. 
 
 K. John. Peace be to France ; if France, in peace 
 Our just and lineal entrance to our own! [permit 
 
 If not ; bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven I 
 Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct 
 Their proud contempt tliat beat his peace to heaven. 
 
 K. Phi. Peace be to England ; if that war return 
 From France to England, there to live in peace ' 
 England we love; and, for that England'.s sake, 
 With burden of our armour here we sweat: 
 This toil of ours should be a work of thine 
 But thou from loving England art so far, 
 That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king, 
 Cut off the sequence of posterity. 
 Outfaced infant state, and done a rape 
 Upon the maiden virtue of the crown. 
 Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ; — 
 These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his: 
 This little abstract doth contain that large, 
 Which died in Geffrey ; and the hand of time 
 Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. 
 That Geffrey was thy elder brother born, 
 And this his son ; England was Geffrey's right, 
 And this is Geffrey's ; In the name of God, 
 How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king, 
 When living blood doth in these temples beat, 
 Which own the crown that thou o'er-masterest 1 
 
 A'. John. From whom hast thou this great com- 
 mission, France, 
 To draw my answer from thy articles? 
 
 K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stirs good 
 If any breast of strong authority, [thoughts 
 
 To look into the blots and stains of right. 
 That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: 
 Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong ; 
 And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it. 
 
 K.John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority. 
 
 A'. Phi. Excuse ; it is to beat usurping down. 
 
 Eli. Who is it, thou dost call usurper, France 1 
 
 Cnnst. Let me make answer ;— thy usurping son. 
 
 Eli. Out, insolent I thy bastard shall be king; 
 That thou may'st be a queen, and check the world! 
 
 Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true. 
 As thine was to thy hu^band: and this boy 
 Liker in feature to his father Geffrey, 
 Than thou and John in manners ; being as like, 
 As rain to water, or devil to his dam. 
 My boy a bastard! By my soul, I think, 
 His father never was so true begot ; 
 It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother. 
 
 Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy 
 father. * [blot thee. 
 
 Const. There 's a good grandam, boy, that would 
 
 Aust. Peace I 
 
 Bast, Hear the crier. 
 
 Aust. What iJie devil art thou? 
 
 Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with you. 
 An 'a may catch your hide and you alone. 
 Vou are the hare of whom the proverb goes, 
 Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard ; 
 I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right ; 
 Sirrah, look to't; i'faith, T will, i'faith. 
 
 Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe 
 That did disrobe the lion of that robe! 
 
 Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him, 
 As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass : — 
 But, ass, I'll take that burden from your back ; 
 Or lay on that, shall make your shoulders crack. 
 
 Aust. What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears 
 With this abundance of superfluous breath? 
 
 A'. Phi. Lewis, determine whatwe shall do straight. 
 
 Leii'.Women and fools, break off your conference, — . 
 King John, this is the very sum of all, — 
 England, and IreHud, Anjou, Tourame, Maine, 
 In right of Arthur do 1 claun of thee : 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 337 
 
 Wilt ihou resign them, and lay down thy arms ? 
 
 K.John. ]Mv life as soon : — 1 do defy thee, Fiance. 
 Artliur, of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ; 
 And, out of ray dear love, I'll give tbee more 
 Than e'er the coward hand of France can win : 
 Submit thee, boy. 
 
 J^li. Come to thy grandam, child. 
 
 Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child ; 
 Give grandam. kingdom, and it' grandam will 
 Give it a plum, a cherry, and a tig: 
 There's a good grandam. 
 
 Anh. Good my mother, peace ! 
 
 I would, that I were low laid in my grave ; 
 1 am not worth this coil that's made for me. 
 
 Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he weeps. 
 
 Const. Now shame upon you, whe'rshedoes.orno ! 
 His grandam's wrongs, and not his mother's shames, 
 Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes, 
 "Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ; 
 Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd 
 To do him justice, and revenge on you. 
 
 £/(. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven andearth! 
 
 Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and earth ! 
 Call not me slanderer ; thou, and thine, usurp 
 The dominations, royalties, and rights, 
 Of this oppressed boy : This is thy eldest son's son, 
 Infortunate in nothing but in thee ; 
 Thy sins are visited in this poor child ; 
 The canon of the law is laid on him, 
 Being but the second generation 
 Removed from thy sin concei\ing womb. 
 
 K.John. Bedlam, have done. 
 
 Const, 1 have but this to say,— 
 
 That he's not only plagued for her sin. 
 But God hath made her sin and her the plague 
 On this removed issue, plagu'd for her. 
 And with her plague, her sin ; his injury 
 Her injury, — the beadle to her sin ; 
 All punish'd in the person of this child, 
 And all for her ; A plague upon her ! 
 
 Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce 
 A will, that bars the title of thy son. 
 
 Const. Ay, who doubts that? a will ! awickedwill ; 
 A woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will ! 
 
 A',P/ii. Peace, lady ; pause, or be more temperate: 
 It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim 
 To these ill-tuned repetitions. — 
 Some trumpet summons hither to the walls 
 These men of Anglers ; let us hear them speak. 
 Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's. 
 
 Trumpets sound, Enta- Citizens upon the walls. 
 
 1 Cit. Who is it, that hath warn'd us to the walls ? 
 
 K. Phi, *Tis France for England. 
 
 K. John. ^ England, for itself: 
 
 You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects. — 
 
 K. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's sub- 
 Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. [jects, 
 
 A'. John. For our advantage ; — Therefore, hear us 
 These flags of France, thatare advanced here [first. — 
 Before the eye and prospect of your town. 
 Have hither march'd to your endamagement : 
 The cannons have their bowels full of wrath; 
 And ready mounted are they, to spit forth 
 Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls : 
 All preparation for a bloody siege. 
 And merciless proceeding by these French, 
 Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates ; 
 And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones. 
 That as a waist do girdle you about, 
 By the compulsion of their ordnance 
 By this time from their fixed beds of lime 
 
 Had been dishabited, and wide havoc made 
 For bloodv power to rush upon your peace. 
 
 But, on the sight of us, your lawful king. 
 
 Who painfully, with much expedient march. 
 
 Have brought a countercheck before your gates, 
 
 To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks,— 
 
 Beliold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle : 
 
 And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire, 
 
 'I o make a shaking fever in your walls, 
 
 Tliey slioot but calm words, folded up in smoke. 
 
 To make a faithless error in your ears : 
 
 Which trust accordingly, kind citizens. 
 
 And let us in, your king ; whose labour'd spirits, 
 
 Forwearied in this action of swift speed, 
 
 Crave harbourage within your city walls. 
 
 A. Philip. Wiien 1 have said, make answer to us 
 Lo, in this right hand, whose protection [both. 
 
 Is most divinely vow'd upon the rio^ht 
 Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet ; 
 Son to the elder brother of this man. 
 And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys : 
 For this down-troddeu equity, we tread 
 In warlike march these greens before your town ; 
 Being no further enemy to you. 
 Than the constraint of hospitable zeal. 
 In the relief of this oppressed child, 
 Pi-eligiously provokes. Be pleased then 
 To pay that dutv, \\hich you truly owe, 
 To him that owes it ; namely, this young prince 
 And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear, 
 Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up ; 
 Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent 
 Against the invulnerable clpuds of heaven ; 
 And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire, 
 With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd, 
 We will bear home that lusty blood again, 
 Which here we came to spout against your town. 
 And leave your children, wives, and you, in peace. 
 But if you fondly pass our profFer'd oifer, 
 *Tis not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls 
 Can hide you from our messengers of war ; 
 Though all these English, and their discipline, 
 Were harbour'd in their rude circumference. 
 Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord. 
 In that behalf which we have challeng'd it } 
 Or shall we give the signal to our rage. 
 And stalk in blood to our possession * 
 
 1 Cit. In brief, we are the king of England's sub- 
 For him, and in his right, we hold this town, [jects ; 
 
 A'. Jo/(;(. Acknowledge then the king, and let me in. 
 
 1 Cit. That cun we not : but he that proves the king. 
 To him will we prove loyal ; till that time. 
 Have we ramm'd up our gales against the world. 
 
 A . John. Uolh not the crown of England prove the 
 And, if not that, I bring you witnesses, [king? 
 
 Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,— 
 
 B>ist. Bastards, and else. 
 
 A'. John, To verify our title with their lives. 
 
 K.Phi. Asmany, and as well- born bloods as those, — 
 
 Bust. Some bastards too. 
 
 A'. Phi. Stand in his face, to contradict his claim. 
 
 1 Cit, Till you compound whose right is worthiest, 
 We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both. 
 
 A'. J(i^«.ThenGod forgive the sinof all those souls, 
 That to their everlasting residence, 
 Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet. 
 In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king ! 
 
 A. P/ii. Amen, Amen! — Mount chevaliers! to arms! 
 
 J3rtsf. St. George, — that swing'd the dragon, ande'er 
 Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, [since. 
 Teach us some fence ! — Sirrah, were I at home. 
 At your den, sirrah, [to Austria.] with your lioness, 
 
338 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 I'd set an ox-head to your lion's hide, 
 And make a monster of you. 
 
 Amt. Peace ; no more. 
 
 Bast. O, tremble ; for you hear the lion roar. 
 K.John. Up higher to the plain; where we 'II set 
 In best appointment, all our regiments. [forth, 
 
 Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. 
 K. Phi. It shall be so j — [to Ltwis.] and at the 
 other hill 
 Command the rest to stand. — God, and our right ! 
 
 [ Eieunt. 
 SCENE n.—The same. 
 
 Alarums and Eicursions ; then a Retreat. Enter a 
 French Herald, with trumpets, to the gates. 
 
 F. Her. You men of Anglers, open wide your gates, 
 And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in ; 
 AVho, by the hand of France, this day hath made 
 Much work for tears in many an English mother, 
 Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground ; 
 Many a widow's husband groveling lies, 
 Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ; 
 And victory, with little loss, doth play 
 Upon the dancing banners of the French ; 
 Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd. 
 To enter conquerors, and to proclaim 
 Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours. 
 
 Enter an English Herald, with triunpets. 
 
 E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angicrs, ring your 
 bells; 
 King John, your king and England's, doth approach, 
 Commander of this hot malicious day ! 
 Their annours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, 
 Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood ; 
 There stuck no plume in any English crest. 
 That is removed by a staff of France ; 
 Our colours do return in those same hands 
 That did display them when we first march'd forth ; 
 And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come 
 Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, 
 Died in the dying slaughter of their foes : 
 Open your gates, and give the victors way. 
 
 Cit. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold. 
 From first to last, the onset and retire 
 Of both your armies ; whose equality 
 By oar best eyes cannot be censured: [blows; 
 
 Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd 
 Strength match'd with strength, and power confronted 
 Both are alike ; and both alike we like. [power : 
 One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even. 
 We hold our town for neither ; yet for both. 
 
 Enter, at one side, King John', with his power; 
 Elinor, Blanch, and the Bastard; at the other. 
 King Philip, Lewis, Austria, and Forces, 
 
 K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast 
 Say, shall the current of our right run on 1 [away? 
 Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, 
 Shall leave his native channel, and o'erswell 
 With course disturb'd even thy confining shores ; 
 Unless thou let his silver water keep 
 A peaceful progress to the ocean. 
 
 A'. Phi, England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of 
 In this hot trial, more than we of France ; [blood, 
 Rather, lost more : And by this hand I s-wear, 
 That sways the earth this climate overlooks, — 
 Before we will lay down our just borne arms, 
 We'llput thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, 
 Or add a royal number to the dead ; 
 Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss, 
 With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. 
 
 Bast. Ha. majesty ! how high thy glory towers. 
 When the nch blood of kings is set on fire ! 
 O, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel ; 
 The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs ; 
 And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men. 
 In undetennin'd differences of kings. — 
 Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? 
 Cry, havoc, kings! back to the stained field. 
 You equal potents, fiery-kindled spirits ! 
 Then let confusion of one part continn 
 The other's peace; till then, blows, blood, and death! 
 
 h.John. Wliose party do the townsmen yet admit' 
 
 K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England; who's your 
 king? 
 
 1 C/t. The kingof England, when we know the king. 
 
 A'. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his right. 
 
 A' John. In us, that are our own great deputy, 
 And bear possession of our person here ; 
 Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. 
 
 1 Cit. A greater power than we, denies all this j 
 And, till it be undoubted, we do lock 
 Our former scruple in our sirong-ban'd gates : 
 King'd of our fears ; until our fears, resolv'd, 
 Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd. 
 
 Bast. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout 
 you, kings ; 
 And stand securely on their battlements, 
 As in a theatre, whence they gape and point 
 At your industrious scenes and acts of death. 
 Your royal presences be rul'd by me ; 
 Do like the mutines of JerusaJem, 
 Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend 
 Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town : 
 By east and west let France and England mount 
 Their battering cannon charged to the mouths ; 
 Till their soul fearing clamours have brawl'd down 
 The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city : 
 I 'd play incessantly upon these jades. 
 Even till unfenced desolation 
 Leave them as naked as the vulgar air. 
 That done, dissever your united strengths, 
 And part your mingled colours once again ; 
 Turn face to face, and bloody point to point: 
 Then, in a moment, fortune shall call forth 
 Out of one side her happy minion ; 
 To whom in favour she shall give the day. 
 And kiss him with a glorious victory. 
 How like you this wild counsel, mighty states ? 
 Smacks it not something of the policy 1 
 
 K.John. Now, by the sky that liangs above our heads, 
 I like it well ; — France, shall we knit our powers, 
 And lay this Angiers even with the ground ; 
 Then, after, fight who shall be kingof it? 
 
 Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, — 
 Being wrong'd, as we are, by |ihis peevish town, — 
 Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery. 
 As we will ours, against these saucy walls : 
 And when that we have dash'd them to the ground. 
 Why, then defy each other: and, pell-mell. 
 Make work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell. 
 
 A'. Phi. Let it be so: — Say, where will you assault? 
 
 A' John. ^Ve from the west will send destructioQ 
 Into this city's bosom. 
 
 Aust. I from the north. 
 
 A'. Phi. Our thunder from the south. 
 
 Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town. 
 
 Bust. O prudent discipline ! From north to south ; 
 Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth : 
 
 [_ Aside, 
 I '11 stir them to it : — Come, away, away ! [stay, 
 
 1 Cit. Hear us, great kings; vouchsafe a while to 
 And I shall shew you peace, and fair-faced league j 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 3^9 
 
 Win you this city without stroke or wound ; 
 Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds, 
 That here come sacrifices for the field : 
 Persever not, but hear me, mighty kings. 
 
 A'. Jt^n. Speak on, with favour ; we are bent to hear. 
 
 1 Ctt. That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanch, 
 Is near to England ; Look upon the years 
 Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid : 
 If lusty love should go in quest of beauty, 
 Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch! 
 If zealous love should go in search of virtue, 
 Where should he find it purer than in Blanch ? 
 If love ambitious sought a match of birth, 
 Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch? 
 Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth, 
 Is the young Dauphin every way complete : 
 U not complete, O say, he is not she; 
 And she again wants nothing, to name want» 
 If want it be not, that she is not he ; 
 He is the half part of a blessed man, 
 Left to be finished by such a she ; 
 And she a fair divided excellence, 
 Whose fulness of perfection lies in him. 
 O, two such silver currents, when they join, 
 Do glorify the banks that bound them in : 
 And two such shores to two such streams made one. 
 Two such controlling bounds shall you be, kings, 
 
 eTo these two princes, if you marry them, 
 This union shall do moie than battery can. 
 To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match, 
 W' ith swifter spleen than powder can enforce, 
 The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope, 
 And give you entrance ; but, without this niatch, 
 The sea enraged is not half so deaf. 
 Lions more confident, mountains and rocks 
 More free from motion ; no, not Death himself 
 In mortal fury half so peremptory, 
 As we to keep this city. 
 
 Bast. Here's a stay, 
 
 That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death 
 Out of his rags ! Here's a large mouth , indeed. 
 That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas ; 
 Talks as familiarly of roaring lions, 
 As maids of thirteen do of puppy-dogs 1 
 What cannoneer begot this lusty blood ? 
 He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce; 
 He gives the bastinado with his tongue ; 
 Our ears are cud^el'd ; not a word of his. 
 But buti'ets better than a fist of France : 
 Zounds ! I was never so bethump'd with words. 
 Since I first call'd my brother's father, dad. 
 
 Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match j 
 ^ Give with our niece a dowry large enough : 
 ^ For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie 
 Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown. 
 That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe 
 The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit. 
 I see a yielding in the looks of France ; 
 Mark, how they whisper; urge them, while their souls 
 Are capable of this ambition : 
 Lest zeal, now melted, by the windy breath 
 Of soft petitions, pity, and remorse, 
 Cool and congeal again to what it was. 
 
 1 Cit. Why answer not the double majesties 
 This friendly treaty of our threaten'd town! 
 
 A'. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been forward 
 To speak unto this city : What say you ! [first 
 
 A^. John* If that the Dauphin there, thy princely 
 Can in this book of beauty read, 1 love, [son, 
 
 Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen : 
 For Anjou, ajid fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers, 
 And all that we upon this side the sea 
 
 ^ 
 
 (Except this city now by us besiegM,) 
 Find liable to our crown and dignity, 
 Shall gild her bridal bed ; and make her rich 
 In titles, honours, and promotions, 
 As she in beauty, education, blood. 
 Holds hand with any princess of the world. 
 
 K. Phi. What say'st thou, boy! look in the lady's 
 
 Lew, ] do, my lord, and in her eye I find [face. 
 A wonder, or a wondrous miracle. 
 The shadow of myself form'd in her eye ; 
 Which, being but the shadow of your son, 
 Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow : 
 I do protest, I never lov'd myself, 
 Till now infixed I beheld myself, 
 Dcawn in the Battering table of her eye. 
 
 [Whispers uith BLANcn. 
 
 Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye ! — 
 
 Hang'd in the frowning wrinkle of her brow !^ 
 And quartered in her heart ! — he doth espy 
 
 Himself love's traitor : This is pity now, 
 That hang'd, and drawn, and quarter'd, there should 
 In such a love, so vile a lout as he. [be, 
 
 Blanch. My uncle's will, in this respect, is mine. 
 If he see aught in you, that makes him like, 
 That any thing he sees, which moves his liking, 
 I can with ease translate it to my will ; 
 Or, if you will, (to speak more properly,) 
 I will enforce it easily to my love. 
 Further 1 will not flatter you, my lord, 
 That all I see in you is worthy love. 
 Than this, — that nothing do I see in you, 
 (Though churlish thoughts themselves should beyour 
 That 1 can find, should merit any hate. [judge,) 
 
 A. Johi. What say these young ones ! What say 
 you, my niece ! 
 
 Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do 
 What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say. 
 
 A. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin ; can you 
 love this lady ! 
 
 Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ; 
 For I do love her most unfeignedly. 
 
 A. John* Then do I give Volquessen, Touraine, 
 Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces, [Maine, 
 With her to thee ; and this addition more, y'] 
 
 Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. — (^ 
 
 Philip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal. 
 Command thy son and daughter to join hands. 
 
 A. Phi. It likes us well ; — Young princes close 
 your hands. 
 
 Aust. And your lips too ; for, I am well assur'd, 
 That I did so, when I was first assur'd. 
 
 A'. Phi. Now, citizens of Anglers, ope your gates, 
 Let in that amity which you have made ; 
 For at saint Mary's chapel, presently. 
 The rites of marriage shall be solemnized. — 
 Is not the lady Constance in this troop! — 
 I know, she is not ; for this match, made up, 
 Her presence would have interrupted much : 
 Where is she and her son ! tell me, who knows. 
 
 Lew. She is sad and passionate at your highness* tent 
 
 A. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we have 
 Will give her sadness very little cure. — [made, 
 Brother of England, how may we content 
 This widow lady ! In her right we came ; 
 Which we, God knows, have turn'd another way, 
 To our own vantage. 
 
 A. John. We will heal up ail, 
 
 For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne, tm 
 
 And earl of Richmond ; and this rich fair town v .-^- 
 
 We'Il make him lord of.— Call the lady Constance; 
 Some speedy messenger bid her repair 
 To our solemnity : — 1 trust we shall 
 V 2 
 
340 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 If not fill up the measure of her will, 
 Yet in some measure satisfy her so, 
 That we shall stop her exclamation. 
 Go we, as well as haste will suffer us, 
 To this unlook'd-for unprepared pomp. 
 
 [Eieunt all hut the Bastard. — Vte 
 Citizens retire from the walls. 
 Bast. Mad world! mad kings ! mad composition I 
 John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole. 
 Hath willingly departed with a part : 
 And France, (whose armour conscience buckled on; 
 Wiiom zeal and charity brought to the field, 
 As God's own soldier,) rounded in the ear 
 "\Vith that same purpose-changer, that sly devil j 
 'Vl That broker that still breaks tlie pate of faith ; 
 
 Thai daily break-vow ; he that wins of all, 
 Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids ; — 
 Who having no external thing to lose 
 But the word maid, — cheats the poor maid of that ; 
 Thatsmooth-faced gentleman, tickling commodity, — 
 Commodity, the bias of the world ; 
 The world, who of itself is peised well, 
 Made to run even ; upon even ground ; 
 Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias. 
 This sway of motion, this commodity, 
 Makes it take head from all indifFerency, 
 From all direction, purpose, course, intent : 
 And this same bias, this commodity. 
 This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word, 
 Clapji'd on the outward eye of fickle France, 
 Halh ilrawn him from his own determin'd aid, 
 From a resolv'd and honourable war, 
 To a most ba^e and vile-concluded peace. — 
 And why rail 1 on this commodity ? 
 But for because he hath not woo'd me yet: 
 Kot that 1 iiave the power to clutch ray hand. 
 When his fair angels would salute my palm: 
 But for my hand, as unattempted yet, 
 Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich. 
 Well, whiles 1 am a beggar, I will rail, 
 And say, — there is no sin, but to be rich ; 
 And being rich, my virtue then shall be. 
 To say, — there is no vice, but beggary : 
 Since kings break faith upon commodity. 
 Gain, be my lord ! for 1 will worship thee ! [Eait. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — The same. The French King's TenU 
 
 Enter Constance, Authur, aiid Salisbury, 
 
 Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace! 
 False blood to false blood jom'd ! Gone to be friends! 
 Shall Lewis have Blanch ! and Blanch those pro- 
 It is not so ; thou hast misspoke, misheardj [viaces"! 
 Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again: 
 It cannot be ; thou dost but say, 'tis so : 
 1 trust, I may not trust thee ; for thy word 
 Is but the vain breath of a common man : 
 Believe me. 1 do not believe thee, man ; 
 I have a king's oath to the contrary. 
 Thou shall be punish'd fur thus frighting me, 
 For I am sick, and capable of fears ; 
 Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ; 
 A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ; 
 A woman, naturally born to fears ; 
 And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest, 
 \^ ith my vex'd spirits I cannot take a truce. 
 But they will quake and tremble all this day. 
 What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head 1 
 
 Why dost thou look so sadly on my son"! 
 What means that hand upon that breast of thmc \ 
 Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum. 
 Like a proud river peering o'er his bounds ? 
 Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words? 
 Then speak again ; not all thy former tale, 
 But this one word, whether ihy tale be true. 
 
 Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false, 
 That give you cause to prove my saying true. 
 
 Count. O, if thou leach me to believe this sorrow, 
 Teach thou tliis sorrow how to make me die ; 
 And let belief and life encounter so, 
 As doth the fury of two desperate men, 
 Which, in the very meeting, fall, and die. — ^^ 
 
 Lewis marry Blanch ! O, boy, then where art then'* (^ 
 France friend with England ! what becomes of me ! — 
 Fellow, be gone ! 1 cannot brook thy sight ; 
 This news hath made thee a most ugly man. 
 
 Sal. What other harm have 1, good ladv, done. 
 But spoke the harm that is by others done 1 
 
 Const. Which hann within itself so heinous is. 
 As it makes harmful all that speak of it. 
 
 Arth. I do beseech you, madam, be content. 
 
 Const. If thou, thatbid'st me be content, were grim. 
 Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb. 
 Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless stains. 
 Lame, foolish, crook'd, swart, prodigious, 
 Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-otfending marks, 
 I would not care, I then would be content ; 
 For then T should not love thee ; no, nor thou 
 Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown. 
 But thou art fair ; and at thy birth, dear boy ! 
 Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great : 
 Of nature's gifts thou may'st with lilies boast. 
 And with the half-blown ro>e : but fortune, O ! 
 She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from ihee; 
 She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John ; 
 And with her golden hand hath pluck'd on France 
 To tread down fair respect of sovereignty. 
 And made his majesty the bawd to theirs. 
 France is a bawd to fortune, and king John ; 
 That strumpet fortune, that usurping John : — 
 Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn ? 
 Envenom him with words ; or get thee gone. 
 And leave these woes alone, which I alone. 
 Am bound to under-bear. 
 
 SaL Pardon me, madam, 
 
 I may not go without you to the kings. 
 
 Const. Thou may'st, thou shalt, I will not go with 
 I will instruct my sorrows to be proud : [thee : 
 
 For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout. 
 To me, and to the state of my great grief. 
 Let kings assemble, for my grief's so great. 
 That no supporter but the huge firm earth 
 Can hold it up : here 1 and sorrow sit ; 
 Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it. 
 
 [She throws herself on the ground. 
 
 Enter King John, King Philip, Lewis, Blanch, 
 Elinoh, Bastard, Austria, and Attendants. 
 A'. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed 
 Ever in France shall be kept festival : [day^, 
 
 To solemnize this day, the glorious sun 
 Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist ; 
 Turning, with splendour of his precious eye. 
 The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold : 
 Tlie yearly course, that biings this day about. 
 Shall never see it but a holyday. 
 
 ConM. A wicked day, and not a holyday ! — [Rising. 
 What hath this day deserv'd J what hath it done ; 
 That it in golden letters should be set, 
 Among the high tides, in the kalendar? 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 341 
 
 Kay, neither, turn this day out of the week ; 
 This day of shame, oppression, perjury : 
 Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child 
 Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day, 
 Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd : 
 But on this day. let seamtn fear no wreck ; 
 No bargains break, that are not this day made : 
 This day, all things begun come to ill end ; 
 Vea. faith itself to hollow falsehood change ! 
 
 A'. Phi. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause 
 To curse the fair proceedings of this day : 
 Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty ? 
 
 Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit, 
 Resembling majesty ; which, being touch'd, and tried, 
 Proves valueless : Vou are forsworn, forsworn ; 
 You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood, 
 But now in arms, you strengthen it with yours : 
 The grappling vigour and rough frown of war, 
 Is cold in amity and painted peace. 
 And our oppression hath made up this league : — 
 Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjured kings ! 
 A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens ! 
 Let not the hours of this ungodly day 
 Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset. 
 Set armed discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings ! 
 Hear me, 0, hear me ! 
 
 Aust. Lady Constance, peace. 
 
 Const. War! war! no peace ! peace is to me a war. 
 
 Lymoges ! Austria ! thou dost shame 
 
 That bloody spoil: Thou slave, thou wretch, thou 
 
 Thou'little valiant, great in viliany ! [coward ; 
 
 Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
 
 Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
 
 But when her humorous ladyship is by 
 
 To teach thee safety ! thou art perjur'd too. 
 
 And sooth'st up greatness. What a fool art thou, 
 
 A ramping fool ; to brag and stamp, and swear, 
 
 Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave. 
 
 Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ? 
 
 Been sworn my soldier ? bidding me depend 
 
 Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ? 
 
 And dost thou now fail over to my foes ? 
 
 Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it for shame. 
 
 And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 
 
 Aust. O, that a man should speak those words tome! 
 
 Ba5(.And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 
 
 Aust. Thou dar'st not say so. villain, for thy life. 
 
 Bast. And hang a calf 's-skin on those recreant limbs. 
 
 K.John. We like not this ; thou dost forget thyself. 
 
 F.nter PANori-rH. 
 K. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope. 
 Paiid. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven ! 
 To thee, king John, my holy errand is. 
 
 1 Pandulph. of fair Jlilan cardinal. 
 And from pope Innocent the legate here. 
 Do, in his name, religiously demand. 
 
 Why thou against the church, our holy mother, 
 So wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce. 
 Keep Stephen Langton. chosen archbishop 
 Of Canterbury, from that holy see ! 
 This, in our "foresaid holy father's name. 
 Pope Innocent, 1 do demand of thee. 
 
 K, John. What earthly name to interrogatories. 
 Can task the free breath of a sacred king ! 
 Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name 
 So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous, 
 To charge me to an answer, as the pope.« 
 Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England, 
 Add thus much more,— That no Italian priest 
 Shall tithe or toll in our dominions ; 
 But as we under heaven are supreme head, 
 
 So, under him, that great supremacy, 
 Where w-e do reign, we will alone uphold. 
 Without the assistance of a mortal hand : 
 So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart. 
 To him, and his usurp'd authority, 
 
 A'. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. 
 
 K.John. Though you. and all the kings of Christen- 
 Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, [dom. 
 Dreading the curse tliat money may buy out ; 
 And, by the merit of vile goM, dross, dust. 
 Purchase corrupted pardon of a man. 
 Who. m that sale, sells pardon from himself; 
 Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led. 
 This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish ; 
 Yet !, alone, alone do me oppose 
 Agamst the pope, and count his friends my foes. 
 
 Pand. Then by the lawful power that 1 have, 
 Thou shalt stand curs'd. and excommunicate : 
 And blessed shall he be. that doth revolt 
 From his allegiance to an heretic ; 
 And meritorious shall that hand be call'd, 
 Canoniz'd, and worship'd as a saint, 
 That takes away by any secret course 
 Thy hateful life. 
 
 Const. O, lawful let it be, 
 
 That I have room with Rome to curse awhile! 
 Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen, 
 To my keen curses : for, without my wrong, 
 There is no tongue hath power to curse Imu right. 
 
 Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse. 
 
 Const, And for mine too ; when law can do no right. 
 Let it be lawful, that law bar no wrong : 
 Law cannot give my child his kingdom here \ 
 For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law : 
 Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong, 
 How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ? 
 
 Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse. 
 Let go the hand of that arch -heretic ; 
 And raise the power of France upon his head, 
 Unless he do submit himself to Rome. [hand. 
 
 Eli. Look':?t thou pale, France? do not let go thy 
 
 Const. Look to that, devil I lest that France repent, 
 And, by disjoining hands, he 'U lose a soul. 
 
 Aust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal. 
 
 Bait. And hang a calf 's-skin on his recreant limbs. 
 
 Aust, W'eli, ruffian, 1 must pocket up these wrongs. 
 Because 
 
 Bast. Your breeches best may carry them. 
 
 A'. John. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal 1 
 
 Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal 1 
 
 Lew. Bethink you. father ; for the difference 
 Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome, 
 Or the light loss of England for a friend : 
 Forego the easier. 
 
 Blanch, That's the curse of Rome. 
 
 Const. Lewis, stand fast; the devil tempts thee 
 In likeness of a new untrimmed bride. [here, 
 
 Blanch. The lady Constance speaks not from her 
 But from her need. [faith. 
 
 Const, 0, if thou grant my need. 
 
 Which only lives but by the death of faith, 
 
 That need must needs infer this principle, 
 
 That faith would live again by death of need ; 
 
 O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up; 
 
 Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down. 
 
 A', John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to this. 
 
 Const. O, be removed from him, and answer well 
 
 Aust. Do so, king Philip; hang no more in doubt. 
 
 Bas(. Hang nothing but a calf's- skin, most sweet lout 
 
 A'. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say. 
 
 Pand, What canst thou say, but will perplex thee 
 If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd? [more. 
 
312 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 A'. Phi, Good reverend father, make my person 
 And tell me, how you would bestow yourself, [yours, 
 This royal hand and mine are newly knit : 
 And the conjunction of our inward souls 
 Married in league, coupled and link'd together 
 With all religious strength of sacred vows ; 
 The latest breath that gave the sound of words, 
 AVas deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love. 
 Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves ; 
 And even before this truce, but new before, — 
 No longer than we well could wash our hands. 
 
 To clap this royal bargain up of peace, 
 
 Heaven knows, they were besmear 'd and over-stain'd 
 
 With slaughter's pencil ; where revenge did paint 
 
 The fearful difference of incensed kings : 
 
 And shall these hands, so lately purg'd of blood. 
 
 So newly joined in love, so strong in both, 
 
 Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet 1 
 
 Play fast and loose with faith ? so jest with heaven. 
 
 Make such unconstant children of ourselves, 
 
 As now again to snatch our palm from palm ; 
 
 Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage bed 
 
 Of smiling peace to march a bloody host. 
 
 And make a riot on the gentle brow 
 
 Of true sincerity ] O holy sir, 
 
 My reverend father, let it not be so : 
 
 Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose 
 
 Some gentle order ; and then we shall be bless'd 
 
 To do your pleasure, and continue friends. 
 
 Pa/id. All form is formless, order orderless. 
 Save what is opposite to England's love. 
 Therefore, to arms, be champion of our church ! 
 Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse, 
 A mother's curse, on her revolting son. 
 France, thou may'st hold a serpent by the tongue, 
 A cased lion by the mortal paw, 
 A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, 
 Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold. 
 
 A". Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith. 
 
 Piiud. So makest thou faith an enemy to faith ; 
 And, like a civil war, set'st oath to oath, 
 Thy tongue against thy tongue. let thy vow 
 First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform 'd j 
 That is, to be the champion of our church ! 
 What since thou swor'st. is sworn against thyself, 
 And may not be performed by thyself: 
 For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss, 
 Is not amiss when it is truly done ; 
 And being not done, where doing tends to ill, 
 The tnith is then most done not doing it 
 The better act of purposes mistook 
 Is, to mistake again ; though indirect, 
 Yet indirection thereby grows direct, 
 And falsehood falsehood cures ; as fire cools fire. 
 Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd. 
 It is religion, that doth make vows kept ; 
 But thou hast sworn against religion ; 
 By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou swear'st; 
 And mak'st an oath the surely for thy truth 
 Against an oath : The trutii thou art unsure 
 To swear, swear only not to be forsworn ; 
 Else what a mockery should it be to swear ] 
 But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ; 
 And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear. 
 Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first, 
 £s in thyself rebellion to thyself: 
 And better conquest never canst thou make. 
 Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts 
 Against those giddy loose suggestions : 
 Upon which belter part our prayers come in. 
 If thou vouchsafe them ; but, if not, then know, 
 jThe peril of our curses light on thee j 
 
 So heavy, as thou shall not shake them off, 
 But, in despair, die under their black weight 
 
 Aiust. Rebellion, flat rebellion! 
 
 Baat. Will 't not be ? 
 
 Will not a calf's-skin stop that mouth of thine ? 
 
 Lew, Fatlier, to arms ! 
 
 Blanch. Upon thy wedding day ? 
 
 Against the blood that thou hast married ? 
 Wliat, shall our feast be kept with slau^hler'd men ? 
 Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums, — 
 Clamours of hell, — be measures to our pomp "* 
 
 husband, hear me ! — ah, alack, how new 
 
 Is husband in my mouth ! — even for that name, 
 Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce. 
 Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms 
 Against mine uncle. 
 
 Const. O, upon my knee, 
 
 IMade hard with kneeling, 1 do pray to thee, 
 Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom 
 Fore-thought by heaven, 
 
 Blanch. JS'owshalllsee thy love ; What motive may 
 Be stronger with thee than the name of wife I 
 
 Corts(. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds. 
 His honour: 0, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour* 
 
 Lew, I muse, your majesty doth seem so cold. 
 When such profound respects do pull you on. 
 
 Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head. 
 
 A'.P/i/. Thou shalt not need: — England, I'll fall from 
 
 Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty ! [thee. 
 
 Eli. foul revolt of French inconstancy ! 
 
 K.John. France, thou shall rue this hour within 
 this hour. 
 
 Bast. Old time the clock setter, that bald sexton 
 Is it as he will? well then, France shall rue. [time, 
 
 Blanch, The sun 's o'ercast with blood : Fair day, 
 W^hich is the side that I must go withal ? [adieu* 
 
 1 am with both : each army hath a hand ; 
 And, in their rage, I having hold of both, 
 They whirl asunder, and dismember ine. 
 Husband, I cannot pray that thou may'st win , 
 Uncle, I needs must pray that thou may'st lose; 
 Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ; 
 Grandam, I will not wish thy wishes thrive . 
 Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ; 
 Assured loss, before the match be play'd. 
 
 Lew. Lady, with me ; with me thy fortune lies. 
 Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my life 
 
 dies. 
 K, John. Cousin, go draw our puissance togetlier. — 
 
 [Liit Bastard. 
 France, I am burn'd up with inflaming wrath ; 
 A rage, whose heat hath this condition, lO 
 
 That nothing can allay, nothing but blood, \ ^ 
 
 The blood, and dearest valu'd blood, of France. 
 A'. Phi, Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou 
 shall turn 
 To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire ; 
 Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy. 
 
 A'. Jflhiu No more than he that threats. — To arms 
 let's hie ! [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE IL— T/(e same. Plaiiu near Angiers. 
 
 Alarums; Excursions. Enter the Bastard, with 
 AusTniA*s head. 
 
 Bast, Now, by my life, this day grows wondrons 
 Some airy devil hovers in the sky, [hot: 
 
 And pours fiown mischief. Austria's head, lie there; 
 While Philip breathes. 
 
 E)iter King John, Arthur, arid Hvbert. 
 
 A'. Joftn. Hubert, keep this boy: — Philip, mahe upj- 
 
ACT III.— SCENE IV. 
 
 343 
 
 My mother is assailed in our tent, 
 And ta'eii, I fear. 
 
 Biis[. My lord, I rescu'd her j 
 
 Her highness is in safety, fear you not : 
 But on, my liege ; for very little pains 
 Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Ul.~The same. 
 
 Alarums; Excursions; Retreat. Euter King John, 
 Elinor, Arthur, (/le Bastard, Hubert, a;(d Lords. 
 
 A'. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay he- 
 hind, [To Elinor. 
 So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad ; 
 
 [7'() Arthur. 
 Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will 
 As dear be to thee as thy father was. 
 
 Arth. O, this will make my,motherdie with grief. 
 A'. John. Cousin, [to the Bastard.] away for Eng- 
 land ; haste before : 
 And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags 
 Of hoarding abbots ■, imprison'd angels 
 Set thou at liberty ; the fat ribs of peace 
 Must by the hungry now be fed upon : 
 Use our commission in his utmost force. 
 
 Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me back. 
 When gold and silver becks me to come on. 
 I leave your highness : — Grandam, 1 will pray 
 (If ever I remember to be holy,) 
 For your fair safety ; so I kiss your hand. 
 Eli. Farewell, ray gentle cousiu. 
 K. John. Coz, farewell. [Exit Bastard. 
 
 Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word. 
 ' [She takes Arthur aaitle. 
 
 K,John, Comehither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, 
 W^e owe thee much ; within this wall of tlesh 
 There is a soul, counts thee her creditor, 
 And with advantage means to pay thy love : 
 And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
 Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 
 Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say, — ■ 
 But I win fit it with some better time. 
 By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd 
 T.o say what sjood respect I have of thee. 
 Huh. I am much bounden to your majesty. 
 K, John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say 
 so yet : 
 But thou shalt have : and creep time ne'er so slow, 
 Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 
 [ had a thing to say, — But let it go : 
 The sun is in tiie heaven, and the proud day. 
 Attended with the pleasures of tJie world, 
 Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds, 
 To give me audience : — If the midnight bell 
 Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 
 Sound one unto the drowsy race of night ; 
 If this same were a church-yard where we stand, 
 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; 
 Or if that suiiy spirit, melancholy. 
 Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ; 
 (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins, 
 Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 
 And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 
 A passion hateful to my purposes ;) 
 Or if that thou could'st see me without eves, 
 Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
 Without a tongue, using conceit alone, 
 W^ithout eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ; 
 Then, in despite of brooded watchful day, 
 I would into thy bosum pour my thoughts : 
 But ah, I will not: — Yet I love thee well ; 
 Aad, by my ti'oth, 1 think, thou lov'st rae well. 
 
 Jlnh. So well, that what you bid me undertake. 
 Though that my death were adjunct to my act, 
 By lieaven, I'd do't. 
 
 A'. John. Do not I know, thou would*st? 
 
 Good Hubert, Hubert. Hubert, throw thine eye 
 On yon young boy ; I'll tell thee what, my friend. 
 He is a very serpent in my way ; 
 And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread. 
 He lies before me : Dost thou understand rae 1 
 Thou art his keeper. 
 
 iltib. And I will keep him so, 
 
 That he shall not offend your majesty. 
 
 A'. John> Death. 
 
 Huh. My lord \ 
 
 K. John, A grave. 
 
 Hub. He shall not live. 
 
 A'. John. Enough. 
 
 I could be merry now : Hubert, I love thee. 
 Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee : 
 
 Remember. Madam, fare you well : 
 
 I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty. 
 
 Eli. My blessing go with thee ! 
 
 A'. John. For England', cousin, go: 
 
 Hubert shall be your man, attend on you 
 With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.- — The satne. The French King's Tent* 
 
 Enter King Philh', Lewis, Pandulph, a)td 
 Attendants. 
 
 A". Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the fJood, 
 A whole armado of convicted sail 
 Is scattered and disjoin'd from fellowship. 
 
 Fund. Courage and comfort ! all shall yet go well. 
 
 A'. Phi. What can gowell, when we have run so ill I 
 Are we not beaten ! Is not Anglers lost ? 
 Arthur ta'en prisoner ! divers dear friends slain ; 
 And bloody England into England gone. 
 Overbearing interruption, spite of France ? 
 
 Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified : 
 So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd. 
 Such temperate order in so fierce a cause, 
 Doth want example : Wlio hath read, or heard. 
 Of any kindred action like to this 1 
 
 K. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this 
 So we could find some pattern of our shame, [praise, 
 
 Enter Constance. 
 Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul j 
 Holding the eternal spirit, against her will. 
 In the vile prison of afflicted breath : — 
 I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me. 
 
 Const. Lo. now ! now see the issue of your peace! 
 
 K. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle 
 Constance ! 
 
 Const. No, I dtfy all counsel, all redress. 
 But that which ends all counsel, true redress. 
 Death, death : — O amiable lovely death ! 
 Thou odoriferous stench ! sound rottenness ! 
 Arise forth from the couch of lasting night, 
 Thou hate and terror to prosperity. 
 And I will kiss thy detestable bones ; 
 And put my eye-balls in thy vaulty brows ; 
 And ring these fingers with thy household worms j 
 And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust, 
 And be a carrion monster like thyself: 
 Come, grin on me ; and I will think thou smil'st, 
 And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love, 
 O, come to me ! 
 
 K. Phi. O fair affliction, peace. 
 
 Const. No, no, I will not. having breath to cry :— 
 O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth ' 
 Then with a passion would 1 shake the world ; 
 
344 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, 
 Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice, 
 Which scorns a modem invocation. 
 
 Panel. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. 
 
 Co7ist. Thou art not holy to belie me so ; 
 1 am not mad : this hair 1 tear, is mine ; 
 My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ; 
 Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost : 
 T am not mad ; — I would to heaven 1 were I 
 For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: 
 O, if I could, what grief should I forget I — 
 Preach some philosophy to make me mad, 
 And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ; 
 For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, 
 My reasonable part produces reason 
 How I may be deliver'd of these woes. 
 And teaches me to kill or hang myself: 
 If I were mad, I should forget my son ; 
 Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he ; 
 I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel 
 The different plague of each calamity. 
 
 A'. Phi. Bind up those tresses : 0, what love I note 
 In the fair multitude of those her hairs ! 
 Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen, 
 Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends 
 Do glew themselves in sociable grief; 
 Like true, inseparable, faithful loves. 
 Sticking together in calamity. 
 
 Const. To England, if you will. 
 
 K, Phi. Bind up your hairs. 
 
 Const. Yes, that I will ; And wherefore will I do it J 
 I tore them from their bonds \ and cried aloud, 
 
 that these hands cuuldso redeem my son, 
 As theu have given these hairs their libertu ! 
 But now I envy at their liberty. 
 
 And will again commit them to their bonds. 
 
 Because my poor child is a prisoner. — — 
 
 And, father cardinal, 1 have heard you say, 
 
 That we shall see and know our friends in heaven: 
 
 If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; 
 
 For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child. 
 
 To him that did but yesterday suspire, 
 
 There was not such a gracious creature born. 
 
 But now will canker sorrow eat my bud. 
 
 And chase the native beauty from his cheek, 
 
 And he will look as hollow as a ghost ; 
 
 As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ; 
 
 And so he'll die ; and, rising so again. 
 
 When I shall meet him in the court of heaven 
 
 1 shall not know him : therefore never, never 
 Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 
 
 Pand, You hold too heinous a respect of grief. 
 
 Const, He talks to me, that never had a son. 
 
 K. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child. 
 
 Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child. 
 Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me j 
 Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
 Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
 Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ; 
 Then, have I reason to be fond of grief. 
 Fare you well : had you such a loss as I, 
 I could give better comfort then you do. — 
 I will not keep this fonn upon my head, 
 
 [Tearing ojf^' her head-dress. 
 When there is such disorder in my wit. 
 lord ! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son ! 
 My life, my joy, my food, my all the world ! 
 My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure ! [Exit. 
 
 K, Phi, I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her. 
 
 [El if. 
 
 Lew. There's nothing in this world, can make me 
 Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale, [joy ; 
 
 Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ; 
 
 And bitter shame hath spoil'dthe sweet world's taste. 
 That it yields naught, but shame, and bitterness, 
 
 Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease, 
 Even in the instant of repair and health. 
 The fit is strongest ; evils, that take leave, 
 On their departure most of all shew evilt 
 What have you lost by losing of this day t 
 
 Lew. All days of glory, joy, and happiness. 
 
 Pand. If you had won it, certainly, you had. 
 No, no : when fortune means to men most good, 
 She looks upon them with a threatening eye. 
 'Xis strange to think how much king John hath lost 
 In this which he accounts so clearly won : 
 Are not you griev'd, that Arthur is his prisoner? 
 
 Lew. As heartily, as he is glad lie hath !iim. 
 
 Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood. 
 Now hear me speak, with a jtrophetic spirit ; 
 For even the breath of what I mean to speak 
 Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub. 
 Out of the path which shall directly lead 
 Thy foot to England's throne ; and, therefore, mark. 
 John hath seiz'd Arthur ; and it cannot be. 
 That, whiles warm life plays in tliat infant's veins. 
 The misplac'd John should entertain an hour, 
 One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest: 
 A scepter, snatch'd with an unruly hand. 
 Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd . 
 And he, that stands upon a slippery place, 
 Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up ; 
 That John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall ; 
 So be it, for it cannot be but so. 
 
 Lew. But what shall 1 gain by young Arthur's fall ' 
 
 Pand. You, ill the right of lady Blanch your wife, 
 May then make all the claim that Arthur did. 
 
 Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did. 
 
 Pand. How green are you, and fresh in this old world! 
 John lays your plots ; the times conspire with you; 
 For he, that steeps his safety in true blood, 
 Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue. 
 This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts 
 Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal ; 
 That none so small advantage shall step forth, 
 To check his reign, but they will cherish it j 
 No natural exhalation in the sky, 
 No scape of nature, no distemper'd day. 
 No common wind, no customed event. 
 But they will pluck away his natural cause. 
 And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs, 
 Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven. 
 Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John. 
 
 Lew. Maybe, hewill not touch young Arthur's life. 
 But hold himself safe in his prisonment. 
 
 Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach. 
 If that young Arthur be not gone already, 
 Even at that news he dies ; and then the hearts 
 Of all his people shall revolt from hnn. 
 And kiss the lips of unacquainted change ; 
 And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath, 
 Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John. 
 Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot ; 
 And, 0, what better matter breeds for you. 
 Than I have nam'd! — The bastard Faulconbndge 
 Is now in England, ransacking the church, 
 Offending charity : If but a dozen French 
 Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
 To train ten thousand English to their side ; 
 Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, 
 Anon becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin, 
 Go with me to the king : 'Tis wonderful, 
 What may be wrought out of their discontent : 
 Now that their souls are topfull of ofience, 
 

 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 345 
 
 Kor Englaod go ; I will whel on the king. 
 
 l.ni. Strong reasons make strong actions : Let us go : 
 If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. Kieunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Northampton. A Riwm in the Castle. 
 Enter Hubert and Two Attendants. 
 
 Hub. Heatme these irons hot ; and, look thou stand 
 Within the arras : when 1 strike my foot 
 Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth : 
 And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, ■ 
 Fast to the chair: be heedful : hence, and watch. | 
 
 1 Attend. I hopeyourwarrantwill bear out the deed. 
 
 Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look 
 to't. — [Eieiint Attendants. 
 
 Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
 
 Enter Arthur. 
 Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. 
 Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 
 
 Arth. As little prince (havir^ so great a title 
 To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad. 
 Hub. Indeed. I have been merrier. 
 Arth, Mercy on me ! 
 
 Methinks, no body should be sad but 1 : 
 Yet, 1 remember, when I was in France, 
 Younj gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
 Only for wantonness. By my chri.stendora. 
 So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
 I should be as merry as the day is long ; 
 And so I would be here, but that 1 doubt 
 My uncle practises more harm to me : 
 He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
 Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ? 
 No, indeed, is 't not ; And I would to heaven, 
 I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert, 
 Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
 He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
 Therefore I will be sudden and despatch. [Aside. 
 Aith. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day: 
 In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
 That I might sit all night, and watch v.'it\i you : 
 1 warrant, I love you more than you do me. 
 
 Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. — 
 Read here, young Arthur. [Shewing a paper.] How 
 now, foolish rheum 1 [Aaide. 
 
 Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! 
 I must be brief ; lest resolution drop 
 
 Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 
 
 Can you not read it 1 is it not fair writ ? 
 
 Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: 
 Must you with hot irons burn out both miue eyes I 
 Hub. Young boy, I must. 
 Arth, And will you? 
 
 Hub. And I ivill. 
 
 Arth. Have you the heart? AVhen your head did 
 1 knit my handkerchief about your brows, [but ake, 
 (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
 And I did never ask it you again : 
 And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
 And, like the watchful minutes to the hour. 
 Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ; 
 Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief ? 
 Or, what gooJ love may I perform for you ? 
 ]\Iany a poor man's son would have lain still. 
 And ne'tr have spoke a loving word to you ; 
 But you at your sick service had a prince. 
 Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, 
 And call it, cunning ; Uo, an if you will : 
 
 If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill, 
 Why, then you must. — Will you put out miue eyest 
 These eyes, that never did, nor never shall. 
 So much as frown on you ? 
 
 Fliih, I have sworn to do it ; 
 
 And with hot irons must I burn them out. 
 
 Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it ! 
 The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
 Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
 And quench his fiery indignation. 
 Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
 Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
 But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
 Are you more stubborn-hard than hamraer'd iron? 
 An if an angel should have come to me. 
 And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
 I would not have belicv'd no tongue, but Hubert's. 
 
 Hub. Come forth, [Stamps. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, with cords, irons, Sjc. 
 
 Do as I bid you do. 
 
 Arth. O.saverae, Hubert, saveme! myeyesareout, 
 Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 
 
 Hub. Give me the iron. I say, and bind him here. 
 
 Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough? 
 I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
 For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
 Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away. 
 And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
 1 will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word. 
 Nor look upon the iron angerly : 
 Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 
 Whatever torment you do put me to. 
 
 Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 
 
 1 Attend, I am best pleas'd to be from such a deed. 
 [^Exeunt Attendants, 
 
 Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend j 
 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
 Let him come back, that his compassion may 
 Give life to yours. 
 
 Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 
 
 Arth, Is there no remedy ? 
 
 Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 
 
 Arth. heaven ! — that there were but a mote in 
 A grain, a dust, a gnat, awand'ring hair, [yours. 
 Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
 Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there^ 
 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 
 
 Hub. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 
 
 Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
 Must needs want pleading for a pair of eves : 
 Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert I 
 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 
 So I may keep mine eyes ; 0, spare mine eyes ; 
 Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
 Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold. 
 And would not harm me. 
 
 Hub. I can heat it, bov. 
 
 ' Arth. No, in good sonth ; the fire is dead with grief, 
 Being create for comfort, to be us'd 
 In undeserved extremes : See else yourself; 
 There is no malice in this burning coai ; 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out. 
 And strew'd repencant ashes on his head. 
 
 Hub, But with my breath I can revive it, boy* 
 
 Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush. 
 And glow with shame of your proceedings. Hubert: 
 Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; 
 And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight, 
 Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. 
 All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
 Deny their oihce : only you do lack 
 
340 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron extends, 
 Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 
 
 Hub. Well, see to live, 1 will not touch thine eyes 
 For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : 
 Yet am I sworn, and 1 did purpose, buy, 
 With this same very iron lo burn them out. 
 
 Arth, O, now you look like Hubert! alithiswhile 
 Vou were disguised. 
 
 Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu. 
 
 Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
 I '11 fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
 And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, 
 That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world. 
 Will not oflend thee. 
 
 Arth. heaven! — I thank you, Hubert. 
 
 Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with me. 
 Much danger do I undergo for thee [EieuiU. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The same. — A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King John, crowned ; Pembroke, Salisbury, 
 and other Lords. The King takes his State. 
 
 K. J oh n. Here once again we sit, once again crown'd. 
 And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes. 
 
 i*em. This once again, but that your highness pleas'd, 
 Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before, 
 And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd offj 
 The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ; 
 Fresh expectation troubled not the land, 
 With any long'd-for change, or better state. 
 
 Sal. Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, 
 To guard a title that was rich before, 
 To gild refined gold, to paint the liiy. 
 To throw a perfume on the violet, 
 To smooth the ice, or add another hue 
 Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light 
 To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish. 
 Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess. 
 
 Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be done. 
 This act is as an ancient tale new told ; 
 And, in the last repeating, troublesome. 
 Being urged at a time unseasonable. 
 
 Sal. In this, the antique and well-noted face 
 Of plain old form is much disfigured ; 
 And, like a shifted wind unto a sail, 
 It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about ; 
 Startles and frights consideration ; 
 Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected, 
 Tor putting on so new a fashion'd robe. 
 
 Pern. \\ hen worki«*'n strive to do better than well, 
 They do confound their skill in covetousness : 
 And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault, 
 Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse j 
 As patches, set upon a little breach, 
 Discredit more in hiding of the fault, 
 Than did the fault before it was so patch'd. 
 
 Sal. To this eflTect, before you were new-crowoM, 
 We breath'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your highness 
 To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd ; 
 Since all and every part of what we would, 
 Doth make a stand at what your highness will. 
 
 A. Joh/i. Some reasons of this double coronation 
 I have possess'd you with, and think them strong ; 
 And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,) 
 I shall indue you with : Mean time, but ask 
 What you would have reform'd, that is not well j 
 And well shall you perceive, how willingly 
 I will both hear and grant you your requests. 
 
 Peni. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these, 
 To sound the purposes of all their hearts,) 
 Both for myself and them, (but, chief of all. 
 
 Your safety, for the which myself and them 
 Bend their best studies,) heartily request 
 The enfranchisement of Arthur ; whose restraint 
 Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent 
 To break into this dangerous argument, — 
 If, what in rest you have, in right you hold. 
 Why then your fears, (which, as they say, attend 
 The steps of wrong,) should move you to mew up 
 Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days 
 With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth 
 The rich advantage of good exercise t 
 That the time's enemies may not have this 
 To grace occasions, let it be our suit, 
 That you have bid us ask his liberty ; 
 Which for our goods we do no further ask, 
 Than whereupon our weal, on you depending, 
 Counts it your weal, he have his liberty. 
 
 A'. John. Let it be so; 1 do commit his youth 
 
 Enter Hubert. 
 
 To your direction. — Hubert, what news with you 2 
 
 Pern. This is the man should do the bloody deed. 
 He shew'd his warrant to a friend of mine : 
 The image of a wickftl heinous fault 
 Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his 
 Does shew the mood of a much-troubled breast , 
 And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done. 
 What we so fear'd he had a charge to do. 
 
 Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go. 
 Between his purpose and his conscience. 
 Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set: 
 His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. 
 
 Pent. And, when It breaks, I fear, will issue thence 
 The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. 
 
 K.John. We cannot hold mortality's strong hand;— 
 Good lords, although my will to give is living. 
 The suit which you demand is gone and dead : 
 He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night, 
 
 Sal. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure. 
 
 Pern. Indeed, we heard how near his death he was. 
 Before the child himself felt he was sick : 
 This must be answer'd, either here, or hence. 
 
 A'.Ju/iM.Whydoyoubendsuch solemn brows on me? 
 Think you, I bear the shears of destiny ? 
 Have I commandment on the pulse of life ? 
 
 Sal. It is apparent foul-play ; and 'tis shame. 
 That greatness should so grossly offer it : 
 So thrive it in your game ! and so farewell. 
 
 Pern, Stay yet, lord Salisbury ; I'll go with thee. 
 And find the inheritance of this poor child. 
 His little kingdom of a forced grave. 
 That blood, which ow'd the breadth of all this isle. 
 Three foot of it doth hold : Bad world the while ! 
 This must not be thus borne : this will break out 
 To all our sorrows, and ere longl doubt, 
 
 [Exeunt Lords. 
 
 A'. John. They burn in indignation ; I repent j 
 There is no sure foundation set on blood ; 
 No certain lifeachiev'd by others' death. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 A fearful eye thou hast ; Where is that blood. 
 
 That 1 have seeu inhabit in those cheeks ? 
 
 So foul a sky clears not without a storm : 
 
 Pour down thy weather; — How goes all in France? 
 
 Mess.FromFrancetuEngland.— Never such a power 
 For any foreign preparation, 
 Was levied in the body of a land ! 
 The copy of your speed is leara'd by them ; 
 For, when you should be told they do piepare. 
 The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd. 
 
 K,John* 0, whore hath our iatolUgence been drutdt? 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 Whore hath it slept"! Where is my mother s care? 
 That such an army could be drawn in France, 
 And she not hear of ill 
 
 Nc.'ss. Wy liege, her ear 
 
 Is stopp'd with dust ; the first of April, died 
 "^'our noble mother : And, as I hear, iny lord, 
 llio lady Conslance in a frenzy died 
 Three days before : but this from rumour's tongue 
 I idly heard ; if true, or false, I know not. 
 
 A. John. Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion! 
 O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd 
 My discontented peers! — What! mother dead? 
 How wildly tlieu walks my estate in France ! — 
 Under whose conduct came those powers of France, 
 That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here ? 
 
 Meis. Under the IJauphin. 
 
 Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret. 
 
 A*. John. Thou hast made me giddy 
 
 W^ith these ill tidings. — Now, what says the world 
 To your proceedings 1 do not seek to stuff 
 My head with more ill news, for it is full. 
 
 Bast, But, if you be afeard to hear tlie worst, 
 Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head. 
 
 A'. John. Bear with me, cousin, for I was amaz'd 
 Under the tide : but now I breathe again 
 Aloft the flood ; and can give audience 
 To any tongue, speak it of what it will. 
 
 Bast. How 1 have sped among the clergymen. 
 The sums 1 have collected shall express. 
 But, as I travelled hither through the land, 
 I find the people strangely fantasied ; 
 Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams ; 
 Not knov^ing what they fear, but full of fear : 
 And here's a prophet, that 1 brought with me 
 From forth tiie streets of Pomfret, whom I found 
 With many hundreds treading on his heels ; 
 To whom he sung, in rude harsh -sounding rhymes, 
 That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon, 
 Your highness should deliver up your crown. 
 
 A. Jo/iH. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou so? 
 
 Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so. 
 
 K. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison him; 
 And on that day at noon, whereon, he says, 
 I shall yield up my crown, let him he hang'd: 
 Deliver him to safety, and return. 
 Fori must use thee. — O my gentle cousin, 
 
 [Exit Hubert, u-ith Peter. 
 Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd? 
 
 Bast, TheFrendli,mylord;men'smouths are full of 
 Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury, [it: 
 (With eyes as red as new enkindled fire,) 
 And others more, going to seek the grave 
 Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night 
 On your suggestion. 
 
 A'. John. Gentle kinsman, go, 
 
 And thrust thyself into their companies : 
 1 have a way to win their loves again ; 
 Bring them before me. 
 
 Bast. I will seek them out. 
 
 K.John.'Say, but make haste ; the better foot before. 
 O, let me have no subject enemies, 
 \\'hen adverse foreigners affright my towns 
 With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! — 
 Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels ; 
 And fly, like thought, from them to me again. 
 
 Bast. Tiie spirit of the time shall teach me speed. 
 
 [Eut. 
 
 K.John. Spoke like a spriteful noble gentleman. — 
 Go after him ; for he, perhaps, shall need 
 Some messenger betwixt me and the peers j 
 And be thou be. 
 
 347 
 
 [Eiit, 
 
 Mess. With all my heart, my liege. 
 A". Joliu. j\iy mother dead ! 
 
 lie-enter Hurert. 
 
 Hub. My lord, they sav, five moons were seen to- 
 Four fixed; and the fifth did whirl about [night: 
 The other four, in wond'rous motion. 
 
 A'. John. Five moons? 
 
 Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets, 
 
 Do prophesy upon it dangerously : 
 Young Arthur's death is common in their mou*hs : 
 And when they talk of him, they shake their heads, 
 And whisper one another in the ear; 
 And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; 
 Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action, 
 With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
 I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 
 The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 
 With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 
 Who, with his shears aud measure in his hand, 
 Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
 Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,) 
 Told of a many thousand warlike French. 
 That were embatteled and rank'd in Kent : 
 Another leanunwash'd artificer 
 Cuts ofli' his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
 
 A'. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with these 
 Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death I [fears ^ 
 Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had mighty cause 
 To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 
 
 Hub. Had none, my lord ! why, did you not provoke 
 
 K.John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended [me? 
 By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant 
 To break within the bloody house of life • 
 And, on the winking of authority, 
 To understand a law ; to know the meaning 
 Of dangerous majesty, wlien, perchance, it frowns 
 More upon humour than advis'd respect. 
 
 Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 
 
 K, John. O.when the laslaccount'twixt heaven and 
 Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal [earth 
 Witness against us to damnation ! 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, 
 Makes deeds ill done ! Hadest not thou been by, 
 A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd. 
 Quoted, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame, 
 This raurder had not come into my mind : 
 But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect. 
 Finding thee fit for bloody villany, 
 Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger, 
 I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death ; 
 And thou, to be endeared to a king. 
 Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 
 
 Hub. My lord, 
 
 A'. Joh7i. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a 
 VVhen I spake darkly what I purposed ; [pause. 
 
 Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, 
 And bid me tell my tale in express words ; 
 Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break ofT, 
 And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me ; 
 But thou didst understand me by my signs. 
 And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
 Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent. 
 And, consequently, thy rude hand to act 
 The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name- — 
 Out of my sight, and never see me more! 
 My nobles leave me ; and my state is brav'd, 
 Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : 
 Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, 
 This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath. 
 Hostility and civil tumult reigns 
 Between my conscience, and my cousm's death. 
 
348 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 Hub, Arm you against your other enemies, 
 I'll make a peace betwixt your soul and you. 
 Young Arthur is alive: This hand of mine 
 Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, 
 Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
 Witiiin this bosom never enter'd yet 
 The dreadful notion of a murd'rous thouEjht, 
 And you have slander'd nature in my form ; 
 ■ Which howsoever rude exteriorly, 
 Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
 Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 
 
 K. John. Doth Arthur live? O, haste thee to the 
 Throw this report on their incensed rage, [peers, 
 And make them tame to their obedience ! 
 Forgive the comment that my passion made 
 Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind, 
 And foul imaginary eyes of blood 
 Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 
 0, answer not; but to my closet bring 
 The angry lords, with all expedient haste: 
 I c6njure thee but slowly ; run more fast. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— r/re same. Before the Castle. 
 Enter Arthur, on the walls. 
 
 Arth. The wall is high; and yet will I leapdown: — 
 Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! — 
 There's few, or none, do know roe ; if they did. 
 This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite. 
 I am afraid ; and yet ITl venture it. 
 If I get down, and do not break my limbs, 
 ITl find a thousand shifts to get away : 
 As good to die, and go, as die, andstay. [Leaps dotvn, 
 O me ! my uncle 's spirit is in these stones : — 
 Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones! 
 
 [Dies. 
 Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot. 
 
 Sal. Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's-Bury ; 
 It is our safely, and we must embrace 
 This gentle offer of the perilous time. 
 
 Pern. Who brouc;ht that letter from the cardinal! 
 
 Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France ; 
 Whose private with me. of the Dauphin's love, 
 Is much more general than these lines import. 
 
 Big. To-morrow morning let us meet him tiien. 
 
 Sal. Or, rather then set forward : for 'twill be 
 Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 
 Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemperVUords ! 
 The king, by me, requests your presence straight. 
 
 Sal. The king hath dispossess'd himself of us ; 
 We will not line his thin bestained cloak 
 With our pure honours, nor attend the foot 
 That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks : 
 Return, and tell him so ; we know the worst, [best. 
 
 Busf.Whate'eryou think, good words. I think, were 
 
 Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now. 
 
 Bast. But there is little reason in your grief ; 
 Therefore, 'twere reason, you had manners now. 
 
 Pern. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 
 
 Bast. 'Tis true ; to hurt his master, no man else. 
 
 Sal, This is the prison : What is he lies here ''. 
 
 [Seeing Arthur. 
 
 Pem. death, made proud with pure and princely 
 The earth had not a hole to hide this deed, [beauty ! 
 
 Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, 
 Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. 
 
 Big. Or, when he doomM ihvs beauty to a grave. 
 Found it too precious-princely for a grave. 
 
 Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have yuu beheld, 
 Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think ? 
 
 Or do you almost think, although you see, 
 That you do see t could thouglit, without this object, 
 Form such another ? this is the very top. 
 The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, 
 Of murder's arms : tiiis is the bloodiest shame. 
 The wildest savag'rv, the vilest stroke, 
 That ever wail-eye'd wrath, or stanng rage, 
 Presented to the tears of soft remorse. 
 
 Pem All murders past do stand excus'd in this: 
 And this so sole, and so unmatchable. 
 Shall give a holiness, a purity. 
 To the yet-unbegotten sin of times ; 
 And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 
 Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 
 
 Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ; 
 The graceless action of a heavy hand, 
 If that it be the work of any hand. 
 
 Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — 
 We had a kind of light, what would ensue : 
 It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand : /O- 
 
 The practice, and the purpose, of the king : — Vs.^ 
 From whose obedience 1 forbid my soul, 
 Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life 
 And breathing to his breathless excellence 
 The incense of a vow, a holy vow ; 
 Never to taste the pleasures of the world, 
 Never to be infected with delight, 
 Nor conversant with ease and idleness, 
 Till I have set a glory to this hand, 
 By giving it the worship of revenge. 
 
 Pem. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy wordsw 
 
 Enter Hubert. 
 
 Huh. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you : 
 Arthur doth live; the king hath sent for you. 
 
 Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : — 
 Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone ! 
 
 Hub. I am no villain. 
 
 5a/. Must 1 rob the law? [Dravjiag his sv-nriK 
 
 Bost. Your sword is bright, sir ; put it up again. 
 
 Sal. Not till 1 sheath it in a murderer's skin. 
 
 Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say ; 
 By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours : 
 I would not have you, lord, forget yourself, 
 Nor tempt the danger of my true defence ; 
 Lest I, by marking of your rage, forget 
 Your worth, your greatness, and nobility. 
 
 Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a nobleman ? 
 
 Huh. Not for my life : but yet 1 dare defend 
 My innocent life against an emperor. 
 
 SuL Thou art a murderer. 
 
 Huh. Do not prove me so ; 
 
 Yet, I am none: Whose tongue soe'er speaks false. 
 Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies. 
 
 Pem,, Cut him to pieces. 
 
 Bast. Keep the peace, I say. 
 
 Sat. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge. 
 
 Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury: 
 If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot. 
 Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame, 
 I '11 strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime ; 
 Or I '11 so maul you and your toasting-iron, 
 That you shall think the devil is come from hell. 
 
 Big. What wilt thou do renowned Faulconbridge^ 
 Second a villain and a murderer? 
 
 Hub, Lord Bigot, 1 am none. 
 
 Big. Who kiird this piince* 
 
 Hub. *Tis not an hour since I left him well : 
 I honour'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep 
 My dale of life out, for his sweet life's loss. 
 
 Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes. 
 For villany is not without such rUeura j 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 349 
 
 And he long traded in U makes it seem 
 Uke rivers of remorse and mnocency. [ 
 
 Ivvav with me, all vou whose souls abho. , 
 
 The uncleanly savours of a ^ -g >te-l.onse ; | 
 
 Vor I aur strfled -"h'he smell of .n^ ^^^^^ , 
 
 ?-^:J^.'Xffi:tm.4--- 
 
 1 ...«,1.1 ' Knew vou of this fair 
 
 Ban. Here's a good w » " ,,f^°',,^Jh [work 1 
 
 Xtr-f'tTdX^irde^o/dea., 
 
 Aryhoudamnd, Hubert. ^^^^^^^^^^_^.^_ 
 
 Bast'. Ha! l'"»<^,V';^'^^;;^f ;o,hin.issoblack; 
 Hub. Upon my soul,— ^ ^^^^ ^.^^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^, 
 
 A beau, to hangthee on ; or would ,t thou 1'own tnj 
 Put but a Utile water m a spoon, L ' 
 
 And it shall be as all the ocean. 
 Enough to stifle such a villain up. 
 I do suspect thee vei? grievously. 
 
 Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought 
 Be Juilty of the stealing that sweet breath 
 Whf^h was embonnded in this beauteous clay, 
 Let hell want pains enough to torture me ! 
 Heft him well. ^^ ,^„ ^im in thine arms- 
 I am amaz'd. methinks : and lose my way 
 \^n7tl>e thorns and dangers o this world.- 
 How elsy dost thou take all England up I 
 From fo/th this morsel of df'.^rt is realm 
 The life, the rlsht, and truth of all this lea m 
 Is fled to heaven ; and England now .» el 
 To tug and scamble, and to part by the eeth 
 The unowed interest of proud-swelling state. 
 Not for the bare-pick'd bone of majesty, 
 Doth dodged war bristle his angry cre^t. 
 And sna?feth in the gentle eyes o, peace : 
 Now powers from home, and disco.iten s at home. 
 Meet^n one line ; and vast contusion waits 
 (As doth a raven on a sick-fa lien beast.) 
 The eminent decay of wrested pomp. 
 Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture can 
 Ho^d out this tempest. Bear away that child. 
 And follow me wi^h speed ■ 1 •"'o ' - '^•ng : 
 A thousand businesses are brief m hana. 
 
 Our discontented counties do revolt ; 
 Our people quarrel with obedience ; 
 Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul, 
 To stran<rer blood, to foreign royalty. 
 This inundation of mistemper d humour 
 Rests by you only to be qualified. 
 Then pause not ; for the present time sso sick, 
 That present medicine must be mimster d. 
 Or overthrow incurable ensues. 
 
 Paud. Itwasmv breath thatblew this tempest up, 
 I Upon your stubborn usage of the pope : 
 But, since you are a gentle convertite, 
 My tongue shall hush again this storm ot war, 
 I And m&e fair weather in your blustering land. 
 I On this Ascension-day, remember well, 
 i Upon vour oath of service to the pope. 
 
 Go 1 to make the French lay down their artns. [Lut. 
 K.Jobn. IsthisAscension-dayiDidnottheprophel 
 
 Say that, before Ascension-day at noon, 
 ' Mv 'crown I should give offl Even so I have . 
 
 i did suppose, it should be on constraint ; 
 
 But, heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 Bast. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds out, 
 But Dover castle : London hath receiv'd, 
 Like a kind host, the dauphin and his powers : 
 Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 
 To offer service to your enemy ; 
 And wild amazement hurries up and dow-n 
 The little number of your doubtful friends. 
 
 K John Would not my lords return to me again. 
 After they heard young Arthur was alive \ 
 
 Bust. They found him dead, and cast into the streets; 
 
 An empty casket, where the jewel of life ^ 
 By sonie'damn'd hand was robb d and ta en away. 
 "K J,./,» That villain Hubert told me he did live. 
 Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew. 
 But wherefore do you droop 1 why look you sadi 
 Be great in act, as you have been in thought ; 
 I Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust, 
 ' Govern the motion of a kingly eye : 
 Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
 Threaten the thveafner, and outface the brow 
 Of brai'-'ing horror : so shall inferior eyes, 
 That borrow their behaviours from the great. 
 Grow great by your example, and put on 
 The dauntless s'pirit of resolution. 
 ! Away ; and glister like the god of war, 
 I When he intendeth to become the field : 
 Shew boldness and aspiring confidence. 
 What, shall they seek the lion in his den, 
 I And fright him there 1 and make him tremble there 1 
 0, let it not be said !— Forage, and run 
 
 A thousand businesses are brief '" '>=^"''' . ^ jo meet displeasure further from the doors ; 
 
 And heaven itself doth frownupon the lana. [J^" • ^^^ grapple with him, ere he comes so nigh. 
 
 1 I.' Jo/,,,. The legate of the pope hath been with me 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 -The same. A Room xn the Palace. 
 
 SCENE I.- 
 Enter Kino John. Pandulph ,.ith the crown, 
 
 and .Attendants. 
 JC hhn. Thus have 1 yielded up into your hand . 
 "^••LTrVaS!:^- [rn.n,Jo„.,.ecro..J 
 
 From this my hand, as l^"'^'"! "f ''''^fP'r'French ; ' And'finS no check? Let us, my liege, to arn.s : 
 Your sovereign greatness and ^"'^""'r ^ ^ [^^ Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace; 
 K. John. Now keep your ^oW vord^ go mee ^^ .^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^ .^ ^^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^^.^_ 
 
 rstlple'r-rcb^. "fo" - - -«-'^- 1 ^"^^ '^^ "^ ''' ^ '""""' " ' 
 
 And 1 have made a happy peace with him ; 
 And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers 
 Led by the Dauphin. 
 
 Bait. O inglorious league ! 
 
 Shall we, upon the footing of our land, 
 Send fair-play orders, and make compromise. 
 Insinuation, parley, and base truce. 
 To arms invasive I shall a beardless boy 
 I A cocker'd silken wanton brave our fields. 
 And Hesh his spirit in a warlike soil. 
 Mocking the air with colours idly spread. 
 
350 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 K.John. Have thou the ordering of this present 
 
 time. 
 Bast. Away tlien, with good courage ; yet, I know, 
 Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Ei«uHt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Plain, near St. Edmund's-Bury. 
 
 Enter in arms, Lewis, Salisuuby, Melun, 
 Pembroke, Bigot, and Soldiers. 
 
 Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out. 
 And keep it safe for our remembrance : 
 Return the precedent to these lords again ; 
 That, having our fair order written down, 
 lioth they, and we, perusing o'er these notes, 
 May know wherefore we took the sacrament. 
 And keep our faiths firm and inviolable. 
 
 Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken. 
 And, noble dauphin, albeit we swear 
 A voluntary zeal, and uniirg'd faith, 
 To your proceedings ; yet, believe me, prince, 
 I am not glad that such a sore of time 
 Should seek a plaster by conlemn'd revolt. 
 And heal the inveterate canker of one wound. 
 By making many; O, it grieves my soul, 
 That 1 must draw this metal from my side 
 To be a widow-maker ; O, and there. 
 Where honourable rescue, and defence. 
 Cries out upon the name of Sali^bury : 
 But such is the infection of the time. 
 That, for the health and physic of our right. 
 We cannot deal but witli the very hand 
 Of stern injusiice and confused wrong. — 
 And ib't not pity, O my grieved friends ! 
 That we, the sons and children of this isle. 
 Were born to see so sad an hour as this : 
 Wheiein we step after a slranger march 
 Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up 
 Her enemies' ranks, (I must withdraw and weep 
 Upon the spot of this enforced cause,) 
 To grace the gentry of a land remote, 
 And follow unacquainted colours here ? 
 What, herel— O, nation, that thou could'st remove! 
 That Neptune's arms, who clippelh thee about. 
 Would bear thee fiom the knowledge of thyself, 
 And grapple thee unto a pagan shore ; 
 Where these two Christian armies might combine 
 'i'lie blood of malice in a vein of league. 
 And not to spend it so unneighbourly ! 
 
 Lew. A noble temper dost thou shew in this ; 
 And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom. 
 Do make an earthquake of nobility. 
 O, what a noble coiubat hast thou fought. 
 Between compulsion, and a brave respect ! 
 Let me wipe ofi' this honourable dew. 
 That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks : 
 My heart hath melted at a lady's tears. 
 Being an ordinary inundation ; 
 But this effusion of such manly drops. 
 This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul. 
 Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd 
 Than had I seen the vauUy top of heaven 
 Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors. 
 Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury, 
 And with a great heart heave away this storm : 
 Commend these waters to those baby eyes, 
 That never saw the giant world enrag'd ; 
 Nor met with fortune other than at feasts. 
 Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping. 
 Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep 
 Into tile purse of rich prosperity. 
 As Lewis himself : — so, nobles, shall you all. 
 That knit your sinews to the strength of mine. 
 
 Enter P.indulph, attended. 
 And even there, metliinks, an angel spake: 
 Look, where the holy legate comes apace. 
 To give us warrant from the hand of heaven ; 
 And on our actions set the name of right. 
 With holy breath. 
 
 Pund. Hail, noble prince of France! 
 
 The next is this, — king John hath reconcil'd 
 Himself to Rome ; his spirit is come in, • <;^ 
 That so stood out against the holy church, v 
 
 The great metropolis and see of Rome : 
 Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up, 
 And tame the savage spirit of wild war ; 
 That, like a lion fosfer'd up at hand. 
 It may lie gently at the foot of peace. 
 And be no further harmful than in show. 
 
 Lew. Vour grace shall pardon me, I will not back ; 
 I am too high-born to be propertied, 
 To be a secondary at controul. 
 Or useful serving-man, and instrument, t 
 To any sovereign state throughout tlie world. 
 Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars 
 Between this ch4stis'd kingdom and myself. 
 And brought in matter that should feed this fire ; 
 And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out 
 Witli that same weak wind which enkindled it. 
 You taught me how to know the face of right, 
 Acquainted me witli interest to this land. 
 Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart ; 
 And come you now to tell me, John hath made 
 His peace with Rome 1 What is that peace to me . 
 I, by the honour of my marriage-bed. 
 After young Arthur, claim this land for mine ; 
 And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back. 
 Because that John hath made his peace with Rome? 
 Am I Rome's slave ? What penny hath Rome borne, 
 Vvhat men provided, what munition sent, 
 To underprop this action 1 is't not I, 
 That undergo this charge ? who else but I, 
 And such as to my claim are liable. 
 Sweat in this business, and maintain this war 1 
 Have I not heard these islanders shout out. 
 Vice le roy ! as I have bank'd their towns 1 
 Have I not here the best cards for the game. 
 To win this easy match play'd for a crown ? 
 And shall I now give o'er the yielded set ? 
 No, on my soul, it never shall be said. 
 
 Pand. You look but on the outside of this work. 
 Lew. Outside, or inside, 1 will not return 
 Till my attempt so much be glorified 
 As to my ample hope was promised 
 Before I drew this gallant head of war. 
 And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, 
 To outlook conquest, and to win renown 
 Even in the jaws of danger and of death. — 
 
 \_Trumpet sounds. 
 What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ? 
 
 Enter the Bastard, attended. 
 
 Bast. According to the fair play of the world. 
 
 Let me have audience ; I am sent to speak 
 
 My holy lord of Milan, from the king 
 I come, to learn how you have dealt for him ; 
 And, as you answer, I do know the scope 
 And warrant limited unto my tongue. 
 
 Pun. The dauphin is too wilful opposite, 
 And will not temporize with my entreaties ; 
 He flatly says, he'll not lay down his arms. 
 
 Bait. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd. 
 The youth says well: — Now hear our English king; 
 For thus his royalty doth speak in me. 
 He IS prepar'd ; and reason too, he should : 
 
ACT v.— SCENE IV. 
 
 3ol 
 
 This apish and unmannerly ipproach, 
 
 This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel, 
 
 This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops. 
 
 The king doth smile at ; and is well prepar'd 
 
 To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, 
 
 From out the circle of his territories. 
 
 That hand, which had the strength, evenat your door 
 
 To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch ; 
 
 To dive, like buckets, in concealed wells ; 
 
 To crouch in litter of your stable planks ; 
 
 To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks ; 
 
 To hug with swine ; to seek sweet safety out 
 
 In vaults and prisons ; anil to thrill, and shake, 
 
 Even at the crying of your nation's crow, 
 
 Thinking his voice an armed Englishman; — ■ 
 
 Shall that victorious hand be feebled here. 
 
 That in your chambers gave you chastisement ? 
 
 No ; Know, the gallant monarch is in arms ; 
 
 .\nd like an eagle o'er his aiery towers. 
 
 To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. — 
 
 And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, 
 
 Vou bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb 
 
 Of your dear mother F-ugland, blush for siiame : 
 
 For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids, 
 
 Like Amazons, come tripping after drums ; 
 
 Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change. 
 
 Their neelds to lances, and their gentle hearts 
 
 To fierce and bloody inclination. 
 
 Lew. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; 
 We grant, thou canst outscold us : fare thee well ; 
 We hold our time too precious to be spent 
 With such a brabbler. 
 
 Paiid. Give me leave to speak. 
 
 BdU. No, I will speak. 
 
 Lew. We will attend to neither: — 
 
 Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue cf war 
 Plead for our interest, and our being here. 
 
 Htisl. Indeed, your drums, being beaten will C!y out ; 
 .\nd so shall you, being beaten: Do but start 
 Aa echo with the clamour of thy drum, 
 And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd 
 That shall reverberate all as loud as thine ; 
 Sound but another, and another shall. 
 As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's ear. 
 And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder; for at hand 
 (Not trusting to this halting legate here. 
 Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,) 
 Is warlike John ; and in his forehead sits 
 A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day 
 To feast upon whole thousands of the French. 
 Leic. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. 
 Bast. And thou shalt find it, dauphin, do not doubt. 
 
 [EieuH(. 
 
 SCENE III.— ne same. A Field cf Battle. . 
 Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert. 
 
 K. John. How goes the day with us 1 O, tell me, 
 
 Hubert. 
 Hub. Badly, I fear: How fares your majesty? 
 K.John. This fever, that hath troubled me so long. 
 Lies heavy on me ; 0, my heart is sick ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcon- 
 Desires your majesty to leave the field ; [bridge. 
 And send him word by me, which way you go. 
 
 K. John. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey 
 there. 
 
 Mess. Be of good comfort ; for the great supply. 
 That was expected by the dauphin here, 
 Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin's sands. 
 
 This news was brought to Richard but even now : 
 The trench fight coldly, and retire themselves. 
 K.John. Ah me! this tyrant fever burns me up, 
 
 And will not let me welcome this good news. 
 
 Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter straight ; 
 Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. \_Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 The stinte. — Another jmrt of the same. 
 
 Enter Salisbury, PEMBnoRE, Bigot, and others. 
 
 Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends. 
 
 Pern. Up once again ; put spirit in the French • 
 
 If they miscarry, we miscarry too. 
 
 Sol That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, 
 In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. [field. 
 
 Pern. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left the 
 
 Enter Melun, ^toxmded, and ted by Soldiers. 
 Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here. 
 Sal. When we were happy, we had other names. 
 Pern. It is the count Melun. 
 Sat. Wounded to death, 
 
 Mel. Fly. noble English. you are bought and sold; 
 Unthread the rude eye of rebellion, 
 And welcome home again discarded faith. 
 Seek out king John, and fall before his feet ; 
 For, if the French be lords of this loud day. 
 He means to recompense the pains you take. 
 By cutting ofl^ your heads : Thus hath he sworn. 
 And I with him, and many more with me. 
 Upon the altar at Saint Kdraund's-Buiy ; 
 Even on that altar, where we swore to you 
 Dear amity and everlasting love. 
 
 Sal. May this be possible ! may this be true 1 
 Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view, 
 Retaining but a quantity of life ; 
 Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax 
 Resolveth from its figure 'gainst the fire 1 
 What in the world should make me now deceive. 
 Since I must lose the use of all deceit ? 
 Why should I then be false ; since it is true, 
 That I must die here, and live hence by truth 1 
 I ^y again, if I^ewis do win the day, 
 He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours 
 Behold another day break in the east : 
 But even this night, — whose black contagious breath 
 Already smokes about the burning crest 
 Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun. — 
 Even this ill night, your breathing shall expire ; 
 Paying the fine of rated treachery. 
 Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives, 
 If Lewis by your assistance win the day. 
 Commend me to one Hubert, with your king; 
 The love of him, — and this respect besides. 
 For that my grandsire was au Englishman, — 
 Awakes my conscience to confess all this. 
 In lieu whereof, I pray you, bear me hence 
 From forth the noise and rumour of the field ; 
 Where I maj think the remnant of my thoughts 
 In peace, and part tiiis body and my soul 
 With contemplation and devout desires. 
 
 Sal. We do believe thee. — And beshrew my soul 
 But I do love the favour and the form 
 Of this most fair occasion, by the which 
 We will untread the steps of damned flight ; 
 And, like a bated and retired flood. 
 Leaving our rankness and irregular course, 
 Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd. 
 And calmly run on in obedience. 
 
 Even to our ocean, to our great king John. 
 
 My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ; 
 
352 
 
 KING JOHN. 
 
 C 
 
 For I do see the cruel pangs of death 
 
 Right in thine eye. — Away, my friends ! New flight ; 
 
 And happy newness, that intends old right. 
 
 \_Exeunt, leading o_/f' JIelun. 
 
 SCENE v.— The same. The French Camp. 
 
 Enter Lewis and his Train. 
 
 Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loath to 
 set; 
 But stay'd. and made the western welkin blush. 
 When the English measur'd backward their own 
 In faint retire : O, bravely came we off, [ground, 
 When with a volley of our needless shot, 
 After such bloody toil, we bid good night; 
 And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up. 
 Last in the field, and almost lords of it ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mes. Where is my prince, the dauphin? 
 
 Lew. Here: — What news? 
 
 Mess. The count Melun is slain ; the English lords. 
 By his persuasion, are again fallen off: 
 And your supply, which you have wish'd so long. 
 Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands. 
 
 Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news ! — Beshrew thy very 
 I did not think to be so sad to-night, [heart! 
 
 As this hath made me. — Who was he, that said, 
 King .Tohn did fly, an hour or two before 
 The stumbling night did part our weary powers t 
 
 Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord- 
 
 Lew. Well ; keep good quarter, and good care to- 
 The day shall not be up so soon as I, [night ; 
 
 To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — An open Place iyi the neighbourhood 
 of Swinstead-Abbey. 
 
 Enter the Bastard and HuBEnr, meeting. 
 
 Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly, or I 
 
 Bast. A friend. — What art thou ? [shoot. 
 
 Hnb. Of the part of England. 
 
 Bust. Whither dost thou go ? 
 
 Huh. What's that to tliee ? Why may I not demand 
 Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine? 
 
 Bast. Hubert, I think. 
 
 Huh. Thou hast a perfect thought : 
 
 I will, upon all hazards, well believe 
 Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well : 
 Who art thou ! 
 
 Bast. Who thou wilt: an if thou please, 
 
 Thou may'st befriend me so much, as to think 
 I come one way of the Plantagenets. 
 
 Hub. Unkind remembrance ! tiiou ,and eyeless night, 
 Have done me siiame : — Brave soldier, pardon me, 
 That any accent, breaking from thy tongue. 
 Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear. 
 
 Bast. Come, come; sans compliment, what news 
 abroad ? 
 
 Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night. 
 To find you out. 
 
 Bast. Brief, then; and what's the news?' 
 
 Hub. 0, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, ' 
 Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible. 
 
 Bast. Shew me the very wound of this ill news ; 
 T am no woman, I '11 not swoon at it. 
 
 //lift. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk : 
 I left him almost speechless, and broke out 
 To acquaint you with this evil ; that you might 
 The better arm you to the sudden time. 
 Than if you had at leisure known of this. 
 
 Bast. How did he take it? who did taste to him? 
 
 I Hub. A monk. I tell you ; a resolved villain; 
 Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king 
 Yet speaks, and peradventure may recover. 
 
 Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty? 
 
 Huh. Why, know you not ? the lords are all come 
 And brought prince Henry in their company ; [back, 
 At whose request the king hatij pardon'd them, 
 .■Vnd they are all about his majesty. 
 
 Bast. Withhold thine indii;nation, mighty heaven, 
 
 And tempt us not to bear above our power! 
 
 I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night. 
 
 Passing these flats, are taken by the tide. 
 
 These Lincoln washes have devoured them ; 
 
 Myself, well-mounted, hardly have escap'd. 
 
 Away, before ! conduct me to the king ; 
 
 I doubt, he will be dead, or ere 1 come. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE VU.—The Orchard o/ Swinstead Abbey 
 
 Enter Prince Henry, SvVLisnunY, and Bigot. 
 
 P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood 
 Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain 
 ( Which some suppose the soul's frail dwelling-house,) 
 Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, 
 Foretel the ending of n ortality. 
 
 Enter Pembroke. 
 
 Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; andholds belief. 
 That, being brought into the open air. 
 It would allay the burning quality 
 Of that fell poison which assaileth him. 
 
 P. Hen. Let him be brought into tlie orchard here.— 
 Doth he still rage? [E.ii( Bigot. 
 
 Pern. He is more patient 
 
 Than when you left him ; even now he sung. 
 
 P. Hen. O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes. 
 In their continuance, will not feel themselves. 
 Death, having prey'd upon the ontward parts. 
 Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now 
 Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds 
 With many legions of strange fantasies ; 
 Which, in their throng and press to that last hold, 
 Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death shoulil 
 
 I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, [sing. 
 
 Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ; 
 And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings 
 His soul and body to their lasting rest. 
 
 Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are bom 
 To set a form upon that indigest, 
 Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude 
 
 Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in 
 King John, in a chair. 
 
 K.John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-room; 
 It would not out at windows, nor at doors. 
 There is so hot a summer in mv bosom. 
 That all my bowels crumble up to dust : 
 I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
 Upon a parchment ; and against this fire 
 Do I shrink up. 
 
 P. Hen. How fares yonr majesty ? 
 
 K.John. Poison'd. — ill fare; — dead, forsook, cast 
 And none of you will bid the winter come, [off: 
 To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ; 
 Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course 
 I'hrough my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north 
 To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips. 
 And comfort me with cold : — I do not ask you much, 
 I beg cold comfort ; and you are so strait. 
 And so ingrateful, you deny me^hat. 
 
 P. Hen. 0. that there were some virtue in my tears. 
 That might relieve you ! 
 
 K. John. The salt in them is hot, — 
 
ACT V.-SCENE VII. 
 
 353 
 
 Within me is a hell ; and there the poison 
 Is, as a tiend. confin'd to tyrannize 
 On unreprievable condemned blood. 
 
 Enter the Bastard. 
 
 Bnst. O. I am scalded with my violent motion, 
 And spleen of speed to see your majesty. 
 
 K.John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye : 
 The tackle of my heart is crack'd and burn'd ; 
 .And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail, 
 Ase turned to one thread, one little hair : 
 Jly heart hath one poor string to stay it by, 
 Which holds but till thy news be utter'd ; 
 And then all this thou see'st is but a clod. 
 And module of confounded royalty. 
 
 Bast. Tlie dauphin is preparing hithervvard ; 
 Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him; 
 For, in a night, the best part of my power. 
 As I upon advantage did remove. 
 Were in the washes, all unwarily, 
 Devour'd by the unexpected flood. [The King (iies. 
 
 Sal. Vou breathe these dead news in as dead an ear. 
 Wy liet^e! my lord! — But now a king,' — now thus. 
 
 P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop. 
 What surety of the world, what hope, what stay. 
 When this was now a king, and now is clay ! 
 
 Bast. Art thou gone so 1 I do but stay behind, 
 To do the office for thee of revenge ; 
 And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven. 
 
 As it on earth hath been thy servant still. 
 
 Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres, 
 
 Where be your powers 1 Shew now your mended faiths ; 
 
 And instantly return with me again. 
 
 To push destruction, and perpetual shame. 
 
 Out of the weak door of our fainting land ; 
 
 Straight let us seek, or straight we shall be sought; 
 
 The dauphin rages at our very heels. 
 
 Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we : 
 
 The cardinal Pandulph is withm at rest, 
 Who half an hour since came from the dauphin ; 
 And brings from him such offers of our peace 
 .\s we with honour and respect may take. 
 With purpose piesently to leave this war. 
 
 Bast. He w-ill the rather do it, when he sees 
 Ourselves well sinewed to our defence. 
 
 Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already : 
 For many carriages he hath despatch'd 
 To the seaside, and put his cause and quarrel 
 To the disposing of the cardinal. 
 With whom yourself, myself, and other lords. 
 If you think meet, this afternoon will post 
 To consummate this business happily. 
 
 Bast. Let it be so: — And you, my noble prince. 
 With other princes that may best be spar'd. 
 Shall wait upon your father's funeral. 
 
 P. Hen. .\l Worcester must his body be mterr'd ; 
 For so he will'd it. 
 
 Bast. Thither shall it then. 
 
 And happily may your sweet self put on 
 The lineal state and glory of the land ! 
 To whom, with all submission, on ray knee, 
 I do bequeath my faithful services 
 .-^nd true subjection everlastingly. 
 
 Sal. And the like tender of our love we make, 
 To rest without a spot for evermore. 
 
 P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would g'we you 
 And knows not how to do it, but with tears, [thanks. 
 
 Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe. 
 Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs — . 
 This England never did, (nor never shall,) 
 Lie at the proiid foot of a conqueror. 
 But when it first did help to wound itself. 
 Now these her princes are come home again. 
 Come the three corners of the world in arms. 
 And we shall shock them : Nought shall make us rue. 
 If England to itself do rest but true. [Eietmt. 
 
 The trai-'edy of Kiit^ John, thouph not written with the utmost 
 power ot" ShiiK^peare, isvaried with a very i)leasinpr iiuerch.tub'e 
 of inci'lfii'> and characters The lady's grief is very affectioK ; 
 and the t har.tcter of the Bastard contains that niiiture of yreal- 
 Dcss and levitv which this author delighted loexhibit.— John- 
 BON. 
 
 Z 
 
 To these remarks of Dr. Johnson, it may be addtd. that the 
 pricf of I ODstaiice for the loss of .Arthur, is prni.al'ly indebted 
 for much of us cliaracteristic truth to the cahiniily which 
 Shaksiieare had himself sustained by the death of lus only son, 
 who had attaiuedthi; ase of twelve, and died the \earil;is play 
 was produced. 
 
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 This play which Air. IMalone soppoMS to have Wto written 
 ID 16>.)3, was published lu quarto no le&s than hve several 
 times during our author's lile. Vhe tirst edition was in l.'H»7. 
 without the scene of deposing Richard, which was first in- 
 serted in the edition of 160tt. 
 
 It has been supposed by Ur. Farmer, that there was a play on 
 the subjii'ct iiiiterior tn that of Shahspeare, bccanse he found 
 in Lord Bacmi, in thp arraiynmeuti of C'?/J/"« a«rf jV*/»c*, vol. 
 iv. p. 3C0, of Mallet's edition, that, " The atlemuon before 
 the rebellion, Merick, wiih a great number of others, that 
 afterwards were all id the action, hnd procured to be played 
 btfore them the play of deposing hn/g Richard thi Second ; 
 when it was told him by one of the players, that the play 
 
 was o!d, and they shoold have loss in playing U, becatiscfew 
 would come to II, there was forty shillioK^ extraordinary t;iven 
 lo play, and so thereupon played it was." 
 This passflKt does not, however, necessarily refer to a drama 
 older than shaltspeare's. In the year 16oi, the actors would 
 be very naturally inclined lo consider a play a» ont of date, 
 which had been produced in 15*»3, and perforaitd till the ca- 
 riosity ol the tcwij h;id become exhausted. 
 The action of this play comprises little more than two years. 
 It begins with Bolingbroke's aopealinj; the duLe of Nurlolls, 
 I on the accusation of^htah-lreasoD, which cwrcorred in i:)9ft, 
 I and cloi.es with the death of King Kiebard, which took plice 
 in the end of the year 1400. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Richard the Second. 
 
 Kdmund of Lanci.ky, Duke i^/' York ; ^ vncles to 
 John of Gaunt, Duke oJ Lancaster ; i the King. 
 Henry, surnamed Bolinbroke, Dithe of Heret'oril, 
 
 son (0 John of Gaunt; afiertcards King VltnvyW. 
 Dure of Aumerle, son to the Duke of Vorlt. 
 Mowbray, Dii/cc o/' Norfolk, 
 Duke of Surrey. 
 Earl of Salisbury. 
 Earl Berkeley. 
 
 Bushy, Bacot, Green, creatures to Kiog Richard. 
 Earl of Northumuerland. 
 Henry Percy, his son. 
 Lord Ross. 
 Lord Willouchbv. 
 Lord Fitzwater. 
 Bishop of Carlisle. 
 Adbot of Westminster. 
 Lord Marshal; and another Lord, 
 Sir Pierce of Exton. ' 
 
 Sir Stephen Scroop. 
 Captain of a band of Wefchmen. 
 
 Queen to King Richard. 
 Duchess of Gloster. 
 Duchess of Yohk. 
 Lady attending on the Queen.' 
 
 Lords, Heralds, Ojllcers, Soldiers, Ttco GarderierSy 
 Keeper, Messenger, Groom^ and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, — dispersedly in England and Wales. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 JCiiter King Richard, attended; John of Gaunt 
 and other Nobles, with him. 
 
 K. liich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd Lan- 
 Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, [caster, 
 Brought hither Henry Hereford thy bold son ; 
 Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, 
 Which then our leisure would not let us hear, 
 Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbrav. 
 
 Gaunt. I have, my liege. 
 
 K. Hich. Tell me moreover, hast thou sounded him. 
 If he appeal the duke on ancient malice ; 
 Or worthily, as a good subject shouhl, 
 On some known ground of treachery in him ? 
 
 Onnnt. As near as I could sift him on tiiat argu- 
 On some apparent danger seen in him, [ment, — 
 Aim'd at your highness, no inveterate malice. 
 
 K.nkh . Then call them to onr presence; face to face. 
 And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will beur 
 The accuser, and the accused, freely »peak : — 
 
 lEjeunt some Attendants, 
 High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire. 
 In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as lire. 
 
 Re-enter Attendants, tvilh Boliugbroke and 
 NoRroLK, 
 Baling. Many years of happy days befal 
 My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege ! 
 
 Nor. Each day still better other's happiness ; 
 Until the heavens, envying earth's good hap. 
 Add an immortal title to your crown I 
 
 A'. llich.V/e thank yon both : yet one but flatters U3, 
 As well appeaietU by the cause you come ; 
 Namely, to appeal each other of high treason. — 
 Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object 
 Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? 
 
 Holing. First, (heaven be the record to my speech ') 
 In the devotion of a subject's love. 
 Tendering the precious safety of my prince. 
 And free from other misbegotten hate. 
 Come I appellant to this princely presence. — 
 Now, Thomas IMowbray, do I turn to thee. 
 And mark my greeting well ; for what I speak, 
 My body shall make good upon this earth. 
 Or my divine soul answer it in heaven. 
 Thou art a traitor and a miscreant ; 
 Too good to be so, and too bad to live ; 
 Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky. 
 The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly. 
 Once more, the more to aggravate the note. 
 With a foul traitor's name stuff 1 thy throat ; 
 And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere 1 move. 
 What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may 
 pure. 
 Nor, LetTiot my cold words here accuse my lea! . 
 'Tis not the trial of a woman's war. 
 The bitter clamour of two eager tongues. 
 Can arbitrate this cause betwixt us twain : 
 The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this, . 
 Yet can 1 not of such tame patience boast. 
 As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say : 
 First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me 
 From giving reins and spurs to my free speech ; 
 Which else would post, until it had return 'd 
 These terms of treason doubled down his throat. 
 Setting aside his high blood's royalty. 
 And let him be no kinsman to my liege, 
 I do defy him, and 1 spit at him ; 
 Call him — a slanvlerous coward, and a villain; 
 Which to maintain, I would allow him odds ; 
 And meet him were I tied to run a-foot 
 
ACT I. -SCENE I. 
 
 355 
 
 Even Vo ihc froieiv ridges of il^e Alps, 
 Or any other ground inhabitable 
 Wherever Englishman durst set his foot, 
 M^zn lime, let this defend my loyalty, — 
 tJy all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie. 
 
 Bolittg. Pale trembling co\vaid, here 1 throw my 
 Disclaiming here the kindred of the king ; [gag«> 
 And lay aside my high blood's rcj-alty. 
 Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except: 
 If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength, 
 As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop. 
 By that, and all the rites of knighthood else. 
 \ViU I make good against thee, arm to arm. 
 What I have spoke, or ihou canst worse devise. 
 
 Nor. I take it up ; and, by that swoixl I swear, 
 Wfefch gently lay'd my knig^sthood on my showldcr, 
 [ 'U answer l^tce in any fairdegree> 
 Or cliivairoiis design of knightly trial : 
 And, when [ mount, alive may i not light. 
 If I be traitor, or unjustly fight! 
 
 A\ lUch^ What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's 
 It must be great, that can inherit him [charge ? 
 
 So muc5i as of a thought of tU in him, [true; — 
 
 Baling, Look, what I speak my life shall prove it 
 TUat Mowferay hath receiv'd eight thous3.nd nobles, 
 In name of Icndings for your highness' soldiei's ; 
 The which he hath detained for lewd employments. 
 Like a false traitor, and injurious viliain. 
 Besides 1 say, and will in battle prove, — 
 Or here, or elsewhere, to the furthest verge 
 I'hat ever was survey 'd by English eye, — 
 'i'hat all the treasons, for these eighteen years 
 Coiiipdotte4 and contrived in this land, 
 Fetch fixwn false P.!owbray their first head and spring. 
 Further I say, — and further will maintain 
 Upon his bad life, to make all this good, — 
 That he did plot the duke of Gloster's death ; 
 ^'^g^sthis sooo-believing adversaries ; 
 And, cop.se<juent[v, like a traitor coward, 
 Sluic'il out hisinnoccnt soul through stieaiasof blood: 
 Which blood, like saccificing Abel's, cries. 
 Even from t/*e tongueless caverns o( the earth, 
 To me, for justice, and rough chastisement; 
 And, by the gloKous worth of my descent. 
 This aitn siaall do it. or diis life be spent. 
 
 K. lUch. How high a pitch his resolution soars! — 
 Thoiaias of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ? 
 
 A'or- O let my sovereign turn away his face. 
 And bi<I his ears a little while be deaf, 
 TU\ I have told this sJander of his blood, 
 How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar. 
 
 K, Rrc/i, Mowbray, impartial are oureyes and ears: 
 Were he my brotlier, nay, my kingdom's heir, 
 (As he is but my father's brother's son,) 
 Now by my scepter's awe I make a vow. 
 Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood. 
 ShouJd nothing jKivilege him, nor partialize 
 The uustooping firmness of my upriglit soul ; 
 He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ; 
 Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow. 
 
 Nor, Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart. 
 Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest ! 
 Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais, 
 Disburs'd 1 duly to his highness' soldiers : 
 The other part reserv'd I by consent ; 
 For that my sovereign liege was m my debt. 
 Upon remainder of a dear account. 
 Since last I went to France to fetch his queen : 
 
 Now swallow down that lie. ForGloster'sdeath, — 
 
 I slew him not j but to my own disgrace. 
 Neglected my sworn duty in that case. — 
 Fur you, my noble lord of Lancaster, 
 
 The honourable father to my foe, 
 
 Once did I lay in ambush for your life, 
 
 A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul ; 
 
 But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament, 
 
 I did confess it ; and exactly begg'd 
 
 Vour grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it. 
 
 This is my fault : As for the rest appeal'd. 
 
 It issues from the rancour of a villain, 
 
 A recreant and most degenerate traitor: 
 
 Which in myself I boldly will defend ; 
 
 And interchangeably hurl down my gage 
 
 UjK>n this overweening traitor's foot. 
 
 To prove myself a loyal gentleman 
 
 Kv-en in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom : 
 
 In iiaste whereof, most heartily I pray 
 
 Vour highness to assign our trial day. 
 
 A'. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by me; 
 Let's purge this choler without letting blood : 
 This we prescribe, though no physician ; 
 Deep malice makes tou deep incision ; 
 Forget, forgive j conclude, and be agreed ; 
 
 Our doctors say, this is no month to bleed. 
 
 Good uncle, let this end where it begun ; 
 We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son. 
 
 Gaunt, To be amake-peace sliall become my age ; — 
 Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's ga^e, 
 
 A'. Ricfu And, Norfolk, throw down his. 
 
 Gaunt, When, Harry! when? 
 
 Obedience bids, I should not bid again. 
 
 K, Rich. Norfolk, tlirow down ■ we bid; there is 
 no boot. 
 
 AVr. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot : 
 My life thou shalt command, but not my shame : 
 The one my d\ity ewes ; but my fair name, 
 (Despite of death, that hves uj^n my grave,) 
 To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have. 
 I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffied here ; 
 Pierc'd lo the soul with slander's venom 'd spear; 
 I'he whicli no balm can cure, hut his heart-blood 
 \A'hich breath 'd this poison, 
 
 A', Rich, Rage must be withstood : 
 
 Give me his gage : — Lions make leojKirds tame. 
 
 Nci\ Yea, but not change their spots : take but my 
 And I resign n;y gage. i\ly dear dear lord, [shame, 
 I'he purest treasure mortal times alibrU, 
 Is — spotless reputation ; that away. 
 Men are but gilded loam, or painte<i clay. 
 A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest 
 Is — a bold spirit in a loyal bieast. 
 Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one ; 
 Take honour fi-otii me, and my life is done : 
 Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try ; 
 In that i live, and for that will I die. [bet^in 
 
 ■K. Rich, Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you 
 
 Bnliiig. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin ! 
 Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? 
 Or with j>ale beggar-fear impeach my height 
 Before this outdar'd dastard f Ere my tongue 
 Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, 
 Or sound so base a parte, my teeth shall tear 
 The slavish motive of recanting fear ; 
 And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace, 
 Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. 
 
 [Eait Gaunt. 
 
 A'. Rich, We were not bound to sue, butto command: 
 Which since we cannot do to make you friends, 
 Be ready, as your lives shall answer it, 
 At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day ; 
 There shall your swords and lances arbitrate 
 The swelling difference of your settled hate ; 
 Since we cannot atone you, we shall see 
 Justice design the victor's chivalry. — 
 Z t 
 
8o6 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Lord marshal, command our officers at arms 
 
 Be ready to direct these home-alarms. [Ereimi. 
 
 SCENE U.—The same. A Boom i/i the. Duke 
 of Lancaster's Palace, 
 
 Enter Gaunt, and Duchess o/'Glo6ti:r. 
 
 Gaunt. Alas ! the part I had in Gloster's blood 
 Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims, 
 To stir against the butchers of his life. 
 But since correction lieth in those hands, 
 "W Iiich made the fault tiiat we cannot correct, 
 Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ; 
 "Who when he sees the hours ripe ou eartfi, 
 \\ ill rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads. 
 
 Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur ? 
 Hath love in thy old blood no living tire '. 
 Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one. 
 Were as seven phials of his sacred blood, 
 Or seven fair branches springing from one root : 
 Some of those seven are dried by nature's course. 
 Some of those branches by the destinies cut : 
 But Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, — 
 One phial full of Edward's sacred blood. 
 One riouiisiiing branch of his most royal root, — 
 Is crack'd. and all the precious liquor spilt ; 
 Is haclv'd down, and his summer leaves all faded. 
 By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe. 
 Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine : tirat bed, that womb, 
 That mettle, tliat self-mould, that fashion'd thee. 
 Wade liim a man; and though thou llv'st, and brcath'st, 
 Vet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent 
 In some large measure to thy father's death, 
 In that lliou seest tliy wretclied brotlier die, 
 A\ lio was the model of thy father's life. 
 Call it not patience. Gaunt, it is despair: 
 In sull'ering thus thy brother to be siaughter'd,* 
 Thou shew'st the naked pathway to thy life. 
 Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee 
 That which in mean men we entitle — patieivoe. 
 Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts. 
 What shall I say 1 to safeguard thine own life. 
 The best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death. 
 
 Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel ; for heaven's sub- 
 His deputy anointed in his sight, fstitute, 
 
 Hath caus'd his death : the which if wrongfully, 
 Let heaven revenge ; for I may never lift 
 An angry arm against his minister. 
 
 Ducli Where then, alas! may I complain myself ? 
 
 C'liunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and de- 
 fence. 
 
 DucA. Why then. I will. Farewell, old Gaunt. 
 Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold 
 Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight : 
 0, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear. 
 That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast ! 
 Or, if misfortune miss the first career, 
 Be Mowbray'^ sins so heavy in his bosom. 
 That they may break his foaming courser's back. 
 And thiovv the rider headlong in the lists, 
 A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford ! 
 Farewell, old Gaunt ; thy sometime brother's wife. 
 With her companion grief must end her life. 
 
 Gaunt, Sister, farewell : 1 must to Coventry : 
 As much good stay with thee, as go with me ! 
 
 Duch. Yet one word more ; — Grief boundeth 
 where it falls. 
 Not with the empty hollowness, but weight : 
 I take my leave before 1 have begun ; 
 For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. 
 Commend me to my brother, Edmund York. 
 Lo, this is all : — Nay, yet depart not sn ; 
 
 Though this be all, do not so quickly go ; 
 
 I shall remember more. Bid him— O, what?— 
 
 With all good speed at Flashy visit me. 
 
 Alack, and what shall good old York there see, 
 
 But empty lodgings and unfurnish'd walls, 
 
 Unpeopled ofUces, untrodden stones ? 
 
 And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans? 
 
 Therefore commend me ; let him not come there. 
 
 To seek out sorrow that dwells everv where : 
 
 Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die ; 
 
 The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye. [Eieunl, 
 
 SCENE III. — Gosford Green, near Coventry. 
 
 Lists set out, and a Throne, Heralds, &;c. attending. 
 
 Enter the Lord aiarshal and Acmerle. 
 
 Mar. Jly lord Auraerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd 1 
 
 Aum. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter in. 
 
 Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfuUy and bold. 
 Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet. 
 
 Aum. Why then, the champions are prepar'd and 
 For nothing but his majesty's approach. [stay 
 
 Flourish of trnmpets. Ente>- King Ricii,ird, who tuhes 
 his seat on his throne ; Gaunt, and several Noble- 
 men, who take their places, A trumpet is sounded, 
 and answered by another trumpet within. Then enter 
 NonrOLK, in armour, preceded bu a Herald. 
 
 K. Iiich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion 
 The cause of his arrival here in arms : 
 Ask him his name ; and oiderly proceed 
 To swear him in the justice of his cause. [art. 
 
 Mar. In God's name, and the king's, saywho thou 
 .■Vnd why thou com'st, thus knightly clad'in arms : 
 .Vgainst what man thou com'st, and what thy auarrel : 
 Speak truly, on tiiy kni'^hthood, and thv oatl; 
 .■Vnd so defend thee heaven, and thy valour ! 
 
 A'w. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of Nor- 
 Who hither come engaged by my oatli, [folk, 
 
 (Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate !) 
 Both to defend my loyalty and truth, 
 To God, my king, and my succeeding issue. 
 Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me ; 
 And, by the grace of God, and this my arm. 
 To prove him, in defending of myself, 
 A traitor to my God, my kmg, arid me : 
 And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven ! 
 
 [He takes his seat. 
 
 Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolixohroke, in armour f 
 preceded by a Herald. 
 
 A'. Tiich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in anns, 
 Both who he is, and why he cometh hither 
 Thus plated in habiliments of war ; '''\ 
 .And formally according to our law , ^ 
 Depose him in the justice of his cause. ' [hither. 
 
 Mar. What is thy name? and wherefore com'st thou 
 Before King Richard, in his royal lists ? 
 -Vgainst whom comest thou ? and what's tny quarrel ? 
 Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven ! 
 
 BiHiug. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 Am 1 ; who ready here do stand in arms. 
 To prove, by heaven's giace, and my body's valour. 
 In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk, 
 That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous. 
 To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me; 
 And, as 1 truly fight, defend me heaven ! 
 
 Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold, 
 Or daring hardy, as to touch the lists ; 
 Except the marshal, and such officers 
 Appoint'^d to direct these fair designs. 
 
ACT 1.— SCENE III. 
 
 3o7 
 
 BMhig. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's 
 And bow iny knte before his maiesly : [hand, 
 
 For iMowbray, and myself, are like two men 
 That vow a long- and weary pilgrimage ; 
 7'hea let us take a ceremonious leave. 
 And loving farewell, of our several friends, [ness, 
 
 Mar. The appellant in all duty greets your iiigh- 
 And craves to kiss your hand, and lake his leave 
 
 A'. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our arms. 
 Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right, 
 So be thy fortune in this royal fight ! 
 r areweil, my blood ; whicii if to-day thou shed, 
 Lament we may, but nol revenge thee dead. 
 
 BoUni; O, let no noble eye profane a tear 
 For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbray's spear ; 
 As confident, a^ is the falcon's flight 
 
 Against a hird, do I with '\Iowbray fight. 
 
 jMy loving lord, [(.> Lord ^Marshal.] I take my leave of 
 Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle : — [you } 
 Not sick, although I have to do with death ; 
 
 But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. 
 
 Lo, as at English ftasts, so I regreet 
 
 The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet : 
 
 O thou, the earthly author of my blood, — [ To Gaunt. 
 
 Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate, 
 
 Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up 
 
 To reach at victory above ray head, — 
 
 Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ; 
 
 And witli thy blessings steel ray lance's point. 
 
 That it may enter jMowbray's waxen coat, 
 
 And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt, 
 
 Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son. 
 
 Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee pros- 
 Be swift like lightning in the execution ; [jierous ! 
 And let thy blows, doubly redoubled. 
 Fall like amazing thunder on the casque 
 Of thy adverse pernicious enemy : 
 Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant and live. 
 
 Boii)ig. Mine innijcency, and Saint George to 
 tiirive. [He takes Ins seat. 
 
 Xo)\ [}Usins;1 However heaven, or fortune, cast 
 my lot. 
 There lives, or dies, true to king Richard's throne, 
 A loyal, just, and upright gentleman , 
 Never did captive with a freer heart 
 Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace 
 His golden uncontroU'd enfranchisement, 
 More than my dancing soul doth celebrate 
 This feast of battle with mine adversary- — 
 Most mighty liege, — and my companion peers, — ■ 
 'lake from my mouth the w^ish of happy years : 
 As gentle and as jocund, as to jest, 
 Go I to fight ; Truth hath a quiet breast. 
 
 A'. Hicli. Farewell, my lord ; securely I espy 
 
 Virtue with valour couched in thine eye. • 
 
 Order the trial, marshal, and begin. 
 
 [The King oju/ the Lords return to their sents. 
 
 Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 Receive thy lance ; and God defend the right ! 
 
 Baling. [i^'sing.'\ Strong as a tower of hope, I cry 
 — amen. [duke of Norfolk. 
 
 Mar. Go bear this lance [to an Officer.] toThomas, 
 
 1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself, 
 On pain to be found false and recreant. 
 To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray, 
 A traitor to his God, his king, and him. 
 And dares him to set forward to the fight. 
 
 'i Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke of 
 On pain to be found false and recreant, [Norfolk, 
 Both to defend himself, and to approve 
 Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby, 
 
 To God, his sovereign, and to him, disloyal ; 
 Courageously, and with a free desire, 
 Attending but the signal to begin. 
 
 Mar. Sound trumpets ; and set forward, combat- 
 ants. [A chari^e sounded. 
 Stay, the king hath thrown his warder down, [spears, 
 
 A'. Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their 
 
 And both return back to their chairs again : 
 
 Withdraw with us ; — and let the trumpets sound, 
 While we return these dukes what we decree. — 
 
 [A long jioitrish. 
 Draw near [To the Combatants, 
 
 And list what with our council we have done. 
 For that our kingdom's earth should not be soii'd 
 \\ ith that dear blood which it hath fostered ; 
 And for our eyes do hate llie dire aspect 
 Of civil woundsplough'd up with neighbours' swords; 
 [And for we think the eagle-winged pride 
 Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts, 
 With rival-hating envy, set you on 
 To wake our peace, whicii in our country's cradle 
 Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ;] 
 \Vhich so rous'd up with boisterous untun'd drums, 
 With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray, 
 And grating shock of wrathful iron arms, 
 Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace, 
 And make us wade even in our kindred's blood ;— 
 
 Therefore, we banish you our territories : ■ 
 
 You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death. 
 
 Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields, 
 
 Shall not regreet our fair dominions. 
 
 But tread the stranger paths of banishment. [be, — 
 
 Boinig. Your will be done : this must ray comfort 
 That sun, that warms you here, shall shine on me ; 
 And those his golden beams, to you here lent, 
 Shall point on me, and gild my banishment. 
 
 A'. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom, 
 Which I with some unwillingness pronounce : 
 The sly-slow hours shall not determinate 
 The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; — 
 The hopeless word of — never to return 
 Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life. 
 
 Nor. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege, 
 And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth ; 
 A dearer merit, not so deep a maim 
 -As to be cast forth in the common air. 
 Have 1 deserved at your highness' hand. 
 The language I have Icarn'd these forty years, 
 My native Lnglisli, now I must forecro': 
 And now my tongue's use is to me no more, 
 Than an unstringed viol, or a harp ; • 
 
 Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up. 
 Or, being open, put into liis hands 
 'J'hat knows no touch to tune the harmony. 
 Vvithin my mouth you iiave engaol'd my tongue. 
 Doubly portcuiiis'd, with my teeth, and lips j 
 And dull, unfeeling, barren ignorance 
 Is made my gaoler to attend on m.e. 
 I am too old to fawn upon a nurse, 
 Too far in years to he a pupil now ; 
 What is thy sentence then, but speechless death, 
 Which robs my tongue from breathing native breath X 
 
 K. Bich. It boots thee not to be compassionate ; 
 After our sentence plaining comes too late. 
 
 Nor. Then thus 1 turn me from my country's light, 
 To dwell in solemn shades of endless'night. [Betiriiig. 
 
 K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath with thee. 
 Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands ; 
 Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven, 
 (Our part therein we banish with yourselves,) 
 To keep the oath that we administer : — 
 You never shall {so help you truth and heaven ! ) 
 
358 
 
 KING RICHARD /L 
 
 Embrace each other's love in banishment j 
 
 Nor never look upon each other's face ; 
 
 Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile 
 
 This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate; 
 
 Nor never by advised purpose meet, 
 
 To plot, contrive, or complot any ill. 
 
 'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land. 
 
 Bi'inig. I swear. 
 
 Nor. And I, to keep all this. 
 
 Boliiig. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy; — 
 By this time, had the king pennitted us. 
 One of our souls liad uander'd in the air, 
 Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh, 
 As now our flesh is banish'd from this land : 
 Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ; 
 Since thou hast far to go, bear not along 
 The clogging burden of a guilty soul. 
 
 AW. No, Bolingbroke ; if ever I were traitor, 
 My name be blotted from the book of life, 
 And I from heaven banish'd, as from hence! 
 But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know ; 
 And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue. — 
 Farewell, my liege : — Now no way can I stray ; 
 Save back to England, all the world's my way. [Eiit. 
 
 K. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes 
 I see thy grieved heart ; thy sad aspect 
 Hath from the number of his banish'd years 
 Pluck'd four away ; — Six frozen winters spent, [ment, 
 lleturn [foBoMNc] with welcome home frombanish- 
 
 Boliiig. How long a time lies in one little word! 
 Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs, 
 I'^nd in a word ; Such is the breath of kings. 
 
 Gaunt. I thank my liege, that, in regard of me. 
 He shortens four years of my son's exile : 
 But little vantage shall I reap thereby ; 
 For, ere the six years, that he hath to spend, 
 Can change their moons, and bring their limes about. 
 My oil-dried lamp, and time-bewasted light, 
 Shall be extinct with age, and endless night ; 
 jMy inch of taper will be burnt and done, 
 And blindfold death not let me see my son. 
 
 K.Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live. 
 
 Gaunt. But not a minute,king, that thou canst give: 
 Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow. 
 And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow: 
 Thou canst help time to furrow me with age. 
 But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ; 
 'I'hy word is current with him for my death : 
 But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath. * 
 
 A'. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice. 
 Whereto thy tongue a party-verdict gave ; 
 Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower? 
 
 Gufwif.Thingssweetto taste, prove in digestion sour. 
 Tou urg'd me as a judge ; but I had rather, 
 You would have bid me argue like a father: — 
 (), had it been a stranger, not my child. 
 To sooth his fault I should have been more mild : 
 A partial slander sought I to avoid. 
 And in the sentence my own life destroy 'd. 
 Alas, 1 look'd, when some of you should say, 
 J was too strict, to make mine own away ; 
 But you gave leave to mine unwilling tongue. 
 Against my will, to do myself this wrong, 
 
 K. Rich. Cousin, farewell: — and, uncle, bid him so; 
 Six years we banish him, and he shall go. 
 
 [Ftourish. Exeunt K.llicHAitn and Train. 
 
 Aum. Cousin, farewell: what presence must not 
 From where you do remain, let paper shew, [know, 
 
 Mar. Rly ford, no leave take I ; for 1 will ritle 
 As far as land will let me, by your side. [words, 
 
 GaH>it9 0, to what purpose dost thou hoard thy 
 That thou return' .St no greeting to lliy friends? 
 
 Boling. I have too few to take my leave of yon. 
 When the tongue's office should be prodigal 
 To breathe the abundant dolour of the heart. 
 
 Gaunt. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. 
 
 Boling. Joy absent, grief is present for that time- 
 
 Gau7it. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. 
 
 BiWing^. Tomeninjoy; butgrief makes one hour ten. 
 
 Gaunt. Call it atravel that thou tak'sl for pleasure. 
 
 Baling. My heart will sigh, when I miscall it so» 
 Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. 
 
 Gaunt. The sullen passage of thy weary steps 
 Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set 
 The precious jewel of thy home-return. 
 
 Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make 
 Will but remember me, what a deal of world 
 I wander from the jewels that I love : 
 Must I not serve a long apprenticehood 
 To foreign passages ; and in the end, 
 Having my freedom, boast of nothing else 
 But that I was a journeyman to grief? 
 
 Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits. 
 Are to a wise man ports and happy havens - 
 Teach thy necessity to reason thus ; 
 There is no virtue like necessity. 
 Think not, the king did banish thee ; 
 But thou the king : Woe doth the heavier sit. 
 Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 
 Go, say — I sent thee forth to purchase honour. 
 And not — the king exil'd thee : or suppose. 
 Devouring pestilence hangs in our air. 
 And thou art flying to a fresher clime. 
 Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it 
 To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'sl. 
 Suppose the singing birds, musicians ; 
 The grass whereon thoutread'st, the presence strew'd; 
 The flowers, fair ladies ; and thy steps, no more 
 Than a delightful measure, or a dance : 
 For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite 
 The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. 
 
 Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand. 
 By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? 
 Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite. 
 By bare imagination of a feast? 
 Or wallow naked in December snow. 
 By thinking on fantastic summer's heat? 
 O, no ! the apprehension of the good. 
 Gives but the greater feeling to the worse : 
 Fell son-ow's tooth did never rankle more. 
 Than when it bites, but lanceth not the sore. 
 
 Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on thy 
 Had 1 thy youth and cause, I would not stay, [way : 
 
 Baling. Then, England's ground, farewell ; sweet 
 soil, adieu ; 
 My mother, and my nurse, that bears rae yet ! 
 
 Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, 
 
 Though banish'd, yet a trueborn Efiglisbman. 
 
 [Ej«in|, 
 
 SCENE IV.—Thesame. A IRoom in the King's Castle, 
 
 Enter King RicitAitn, B.acot, and GncsN ; 
 
 Av>i)LRj.^j'ollowing. 
 K. Rich. We did observe. — Cousin Auraerle, 
 How far brought you high Hereford on his way ? 
 
 Atim. 1 brought high Hereford, if you call him so, 
 But to the next high way, and there I left him. [shed? 
 A'. Rich. And, say, whatstoreof parting tears were 
 Anin. 'Faith, notbyme, except the north eastwind. 
 Which then blew bitterly against our faces, 
 Awak'd the sleeping rheum ; and .so, by chance. 
 Did grace our hollow parting with a tear. 
 
 A', fiic/f. What said ourcousin,when you parted with 
 Ann. Farewell: [hiiu? 
 
ACT II.- SCENE I. 
 
 359 
 
 And, for my licart disdained that my toague 
 Should so profane the word, that taught me craft 
 To counterfeit oppression of such grief, 
 That words seera'd buried in my sorrow's grave. 
 Marry ,wouM the word fareweJI have lengthen'd hours» 
 Aod added years to his short banishment, 
 He should have had a volume of farewells ; 
 But, since it would not, he had none of me. 
 
 A', Rich, He is our cousin, cousin ; but 'lis doubt, 
 Whea time shall call him home from banishment, 
 Whetlterour kinsmaa come to see his friends. 
 Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green, 
 Ob^erv'd biS courtship to the common people . — 
 How he did seera to dive into their hearts, 
 With humble aad familiar courtesy ; 
 What reverence h-e did throw away on slaves ; 
 \\'ooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of stniles. 
 And patient underbearing of his fortune. 
 As 'twere, to banish tlieir aftects with him. 
 Off gxKS his bonnet to au oyster-wench ; 
 A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well, 
 And had the tribute of bis supple koee, 
 With — Thanks, nut countrvmeu, ray iociugJ'fUHds ; — 
 As were our Kngland in reversion his, 
 And he oar subjects' next degree in hope, [thoughts. 
 
 Gi-ef}u Well, he's gone; and with hira go these 
 Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland ; — 
 Expedient laanage must be made, my liege ; 
 Ere further leisure yield them further means, 
 For their advantage, aud your highness' loss- 
 
 K. iiich. We will ourself in j>ersou to this war. 
 And, for cur cofffers — with too great a court. 
 And liberal largess, — are grown somewhat light. 
 We are enf<jrc'd to farm our royal realm ; 
 The revenue whereof shall furnish us 
 For ftur affairs in band : If that come short. 
 Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters ; 
 \Vkereto, whea tiiev shall koow what men are rich, 
 T!»ey shall subscribe them for large sums Qi gold. 
 And send tiiem after to supply our n-ants; 
 For we will aiake for Irelaiid preseatly. 
 
 Busty, what news ? 
 
 Btishy/. Old .lohn of Gaunt is grievous sict, my lord ; 
 Suddenly taken ; and hath sf at post-liaste. 
 To entreat your majesty to visit hiui. 
 
 K. Rich. Where lies he? 
 
 Hitshv- At Ely-house. 
 
 A'. i?(c/i. Now put it, heaven, in his physiciaa'smind. 
 To help him to his grave Immediately \ 
 The liffiing of his coffers shall make coats 
 To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. — 
 Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him : 
 Pray God, we may make baste, aod come too late * 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Loodoa. A Rtmrn in Ely House. 
 
 Gai^'VT ou a couch ; the Duke of Vork, u/id othen 
 stantiing bt^ hirn^ 
 
 Gaunt. Will the king come! thatlmay breathe my 
 In wholesome counsel to his unstaied youth. ['^^t 
 
 York. VeK not yourself, nor strive not with your 
 For all in vain comes counsel to his ear. [breath ; 
 
 Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men 
 Enforce atteaiioa, like deep harmony; 
 Where words are scarce, they are seldomspentinvain ; 
 For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain. 
 He, Jhat no more must say, is listen'd more 
 
 Than they whom youth and ease have taughtto glose; 
 More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before ; 
 
 The setting sun, and music at the close, 
 As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last ; 
 Writ in remembrance, more than things long past : 
 Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear. 
 My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear. 
 
 I'ork, No; itisstopp'd with other flattering souods. 
 As, praises of his state : then, there are found 
 Lascivious metres; to whose venom sound 
 The open ear of youth does always listen : 
 Report of fashions in proud Italy ; 
 Whose manners still our tardy apish Dation 
 Limps after in base imitation. 
 Where doth the world tluust forth a vanity, 
 (So it be new, there's no respect how vile,) 
 That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears t 
 Then all too late comes counsel to be heard. 
 Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard. 
 Direct not him, whose way himself will choose ; 
 'Tis breath thou lackest, and that breath wilt thou lose. 
 
 Gaunt. IVIetinnks, I am a prophet new iuspir'd ; 
 And thus, expiring, do forelel of him : 
 His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last; 
 For violent fires soon burn out themselves : 
 Small showers last long, but sudden stonns are short ; 
 He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes ; 
 With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder * 
 Lig^ht vanity, insatiate cormorant. 
 Consuming means, soon preys upon itself. 
 This royal throne of kings, this sceptr'd isle. 
 This eajtit of majesty, this seat of JMars, 
 This other Eden, demi-paradise ; 
 This fortress, built by Nature foi herself. 
 Against infection, and the liand of war: 
 This happy breed of men, this little world ; 
 This precious stone, set in the silver sea, 
 AVhich serves it ta the office of a wall. 
 Or as a moat defensive to a house. 
 Against tite envy of less happier lands ; 
 This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
 This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, 
 Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth. 
 Renowned for their deeds as far from home, 
 (For Chiistian service, and true chivalry,) 
 As is the sepulchre ia stubborn Jewry, 
 Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son : 
 This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land. 
 Dear for her repuUition through the world, 
 Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,) 
 Like to a tenement, or pelting farm : 
 England, bound in with tlie triumphant sea, 
 Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege 
 Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, 
 \Vith inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds ; 
 That England, that was wont to conquer others. 
 Hath made a shameful conquest of itself: 
 O, would the scandal vanish with my life. 
 How happy then were my ensuino- death ! 
 
 EtUer King Kicn Ann and Queen; Aumerle, Bushv, 
 Gheen, Bacot, Ross, a/id WiLr.oucHBY, 
 
 >'(irA:.The king is come ideal mildly with his youth ; 
 For young hoi colts, being rag'd, do rage the more. 
 
 Queen. How Uies our noble uncle, Lancaster? 
 
 K. Rich. What comfort, man ? How is't with aged 
 Gaunt? 
 
 Gduui. O, how that name befits my composition? 
 Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt in being old. 
 Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast : 
 And who abstains from meat, that is no^ jannt? 
 For sleeping England long time have 1 watc'd ; 
 
:i60 
 
 KING RICHARD II 
 
 M'atching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt : 
 The pleasure, that some fathers feed upon. 
 Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks ; 
 And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt; 
 Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a o-rave. 
 Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. 
 K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their 
 
 names t 
 Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to mock itself: 
 Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me> 
 I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee, [live? 
 A". Rich. Should dying men flatter with those that 
 Gaunt. No, no ; men living flatter those that die. 
 K. Rich. Thou, now adying, say'st thou flatter'st me. 
 Gaunt. Oh ! no ; thou diest, though I the sicker be. 
 K. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. 
 Giiiiui. Now, He that made me, knows I see thee ill 
 111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill. 
 Thy death-bed is no lesser than tliy land. 
 Wherein thou liest in reputation sick : 
 And thou, too careless patient as thou art, 
 Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure 
 Of those physicians that first wounded thee : 
 A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown. 
 Whose compass is no bigger than thy head ; 
 And yet, incaged in so small a verge, 
 The v/aste is no whit lesser than thy land. 
 O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye, 
 Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons, 
 From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame ; 
 Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd. 
 Which art possess'd now to depose thyself. 
 Why, cousin, wert thou regent of the world. 
 It were a shame, to let this land by lease : 
 But, for thy world, enjoying but this land. 
 Is it not more than shame, to shame it so ^ 
 Landlord of England art thou now, not king : 
 Thy state of law is bond-slave to the law ; 
 
 And thou 
 
 A'. Rich. a lunatic lean-witted fool, 
 
 Presuming on an ague's privilege, 
 Dar'st with thy frozen admonition 
 Make pale our cheek ; chasing the royal blood. 
 With fury, from his native residence. 
 Now, by my seat's right royal majesty, 
 Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son. 
 Tills tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, 
 .Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders. 
 Giinnt. O. spare me not, my brother Edward's son, 
 For that I was his father Edward's son ; 
 That blood already, like the pelican, 
 Hast thou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd : 
 My brother Gloster, plain well meaning soul, 
 (Whom fair befal in heaven 'mongst happy souls !) 
 May be a precedent and witness good, 
 That thou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood: 
 Join with the present sickness that I havej 
 And thy unkindness be like crooked age. 
 To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower. 
 Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee ! — 
 These words hereafter thy tormentors be ! — 
 Convey me to my bed, then to my grave : 
 Love they to live, that love and honour have. 
 
 [E.iit, hiu-nc out III] liis Attendants. 
 K. Rich . And let them die, that age and sullens have; 
 For both hast thou, and both become the grave. 
 
 York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words 
 To wayward sickliness and age in him : 
 He loves you, on my life, and holds you dear 
 As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here. 
 
 A'. Rich. Right ; you say true : as Hereford's love. 
 As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is. [so his : 
 
 Enter NonxHrMBERLANu. 
 
 North. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to yonr 
 K. Rich. What says he now? [majesty 
 
 North. Nay, nothing ; all is said 
 
 His tongue is now a stringless instrument ; 
 Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. 
 
 York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so ! 
 Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe. 
 
 K.Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he, 
 His time is spent, our pilgrimage must he : 
 
 So much for that. Now for our Irish wars : 
 
 V,'e must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns ; 
 
 AVhich live like venom, where no venom else. 
 
 But only they, hath privilege to live. ' 
 
 And for these great affairs do ask some charge, 
 
 Towards our assistance, we do seize to us 
 
 The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables, i 
 
 Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd. | 
 
 Yorlc. How long shall I be patient? Ah, how long 
 Shall tender duty make me sufl'er wrong ? 
 Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment, 
 Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private w rongs. 
 Nor the prevention of poor Bolingbroke 
 -About his marriage, nor my own disgrace. 
 Have ever made me sour my patient cheek, 
 Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. — 
 I am the last of noble Edward's sons, 
 Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first; 
 In war, was never lion rac;'d more fierce, 
 In peace was never gentle lamb more mild. 
 Than was that young and princely gentleman : 
 His face thou hast, for even so look'd he, 
 
 Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ; 
 
 But, when he frown'd, it was against the French, 
 
 -And not against his friends : his noble hand 
 Did win what he did spend, and spent not that 
 Which his triumphant father's hand had won : 
 His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood. 
 
 But bloody with the enemies of his kin. 
 
 0, Ilichard ! York is too far gone with grief. 
 
 Or else he never would compare between. 
 K. Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter ? 
 Yii-k, O, my liege. 
 
 Pardon me,, if you please ; if not, I pleas'd 
 
 Not to be pardon'd, am content withal. 
 
 Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands. 
 
 The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford ? 
 
 Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Hereford live? 
 
 \\'as not Gaunt just ? and is not Harry true f 
 
 Did not the one deserve to have an heir ? 
 
 Is not his heir a well-deserving son ? 
 
 Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time 
 
 His charters, and his customary rights ; 
 
 Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ; 
 
 Be not thyself, for how art thou a king, 
 
 }iut by fair sequence and succession? 
 
 Now. afore God (God forbid, I say true!) 
 
 If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights. 
 
 Call in the letters patents that he hath 
 
 By his attornies-general to sue 
 
 His livery, and deny his offer'd homage, 
 
 You pluck a thousand dangers on your head. 
 
 You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, 
 
 .'\nd prick my tender patience to those thoughts 
 
 Which honour and allegiance cannot think. 
 
 K.Rich. Think what you will; we seize into our 
 
 His plate, his goods, his money, and his lands, [hands 
 Ynrh. I'll not be by, the while: My liege, farewell; 
 
 What will ensue hereof, there 's none can tell ; 
 
 But by bad courses may be understood. 
 
 That their events can never fall out good. [Exit, 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 :iUl 
 
 K. Rick. Go, Buihy. to the earl of Wiltshire 
 Bid him repair to us to Ely-house, [straiglit ; 
 
 To see this business : To-morrow next 
 W'e will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, 1 trow ; 
 And we create, in absence of ourself, 
 Our uncle York lord governor of England, 
 
 For he is just, always lov'd us well. 
 
 Come on, our queeu : to-morrow must we part ; 
 Be merry, for oui time of stay is short. [Ftomhh. 
 [Eieimt King, Qukcn, Bushy, Aumerli:. 
 GitF-iiN, and Bagot. 
 
 Nortlu Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead. 
 
 Boss. And living too ; for now his son is duke. 
 
 lijllo. Barely in title, not in revenue. 
 
 yoith. Richly in both, if justice had her right. 
 
 Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break witii 
 Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue, [silence, 
 
 North* Nay, speak thy mind ; and let him ne'er 
 speak more. 
 That speaks thy words again, to do thee harm ! 
 
 Willo. Tends that thuu'dst speak, to the duke of 
 If it be so, out with it boldly, man ; [Hereford ! 
 Quick is mine ear, to iiear of good towards him. 
 
 Ross. No good at all, that 1 can do for him ; 
 Unless you call it good, to pity him, 
 Bereft and gelded of his patrimony. 
 
 North. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such wrongs 
 In him a royal prince, and many more [are borne, 
 Of noble blood in this declining land. 
 The king is not himself, but basely led 
 By flatterers ; and what they will inform, 
 Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all, 
 That will the king severely prosecute 
 'Gaiust us, our lives, our children, and our heirs. 
 
 Ros).. The commons hath he piU'd with grievous 
 And lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fin'd [taxes, 
 For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts. 
 
 irj7/(). And daily new exactions are devis'd ; 
 As blanks, benevolences, and 1 wot not what ; 
 But what, o'God's name, doth become of thisl 
 
 North. Wars have not wasted it. for warr'd he 
 But basely yielded upon compromise [hath not, 
 That which his ancestors achieved with blows : 
 More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars. 
 
 Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm. 
 
 With. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broI:en 
 man. [him. 
 
 North. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over 
 
 Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, 
 His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, 
 But by the robbing of the banish'd duke. 
 
 North. His noble kinsman ; most degenerate king ! 
 But lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing. 
 Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm : 
 We see the wind sit sore upon our sails, 
 And yet we strike not, but securely perish. 
 
 Ross. We see the very wreck that we must sufl'er: 
 And unavoidcd is the danger now, 
 For suffering so the causes of our wreck. 
 
 North. ISiot so ; even through the hollow eyes of 
 I spy life peering ; but I dare not say [death. 
 
 How near the tidings of our comfort is. [ours, 
 
 Willo. Nay. let us share thy thoughts, as thou dcst 
 
 Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland: 
 Wc three are but thyself; and, speaking so, 
 Thy words are but as thoughts: therefore, behold. 
 
 North. Then thus :— I have from I'ort le Blanc, a 
 In Bntanny, receiv'd intelligence, [bay 
 
 That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham, 
 [The son of Itichard earl of Arundel,] 
 That late broke from the duke of Exeter, 
 His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury, 
 
 Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston. 
 
 Sir John Norberry, sir Robert Waterton, and Frances 
 
 Qunint' 
 
 .All these, well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne. 
 With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war. 
 Are making hither with all due expedience, 
 And shortly mean to touch our northern shore : 
 Perhaps, they had ere this ; but that they stay 
 V\iG first departing of the king for Ireland. 
 If then we shall shake ofi" our slavish yoke, 
 Imp out our drooping country's broken wing, 
 Redeem from broken pawn the blemish'd crown. 
 Wipe oft' the dust that hides our scepter's gilt, 
 And make high majesty look like itself, 
 .\.way, with me, in post to Ravenspurg: 
 r>ut if you faint, as fearing to do so. 
 Slay and be secret, and myself will go. [fear, 
 
 Ross. To horse, to hor^e ! urge doubts to them that 
 iri//i>. Hold out ray horse, and I will first be 
 there. [E.ieunt* 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. 
 
 Bubhtt- Madam, your majesty is too much sad : 
 You promis'd, when you parted with the king, 
 'I'o lay aside life-harming heaviness. 
 And entertain a cheerful disposition. 
 
 Queen. To please the king, 1 did ; to please myself, 
 I cannot do it; yet I know no cause 
 Why 1 should welcome such a guest as grief, 
 Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest 
 .'\s my sweet Richard: Yet, again, methinks, 
 Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, 
 Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul 
 With nothing trembles* at sometJimg it grieves, 
 More than with parting from my loid the king. 
 
 Bnshij. Each substance of a grief hath twenty sha- 
 Which shew like grief itself, but are not so: [dows, 
 For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, * 
 Divides one thing entire to many objects ; 
 Like perspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon. 
 Shew nothing but confusion; ey'd awry, 
 Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty, 
 Looking awry upon your lord's departure, 
 Finds shapes of griefs, more than himself, to wail ; 
 Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows 
 Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen, 
 More than your lord's departure weep not; more's 
 Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, [not seen : 
 Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary. 
 
 Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul 
 Persuades me, it is otherwise : Howe'er it be, 
 I cannot but be sad : so heavy sad, 
 
 .\s — though, in thinking, on no thought I think, 
 
 Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink. 
 
 Bushii. 'Tis nothing butconceit, my gracious lady, 
 
 Quee7i. 'Tis nothing less : conceit is still deriv'd 
 From some fore-father grief ; mine is not so ; 
 l-'or nothing hath begot my something grief ; 
 Or something hath the nothing tiiat 1 grieve ; 
 "I'is in reversion that I do possess ; 
 But what it is, that is not yet known ; what 
 1 cannot name ; 'tis nameless woe, I wot. 
 
 Enter Green. 
 
 Green. God save your majesty! — and well met, 
 gentlemen, 
 I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. 
 
 Queen. Why hop'st thou so "? 'tis better hope he is, 
 For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope ; 
 Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd? 
 
3G2 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his 
 And driven into despair an enemy's hope, [power, 
 Who stron»;iy hath set tooting in tliis land : 
 The banishM Bolingbroke repeals himself. 
 And with uplifted aims is safe arriv'd 
 At Jiavenspurg. 
 
 Queen. Now God in heaven forbid! 
 
 Green. O, madam, 'tis too true ; and that is worse, — 
 ThelordNorthumbeiland.hisyoungsonllenry Percy, 
 The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and VVillougliby, 
 With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. 
 
 Bushu. Why have you not proclaim'd Northum- 
 And all the rest of the revolting faction [berland, 
 Traitors ! 
 
 Green. We have : whereon the earl of Worcester 
 Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, 
 And all the household servants fled with him 
 To liolingbroke. 
 
 Queen. So, Green, thou art themidwife to my woe, 
 And liolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir : 
 Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy j 
 And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother, 
 Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd. 
 
 Busliif. Despair not, madam. 
 
 Queen, Who shall hinder met 
 
 I will despair, and be at enmity 
 Witii cozening hope ; he is a flatterer, 
 A parasite, a keeper-back of death. 
 Who gently would dissolve the bands of life, 
 Which false hope lingers in extremity. 
 
 Enter Yohk. 
 
 Green. Here comes the duke of York. 
 
 Qupen. With signs of war about his aged neck ; 
 
 0, full of careful business are his looks ! 
 
 Uncle, 
 
 For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words, 
 
 York, Should 1 do so, I should belie my thoughts : 
 Comfort's in heaven ; and we are on the earth, 
 Where nothing lives, but crosses, care, and grief. 
 Your husband he is gone to save far off. 
 Whilst others come to make him lose at home : 
 Here am 1 left to underprop his land ; 
 
 Who, weak with age, cannot support myself: 
 
 Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made ; 
 Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. I\Iy lord, your son was gone before I came. 
 
 York. He was 1 — Why, so ! — go all which way it 
 The nobles they are fled, the commons cold, [will ! — 
 
 And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side. 
 
 Sirrah, 
 
 Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster ; 
 Bid her send me presently a thousand pound : 
 Hold, lake my ring. 
 
 Serv, ]\ly lord, 1 had forgot to tell your lordship: 
 To-day, a^^ I came by, 1 called there ; — 
 But 1 shall grieve you to report the rest. 
 
 York What is it. knave ? 
 
 Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died. 
 
 York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes 
 Comes rushing on tliis woeiul land at once ! 
 I know not what to do : — 1 would to God, 
 (So my untrutli had not provok'd him to it,) 
 The king had cut off my head with my brother's. — • 
 What, are there no posts despatcli'd for Ireland^ — 
 How shall we do for money (or these wars 1 — 
 Come, sister, — cousin, 1 would say : pray, pardon 
 rae. — [some carts, 
 
 Go, fellow, Ito the Servant ] get thee home, provide 
 And bringaway the armour that is there. — [Ex. Serv. 
 
 Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I know 
 How, or which way, to order these affairs. 
 Thus disorderly thrust into mv hands. 
 Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen •,— r 
 The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath 
 And duty bids defend ; the other again. 
 Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd ; 
 Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right. 
 Well, somewhat we must do, — Come, cousin, I'll 
 Dispose of you : — Go, muster up your men, 
 And meet me presently at Berkley-castle. 
 
 I should to Plashy too ; 
 
 But time will not permit: — All is uneven. 
 And every thing is left at six and seven. t 
 
 [Eieunt York ajid QrEEW, 
 
 Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, 
 But none returns. For us to levy power. 
 Proportionable to the enemy. 
 Is all impossible. 
 
 Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love. 
 Is near the hate of those love not the king. 
 
 Bagot. And that's the wavering commons : for their 
 Lies in their purses ; and whoso empties them, [love 
 By so much hlls their hearts with deadly hate. 
 
 Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con- 
 demn'd. 
 
 Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we. 
 Because we ever have been near the king. 
 
 Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol 
 The earl of Wiltshire is already there. [castle ; 
 
 Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little offico 
 The hateful commons will perform for us ; 
 Except, like curs, to tear us all to pieces. — 
 Will you go along with us t 
 
 Bagot. No ; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. 
 Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain. 
 We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. 
 
 Bushif. That 's as York thrives to beat back Bo- 
 lingbroke. 
 
 Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he undertakes 
 Is — numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry ; 
 Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. 
 
 Bushy. Farewell atonce ; foronce, forall, and ever. 
 
 Green. Well, we may meet again. 
 
 Bagot. 1 fear me, never. \^Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— TAf tvilds in Glostershire. 
 
 Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, 
 uith Forces. 
 
 BoUng. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now t 
 
 North. Believe me, noble lord, 
 I am a stranger here in Glostersliire. 
 Tliese high wild hills, and rough uneven ways, 
 Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome ; 
 And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar. 
 Making the hard way sweet and delectable. 
 But, I bethink me, what a weary way 
 From Kavenspurg to Cotswold, will be found 
 In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company ; 
 Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd 
 The tediousness and process of my travel: 
 But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope lo have 
 The present benefit which I possess : 
 And hope to joy, is little less in joy. 
 Than hope enjoy'd : by this the weary lords 
 Shall make their way seem short ; as mine hath dooQ 
 By sight of what I have, your noble company. 
 
 Baling. Of much less value is my company. 
 Than your good words. But who comes iiere^ 
 Ente" Harry Percy. 
 
 Nitrth. It is ray son, young Harry Percy, 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 3G3 
 
 Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. — 
 Hariy, how fares your uncle? [health of you. 
 
 I'ercy 1 had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his 
 
 Korth. Why, is he not with the queen ? 
 
 Peicu. No, my good lord ; he hath forsook the court, 
 Brokeu his staff of office, and dispers'd 
 'l"he household of the king, 
 
 A'iM-f/i. What was his reason ? 
 
 He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake togetlier. 
 Pfrct/.Becauseyour lordship was proclaimed traitor. 
 But he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, 
 To offer service to the duke of Hereford ; 
 And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover 
 What power the duke of York had levied there ; 
 Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. 
 
 North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, boy'! 
 
 Pcrcq, No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot. 
 Which ne'er 1 did remember: to my knowledge, 
 I never in my life did look on him. [duke. 
 
 Xoith. Then learn to know him now; this is the 
 
 Percq, My gracious lord, 1 tender you my service, 
 Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young ; 
 Which eider days shall lipen, and confirm 
 To more approved service and desert. 
 
 Boltng. 1 thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be sure, 
 I count myself in nothing else so happy, 
 As in a soul remerab'ring my good friends ; 
 And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, 
 It shall be still thy true love's recompense : 
 My heart this covenant makes, ray hand thus seals it. 
 
 North, llow far is it to Berkley"? And what stir 
 Keeps good old York there, with iiis men of war ? 
 
 Perctj. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees. 
 Mann'd with three hundred men. as 1 have heard: 
 And in itare the lords of York, Berkley, and Seymour ; 
 None else of name, and noble estimation. 
 
 Enter Ross and Willoughby. 
 
 A'nrr/i. Here come the lords of Ross and Willoughby, 
 Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. 
 
 Boiiitg. Welcome, ray lords : I wot your love pur- 
 A banish'd traitor ; all my treasury [sues 
 
 Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, 
 Shall be your love and labour's recompense. 
 
 Rois. Your presencemakesus rich, most noble lord. 
 
 Witlo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. 
 
 i'o/tHg-. Evermore thanks, theexchequerofthe poor, 
 Which, till my infant fortune comes to years. 
 Stands for my bounty. But who comes here 1 
 
 Kilter Berkley. 
 
 North. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. 
 
 Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you. 
 
 Bolitig. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster; 
 And I am come to seek that name in England: 
 And 1 must find that title in your tongue, 
 Before I make reply to aught you say. 
 
 Berk. Mistake me not, my lord ; 'tis not my mean- 
 To raze one title of your honour out . — ['"£» 
 To you. my lord, I come, (what lord you will,; 
 From the most gracious regent of this land. 
 The duke of York ; to know, what pricks you on 
 To take advantage of the absent time. 
 And fright our native peace with self-born arms. 
 
 Enter York, attended, 
 BoUrtg. Ishall not need transport my wordsbyyou ; 
 Here comes his grace in person. — JMy noble uncle ! 
 
 [Kneels. 
 York. Shew me thy humble heart, and not thy knee, 
 Whose duty is deceivable and false. 
 Boilng fliy gracious uncle ' 
 
 York. Tut, tut ! 
 Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle 
 1 am no traitor's uncle ; and that word — grace, 
 In an ungracious mouth, is but profane. 
 Why have those bauish'd and forbidden legs 
 Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground T 
 liut tiien more why ; — Why have they dar d to march 
 So many miles upon her peaceful bosom. 
 Frighting her paie-fac'd villages with war. 
 And ostentation of despised arms t 
 Cora'st thou because the anointed king is hence ? 
 Why, foolish boy, the king is left beliind. 
 And in my loyal bosora lies his power. 
 Were I but now the lord of such hot youth. 
 As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself, 
 liescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men, 
 From forth the ranks of many thousand French ; 
 O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine, 
 Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee, 
 And minister correction to thy fault ! 
 
 Boling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault ; 
 On what condition stands it, and wherein } 
 
 York. Even in condition of the w'orst degree, — 
 In gross rebellion, and detested treason : 
 Thou art a banish 'd man, and here art come, 
 liefore the expiration of thy time, 
 In braving arms against thy sovereign. 
 
 Boling. Asl wasbanish'd, I was banish'd Hereford : 
 But as I come, 1 come for Lancaster. 
 And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace, 
 Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye 
 You are my father, for, methinks in you 
 I see old Gaunt alive ; O, then, my father ! 
 Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd 
 A wand'ring vagabond ; my rights and royalties 
 Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away 
 To upstart unthrifts'! Wherefore was I bornl 
 If that my cousin king be king of England, 
 It must be granted, I am duke of Lancaster. 
 You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ; 
 Had you first died, and he been thus trod down, 
 He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father. 
 To rouse his wrongs, and chase thera to the bay. 
 I am denied to sue ray livery here. 
 And yet my letters-patent give me leave : 
 My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold ; 
 And tliese. and all, are all amiss employ'd. 
 What would you have me do ? I am a subject, 
 And challenge law: Attornies are denied rae ; 
 And therefore personally 1 lay my claim 
 To my inheritance of free descent. 
 
 North. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd. 
 
 Boss. It stands your grace upon, to do him right. 
 
 Willo. Base men by his endowments are made great. 
 
 York. I\Iy lords of England, let me tell you this,^ 
 I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs, 
 And labour'd all 1 could to do him right; 
 IJut in this kind to come, in braving arras. 
 Be his own carver, and cut out his way. 
 To find out right with wrong, — it may not be ; 
 And you that do abet him in this kind, 
 Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all. 
 
 North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is 
 But for his own : and, for the right of that, 
 We al! have strongly sworn to give him aid ; 
 And let him ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath. 
 
 York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms ^ 
 I cannot mend it, I must needs confess. 
 Because my power is weak, and all ill left: 
 But, if I could, by Him that gave me life, 
 I would attach you all, and make you stoop 
 Unto the sovereign mercy of the king : 
 
36-k 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 But, since I cannot, be it known (O you, 
 I do remain as neuter. So, fare you well ; — 
 Unless you please to enter in the castle. 
 And there repose you for this night. 
 
 Bolin^. An offer, uncle, that we will accept. 
 But we must win your grace, to go with us 
 To Bristol castle; which, they say, is held 
 By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices. 
 The caterpillars of the commonwealth, 
 Which 1 have sworn to weed, and pluck away. 
 
 York. It may be, I will go with you ;. — but yet I'll 
 For I am loath to break our country's laws, [pause ; 
 Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are : 
 Things past redress, are now with me past care. 
 
 l^Kxetint. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Camp in Wales. 
 £?((er Salisbury and a Captain, 
 
 Cap. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days, 
 .\nd hardly kept our countrymen together. 
 And yet we hear no tidings from the king ; 
 Therefore we will disperse ourselves : farewell. 
 
 Sid. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman ; 
 The king reposeth all his confidence 
 In thee. 
 
 Cup. 'Tis thought thekingisdead ; we will not stay. 
 The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd, 
 And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ; 
 The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth. 
 And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change ; 
 Ilich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, — • 
 The one in fear to lose what they enjoy. 
 The other, to enjoy by rage and war : 
 These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.— 
 Farewell ; our countrymen are gone and fled. 
 As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Erit. 
 
 Sal. Ah, Kichard ! with tile eyes of heavy mind, 
 I see thy glory, like a shooting star. 
 Fall to the base earth from the firmament ! 
 Thy sun sets weeping in the lowly west, 
 Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest ; 
 Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes ; 
 And crossly to tliy good all fortune goes. [Exit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— Bolingbroke's Camp at Bristol. 
 
 £»(erBoi,ivcijnoKE, York, NomuMnERLAND, Percy, 
 Wii.i.oi'GnuY, Ross : Oflicers behind, with Bushy 
 and Green, pi-isnners. 
 Bolin^. Bring forth these men. — 
 Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your so\ils 
 (Since presently your souls must part your bodies,) 
 With too much urging your pernicious lives. 
 For 'twere no charity : yet, to wash your blood 
 From off my hands, here, in the view of men, 
 I will unfold some causes of your death. 
 You have misled a prince, a roval king, 
 A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments, 
 By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean. 
 You have, in manner, with your sinful hours. 
 Made a divorce betwixt his r|ueen and him ; 
 Broke the possession of a royal bed. 
 And stain'd the beauty of a fair queen's cheeks 
 With tears drawn from her eves by your foul wrongs. 
 Myself — a prince, by fortune of my birth ; 
 Near to the king in blood ; and near in love, 
 
 Till you did make him misinterpret me, 
 
 Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries. 
 And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds, 
 
 Eating the bitter bread of banishment : 
 Wliilst you have fed upon my seignories, 
 Dispark'd my parks, ami fell'd my forest wood; ; 
 From my own windows torn my household coat, 
 Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign — 
 ?^ave men's opinions, and my living blood, — 
 To shew the world I am a gentleman. 
 This, and much more, much more tiian twice all this, 
 Condemns you to the death : — See them deliver'd over 
 To execution and t'.ie hand of death. 
 
 Biishi/. More welcome is the stroke of death to me. 
 Than Bolingbroke to England. — Lords, farewell 
 
 i'neen. My comfort is, — that heaven will take our 
 And plague injustice with the pains of hell, [souls, 
 
 Billing. My lord Northumberland, see them de- 
 spatch'd. 
 [Exeunt Nortiium. and others, iiith Prisoners. 
 I'ncle. you say, the queen is at your house : 
 For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated : 
 Tell her, 1 send to her my kind commends ; 
 Take special care my greetings be deliver'd. 
 
 York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd 
 With letters of your love to her at large. 
 
 Bolinv. Thanks, gentle uncle — Comclords, away ; 
 To fight with Glendower and his complices ; 
 Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. [Eiennt, 
 
 SCENE U.—The Coast of Wales.. A Castle in View. 
 
 Flourish : Drums $; Trumpets. Enter King Richard, 
 Bishop of Carlisle, Aumeule, and Soldiers. 
 
 K. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand? 
 
 .inm. "V'ea.my lord. How biooks your grace the air. 
 After late tossing on the breaking seas? 
 
 A'. Rich. Needs must I like it well ; I weep for joy. 
 
 To stand upon mv kingdom once again. 
 
 Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand, 
 
 'I'hough rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs : 
 
 .A,s a long parted mother with her child 
 
 Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting ; 
 
 So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth. 
 
 And do thee favour with my royal hands. 
 
 Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth. 
 
 Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense: 
 
 l-*ut let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom. 
 
 And heavy gaited toads, lie in their way : 
 
 Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet. 
 
 Which with usurping steps do trample thee. 
 
 yield stinging nettles to mine enemies : 
 
 And when they from thy bosom pluck a flowei, 
 
 Guard it. I pray thee, with a lurking adder ; 
 
 Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch 
 
 Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies. — 
 
 iMock not my senseless conjuration, lords ; 
 
 This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones 
 
 Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king 
 
 Shall falter under foul rebellious arms, [you king. 
 
 Bishop. Fear not, my lord ; that Power, that made 
 Math power to keep you king, in spite of all. 
 The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd. 
 And not neglected; else, if heaven would 
 And we will not, heaven's oH'er we refuse ; 
 The profl'er'd means of succour and redress. 
 
 .■Uaii. lie means, my lord, that we are too remiss ; 
 Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security. 
 Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends, 
 
 K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou not, 
 That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
 Behind the globe, and lights the lower world. 
 Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen. 
 In murders, and in outrage, bloody here ; 
 But when, from under this terrestrial ball. 
 
ACT III. SCENE II. 
 
 366 
 
 He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, 
 And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
 Thtn muidsrs, treasons, and detested sins, 
 The cloak of night being pluck'd from otf their backs, 
 Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves] 
 So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, — 
 Who all this while hath revell'd in the night. 
 Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes, — 
 Shall see us rising in our throne the east, 
 His treasons will sit blushing in his face, 
 Not able to endure the sight of day. 
 But, self-aftrighted, tremble at his sin. 
 Not all the water in the rough rude sea 
 "Can wash the balm from an anointed king: 
 Tiie breath of worldly men cannot depose 
 The deputy elected by the Lord ; 
 For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd. 
 To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
 God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 
 A glorious angel : then, if angels fight, 
 AVeak men must fall ; for heaven still guards the right. 
 
 Entei' Salisbury. 
 Welcome, my lord ? How far off lies your power? 
 
 Sal. Nor near, nor further oft", my gracious lord. 
 Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue, 
 And bids me speak of nothing but despair. 
 One day too late, 1 fear, my noble lord, 
 Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth : 
 O, call back yesterday, bid time return, 
 And thou shall have twelve thousand fighting men. 
 To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late, 
 O'erlhrows thy joys, triends, fortune, and thy state; 
 For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead. 
 Are gone to liolmgbroke, dispers'd and fled, [pale ? 
 
 Aum, Comfort, my liege: why looks your grace so 
 
 K. Bich, But now, "the bloodof twenty thousand men 
 
 Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ; 
 And, till so much blood thither come again, 
 
 Have I not reason to look pale and dead ? 
 All souls that will be safe, fly from my side : 
 For time hath set a blot upon my pride- 
 
 Atim. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you are. 
 
 A'. Rich. I had forgot myself: Am 1 not king } 
 Awake thou sluggard majesty ! thou sleep'st. 
 Is not the king's name forty thousand names t 
 Arm, arm, my name ! a puny subject strikes 
 At thy great glory. — Look not to the ground, 
 Ye favourites of a king ; Are we not higii 1 
 High be our thoughts : I know, my uncle York 
 Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who 
 Comes here "! 
 
 Enter Scroop. 
 
 Scroop, More health and happiness betide my liege, 
 Than can ray care-tun'd tongue deliver him. 
 
 A'. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart prepar'd ; 
 The worst is worldly loss, thou canst untold. 
 Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care ; 
 And what loss is it, to be rid of care 1 
 Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ? 
 Greater he shall not be ; if he serve God, 
 We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so : 
 Kevolt our subjects ; that we cannot mend ; 
 They break their faith to God, as well as us : 
 Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay; 
 The worst is — death, and death will have his day. 
 
 Scroop. Glad am 1. that your highness is so arm'd 
 To bear the tidings of calamity. 
 Like an unseasonable stormy day, 
 Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores, 
 As if tlie world were all dissolved to tears ; 
 So high above his limits swells the rage 
 
 Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land 
 
 With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steei. 
 
 White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless sca!j>3 
 
 Against ihy majesty; boys, with women's voices, 
 
 Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints 
 
 In stiff unwitjldy arms against thy crown : 
 
 Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows 
 
 Of double-fatal yeA' against thy state ; 
 
 Vea. distaft-women manage rusty bills 
 
 Against thy seat : both young and old rebel, 
 
 And all goes worse than I have power to tell. 
 
 A'. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill. 
 Where is the eail of Wiltshire 7 where is Bagot? 
 W'hat is become of Bushy'! where is Green? 
 That they have let the dangerous enemy 
 Measure our confines with such peaceful steps ? 
 If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. 
 I warrant they have made peace with Bolingbroke. 
 
 Scroop. Peace have they made with him, indeed, 
 my lord. [demption ! 
 
 K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd without re- 
 Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man ! 
 Snakes, inmyheart-bloodwarm'd. that slingmy heart' 
 Three Judases, each one thrice worse than Judas ! 
 W^ould they make peace ? terrible hell make war 
 Upon their spotted souls for this ofience ! 
 
 Scroitp. Sweet love, I see, changing his ])roperty, 
 Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : — 
 Again uncur^e their souls , their peace is made 
 With heads.and not with hands: those whom you curse, 
 Have felt the worst of death's destroying wound, 
 And lie full low, gvav'd in the hollow ground [dead? 
 
 Aum. Is Buihy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire, 
 
 Scroop. Yea, ail of them at Bristol lost their heads. 
 
 Aum. Where is the duke my father with his power ? 
 
 A. Rich. No matter where; of comfort no manspeak; 
 Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs j 
 Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
 Let's choose executors, and talk of wills : 
 And yet not so, — for what can we bctiueath. 
 Save our deposed bodies to the ground ? 
 Our lanils. our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, 
 And nothing can vve call our own, but death ; 
 And that small model of the barren earth. 
 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
 For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, 
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings : — 
 How some have been depos'd. some slain in war, 
 Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed ; 
 Some poisou'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ; 
 All murder'd : — For within the hollow crown. 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
 Keeps death his court ; and there the antic sits. 
 Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; 
 Allowing him a breath, a little scene 
 To monarchi/e, be fear'd, and kill with looks ; 
 Infusing him with self and vain conceit, — 
 As if this fiesh, wiiich walls about our life. 
 Were brass impregnable, and. humour'd thus. 
 Comes at the last, and with a little pin 
 Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king ! 
 Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
 With solemn reverence ; throw away respect, 
 Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, 
 For you have but mistook me all this while : 
 I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief. 
 Need friends : — Subjected thus, 
 How can you say to me — I am a king? 
 
 Car, My lord, wise men ne'er wail their present 
 But presently prevent the ways to wail. [woes. 
 
 To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength, 
 
366 
 
 KING RICHARD 11. 
 
 Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe, 
 And so your follies figlu against yourself. 
 Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come, to figlit : 
 And fight and die, is death destroying death ; 
 Wlierc fearing dying, pays death servile breath. 
 
 Aiim. I\ly father hath a power, inquire of him ; 
 And learn to make a body of a limb, [broke, I come 
 
 A'. Rich. Thou chid'st me well : — Proud Boling- 
 To change blows with thee for our day of doom. 
 1'his a-jue-fit of fear is over-blown ; 
 
 An easy task it is, to win our own. ■ 
 
 Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power? 
 Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour. 
 
 Scroop, Men judge by the complexion of the sky 
 
 The state and inclination of the day : 
 So may you by my dull and heavy eye, 
 
 IMy tongue hath but a heavier tale to say, 
 I play the torturer, by small and small. 
 To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken : — 
 Vour uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke ; 
 And all your northern castles yielded up, 
 And all your southern gentlemen in arms 
 Upon his party. 
 
 A'. Rich. Thou hast »aid enough. 
 
 Beshrew thee, cousin, which didst lead me forth 
 
 [To AUMERLE. 
 
 Of that sweet way I was in to despair ! 
 
 What sav you now ? AVluit comfort have we now"! 
 
 By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly, 
 
 That bids me be of comfort any more. 
 
 Go to Flint castle ; there I '11 pine away ; 
 
 A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey. 
 
 That power I have, disciiarge ; and let them go 
 
 To ear the land that halh some hope to grow, 
 
 For I have none : — Let no man speak again 
 
 To alter this, for counsel is but vain. 
 
 Auin. My liege, one word. 
 
 A'. Rich, He does me double wrong. 
 
 That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue. 
 Discharge my followers, l<;t them hence ; — Away, 
 From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day. 
 
 [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Wales. Before Flint Castle. 
 
 Ettter, u'ith drum and colours, BnuNcnnOKE and 
 
 Forces ; York, NonTHUMBERLANO, and others, 
 
 BolinfT. So that by this intelligence we learn, 
 The Welshmen are dispers'd ; and Salisbury 
 Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed, 
 With some few private friends, upon this coast. 
 
 North. The news is very fair, and good, my lord ; 
 Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head. 
 
 York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland, 
 To say — king Richard : — Alack tiie heavy day, 
 When such a sacred king should hide his head ! 
 
 North. Your grace mistakes me; only to be brief, 
 Left I his title out. 
 
 York. The time hath been, 
 
 Would you have been so brief with him, he would 
 Have been so brief with you, to shorten you, 
 For taking so the head, your whole head's length. 
 
 Boiing. Mistake not. uncle, further than you should. 
 
 Vorfc.Takenot.goodcousin.further than you should. 
 Lest you mis-take: Tlie heavens are o'er your head. 
 
 Boling. I know it, uncle ; and oppose not 
 Myself against their will. — But who comes here 1 
 
 Enter Peucy. 
 
 Well, Harry; what, will not this castle yield? 
 Percy, The castle royally is mann'd my lord, 
 Against thy entrance. 
 
 Bolintt. Royally! 
 Why, it contams no king? 
 
 Percy. Yes, my good lord, 
 
 It doth contain a king ; kmg Btchard lies 
 \Vithin the limits of yon lime and stone : 
 And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury, 
 Sir Stephen Scroop ; besides a clergyman 
 Of holy reverence, who, 1 cannot learn. 
 
 North. Belike, it is the bishop of Carlisle. 
 
 Boling. Noble lord. [To North, 
 
 Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ; 
 Throua^h brazen trumpet send the breath of parle 
 Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver, 
 Harry Bolingbroke 
 
 On both his knees, doth kiss king Richard's hand ; 
 And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart, 
 To his most royal person : hither come 
 Even at his feet to lay my arms and power ; 
 Provided that, mv banishment repeal'd. 
 And lands restor d again, be freely granted : 
 If not, I '11 use the advantage of my power. 
 And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood, 
 Hain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen: 
 The which, how far off from the mind of Bolingbroke 
 It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench 
 The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land, 
 -My stooping duty tenderly shall shew. 
 Go, signify as much ; while here we march 
 Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. — 
 
 [North, advances to the castle, with a trumpet. 
 Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum, 
 That from the castle's totter'd battlements 
 Our fair appointments may be well perus'd. 
 Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet 
 ^Vith no less terror than the elements 
 Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock 
 At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven 
 Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water: 
 The rage be his, while on the earth I rain 
 My waters ; on the earth, and not on him. 
 March on, and mark king Richard how he looks. 
 
 A parle sounded, and ansu-ered hv another trumpet 
 uithin. Flourish. Enter on the ualliKiyG^ivtiAUD, 
 the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, Scroop, and 
 Salisbury. 
 
 York. See, see, king Richard doth himself apoear. 
 As doth the blushing discontented sun, 
 From out the fiery portal of the east ; 
 When he perceives the envious clouds are bent 
 To dim his glory, and to stain the track 
 Of his bright passage to the Occident. 
 Yet looks he like a king ; behold, his eye. 
 As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth 
 {.'ontrouling majesty ; Alack, alack, for woe, 
 That any harm should stain so fair a show ! 
 
 A'. Rich. We are amaz'd ; and thus long have we 
 To watch the fearful bending of thy knee, [stood 
 [To NonTni'3iiiEni.AN0. 
 Because we thought ourself thy lawful king : 
 And if we be, how dare thy joints forget 
 To pay their awful duty to our presence? 
 If we be not, shew us the hand of God 
 That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship ; 
 For well we know, no hand of blood and bone 
 Can gripe the sacred handle of our scepter, 
 Unless, he do profane, steal, or usurp. 
 And though you think, that all, as you have done 
 Have torn their souls, by turning them from us, 
 And we are barren, and bereft of friends ;- — 
 Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent, 
 Is mustering in his clouds, on our behalf 
 
ACT III.— SCENE IV. 
 
 367 
 
 AriTiies of pestilence ; and they shall strike 
 Vour chUdren yet unborn, and unbegot. 
 That lift your vassal hands against my head, 
 A.nd threat the glory of my precious crown. 
 Tell Bolingbroke, (foryond', methinks, he is,) 
 That every stride he makes upon my land, 
 Is dangerous treason : He is come to ope 
 The purple testament of bleeding war ; 
 But ere the crown he looks for live in peace, 
 Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons 
 Shall ill become the flower of England's face ; 
 Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace 
 To scarlet indignation, and bedew 
 Her pastures' grass with faithful English blood. 
 
 Korth, Thekingof heaven forbid, our lord the king 
 Should so with civil and uncivil anus 
 Be rush'd upon ! Thy thrice-noble cousin, 
 Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand j 
 And by the honourable tomb he swears. 
 That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones j 
 And by the royalties of both your bloods, 
 Currents that spring from one most gracious head ; 
 And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt ; 
 And by the worth and honour of himself. 
 Comprising all that may be sworn or said, — 
 His coming hither hath no further scope. 
 Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg 
 Enfranchisement immediate on his knees ; 
 Which on thy royal party granted once, 
 His glittering arms he will commend to rust, 
 His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart 
 To faithful service of your majesty. 
 This swears he, as he is a prince, is just ; 
 And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him. 
 
 A'. Rich. Northumberland, say, — thus the king re- 
 His noble cousin is right welcome hither; [turns j — 
 And all the number of his fair demands 
 Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction : 
 With all the gracious utterance thou hast, 
 Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. — 
 We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not, [Ty Aum, 
 To look so poorly, and to speak so fair } 
 Shall we call back Northumberland, and send 
 Defiance to the traitor, and so die ? 
 
 ,4»m. No, good my lord; let's fight with gentle words, 
 Till time lend friends, and friends their lieluful swords. 
 
 A.', Rich. O God ! O God ! that e'er this tongue of 
 That laid the sentence of dread banishment [mine, 
 On yon proud man, should take it off again 
 With words of sooth ! O, that I were as great 
 As is mv grief, or lesser than my name ! 
 Or that I could forget what I have been ! 
 Or not remember what I must be now ! 
 Swell'stthou, proud heart? I'll give tliee scope to beat. 
 Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me. 
 
 Anrn. Northumberland comes back from Boling- 
 broke. 
 
 K. Rich.. What must the king do now? iMnslhesub- 
 Tfae king shall do it. Must he be depos'd ? [mit! 
 The king shall be contented : ftlust he lose 
 The name of king 1 o' God's name, let it go : 
 I '11 give my jewels, for a set of beads ; 
 ]Mv gorgeous palace, for a hermitage ; 
 My gay apparel, for an alms-man's go^vn ; 
 My figur'd goblets, for a dish of wood ; 
 My scepter, for a palmer's walking-staff; 
 My subjects, for a pair of caned saints ; 
 And my large kingdom for a little grave, 
 A little little grave, an obscure grave : — • 
 Or I'll be buried in the king's highway, 
 Some way of common trade, where subjects' feel 
 May hourly trample on their sovereign's head : 
 
 For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live ; 
 
 And, buried once, why not upon my head? 
 
 Aumerle, thou weep'st ; My tender-heaited cousin I — 
 We'll make foul weather with despised tears ; 
 Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn, 
 And make a dearth in this revolting land. 
 Or shall we play the wantons with our woes. 
 And make some pretty match with shedding tears 1 
 As thus ; — To drop them still upon one place. 
 Till they have fretted us a pair of graves 
 Within the earth ; and, therein laid, — There lies 
 Two ki}ismeu, digfi'd tJieir graves with weeping eyesJ 
 Would not this ill do well \ — Well, well, I see 
 I talk but idly, and you mock at me. — 
 Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland, 
 What says king Bolingbroke ? will his majesty 
 Give Richard leave to live till Richard die ? 
 Vou make a leg, and Bolingbroke says — ay 
 
 North. My lord, in the base court he doth attend 
 To speak with you ; may 't please you to come down ? 
 
 A'. Rich. Down, down, I come; like glistering Phae- 
 Wanting the manage of unruly jades. [ton, 
 
 [North, retires to Ruling. 
 In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, 
 To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace. 
 In the base court? Comedown? Down, court! down 
 
 king ! 
 For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should 
 sing. \^E^elutt,Jrom above. 
 
 Baling. What says his majesty ? 
 
 North. Sorrow and grief of lieart 
 
 IVIakes him speak fondly, like a frantic man : 
 Vet he is come. 
 
 Enter King Richard, and his Attendants below. 
 
 Baling. Stand all apart, 
 
 And shew fair duty to his majesty. 
 
 I\Iy gracious lord, — [Kiieeliug. 
 
 K. Rich. Faircousin, you debase your princely knee. 
 To make the base earth proud with kissing it : 
 Me rather had. my heart might feel your love, 
 Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy. 
 Up, cousin, up ; your heart is up, I know. 
 Thus high at least, [touching his own head.] although 
 your knee be low. 
 
 BoUi^g. My gracious lord. I come butformine own. 
 
 A'. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all. 
 
 Baling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord, 
 As ray true service shall deserve your love, [have, 
 
 A'. Rich. Well you deserve : — They well deserve to 
 That know the strong'st and surest way to get. — 
 Uncle, give me your hand ; nay, dry your eves ; 
 Tears shew their love, but want their remedies. — 
 Cousin, I am too young to be vour father, 
 Though you are old enough to be my lieir. 
 WMiat you will liave, I 'II give, and willing too ; 
 For do we must, what force will have us do. — ■ 
 Set on towards London : — Cousin, is it so ? 
 
 Baling. Yea, my good lord. 
 
 A'. Rich. Then I must not say, no. 
 
 [ Flourish . Ex en n t. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Langley. — The Duke of York's Gardetu 
 Enter the Queen and two Ladies. 
 Queen. What spoit shall we devise here in this gar* 
 To drive away the heavy thouglit of care ^ [den 1 
 1 Ladtj. Madam, well play at bowls. 
 Queen. 'Twill make me think. 
 
 The world is full of rubs, and that my fortune 
 Runs 'gainst the bias. 
 
 1 Lady. • Madam, we will dance. 
 
368 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Queen. l^Ty legs can keep no measure in delight, 
 When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief: 
 Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport. 
 
 1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales. 
 
 Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy ? 
 
 ] Liuli/. Of either, madam. 
 
 Queeji. Of neither, girl : 
 
 For if of joy, being altogether wanting, 
 It doth remember me the more of sorrow ; 
 Or if of grief, being altogether had, 
 It adds more sorrow to my want of joy : 
 For wheit I have, I need not to repeat ; 
 And what I want, it boots not to complain. 
 
 1 Ladu- Madam, I'll sing. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis well, that thou hast cause ; [weep. 
 But thou should'st please me better, would'st thou 
 
 1 Ladii. Icouldweep, madam, would it do you good. 
 
 Queen. And I could weep, would weeping do me 
 And never borrow any tear of thee. [good, 
 
 But stay, here come the gardeners : 
 Let's step into the shadow of these trees. — 
 
 Enter a Gardener and ta-n Servants. 
 My wretchedness unto n row of pins, 
 They'll talk of state : for every one doth so 
 Against a change : Woe is forerun with woe. 
 
 [(^I'EKN and Ladies retire, 
 
 Gard. Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks, 
 Which, like unruly children, make their sire 
 Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight : 
 Give some supportance to the bending twigs. — 
 Go thou, and like an executioner. 
 Cut oft" the heads of too-fast-growing sprays, 
 That look too lofty in our commonwealth : 
 
 All must be even in our government. 
 
 You thus employ'd, I will go root away 
 The noisome weeds, that without profit suck 
 The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. 
 
 1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, 
 Keep law and form, and due proportion, 
 Shewing, as in a model, our firm estate? 
 When our sea-walled garden, tlie whole land, 
 Is full of weeds ; her fairest flowers chok'd up, 
 Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd. 
 Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs 
 Swarming with caterpillars \ 
 
 Gard, Hold thv^peace : — 
 
 He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring, 
 Hatii now himself met with the fall of leaf: 
 The weeds, that his broad -spreading leaves did shelter, 
 That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, 
 Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke; 
 I mean the earl of Wiltshire, lUishy, Green. 
 
 1 Serv. What, are they dead I 
 
 Gard They are ; and Bolingbroke 
 
 Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. — Oh ! what pity is it, 
 That he liad not so trimm'd and dress'd his laud, 
 As we this garden! We at time of year 
 Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees ; 
 Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood, 
 With too much riches it confound itself : 
 He had done so to great and growing men, 
 They might have Uv'd to bear, and he to taste 
 Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches 
 We lop away, that beaming boughs may live : 
 Had he done so, himself had borne the crown. 
 Which waste of idle hours hatli quite thrown down, 
 
 1 Serv. What, think you then, the kiug shall be de- 
 pos'd 1 
 
 Gard. ].)epress'd he is already -, and depos'd, 
 *Tis doubt, he will be : Letters came last night 
 To a dear friend ot the good duke of York's, 
 
 That tell black tidings. 
 
 Queen. O, I am press'd to Heath, 
 
 Through want of speaking! — 'Ihou, old Adam's like- 
 ness, \^CoiningJrnm her concealment. 
 Set to dress this garden, how dares 
 Thy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news? 
 What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee 
 To make a second fall of cursed man ] 
 Why dost thou say, kinsf Kichard is depos'd? 
 Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth, 
 Divine his downfal ? Say, where, when, and how, 
 Cam'st thou by these ill-tidings ! speak, thou wretch. 
 
 Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I, 
 To breathe tiiis news: yet, what I say is true. 
 King Richard, he is in the migiity hold 
 Of Bolingbroke ; their fortunes both arc weigh'd: 
 In your lord's scale is nothing but himself, 
 And some few vanities that make him light ; 
 But in the balance of great Bolingbroke, 
 Besides himself, are all the English peerb. 
 And with that odds he weighs king Kichard down. 
 Post you to London, and you '11 find it so : 
 I speak no more than every one doth know. 
 
 Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of fool. 
 Doth not thy embassage belong to me, 
 And am 1 last that knows it ! O, thou think'st 
 To serve me last, that I may longest keep 
 Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go, 
 To mett at London London's king in woe. — 
 What, was I born to this ! that my sad look 
 Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke? 
 Gardenei, for telling me this news of woe, 
 1 would, tlie plants thou graft'st, may never grow. 
 [Eieunt Qu£iiN and Ladies. 
 
 Gard. Poor queen! so that thy state might be no 
 I would my hkill were subject to thy curse. — [worse. 
 Here did she fall a tear ; here, in this place, 
 I "U set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace : 
 Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen. 
 In the remembrance of a weeping queen. lEieunt, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. Westminster Hall. The Lords 
 spiritHiil oil the right side of the throne ; the Lords 
 temporal on the left ; the Convnons helow. 
 
 Enter Bi)I.incbrok"e, AuMF.nLE, SunREY, Northum- 
 berland, Percy, FiTZWATER.a/Mic/fcr Lord, Bishop 
 OF Caklisee, AnnoT of Westminster, and At- 
 tendants. Officers behind with Bacot. 
 
 BoUng. Call forth Bagot : . 
 
 Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind ; 
 What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ; 
 Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd 
 The bloody office of his timeless end. 
 
 Biigot. Then set before my face the lord .'Vumerle. 
 
 Boling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon thatman. 
 
 Bagot. JMy lord .Vumerle, 1 know your daring tongue 
 Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver 'd. 
 In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted, 
 I heard you say, — Is not my arm of length. 
 That reachethfyom the restful English court 
 As far as Calais, to mif nucleus head? 
 Amongst much other talk, that very time, 
 I heard you say, that you had rather refuse 
 The offer of an hundred thousand crowns, 
 Than Bolingbroke's return to England ; 
 Adding withal, how blest this land would be, 
 In this your cousin's death. 
 
 Aum. Princes, and noble lords. 
 
ACT IV.-SCENE I. 
 
 369 
 
 Whai answer shall I make to this base man ? 
 Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars, 
 On equal terms to give him chastisement ? 
 Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd 
 
 With the attainder of his sland'rous lips. ■ 
 
 There is my erage, the manual seal of death. 
 That marks thee out for hell : 1 say, thou liest, 
 And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false, 
 In thy heart-blood, though being all too base 
 To stain the temper of ray knightly sword. 
 . Bodng. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up. 
 
 Aum. Excepting one, I would he were tiie best 
 In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so. 
 
 Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sjonpathies, 
 There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to thine : 
 By that fair sun that shews me where thou stand'st, 
 I heard then say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it, 
 That ihou wert cause of noble Gloster's death. 
 If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest ; 
 And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart, 
 Where it was forg'd. with my rapier's point. 
 
 Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day. 
 
 Fitz, Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour. 
 
 Aum. Filzwater, thou art damn'd to hell for this. 
 
 Percit. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as true, 
 In this appeal, as thou art all unjust: 
 And, that thou art so, there 1 throw my gage, ' 
 To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
 Of mortal breathing; seize it, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Aiun. And if I do not, may ray hands rot off, 
 And never brandish more revengeful steel 
 Over the glittering helmet of ray foe ! 
 
 Lord. 1 take the earth to the like, forsworn Aumerle ; 
 And spur thee on with full as many lies 
 As may be hoUa'd in thy treacherous ear 
 From sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn ; 
 Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 
 
 A urn. Who sets me else "* by heaven. I'll throw at all . 
 I have a thousand spirits in one breast, 
 To answer twenty thousand such as you. 
 
 Sitrreu, My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well 
 The very time Aumerle and you did talk. 
 
 F}(z. Mylord. 'tistrue: you were in presence then; 
 And you can witness with me, this is true. 
 
 Snrveij. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true. 
 
 Fitz. Surrey, thou liest. 
 
 Sitrreif. Dishonourable boy ! 
 
 That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword, 
 That it shall render vengeance and revenge, 
 Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie do lie 
 In earth as quiet as thy father's scull. 
 In proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn ; 
 Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st. 
 
 Fitz, How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse ! 
 If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live, 
 I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness, 
 And spit upon him, whilst I say, he lies. 
 And lies, and lies : there is my bond of faith. 
 To tie thee to my strong correction. — 
 As I intend to thrive in this new world, 
 Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal : 
 Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say. 
 That thou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men 
 To execute the noble duke at Calais. 
 
 Aum. Some honest Christian trust me with a gage, 
 That Norfolk lies : here do I throw down this, 
 If he may be repeal 'd to try his honour. 
 
 Holing. These differences shall all rest under gage, 
 Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repealed he shall be, 
 And, though mine enemy, restor'd again 
 To all his land and seignories ; when he's returned, 
 Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial. 
 
 Cii^, That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. — 
 Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought 
 For jesu Christ ; in glorious Christian field 
 Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross 
 Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens 
 And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself 
 To Italy ; and there, at Venice, gave 
 His body to that pleasant country's earth, 
 .A.nd his pure soul unto his captain Christ, 
 Under whose colours he had fought so long. 
 Boliug. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead 1 
 Car. As sure as I live, my lord. [bosom 
 
 Baling, Sweet peace conduct his sweet soul to the 
 Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants. 
 Your differences shall all rest under gage, 
 Till we assign you to your days of trial. 
 
 Enter York, attended. 
 
 York. Great duke "of Lancaster, I come to thee 
 From plume-pluck'd Richard ; who with witling soul 
 Adopts thee heir, and his high scepter yields 
 To the possession of thy royal hand : 
 Ascend his throne, descending now from him, — 
 And long live Henry, of that name the fourth ! 
 
 Billing. In God's name. I'll ascend the regal throne. 
 
 Car. Marry, God forbid! — 
 Worst in this royal presence may I speak. 
 Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth. 
 Would God, that any in this noble presence 
 Were enough noble to be upright judge 
 Of noble Richard ; then true nobless would 
 Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong. 
 What subject can give sentence on his king ? 
 And who sits here, that is not Ricliard's subjec 
 Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear, 
 Although apparent guilt be seen in them : 
 And shall the figure of God's majesty, 
 His captain, steward, deputy elect. 
 Anointed, crowned^ planted many years, 
 Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath. 
 And he himself not present 1 O, forbid it, God, 
 That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd 
 Should shew so heinous, black, obscene, a deed I 
 I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks, 
 Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king. 
 My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king. 
 Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king: 
 And if you crown him, let me prophesy, — 
 The blood of English shall manure the ground, 
 And future ages groan for this foul act ; 
 Peace shall go sleep with Turks and infidels, 
 And. in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars 
 Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound ; 
 Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny. 
 Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd 
 The field of Golgotha, and dead men's sculls. 
 O, if you rear this house against this house, 
 It will the woefuilest division prove, 
 That ever fell upon this cursed earth : 
 Prevent, resist it, let it not be so, 
 Lest children's children, cry against you — woe ! 
 
 North. Well have you argu'd, sir; and for your 
 Of capital treason we arrest you here : — [pains 
 My lord of Westminster, be it your charge 
 To keep him safely till his day of trial. — 
 May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit ? 
 
 Boliug. Fetch hither Richard, that in common view 
 He may surrender ; so we shall proceed 
 Without suspicion. 
 
 York. I will be his conduct. [Exit. 
 
 Baling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest 
 Procure your sureties for your days of answer: — 
 8 A 
 
370 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Little are we beholden to your love, [To Carlisle. 
 Aud little looked for at your helping hands. 
 
 lie-enter York, with Kino Richard, and Ofiicers 
 
 bearing the Crown, ^'c. 
 K. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king. 
 Before I liave shook off the regal thoughts 
 Wherewith I reign'd ! 1 iiardly yet have learn 'd 
 To insinuate, flatter, how, and bend my knee ; 
 Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me 
 To this submission. \'et I well remember 
 'J'he favours of these men : Were lliey not mine 7 
 Did they not sometijiie cry, all hail ! to me 1 
 So Judas did to Christ: but he, in twelve, [none. 
 Found truth in all, but one ; I, in twelve thousand, 
 God save the king ! — Will no man say, amen ! 
 Am I both priest and clerk? well then, amen. 
 God save the king ! although 1 be not he ; 
 And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me. — 
 To do what service am I sent for hither I 
 
 York. To do that office of thine own good will. 
 
 Which tired majesty did make thee ofier, 
 
 Tlie resignation of thy state and crown 
 
 To Henry Bolingbroke. [the crown ; 
 
 h.Rich. Give me the crown : — Here, cousin, seize 
 Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine. 
 Now is this golden crown like a deep well. 
 That owes two buckets filling one another ; 
 The emptier ever dancing in the air. 
 The other down, unseen, and full of water: 
 That bucket down, and full of tears am I, 
 Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high. 
 
 Boiiug. I thought you had been willing to resign. 
 
 A'. Kic/i. My crown, lam, but still my griefs are mine: 
 You may my glories and my slate depose. 
 But not my griefs ; still I am king of those, [crown. 
 
 Baling. Part of your cares you give me with your 
 
 K. Rich. Your cares set up, do not pluck my cares 
 My care is — loss of care, by old care done ; [down. 
 Your care is — gain of care, by new care won ; 
 The cares I give, I have, though given away ; 
 They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay. 
 
 Baling. Are you coiUented to resign the crown ^ 
 
 K. Rich. Ay, no ; — no, ay ; — for I must nothing be; 
 Therefore no, no, for I resign to tliee. 
 Now mark me how I will undo myself: — 
 I give this heavy weight from off my head. 
 And this unwieldy sceptre from my liand, 
 'J'he pride of kingly sway from out my heart ; 
 With mine own tears I wash away my balm. 
 With mine own hands I give away my crown. 
 With mine own tongue deny my sacred state. 
 With mine own breath release all duteous oaths : 
 All pomp and majesty I do forswear ; 
 My manors, rents, revenues, I forego ; 
 Wy acts, decrees, and statutes, 1 deny; 
 God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me I 
 God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee! 
 -Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd ; 
 And thou with all pleas'd. that hast all achiev'd! 
 Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit. 
 And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit I 
 God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says, 
 And send him many years of sunshine days ! 
 What more remains t 
 
 A'or(/i. No more, but that you read I Offering a paper. 
 These accusations, and these grievous crimes. 
 Committed by your person and your followers 
 Against the state and piotit of this land ; 
 I'hat, by confessing them, the souls of men 
 May deem that you are worthily depos'd. 
 
 A', Rich, Must I do so ? and must X ravel out 
 
 My weav'd-up follies'! Gentle Northumberland, 
 
 If thy offences were upon record. 
 
 Would it not shame thee, in so fair a troop. 
 
 To read a lecture of them IK thou would'st. 
 
 There should'st thou find one heinous article, — 
 
 Containing the deposing of a king. 
 
 And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, — 
 
 Mark'd with a blot, damn'd in the book of heaven . — 
 
 Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me. 
 
 Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, — 
 
 Though some of you, with Pilate, wash your hands. 
 
 Shewing an outward pity ; yet you Pilates 
 
 Have here deliver 'd me to ray sour cross, 
 
 And water cannot wash away your sin. 
 
 Narth. My lord, despatcli ; read o'er these articles. 
 
 K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see: 
 And yet salt water blinds tiicm not so much. 
 But they can see a sort of traitors here. 
 Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself, 
 I find myself a traitor with the rest : 
 For I have given here my soul's consent. 
 To undeck the pompous body of a king ; 
 Make glory base ; and sovereignty a slave ; 
 Proud majesty, a subject ; state, a peasant. 
 
 North. My lord, [man, 
 
 A'. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insulting 
 Nonno man's lord ; I have no name, no title, — 
 No, not that name was given me at the font, — 
 But 'tis usurp'd : — Alack the heavy day. 
 That 1 have worn so many winters out. 
 And know not now what name to call myself ! 
 O, that I were a mockery king of snow. 
 Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, 
 To melt myself away in water-drops ! — 
 Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly good,^ 
 An if my word be sterling yet in England, 
 Let it command a mirror hither straight ; 
 That it may shew me what a face I have, 
 Since it is bankrupt of his majesty. 
 
 Baling. Go some of you, and fetch a looking-glass 
 [Exit an Attendant 
 
 North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth 
 come. [hell. 
 
 A'. Rich. Fiend I thou torment'st me ere I come to 
 
 Baling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland. 
 
 North. The commons will not then be satisfied. 
 
 K. Rich. They shall be satisfied : I'll read enough. 
 When I do see the very book indeed 
 ^Vhere all my sins are writ, and that's — myself. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with a glass. 
 
 Give me that glass, and therein will I read. 
 
 No deeper wrinkles yet ? Hath sorrow stiiick 
 
 So many blows upon this face of mine. 
 
 And made no deeper wounds ? — O, flattering glas:>. 
 
 Like to my followers in prosperity. 
 
 Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face. 
 
 That every day under his household roof 
 
 Did keep ten thousand men ? Was this the face, 
 
 That, like the sun, did make beholders wink ! 
 
 Was this the face, that faced so many follies. 
 
 And was at last out-l'ac'd by Bolingbroke ? 
 
 A brittle glory shineth in this face : 
 
 As brittle as the glory is the face ; 
 
 [Danhes the glass against the ground. 
 For there it is, crack'd in a liundred shivers. — 
 Mark, silent king, t)ie moral of this sport, — 
 How soon qiy sorrow hath destroy 'd my face. 
 
 Bating. The sljadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd. 
 The shadow of your face. 
 
 A'. Rich. Pay that again. 
 
 The shadow of my sorrow ? Ha ! let's see ■— 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I, 
 
 371 
 
 Tis very true, my grief lies all mthin ; 
 And these external manners of lament 
 Are merely shadows to the unseen grief, 
 That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul ; 
 There lies the substance : and I thank tliee, king, 
 For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st 
 Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way 
 How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon, 
 And then be gone, and trouble you no more. 
 Shall 1 obtain it ? 
 
 Baling. Name it, fair cousin. 
 
 A'.Ric/i. Faircousin'! Why, I am greater than n king: 
 For, when I was a king, my flatterers 
 Were then but subjects ; being now a subject, 
 I have a king here to my flatterer. 
 Being so great, I have no need to beg. 
 
 Bating- Yet ask. 
 
 K. Rick. And shall I have 1 
 
 Baling. You shall. 
 
 K, Rich. Then give me leave to go. 
 
 Bti(i;i!;. Whither 1 [sights. 
 
 A'. Rich. Whither you will, so I were from your 
 
 Baling. Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower. 
 
 K.Rick. 0,good! Convey 1 — Conveyers are you all. 
 That rise thus nimbly by a true king's fall. 
 
 \_Eieunt K. Richard, same Lords, and a Guard. 
 
 Baling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down 
 Our coronation ; lords, prepare yourselves. 
 
 [^Eictiut alt but the Ahdot, Bishop of 
 Carlisle, and Aumepli". 
 
 Abbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld. 
 
 Car. The woe's to come ; the children yet unborn 
 Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn. 
 
 Aum. You holy clergymen, is there no plot 
 To rid the realm of this pernicious blot 1 
 
 Abbot. Before 1 freely speak my mind herein, 
 You shall not only take the sacrament 
 To bury mine intents, but also to effect 
 Whatever I shall happen to devise : — ■ 
 I see your brows are full of discontent, 
 Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears ; 
 Come home with me to supper ; I will lay 
 A plot shall shew us all a merry day. [Eisrmt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Street leading to the Tower. 
 
 Enter Queen and Ladies. 
 
 Queen. This way the kingwill come ; this is the way 
 To Julius CsEsar's ill-erected tower. 
 To whose flint bosom my condemned lord 
 Is doom'd a prisoner by proud Bolingbroke : 
 Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth 
 Have any resting for her true king's queen. 
 
 Enter King Richard and Guards. 
 
 But soft, but see, or rather do not see. 
 My fair rose wither : Yet look up ; behold ; 
 That you in pity may dissolve to dew, 
 .\nd wash him fresh again with true-love tears.— 
 .\h, thou, the model where old Troy did stand ; 
 Thou map of honour ; thou king Richard's tomb. 
 And not king Richard ; thou most beauteous inn. 
 Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee. 
 When triumph is become an alehouse guest 1 
 
 A'. Rich, .loin not with grief, fair woman, do not so. 
 To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul, 
 To think our former state a happy dream ; 
 From which awak'd, the trutli of what we are 
 Shews us but this ; I am sworn brother, sweet. 
 
 To grim necessity ; and he and I 
 Will keep a league till death. Hie thee to France 
 And cloister thee in some religious house : 
 Our holy lives must win a new world's crown. 
 Which our profane hours here have stricken down. 
 
 Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and mind 
 Transform'd, and weaken'd ^ Hath Bolingbroke 
 Depos'd thine intellect? Hath he been in thy heart] 
 The lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw, 
 And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage 
 To be o'erpower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like, 
 Take thy correction mildly 1 kiss the rod ; 
 And fawn on rage with base humility. 
 Which art a lion, and a king of beasts'! 
 
 A'. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ; if aught but 
 I had been still a happy king of men. [beasts. 
 
 Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for France: 
 Think, 1 am dead ; and that even here thou tak'st, 
 As from my death-bed, my last living leave. 
 In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire 
 With good old folks ; and let them tell thee tales 
 Of woeful ages, long ago betid : 
 And, ere thou bid good night, to quit their grief. 
 Tell thou the lamentable fall of me. 
 And send the hearers weeping to their beds. 
 For why, the senseless brands will svmpathize 
 The heavy accent of thy moving tongue. 
 And, in compassion, weep the fire out : 
 And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black. 
 For the deposing of a rightful king. 
 
 Enter NonTiiuMBEuLAND, attended. 
 
 North. Mylord.themindofBolinjrbrokeischang'd; 
 
 You must to Fomfret, not unto the Tower. 
 
 And, madam, there is order ta'en for you ; 
 W^ith all swift speed you must away to France. 
 
 A'. Rich, Northumberland, thou ladderv.'herewith.'d 
 The mounting Bolingbroke ascends ray throne, — 
 The time shall not be many hours of age 
 More than it is. ere foul sin, gathering head. 
 Shall break into corruption: thou shall think, 
 1'hough he divide the realm, and give thee half, 
 It is too little, helping him to all ; 
 And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way 
 To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again, 
 Being ne'er so little urg'd, another way 
 To pluck him headlong from the usurped throne. 
 The love of wicked friends converts to fear ; 
 That fear, to hate ; and hate turns one, or both, 
 To worthy danger, and deserved death. 
 
 North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end. 
 Take leave, and part ; for you must part forthwith. 
 
 A'. Rich. Doubly divorc'd 1 — Bad men, ye violate 
 A twofold marriage ; 'twixt my crown and me ; 
 And then, betwixt me and my married wife. — 
 Let me unkiss the oath 'twixt thee and me ; 
 And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. — 
 Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north, 
 Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ; 
 My wife to France ; from whence, set forth in pomp, 
 She came adorned hither like sweet j\Iay, 
 Sent back like Hallowmas, or short'st of day. 
 
 Queen. And must we be divided? must we part? 
 
 A'. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart 
 from heart. 
 
 Qneen. Banish us both, and send the king with me. 
 
 North. 'I'hat were some love, but little policy. 
 
 Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go. 
 
 A. Jiich. So two, together weeping, make one woe. 
 Weep thou for me in France, I for thee here ; 
 Better far off. than — near, be ne'er the near'. 
 Go, count thy way with sighs ; I, mine with groans 
 2 A 2 
 
372 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 Queen So longest way shall have the longest moans. 
 
 K. i<ic/i. Twicefoione step I'll groan, the way being 
 And piece the way out with a heavy heart [short, 
 Come, come, in wooing sorrow, let's be brief. 
 Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief. 
 One kiss shall stop our mouths, and doubly part ; 
 Thus grve I mine, and thus 1 take thy heart. \Therikiu. 
 
 Queeiu Give me mine own again; 'twere no good 
 part, 
 Totakeon me to keep, and kill thyheart. [Kiss again. 
 So, now I have mine own again, begone, 
 That I may strive to kill it with a groan. 
 
 A'. Rlch.W'e make woe wanton with this fond delay : 
 Once more, adieu ; the rest let sorrow say. [Eieiini. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The same, — A Room in the Ditke o/* York's Palace. 
 
 Enter York and his Duchess. 
 
 Vuch. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest. 
 When weeping made you break the story oft' 
 Of our two cousins coming into London. 
 
 York, Where did I leave ] 
 
 Duch. At that sad stop, my lord. 
 
 Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops. 
 Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head. 
 
 York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, 
 Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed. 
 Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know, — 
 With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, 
 While all tongues cried — God save thee, Bolingbroke! 
 You would have thought the very windows spake, 
 So many greedy looks of young and old 
 Through casements darted their desiring eyes 
 Upon his visage ; and that all the walls. 
 With painted imag'ry, had said at once, — 
 Jesu preserve thee! welcome, Bolingbroke! 
 Whilst he, from one side to the other turning. 
 Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, 
 Bespake them thus,— I thank you, countrymen : ' 
 And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along. 
 
 Vuch . Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the while f 
 
 York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, 
 After a well-grac'd actor leaves ihe stage. 
 Are idly bent on him that enters next, 
 Thinking his prattle to be tedious : 
 Even so, or with nmch more contempt, men's eyes 
 Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him ; 
 No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : 
 But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; 
 Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, — 
 His face still combating with tears and smiles. 
 The badges of his grief and patience, — 
 That had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd 
 The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, 
 And barbarism itself have pitied him. 
 But heaven hath a hand in these events ; 
 To whose high will we bound our calm contents. 
 To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now. 
 Whose state and honour I for ay» allow. 
 
 Enter AuaiEnLE. 
 
 Dtich. Heie comes my son Aumerle. 
 
 York. Aumerle that was ; 
 
 But that is lost, for being Richard's friend. 
 And, madam, you must call him Rutland now : 
 I am in parliament pledge for his truth. 
 And lasting fealty to the new-made king. 
 
 Duch. Welcome, my son : Who are the violets now, 
 That strew the green lap of the new-come spring 1 
 
 Anm. Madam, 1 know not. nor I greatly care not: 
 God knows, 1 had as li<if be none, as one. 
 
 Voi-fe.Well, bear you well, in this new spring of time, 
 Lestyoubecropp'dbefore you come to prime, [umphs? 
 What news from O.\fordl hold those justs and tri- 
 
 Aujn. For aught I know, my lord, they do. 
 
 York, You will be there, 1 know. 
 
 Anm. If God prevent it not ; I purpose so. 
 
 York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy bo- 
 Yea, look'st thou pale ! let me see the writing, [sora 1 
 
 Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing. 
 
 York. No matter then who sees it • 
 
 I will be satisfied, let me see the writing. 
 
 Anm. I do beseech your grace to pardon me; 
 It is a matter of small consequence, 
 Which for some reasons I would not have seen. 
 
 York. Which for some reasons, sir, 1 mean to see. 
 I fear, I fear, 
 
 Duch. What should you fear 1 
 
 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is enter'd into 
 For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day. 
 
 York. Bound to himself! what doth he with a bond 
 That he is bound to 1 Wife, thou art a fool. — 
 Boy, let me see the writing. [it. 
 
 Aum.l do beseech you, pardon me; T may not shew 
 
 York. I will be satisfied ; let me see it, I say. 
 
 [Snatches it, and reads. 
 Treason ! foul treason ! — villain ! traitor ! slave ! 
 
 Duch. What is the matter, my lord? 
 
 York. Ho! who is within there ^ [Enter a Servant.] 
 Saddle my horse. 
 God for his mercy ! what treachery is here! 
 
 Duch. Why, what is it, my lord f 
 
 Ynrk.G'we me my boots, I say -, saddle my horse: — 
 Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth, 
 I will appeach the villain. [Ejit Servant 
 
 Duch. What's the matter 1 
 
 York. Peace, foolish woman. 
 
 Duch. I will not peace : — What is the matter, son? 
 
 Anm. Good mother, be content ; it is no more 
 Than my poor life must answer. 
 
 Duch. Thy life answer ? 
 
 Ee-enter Servant, U'ith boots. 
 
 York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king. 
 
 Duch. Strike him, Aumerle. — Poor boy, thou art 
 amaz'd : 
 Hence, villain ; never more come in my sight. — 
 
 [To the Servant, 
 
 York. Give me my boots, I say. 
 
 Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do? 
 Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own 1 
 Have we more sons ? or are we like to have 1 
 Is not my teeming date drunk up with timel 
 And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age. 
 And rob me of a happy mother's name 1 
 Is he not like thee ? is he not tliine own 1 
 
 York. Tiiou fond mad woman. 
 Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy t 
 A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament. 
 And interchangeably set down their hands, 
 To kill the king at O.vford. 
 
 Duch. He shall be none ; 
 
 We'll keep him here : Then what is that to him ? 
 
 York. Away, "^r«>. 
 
 Fond woman ! were he twenty times my son 7 
 
 I •\\ould appeach him, ^ *Jr^ 
 
 Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him, 
 
 As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful. 
 But now I know thy uiind ; thou dost suspect. 
 That I have been disloyal to thy bed, 
 And that he is a bastard, not thy son : 
 Sweet York, sweet husband, be not of that mind: 
 He is as like thee as a man may be. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 373 
 
 Not like to me, or any of my kin, j 
 
 And yet I love him. 
 
 Y'ork. Make way, unruly woman. '' [Exit, 
 
 Durfi.Aftcr, Aumerle; mount thee upon hishorse ; 
 Spur, post ; and get before him to the king, 
 And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse tlee. 
 I'll not be long behind ; though I be old, 
 I doubt not but to ride as fast as York : 
 And never will 1 rise up from the ground. 
 Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd thee : Away ; 
 Begone. lEdeunt. 
 
 SCENE III — Windsor. A Room in the Castle. 
 EnterBo'LiycunoKE,as King ; 'Pzncr , and other'LoTds. 
 
 Bating, Can no man tell of my unthrifty son 'i 
 'Tis full three months, since 1 did see him last: — 
 If any plague hang over us, 'lis he. 
 T would to God, my lords, he might be found: 
 Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there. 
 For there, they say, he daily doth frequent, 
 With unrestrained loose companions ; 
 Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes, 
 And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ; 
 While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy, 
 Teikes on the point of honour, to support 
 So dissolute a crew. 
 
 Fercv . My lord .some two days since 1 saw the prince; 
 And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford. 
 
 BoUng. And what said the gallant \ 
 
 Percu. His answer was, — he would unto the stews j 
 And from the common'st creature pluck a glove, 
 And wear it as a favour ; and with that 
 He would unhorse the lustiest challenger. 
 
 Boiing. As dissolute, as desperate: yet, through both 
 I see some sparkles of a better hope. 
 Which elder days may happily bring forth. 
 But who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Aumerle, hastiltf, 
 
 Aum. W'bere is the king"? 
 
 Boiing. What means 
 
 Our cousin, that he stares and looks so wildly ? 
 
 ^itm. God save your grace. 1 do beseech your majesty, 
 To have some conference with your grace alone. 
 
 Boiing. Withdraw yourselves, and leave us here 
 alone. — [Eieunt Pkrcy and Lords. 
 
 What is the matter with our cousin now 1 
 
 Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth, 
 
 [Kneels, 
 My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth, 
 Unless a pardon, ere 1 rise, or speak. 
 
 Boiing. Intended, or committed, was this fault? 
 If but the first, how heinous eve it be, 
 To win thy after-love, I pardon thee. 
 
 Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key. 
 That no man enter till my tale be done. 
 
 Boiing. Have thy desire. [Atmerle lochs the door. 
 
 York. [H'i£/i(;i.] My liege, beware; look to thyself; 
 Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there. 
 
 Boiing. Villain, I "U make thee safe. [Drawijig. 
 
 Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand, 
 Thou hast no cause to fear. 
 
 York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-hardy 
 Shall I, for love, speak treason to thy face } [^ng: 
 Open the door, or 1 will break it open. 
 
 [Bolingbroke opens the door. 
 
 Enter Yorr. 
 
 Boting, What is the matter, uncle ? speak ; 
 Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger, 
 That we may arm us to encounter it. 
 
 York. Peruse this writing here, and thou shaitknow 
 The treason that my haste forbids me shew. 
 
 Aum. Remember, as thou read'st, thy promise past : 
 I do repent me ; read not my name there, 
 My heart is not confederate with my hand. 
 
 York. 'Twas, villain, ere thyhanddidsetitdown. — 
 I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king ; 
 Fear, and not love, begets his penitence : 
 Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove 
 A serpent that will sling thee to the heart. 
 
 Boiing, O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy ! — 
 
 loyal father of a treacherous son ! 
 
 Thou sheer, immaculate, and silver fountain, 
 
 From whence this stream through muddy passages. 
 
 Hath held his current, and defii'd himself! 
 
 Thy overflow of good converts to bad ; 
 
 And thy abundant goodness shall excuse ' 
 
 This deadly blot in thy digressing son. 
 
 Y'ork. So shall niy virtue be his vice's bawd ; 
 And lie shall spend mine honour with his shame, 
 As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold. 
 Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, 
 Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies : 
 Thou kilTst me in his life ; giving him breath, 
 The traitor lives, the true man's put to death. 
 
 Duch. [Within.] What ho, my liege 1 for God's 
 sake let me in. [eager cry! 
 
 Boiing. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this 
 
 Duch. A woman, and thine aunt, great king ; 'tis I. 
 Speak with me, pity me, open the door : 
 A beggar begs, that never begg'd before. 
 
 Boiing. Our scene is alter'd, — from a serious thing. 
 And now chang'd to The Beggar and the King. — 
 My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ; 
 
 1 know, she's come to pray for your foul sin. 
 
 York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray, 
 IMore sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may. 
 This fester 'd joint cut off", the rest rests sound ; 
 This, let alone, will all the rest confound. 
 
 Enter Duchess. 
 
 Duch. king, believe not this hard-hearted man, 
 Love, loving not itself, none other can, 
 
 York. Thou frantic woman, what dost thou make 
 Shall thy old dugs once more a traitor rear l [here ? 
 
 Duch. Sweet York, be patient: Hear me, gentle 
 liege. [Kneels. 
 
 Boiing. Rise up, good aunt. 
 
 Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech : 
 
 For ever will I kneel upon my knees, 
 And never see day that the happy sees. 
 Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy, 
 By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy. 
 
 Aum, Unto my mother's pravers 1 bend my knee. 
 
 [Kneels 
 
 York. Against them both, my true joints bended be. 
 
 [Kneels, 
 III may'st thou thrive, if thou grant any grace ! 
 
 Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face ; 
 His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest : 
 His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast ; 
 He prays but faintly, and would be denied ; 
 We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside : 
 His w^eary joints would gladly rise, I know ; 
 Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow ; 
 His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ; 
 Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity. 
 Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them have 
 That mercy, which true prayers ought to have. 
 
 Biding, Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duch. Nay, do not say — stand up; 
 
 But pardon, first; and afterwards, stand up. 
 An if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach. 
 Pardon — should be the first word of thy speech. 
 
374 
 
 KING RICHARD II. 
 
 I never long'd to hear a word till now ; 
 Say — pardon, king ; let pity teach thee how : 
 The word is short, but not so sliort as sweet ; 
 No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet, 
 
 Vork. Speak it in French, king ; say, panlonm:moy. 
 
 Dtich. Uost thou teach pardon pardon to destroy 1 
 Ah, my sour husband, my hard-hearted lord, 
 Tliat set'st the word itself against the word ! — 
 Speak, pardon, as 'tis current in our land ; 
 The chopping French we do not understand. 
 Tliine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there : 
 Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear ; 
 That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce, 
 Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse. 
 
 Boliug, Good aunt, stand up. 
 
 Duch. I do not sue to stand. 
 
 Pardon is all the suit I have in hand. 
 
 Baling. 1 pardon him, as Uod sliall pardon me. 
 
 Duch. happy vantage of a kneeling knee ! 
 Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ; 
 Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain. 
 But makes one pardon strong. 
 
 Baling. With all my heart 
 
 I pardon him. 
 
 Duch. A god on earth thou art. 
 
 Baling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, — and the 
 With all the rest of that consorted crew, — [abbot, 
 Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. — 
 Good uncle, help to order several powers 
 To Oxford, or where'er tiiese traitors are : 
 They shall not live within this world, I swear. 
 But I will have them, if I once know where. 
 Uncle, farewell, — and cousin too, adieu : 
 Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true. 
 
 Duch. Come, my old son ; — I pray God make thee 
 new. l^Exeunt. 
 
 SCKNE IV. 
 Enter Exxon and a Servant. 
 Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words he 
 spake t 
 
 Have I no friend wilt rid me of this living fear? 
 Was it not so ! 
 
 Serv. Those were his very words. 
 
 Extan. Have 1 na friend ? quoth he : he spake it 
 And urg'd it twice together ; did he notl [twice, 
 
 Serv. He did. 
 
 Exton. And speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me ; 
 As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man 
 That would divorce this terror from my heart ; 
 Meaning, the king at Pomfret. CJome, let's go ; 
 I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [£iei«i«. 
 
 SCENE v.— Pomfret. The Dungeon of the Castle. 
 
 Enter King Richard. 
 
 K. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare 
 This prison, where 1 live, unto the world : 
 And, for because tlie world is populous, 
 And here is not a creature but myself, 
 I cannot do it ; — Vet I '11 hammer it out. 
 My brain 1 '11 prove the female to my soul ; 
 My soul, the father ; and these two beget 
 A generation of still breeding thoughts. 
 And thet.e same thoughts people this little world ; 
 In humours, like the people of this world. 
 For no thougiit is contented. 'I'iie better sort, — • 
 As thougiits of things divine, — are intermix'd 
 With scruples, and do set the word itself 
 Against the word : 
 
 As thus,— Come, little ones; and then again, — 
 It is as hard to come, as for a camel 
 
 To thread the postern of a needle's eve. 
 
 Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot 
 
 l-^nlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails 
 
 I\Iay tear a passage through tlie flinty ribs 
 
 Of "this hard world, my ragged prison walls ; 
 
 -■ind, for they cannot, die in their own pride. 
 
 Tlioughts teuding to content, flatter themselves,—* 
 
 That they are not the first of fortune's slaves. 
 
 Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars, 
 
 Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,— 
 
 That many have, and others must sit there : 
 
 And in this thought they find a kind of ease, 
 
 Bearing their own misfortune on the back 
 
 Of such as have before endur'd the like. 
 
 Thus play I, in one person, many people, 
 
 And none contented ; Sometimes am 1 king ; 
 
 Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar. 
 
 And so I am : Then crushing penury 
 
 Persuades me I was better when a king ; 
 
 Then am I king'd again ; and, by-and-by, 
 
 Think that I am unking'd by Boliugbroke, 
 
 And straight anx nothing : — But, whate'er I am. 
 
 Nor I, nor any man, that but man is. 
 
 With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd 
 
 With being nothing. — fliusic do 1 hear? [iUusic. 
 
 Ha, ha I keep time : — How sour sweet music is. 
 
 When time is broke, and no proportion kept! 
 
 So is it in the music of men's lives. 
 
 And here have 1 the daintiness of ear, 
 
 To check time broke in a disorder'd string ; 
 
 But, for the concord of my state and time. 
 
 Had not an ear to hear my true time broke. 
 
 I wasted time, and now doth time waste me. 
 
 For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock : 
 
 My thoughts are minutes : and, u ith sighs, they jar 
 
 Their watches on to mine eyes, the out\vard watch 
 
 Whereto my finger, like a dial's point. 
 
 Is pointing still, in cleaning them from tears. 
 
 Now, sir, the sound, that tells what hour it is. 
 
 Are clamorous groans, that strike upon my heart, 
 
 Which is the bell : So sighs, and tears, and groans. 
 
 Shew minutes, times, and hours :. — but my time 
 
 Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy. 
 
 While I stand fooling here, his Jack o' the clock. 
 
 Tins music mads me, let it sound no more ; 
 
 For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits. 
 
 In me, it seems it will make wise men mad. 
 
 Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me ! 
 
 For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Ricliard 
 
 Is a strange brooch in this all- hating world. 
 
 Enter Groom. 
 
 Groom. Hail, royal prince ! 
 
 K, Rich. Thanks, noble peer ; 
 
 The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. 
 What art thou "! and how comest thou hither. 
 Where no man never comes, but that sad dog 
 That brings me food, to make misfortune live ? 
 
 Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king. 
 When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards York, 
 With much ado, at length have gotten leave 
 To look upon my sometime master's face. 
 O, how ityern'd my heart, when I belield 
 In London streets that coronation day. 
 When Bolingbroke rode on roan Barb^y! 
 That horse, tliat thou so often hast bestrid ; 
 That horse, tliat I so carefully have dress'd 1 
 
 A'. Rich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle 
 How went he under him ? [friend. 
 
 Groom. So proudly, as if hedisdain'd the ground. 
 
 A'. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his 
 That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand ; [back 1 
 
ACT v.— SCENE VI. 
 
 375 
 
 This hand halh made Kim proud with clapping him. 
 Would he not stumble 1 Would he not fall down, 
 (Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck 
 Of that proud man, that did usurp his back ? 
 Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee, 
 Since thou, created to be aw'd by man, 
 Was born to bear? I was not made a horse ; 
 And vet I bear a burden like an ass, 
 Spur-gall'd, and tir'd by jauncingBolingbroke. 
 Enter Keeper, with a dUh, 
 Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer stay. 
 [To the Groom. 
 K. Rich, If thou love me, 'tis lime thou wert away 
 Gi'Qom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart 
 shall say. [Exit. 
 
 Keep, My lord, wilt please you to fail to'! 
 A'. Rich, Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do. 
 Keep. My lord, 1 dare not ; sirPierceof Exton, who 
 Lately came from the king, commands the contrary. 
 A', liich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and 
 Patience is stale, and I am weary of it. [thee! 
 
 [Beats the Keeper. 
 Keep. Help, help, help ! 
 
 K«(er ExTON, and Servants, armed. 
 K, Etch, How nowl what means death in this 
 rude assault ? 
 Villain, thy own hand yields tliy death's instrument. 
 [Snatching a wenpon, and killing one. 
 Go thou, and fill another room in hell. 
 
 [HekilU another, then Exton sti'ikes hijn down. 
 That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire, 
 That staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce hand 
 Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own land. 
 Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ; 
 Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. 
 
 [Dies. 
 Elton. As full of valour, as of royal blood : 
 Both have I spilt ; O, would the deed were good ! 
 For now the devil, that told me — I did well. 
 Says, that this deed is chronicled in hell. 
 This dead king to the living king I'll bear ;-;- 
 Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [£x. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Windsor. A Room in the Castle, 
 
 Flourish, Entei' Bolin'guroke and York, with 
 Lords and Attendants. 
 
 Boling. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear 
 Is — that the rebels have consum'd with fire 
 Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ; 
 But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not. 
 
 Enter NoRTHUMBF.nL.\NU. 
 Welcome, my lord } What is the news ? 
 
 North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all happi- 
 The next news is, — I have to London sent [ness 
 The heads of Salisbury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent 
 The manner of their taking may appear 
 At large discoursed in this paper here. 
 
 [Present'uig a paper, 
 
 Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains; 
 And to thy worth will add right worthy gains. 
 
 Enter Fitzwater. 
 
 Fitz, My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London 
 The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely ; 
 Two of the dangerous consorted ti-aitors, 
 That sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow. 
 
 Bnling. Thy pains. Fitzwater, shall notbe forgot; 
 Right noble is thy merit, well I wot. 
 
 Enter Percy, with the Bishop of Carlisle. 
 
 Percij. The grand conspirator, abbot of Westminster, 
 With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy, 
 Hath yielded up his body to the grave ; 
 But here is Carlisle living, to abide 
 Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride. 
 
 Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom : — 
 Choose out some secret place, some reverend room, 
 More than thou hast, and with it joy thy life ; 
 So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife : 
 For though mine enemy thou hast ever been. 
 High sparks of honour in thee have I seen. 
 
 Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a coffin. 
 
 Elton. Great king, within this coffin T present 
 Thy buried fear ; herein all breatiiless lies 
 The miglitiest of thy greatest enemies, 
 Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought. 
 
 Bating. Exton, I thank thee not ; for thou ha^t 
 A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand, [wrouglit 
 Upon my head, and all this famous land. [deed. 
 
 Exton, From your own mouth, my lord, did I this 
 
 Boling. They love not poison that do poison need, 
 Nor do I thee ; though I did wish him dead, 
 I hate the murderer, love him murdered. 
 The guilt of conscience take thou for thv labour, 
 But neither my good word, nor princely favour : 
 With Cain go wander through the shade of night, 
 
 And never shew ihy head by day nor light. 
 
 Lords, I protest, my soul is full of woe, 
 
 That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow . 
 
 Come, mourn with me for what I do lament, 
 
 And put on sullen black, incontinent ; 
 
 I'll make a voyage to t!ie Holy land. 
 
 To wash this blood oft" from my guiltv hand : — 
 
 March sadly after; grace my mournings here. 
 
 In weeping aftei this untimely bier. [Eiennt. 
 
 • This play is extracted from the Chronicle of HoUnshed, in 
 which many pissapes may be found wliich ^hakspeare has, with 
 very little alter^iion, iransj>lanted into his scenes; particularly 
 a speech of the hisliopof t^iiilisle. iu delVncetif Kint,' Richard's 
 unalienable riylit, and inimuiiitT from huaiaii lunsdiciion- 
 
 Jonson, who, in his L'aitUne and Hi^anns, ha^ inserted many 
 speeches from the Uonian historians, was iierhaps induced to 
 that practice by ihe example of Shakspeare, who had condescend- 
 ed botuetimes to copy more i^:noble writers. But Shakspeare 
 had more of his own than Jonson ; and, if he sometimes wa!> 
 wjiling to spare his labour, shewed, by what be performed dt 
 
 other times, that his extracts were made by choice or idleness 
 rather than necessuv. 
 
 ihis nlay is one of those which Shakspeare has apparently re- 
 vised ; out as success lu works of invention is not always pro- 
 portionate to labour, it is not finished at last with the hapi)y 
 force of some other of his irayedies, nor can be said much to 
 affect the passions, or enlarge the understanding.— JoH\iON. 
 
 ihe notion that Shakspeare revised this play, though it has 
 lonK prevailed, appears lo me extremely doubtful; or, to peaii 
 more plainly, I do not believe it.— Malone. 
 
FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 This exquisite play was entered at Stationers* Hall, Feb. 25, 
 15^7 ; and was printed in quarto the following year. The 
 transactions contained in it are comprised wilhin the period 
 of about ten months. The action commences with the news 
 brought ot Hotspur having defeated the Scots under Archi- 
 bald earl of Douglas, at Holuiedon (or Ilali.lown-hill), M'hich 
 battle was fouRht on lioly-rood day (the 1 Ith of September), 
 140.: ; and it closes with the defeat atid death of Ilotipur at 
 Shrewsbury; which engagement happened on Saturday the 
 21st of July (the eve of aaiut Mary Magdalen), iu the yearl403. 
 
 " Shakspeare has," says Dr. Johnson, " apparently desired a 
 regular connexion of these dramatic histories, from Richard 
 the Second, to Henry the Fifth. Kin;,' Henry, Qt the end of 
 Richard the Second, declares his puriiose to visit the Holy 
 Land, which he resumes in the first speech of this play. The 
 complaint made by King Henry in the last act of Richard the 
 Second, of the wilduess of his son, prepares the reader for 
 the frolics which are here to be recouuted, and the charac- 
 ters which are now to be exhibited." 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Hevry the Founxii. 
 
 Henry, Prince of Wa.\es, ) ,, x-- 
 
 T> T /t . 5 S071S to the Kiner. 
 
 Prince John oJ Lancaster, \ ° 
 
 Earl OF Westmoreland, ) ^- . . ^i tv-- 
 c- iir T) : friends to the King. 
 
 Sir Walter Blunt, i *' * 
 
 Thomas Percy, Earl (>/" Worcester. 
 
 Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. 
 
 Henry Percy, sumumed Hotspur, his son. 
 
 Edmund Mortimer, Earl of Muich, 
 
 Scroop, Archbishop of York. 
 
 Sir Michael, a friend of the Archbishop. 
 
 Archibald, Earl oJ Douglas. 
 
 Owen Glendower. 
 
 Sir Richard Vernon. 
 
 Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 POINS. 
 
 Gadshill. 
 
 Peto. 
 
 Bardolph. 
 
 Lady Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister ((5 Mortimer. 
 Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, and wife to 
 
 Mortimer. 
 Mrs. Quickly, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. 
 
 Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain ^Drawers, 
 Two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE,— England. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Westmoreland, Sir Walter 
 Blunt, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care. 
 Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, 
 And breathe short-winded accents of new broils 
 To be commenc'd in stronds afar remote. 
 No more the thirsty entrance of tliis soil 
 Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood ; 
 No more shall trenching war channel her fields. 
 Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs 
 Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes. 
 Which, — like the meteors of a troubled heaven. 
 
 All of one nature, of one substance bred, 
 
 Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
 
 And furious close of civil butchery, 
 
 Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, 
 
 AFarch all one way ; and be no more oppos'd 
 
 Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies : 
 
 The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, 
 
 No raore shall cut his master. Therefore, friends. 
 
 As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
 (Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 
 We are impressed and engag'd to fight,) 
 Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ; 
 Whose arms were moulded in their mothers* womb 
 To chase these pagans, in those holy fields, 
 Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet, 
 Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd 
 For our advantage, on the bitter cross. 
 But this our purpose is a twelvemonth old, 
 And bootless 'tis to tell you, — we will go ; 
 Therefore we meet not now : — Then let me hear 
 Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 
 What yesternight our council did decree, 
 In forwarding this dear expedience. 
 
 West. My liege, this haste was hot in question. 
 And many limits of the charge set down 
 But yesternight: when, all athwart, there came 
 A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news ; 
 Whose worst was, — that the noble Mortimer, 
 Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
 Against the irregular and wild Glendower, 
 Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, 
 And a thousand of his people butchered : 
 I'pon those dead corpse there was such misuse, 
 Such beastly, sliameless transformation. 
 By those Welshwomen done, as may not be, 
 Without much shame, re-told or spoken of. 
 
 A'. Hen. It seems then, that the tidings of this broi3 
 Brake off our business for the Holy land. 
 
 West, This, match'd with other, did, my gracious 
 For more uneven and unwelcome news [lord ; 
 
 Came from the north, and thus it did import. 
 On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there. 
 Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald. 
 That ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
 At Holmedon met, 
 
 Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour ; 
 \s by discharge of their artillery. 
 And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; 
 For he that brought them, in the very heat 
 And pride of their contention did take horse. 
 Uncertain of the issue any way. 
 
 K.Hen. Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, 
 Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
 Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
 Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ; 
 And he hath brougSit us smootli and welcome news. 
 The earl of Douglas is discomfited ; 
 Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and twenty knights, 
 Balk'd in their own blood, did sir Walter see 
 On Holmedon's plains : Of prisoners, Hotspur took 
 Jlordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son 
 To beaten Douglas ; and the earls of Athol, 
 Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. 
 
ACT I— SCENE II. 
 
 377 
 
 And is not this an honourable spoil 7 
 A gallant prize ? ha, cousin, is it not? 
 
 West. In faith, 
 It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 
 
 A'. Hen. Vea, there thou mak'stme sad, and mak'st 
 In envy that my lord Northumberland [me sin 
 
 Should be the father of so blest a son: 
 A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue ; 
 Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; 
 AVho is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride : 
 Whilst I, by looking on tlie praise of hiin, 
 See riot and dishonour stain the brow 
 Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd, 
 Tiiat some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd 
 In cradle-clothes our children where they lay. 
 And call'd mine— Percy, his — Plantagenet! 
 Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. 
 But let him from ray thoughts: — What thinkyou, coz', 
 Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners, 
 Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd. 
 To his own use he keeps ; and sends me word, 
 I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife. 
 
 n'cst. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, 
 Malevolent to you in all aspects ; 
 Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up 
 The crest of youth against your dignity. 
 
 K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this : 
 And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect 
 Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
 Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
 Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords : 
 But come yourself with speed to us again ; 
 For more is to be said, and to be done, 
 Than out of anger can be uttered. 
 
 West. I will, my liege. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. Another Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Henry, Prince n/" Wales, and Falstaff. 
 
 Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ? 
 
 P. Hen. Thou art so fat witted, with drinking of 
 old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and 
 sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast for- 
 gotten to demand that truly which thou would'st 
 truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the 
 time of the day 1 unless hours were cups of sack, and 
 minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, 
 and dials the signs of leaping houses, and the blessed 
 sun himself a fair hot wench in flame colour'd taH'ata ; 
 I see no reason, why thou should'st be so superfluous 
 to demand the time of the day. 
 
 Fat. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal ; for we, 
 that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars ; 
 aud not by Phcebus, — he, that wandering knight so 
 fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art 
 king, — as, God save thy grace, (majesty, 1 should 
 say ; for grace thou wilt have none,^ ■ 
 
 P. Hen. What! none? 
 
 Fat. No, by my troth ; not so much as will serve 
 to be prologue to an egg and butter. 
 
 p. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly. 
 
 FaL Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, 
 let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be 
 called thieves of the day's beauty ; letus be — Diana's 
 foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the 
 moon : And let men say, we be men of good govern- 
 ment ; being governed as the sea is, by our noble and 
 ciiaste mistress the moon, under wliose countenance 
 we — steal. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou say'st well ; and it holds well too : 
 for the fortune of us. tliat are the moon's men, doth 
 ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea 
 
 is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: A purse of 
 gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and 
 most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got 
 with swearing — lay by; and spent with crying— bring 
 ^n: now, in as low an ebb as tiie foot of the ladder: 
 and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the 
 gallows. 
 
 Fal. By the lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not 
 my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench ? 
 
 P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the 
 castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe 
 of durance ? 
 
 FaL How now, how now. mad wag? what, in thy 
 quips, and thy quiddities I wliat a plague have I to 
 do with a buft'jerkin ! 
 
 P. Hen. W'hy, what a po.\ have I to do with ray 
 hostess of the tavern ? 
 
 Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning 
 many a time and oft 
 
 P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? 
 
 Fal. No ; I 'U give thee thy due, thou hast paid ail 
 there. 
 
 P. Hen. Vea, and elsewhere, so far as m.y coin 
 would stretch ; and, where it would not, I have used 
 my credit. 
 
 Fal. Yea. and so used it, that were it not here ap- 
 parent that thou art heir apparent, — But. 1 pr'ythee, 
 sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing m Eng- 
 land when thou aft king ? and resolution thus fobbed 
 as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antic the 
 law ? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. 
 
 P. Hen. No; thou shalt. [judge. 
 
 FaL Shall I ? O rare ! by the Lord, I '11 be a brave 
 
 P. Hen. Thou judgest false already ; I mean, thou 
 shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become 
 a rare hangman. 
 
 Fal. Well, Hal, well ; and in some sort it jumps 
 with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I 
 can tell you. 
 
 P. Hen. For obtaining of suits ? 
 
 Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hang- 
 man hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood 1 am as melan- 
 choly as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. 
 
 P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute. 
 
 Fal. Yea. or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. 
 
 /'. Hen. What say'st thou to a hare, or the melan- 
 choly of Moor-ditch ? 
 
 Fill. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes ; and 
 art. indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, — sweet 
 young prince, — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no 
 more with vanity. I would to God. thou and I knew 
 where a commodity of good names were to be bought : 
 An old lord of the council rated me the other day in 
 the street about you, sir ; but I marked him not : and 
 yet he talked very wisely ; but T regarded him not : 
 and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries out m 
 the streets, and no man regards it. 
 
 FaL O, thou hast damnable iteration • and art. in- 
 deed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much 
 harm upon me, Hal. — God forgive thee for it! Be- 
 fore I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing ; and now am 
 1, if a man should speak truly, little better than one 
 of the vvicked. I must give over this life, and I will 
 give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; 
 1 '11 be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. 
 
 P. Hen. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow. 
 Jack? 
 
 Fal. Where thou wilt, lad. I '11 make one ; an I do 
 not, call me villain, and baftle me. 
 
 P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee ; 
 from praying, to pur.se-taking. 
 
370 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 
 
 "Enter Pmns, at a disttJtce. 
 
 Fal. Why, Hal, *tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin 
 for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins ! — Now 
 shall we know if Gadshill have set a match, O, if 
 men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were 
 hot enough for him ? This is the most omnipotent 
 villain that ever cried, Stand, to a true man. 
 
 P. Hen. Good-morrow, Ned. 
 
 Poius. Good morrow, sweet Hal. — Whatsaysmon- 
 sieur Remorse! What says sir John Sack-and-Sugar? 
 Jack, how agrees tlie devil and thee about thy soul, 
 lliat thou soldest him on Good friday last, for a cup 
 of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg } 
 
 P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall 
 have his bargain ; for he was never yet a breaker of 
 proverbs, he will give the devii his due. 
 
 Poins. Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word 
 with tlie devil. 
 
 P. Hen. Else he had been damn'd for cozening the 
 devil. 
 
 Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morn- 
 ing, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill : There are 
 pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings', and 
 traders riding to London with fat purses; 1 have vi- 
 sors for you all, you have horses for yourselves ; 
 Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester ; 1 have bespoke 
 supper to-morrow night in Eastoheap ; we may do it 
 as secure as sleep : If you will go, 1 will stuff your 
 purses full of crowns ; if you will not, tarry at home, 
 and be hanged. 
 
 Fat. Hear me, Yedward ; if I tarry at home and 
 go not, 1 '11 hang you for going. 
 
 Poins. Vou will, chops ? 
 
 Fat. Hal, wilt thou make one 1 
 
 P. Hen. Who, I rob 1 1 a thief! not I, by my faith. 
 
 Fat. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good 
 fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood 
 royiil, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a 
 mad- cap. 
 
 Fat. W^hy, that's well said. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, 1 'U be a traitor then, when thou 
 art king. 
 
 P. Hen. I care not. 
 
 Poins. Sir John, 1 pr'ythee, leave the prince and 
 me alone ; I will lay him down such reasons for this 
 adventure, that he shall go. 
 
 Fat. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persua- 
 sion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou 
 speakest may move, and what he hears may be be- 
 lieved, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) 
 prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time 
 want countenance. Farewell: you shall find me in 
 Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Heft. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell 
 All-hallown summer ! [Kiif Falstaff. 
 
 Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with 
 us to-morrow ; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot 
 manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto.and Gads- 
 hill, shall rob those men that we have already way- 
 laid ; yourself, and I, will not be there : and when 
 they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, 
 ^ cut this head from my shoulders. 
 
 P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting 
 forth ! 
 ' Poius. W^hy, we will set forth before or after them, 
 
 and appoint them a place of meetinjj;, wherein it is at 
 our pleasure to fail : and then will they adventure 
 upon the exploit themselves: which tliey shall have 
 no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. 
 
 P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like, that they will know us, 
 by our horses, by our habits, and by every other ap- 
 pointment, to be ourselves. 
 
 Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie 
 them in the wood ; O'ir visors we will change, after 
 we leave them ; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram 
 for the nonce, to inmask our noted outward garments. 
 
 P. Hen. liut, I doubt, they will be too hard for us'. 
 
 Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be 
 as true-bred cowards as ever turned back ; and for 
 the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I 'II 
 forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the 
 incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will 
 tell us, when we meet at supper : how thirty, at least, 
 he fought with ; wliat wards, what blows, what ex- 
 tremities he endured ; and, in the reproof of this, lies 
 the jest. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, I 'U go with thee ; provide us all 
 things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in 
 Eastcheap, there I 'U sup. Farewell. 
 
 Poms. Farewell, my lord. [Exit Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. I know you all, and will awhile uphold 
 The unyok'd humour of your idleness j 
 Vet herein will 1 imitate the sun ; 
 Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 
 To smother up his beauty from the world, 
 That when he please again to be himself. 
 Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at. 
 By breaking through the foul and ugly mists 
 Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. 
 If all the year were playing holidays. 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
 But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come. 
 And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
 So, when this loose behaviour 1 throw off, 
 And pay the debt 1 never promised. 
 By how much better than my word I am. 
 By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ; 
 And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, 
 My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, 
 Sliall shew more goodly, and attract more eyes. 
 Than that which hath no foil to set it off. 
 I 'II so offend, to make offence a skill ; 
 Redeeming lime, when men think least I will. [ Exit, 
 
 SCENE IIT. — The same. Another Rootn in the Palace, 
 
 Enter King Henry, NoitTHUMnERLAND, WoRCESTtn^ 
 Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, aiid others. 
 
 K. Hen. My blood hath beentoocoldand temperate. 
 Unapt to stir at these indignities, 
 And you have found me ; for, accordingly. 
 You tread upon my patience : but, be sure, 
 I will from henceforth rather be myself. 
 Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition ; 
 Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, 
 And therefore lost that title of respect. 
 Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud. 
 
 \Vi>': Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves 
 The scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 
 And that same greatness too which our own hands 
 Have help to make so portly. 
 
 North. My lord, — 
 
 A'. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, fori see danger 
 And disobedience in thine eye : O, sir. 
 Your presence is too bold and peremptory, 
 And majesty might never yet endure 
 The moody frontier of a servant brow. 
 Vou have good leave to leave us ; when we need 
 Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. — 
 
 [E.T(t WoRCESTEn. 
 
 You were about to speak. [To North. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 379 
 
 North Yea, my good lord. 
 
 Those prisoners iu your lughne.s' name d-anded, 
 \vk:^i, H-.r,v Percv here at Holraedon took, 
 We::, a^Te^saytnot wHh such strengtl> de.ned, 
 \s is deliver'd to your majesty: 
 Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
 Is euiltv of tills fault, and not my son. 
 
 Hot My liege, 1 did deny no prisoners. 
 But, 1 remember, when the fight was done 
 Wh;n I was dry with rage, and extreme to. 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword 
 Cam there a certain lord, neat, "mily dress d 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap d, 
 Shew'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; 
 He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
 And 'twixt his finger and his thura he held 
 A pouncet bo.M, which ever and anon 
 He gave his nose, and took't away again ;— - 
 Who, therewith angry, when it next came there 
 Took it in snuff :-and still he smil d and talk d , 
 And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by. 
 He call'd them— untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 With many holiday and lady terms 
 He question'd me ; among the rest demanded 
 My prisoners, in your majesty s behalt. 
 I then, all smarting with my wounds being cola. 
 To be so pestered with a popinjay. 
 Out of my grief and my impatience. 
 Answer 'd neglectingly, I know not what ; 
 He should, or he should not ;-for he made me road. 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet 
 And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman. 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds,(Godsave the niark! ) 
 
 And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
 Was parmaceti, for an inwaid bruise ; 
 And that it was great pity, so it was, _ 
 That villanous salt-petre should be digg d 
 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. 
 Which many a good tall fellow had destroy d 
 So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, 
 He would himself have been a soldier. 
 This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
 I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 
 And, I beseech you, let not his report 
 Come current for an accusation. 
 Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 
 
 Blunt. The circumstance consider d, good my lora. 
 Whatever Harry Percy then had said. 
 To sucfi a person, and in such a place, 
 At such a time, with all the rest re-told. 
 May reasonably die, and never rise 
 To do him wrong, or any way liiipeach 
 What then he said, so he unsay it now. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners ; 
 But with proviso, and exception, — . 
 
 That we, at our own charge, shall ransome straight 
 His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ; 
 Who, ou my soul, hath wilfully betray'd 
 The lives of those that he did lead to fight 
 Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower ; 
 Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March 
 Hath lately married. Shall our coffers tlien 
 Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home 1 
 Shall we buy treason ^ and indent with fears. 
 When they have lost and forfeited themselves . 
 Ko, on the barren mountains let him starve ; 
 For I shall never hold that man my friend. 
 Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
 To ransome home revolted ftlortimer. 
 Hot. Kevolted aiortimer ! 
 
 He never did fall off. my sovereign liege 
 
 But by the chance of war -,-10 prove that true, 
 
 Nelds no more but one tongue for all * ----"'l^- 
 
 Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took. 
 
 When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank. 
 
 In single opposition, hand to hand. 
 
 He did confound the best part ot =^n hour 
 
 In changing hardiment with gff^' ^lendowe . 
 
 Three timel they breath'd, and three times d d I c) 
 
 Upon a.'reement, of swift Severn s flood ; L^' ml-. 
 W'ho then, affrighted with their bloody ooks, 
 
 Ban fearfully among the trembling reeds, 
 
 \nd hid his crisp head in tire hollow bank 
 
 Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. 
 
 Never did bare and rotten policy 
 
 Colour her working with such deadly wounds ; 
 
 Nor never could the noble iSIortimer 
 
 Receive so many, and all willingly : 
 
 Then let him not be slander'd with revolt. 
 
 K Hen. Thou dost belie hiin, Percy, thou dost belie 
 
 He never did encounter with G lendower ; 1 him. 
 
 I tell thee, , , •, i „ 
 
 He durst as well have met the devil alone, 
 
 ,\s Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
 
 Art not ashamed 1 But, sirrah, henceforth 
 
 Let me not hear you speak of JSlortimer : 
 
 Send me your prisoners with the speediest means. 
 
 Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
 
 \s will displease you— My lord Northumberland, 
 
 We licence your departure with your son :- 
 
 Send us your prisoners, or you 11 hear ot it. 
 
 ^ [Eieunt King Henhv. Blunt and Tram. 
 Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them, 
 I will not send them :-l will after straight. 
 .\nd tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, 
 •VlthouTh it be with hazard ot my head. 
 
 kZL What, drunk with cholerl stay, and pause 
 Here comes your uncle. L"" ' ^ ' 
 
 'Be-enter Worcester. 
 ^^f Speak of Mortimer ? 
 
 ■Zounds, I will speak of liim ; and let my soul 
 Want mercy, if 1 do not join with him : 
 Yea. on his" part, I'll empty all these veins 
 And shed my blood drop by drop i the dust. 
 But I will lift the dowu-trod iMortimer 
 As high i'the air as this unthanklul king. 
 As this ingrate and canker'd ISolingbioke. 
 "-'to. Jrother, the king hath nude y- -p''- 
 
 Wor. Who 'struck this heat up, after I was gone \ 
 Hot He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; 
 And when I urg'd the ransome once again 
 Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look d pale , 
 And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. 
 Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 
 
 Tr„r. 1 cannot blame him : Was he not proclaim d. 
 By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? 
 
 A-,.r(;i. He was ; 1 heard the proclamation . 
 And then it was, when the unhappy king 
 ( Whose wrongs in us God pardon !) did set forth 
 Upon his Irish expedition ; 
 From whence he, intercepted, did return 
 To be depos'd, and. shortly murdered. [,'"" '^'^ 
 
 Wor. And for whose death, we m the world s wide 
 Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of. , , 
 
 Hot. But, soft, 1 pray you; Did king Richard then 
 Proclaim my brotlier Edmund Mortimer 
 Heirtothecrownl j,^ ,;, ^ ^^.^If did hear it 
 
 H„ Nay, then I cannot blame h.s cou-nA,n| 
 That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv 
 
i 
 
 ,^00 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART L 
 
 But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown 
 Upon the head of this forgetful man ; 
 And, for his sake, wear the detested blot 
 Of muid'rous subornation,- — sliall it be. 
 That you a world of curses undergo ; 
 Being the agents, or base second means, 
 The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?— 
 0, pardon me, that 1 descend so low, 
 To slicw the line, and the predicament, 
 Wherein you range under this subtle king. — 
 Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days, 
 Or fill up chrcnicles in time to come, 
 That men of your nobility and power, 
 Did "gage them both in an unjust behalf, — ■ 
 As both of you, God pardon it! have done, — ■ 
 To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
 And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? 
 And sliall it, in more shame, be further spoken. 
 That you are foot'd, discarded, and shook oft' 
 By him, for whom these shames ye underwent? 
 No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem 
 Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves 
 Into the good thoughts of the world again : 
 Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt, 
 Of this proud kmg ; who studies, day and night, 
 To answer all the debt he owes to you, 
 Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. 
 Therefore, I say, 
 
 Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more ; 
 
 And now I will unclasp a secret book. 
 And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
 1 '11 read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
 As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit, 
 As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud, 
 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 
 
 Hot. If he fall in, good night ;— or sink or swim ; — 
 Send danger from the east unto the west, 
 So honour cross it from the north to south. 
 And let them grapple ; — ! the blood more stirs. 
 To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. 
 
 North. Imagination of some great exploit 
 Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 
 
 Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, 
 To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac"d moon ; 
 Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
 Where fathom-line could never touch the ground. 
 And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ; 
 So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear. 
 Without corrival, all her dignities : 
 But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship ! 
 
 Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here. 
 But not the form of what he should attend. — ■ 
 Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 
 
 Hot. I cry you mercy. 
 
 Wor. Those same noble Scots, 
 That are your prisoners, ■ 
 
 Hot, J '11 keep them all ; 
 
 By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them : 
 No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : 
 I '1! keep them, by this hand. 
 
 Wor. You start away, 
 
 And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
 Those prisoners vou shall keep. 
 
 Hot. ' Nay, I will; that's flat"— 
 
 He said, he would not ransome IMortimer ; 
 Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer; 
 But I will find him when he lies asleep. 
 And in his ear I'll holla — Mortimer ! 
 Nay, 
 
 ril have a starling shall be taught to speak 
 Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him. 
 To keep his anger still in motion. 
 
 Wor. Heai yon, 
 
 Cousin ; a word. 
 
 Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy. 
 Save how to gall and pinch this BolingbioKe 
 And that same sword-and buckler prince of Wales, 
 But that I think his father ioves him not, 
 And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
 I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale. 
 
 Wor. Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you, 
 When you are better tempcr'd to attend. 
 
 iVt'7t/t. ^Vhy, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool 
 Art thou, to break into tliis woman's mood ; 
 Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own? 
 
 Hot, Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd 
 with rods. 
 Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
 Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. 
 In Richard's time, — What do you call the place''— 
 A plague upon 't ! — it is in Gloucestershire ; — 
 *Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept ; 
 His uncle York ; — where I first bow'd my knee 
 Into this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 
 When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 
 
 North. At Berkley castle. 
 
 Hot. You say true ; 
 
 Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
 
 This fawning grevhound then did proffer me ! 
 
 Look, — ivhcH his iujani Jorlime cuiue to age. 
 
 And. gentle Harrq Percii, — and, k'md coushi, — 
 
 O, the devil take such cozeners ! — God forgive me — 
 
 Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 
 
 Wnr. Nay, if you have not, to 't again j 
 We'll stay your leisure. 
 
 Hot. • I have done, i 'faith. 
 
 War. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. 
 Deliver them up without their ransome straight. 
 And make the Douglas" son your only mean 
 For powers in Scotland ; which, — for divers reasonsi, 
 ^Vhich I shall send you written, — be assur'd, 
 Will easily be granted. — You. my lord, — 
 
 [7'(7 NoinilUMBERLAND. 
 
 Your son in Scotland being thus employ 'd, — 
 Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
 Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd, 
 The archbishop. 
 
 Hot. Of York, is 't not? 
 
 Wor. True ; who bears hard 
 [lis brother's death at Bristol, t'ne lord Scroop. 
 1 speak not this in estimation, 
 As what 1 think might be, but what I know 
 Is ruminated, plotted, and set down ; ' 
 
 And only stays but to behold the face 
 Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 
 
 Hot. I smell it ; upon my life, it will do well. 
 
 North. Before the game's a foot, thou still let'st slip. 
 
 Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot :— 
 And then the power of Scotland, and of York, — 
 To join with IMortimer, ha? 
 
 Wor. And so they shall. 
 
 Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 
 
 Wor, And 'tis no little reason bids us speed. 
 To save our heads by raising of a head : 
 For, bear ourselves as even as we can, 
 The king will always think him in our debt ; 
 And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, 
 rill he hath found a lime to pay us home. 
 And see already, how he doth begin 
 lo make us strangers to his looks of love. 
 
 Hot. He does, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him. 
 
 Wor. Cousin, farewell ; — No furtlier go in this. 
 Than I by letters shall direct your cour^ie. 
 When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly'! 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 381 
 
 I'll steal to GleuUower, md lord Mortimer ; 
 Wheie you and Douglas, and our powers at once, 
 (As 1 will fashion it,) shall happily meet. 
 To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms. 
 Which now we hold with much uncertainty, [trust. 
 North. Farewell, good brother : we shall thrive, I 
 Hot. Uncle, adieu ;— O, let the hours be short. 
 Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Rochester. An Inn Yard. 
 Enter a Carrier, with a luntern in his hand. 
 1 Car. Heigh ho ! An 't be not four by the day, 
 I'll be hanged : Charles' wain is over the new chim- 
 ney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler ! 
 Ost. [U'ithin.] Anon, anon. 
 1 Car. 1 pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a 
 few flocks in the point ; the poor jade is wrung in 
 the withers out of all cess. 
 
 Enter another Carrier. 
 2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a 
 dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the 
 bots : this house is turned upside down, since Robin 
 ostler died. 
 
 1 Cur. Poor fellow ! never joyed since the price 
 of oats rose ; it was the death of him. 
 
 2 Car. I think, this be the most villainous house 
 in all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench. 
 
 1 Car. Like a tench'! by the mass, there is ne'er 
 a king in Christendom could be better bit than 1 have 
 been since the first cock- 
 
 2 Cur. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, and 
 then we leak "in your chimney ; and your chamber- 
 lie breeds fleas like a loach. 
 
 iCur. What, ostler! come away, and be hanged, 
 come away. 
 
 2 Cur. I have a eammon of bacon, and two razes 
 of gin<^er, to be deUvered as far as Charing-cross. 
 , 1 dr. 'Odsbody ! the turkies in my pannier are 
 quite starved. —What, ostler I —A plague on thee ! 
 hast thou never an eye in thy head ? canst not hear' 
 An 'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the 
 pate of thee, I am a very villain.— Come, and be 
 banged :— Hast no faith in thee 'i 
 Entet Gadshill. 
 
 Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock l 
 
 1 Car. I think it be two o'clock. 
 
 C(ic/s. 1 pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my 
 geldiug in the stable. . 
 
 1 Cur. Nay, soft, I prayye; I know a trick worth 
 two of that, i'faith. 
 
 Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine. 
 
 2 Cur. Ay, when 1 canst telU— Lend me thy lan- 
 tern, quoth a!— marry, I'll see thee hanged first. 
 
 Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to 
 come to London ? 
 
 2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, 
 I warrant thee.— Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call 
 up the gentlemen ; they will along with company, 
 for they have great charge. [Eieunt Carriers. 
 
 Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 
 
 Chum. [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse. 
 
 Guds. That's even as fair as— at hand, quoth the 
 chamberlain : for thou variest no more from picking 
 of purses, than giving direction doth from labounng ; 
 thou lay'st the plot how. 
 
 Enter Chamberlain. 
 Cliam. Good morrow, master Gadshill. It holds 
 current, that I told you yesternight: There's a fiank- 
 lin in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred 
 marks with him in gold : 1 heard him tell it to one of 
 his company, last night at supper ; a kind of auditor ; 
 one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows 
 what. They are up already, and call for eggs and 
 butter ; They will away presently. 
 
 Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas' 
 clerks, I'll give thee this neck. 
 
 Cham. No, I'll none of it : I pr'ythee, keep that 
 for the hangman ; for, I know, thou worship'st saint 
 Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. 
 
 Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman '>. 
 if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows : for, if I 
 hang, old sir John hangs with me ; and, thou know- 
 est, he's no starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans 
 that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, 
 are content to do the profession some grace ; that 
 would, if matters should be looked into, for their own 
 credit sake, make all whole. 1 am joined with no 
 foot land-rakers, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers; 
 none of these mad, mustachio purple-hued malt- 
 worms : but with nobility, and tranquillity ; burgo- 
 masters, and great oneyers ; such as can hold in ; 
 such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak 
 sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray: And 
 yet I lie ; for they pray continually to their saint, 
 the commonwealth'; or, rather, not pray to her, but 
 prey on her ; for they ride up and down on her, and 
 make her their boots. 
 
 Chum. What, the commonwealth their boots? will 
 sfie hold out water in foul way 1 
 
 CSads. She will, she will ; justice hath liquored 
 her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure ; we have 
 the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. 
 
 Chum. Nay, by my faith ; I think you are more 
 beholden to "the nig'ht, than to fern-seed, for your 
 walking invisible. 
 
 Guds. Give me thy hand: thou shall have a share 
 in our purchase, as 1 am a true man. 
 
 Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a 
 false thief. 
 
 Gads. Go to ; Homo is a common name to all 
 men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the 
 stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.—The Road by Gadsbill. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry and PoiNS ; Bardolpii and 
 Peto, at some distance. 
 
 Poins. Come, shelter, shelter ; I have removed 
 Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet. 
 
 P. Hen. Stand close. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 Ful. Poins! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins! 
 
 P. Hen. Peace, ye fat kidneyed rascal ; What a 
 brawling dost thou keep ! 
 
 fa(. Where's Poins, Hal 1 
 
 P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill ; 
 I'll go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poixs. 
 
 Fu(. I am accursed to rob in that tliiefs company : 
 therascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I know 
 not where. If I travel but four foot by the squire 
 further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt 
 not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'scape hang- 
 ing for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his com- 
 pany hourly any time this two-and-twenty years ; and 
 yet I am bewitched with tlie rogue's company. If 
 
302 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 
 
 the rascal have not given me medicines to make me 
 love him, I'll be hanged ; it could not be else ; I have 
 drunk miulicines. — Poins ! — Hal !— a plague upon 
 you both ! — Hardolph ! — I'eto I — I'll starve, ere I'll 
 rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good adeed as 
 drink, to turn true man, and leave these rogues, I am 
 theveriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight 
 yards of uneven ground, is threescore and ten miles 
 afoot with me ; and the stony-hearted villains know 
 it well enough : A plague upon't, when thieves can- 
 not be true to one another ! [T/iPV vliistle.] Whew I 
 — A plague upon you all ! Give ine my horse, you 
 rogues ; give me my horse, and be hanged. 
 
 I'. Il-en. Peace, ye fat-guts ! lie down ; lay thine 
 car close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear 
 the tread of travellers. 
 
 FuL Have you any levers to lift me up again, 
 being down 1 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh 
 so far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's ex- 
 chequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus? 
 
 P. Ileii. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art 
 uncolted. 
 
 l-\il.. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my 
 horse, good king's son. 
 
 P. Hen. Out, you rogue! shall I he your ostler 1 
 
 Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent 
 garters ! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. Anl have 
 not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, 
 let a cup of sack be my poison : When a jest is so 
 forward, and afoot too, — I hate it. 
 Enter Gadshill. 
 
 Gaih. Stand. 
 
 Fill. So I do, against my will. 
 
 Poins. 0, 'tis our setter : I know his voice. 
 Enter Bardolph. 
 
 B«rcl. What news 1 
 
 Cnui!. Case ye, case ye ; on with your visors ; 
 there 's money of the king's coming down the hill ; 
 'lis going to the king's exchequer. 
 
 Fill. You lie, you rogue ; 'tis going to the king's 
 tavern. 
 
 Gads. There's enough to make us all. 
 
 Fal. To be hanged. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the nar- 
 row lane ; Ned Poins and I will walk lower : if they 
 'scape from your encounter, then they light on us. 
 
 Pe(o. How many be there of them ! 
 
 Oitds. Some eight, or ten. 
 
 Fal. Zounds, will they not rob us f 
 
 P. Hen. What, a coward, sir .Tohn Paunch 7 
 
 Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grand- 
 father : but yet no coward, Hal. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof. 
 
 Poins. Sirrah .Tack, thy horse stands behind the 
 hedge ; when thou need'st him, there thou shalt find 
 him. Farewell, and stand fast. 
 
 Fal. Nowcannotl strike him.if Ishouldbehanged. 
 
 P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises t 
 
 Poins. Here, hard by ; stand close. 
 
 lEieant P. Henry niul Poins. 
 
 Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say 
 1 ; every man to his business. 
 
 Enter Travellers. 
 t T~av. Come, neighbour : the boy shall lead our 
 horses down the hill ; we'll walk afoot awhile, and 
 ea.ie our legs. 
 Thieves. Stand. 
 Trav. .lesu bless us ! 
 
 Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains' 
 throats : Ah 1 whoreson caterpillars! bacon fed knaves! 
 they hate us youth ; down with them ; fleece them. 
 
 1 Trav. O.weareuudone, both we and ours, for ever. 
 
 Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves ; Areyeundonol 
 
 No, ye fat chuflfs ; I would your store were here ! Oi;, 
 
 bacons, on! What, ye knaves? young men must live: 
 
 You are grand-jurors are ye? We'll jure ye,i'faith. 
 
 [Exeunt Fai.s. i;c. driving the Travellers out. 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry and PoiNS. 
 P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men . 
 Now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go mer- 
 rily to London, it would be argument for a week, 
 laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. 
 Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming. 
 
 lie-enter Thieves. 
 Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then to 
 horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not 
 two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring : there's 
 no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild duck. 
 P. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out uvon them. 
 Poins. Villains, 
 
 [As they are sharing, the Prince and Foiysset 
 n-pon them. Falstaff, after a blow or two, 
 and the rest, run away, leaving their booty be* 
 kind them.'} 
 P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse: 
 The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear 
 So strongly, that they dare not meet each other ; 
 Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
 Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, 
 And lards the lean earth as he walks along : 
 Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
 
 Poins. How the rogue roar'd I [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III,— Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. 
 Enter Hotspur, reading a letter. 
 
 But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be 
 
 well cojitcnted to be there, in respect of the love I bear 
 vour house — He could be contented, — Why is he not 
 then ? In respect of the love he bears our house :— 
 he shews in this, he loves his own barn better than 
 he loves cur house. Let me see some more. The 
 purpose uon undertake, is dangerous; — Why, that's 
 certain , 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to 
 drink : hut I tell you, my lord fool, outof this nettle, 
 danger, we pluck this flower, safety. The purpose 
 you undertake, is dangerous ; the friends you have 
 named, uncertairi ; the time itself, unsorted ; and your 
 whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an 
 opposition. — Say you so, say you so ? I say unto you 
 again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. 
 What a lack-brain is this ? By the Lord, our plot is 
 a good plot as ever was laid ; our friends true and 
 constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of ex- 
 pectation: anexceilentplot, very good friends. What 
 a frosty-spirited rogue is this ? Why, my lord of York 
 commends the plot, and the general course of the 
 action. 'Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I 
 could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not 
 myfather, my uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Mor- 
 timer, my loril of York, and Owen Glendower ? Is 
 there not, besides, the Douglas ? Have I not all their 
 letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next 
 month ? and are they not, some of them, set for- 
 ward already ? What a pagan rascal is this ? an in- 
 fidel ? Ha ! you shall see now, in very sincerity of 
 fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay 
 open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, 
 and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed 
 milk with so hononrable an action! Hang him ! Let 
 him tell the king : We are prepared : I will set for- 
 ward to-night. 
 
ACT II. -SCENE IV. 
 
 383 
 
 Kilter Lady Percy. 
 How now, Kate? I must leave you withia these two 
 hours. 
 Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus alone t 
 For what offence have I, this fortnight, been 
 A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed ? 
 Tell me, sweet lorJ, what is't that takes from thee 
 Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep ! 
 Why dost thon bend thine eyes upon the earth ; 
 And start so often when thou sit'st alone 1 
 Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks ; 
 And given my treasures, and my rights of thee. 
 To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy 1 
 In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd, 
 And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars : 
 Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed ; 
 Cry, Courage .'—to thejield ! And thou hast talk'd 
 Of sallies, and retires ; of trenches, tents, 
 Of paiisadoes, frontiers, parapets; 
 Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin ; 
 Of prisoners' ransome, and of soldiers slain, 
 And all the 'currents of a heady fight. 
 Thy spirit within thee hath been so at wai, 
 And thus hath so bestir'd thee in thy sleep, 
 That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow, 
 Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream : 
 And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, 
 Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
 On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are 
 Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, [these I 
 And I must know it, else he loves me not. 
 
 Hot. What, ho ! is Gilliams with the packet gonel 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. He is. my lord, an hour ago. [sheriff? 
 
 Hat. Hath Butler brought those horses from the 
 
 Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. 
 
 Hot. What horse! a roan, a crop-ear, is it not? 
 
 Serv. It is, my lord. 
 
 Hot. That roan shall be my throne. 
 
 Well, I will back him straight : O e&peraiice! — 
 Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. \_Eiit Servant. 
 
 Lady. But hear you, my lord. 
 
 Hot. What say 'st, my lady? 
 
 Lady. What is it carries you away '. 
 
 Hot. IMy horse. 
 
 My love, my horse. 
 
 Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape ! 
 A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen. 
 As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
 I '11 know your business, Harry, that I will. 
 I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir 
 About his title ; and hith sent for you, 
 To line his enterpriie : But if you go 
 
 Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. 
 
 Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me 
 Directly to this question that I ask. 
 \n faith, I'll break tliy little finger, Harry, 
 An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 
 
 Hot. Away, 
 Away, you trifler ! — Love? — I love thee not, 
 I care not for thee, Kate : this is no world. 
 To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips : 
 We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns. 
 And pass them current too. — Gods me, my horse ! — 
 What say'st thou, Kate ? what would'st thou have 
 with me ! 
 
 Ladi). Do you not love me? do you not, indeed? 
 Well, do not then ; for, since you love me not, 
 I will not love myself. Do you not love me ? 
 Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest, or no. 
 
 Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride ? 
 
 -Vnd when I am o'horse-back, I will swear 
 I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; 
 I must not have you henceforth question me 
 AVhither I go, nor reason whereabout ; 
 Whither I must, I must ; and, to conclude, 
 This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. 
 I know you wise ; but yet no further wise. 
 Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are ; 
 Hut yet a woman: and for secrecy, 
 No lady closer ; for I well believe. 
 Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ; 
 And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate ! 
 
 Lady. How ! so far ? 
 
 Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate; 
 Whither I go, thitlier shall you go too ; 
 To day will 1 set forth, to-morrow you. — 
 \V'ill this content you, Kate? 
 
 Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Eastcheap. — A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, 
 and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 
 
 Poins. Where hast been, Hal ? 
 
 P. Hen. Witlr three or four loggerheads, amongst 
 three or four score hogsheads. 1 have sounded the 
 very base string of humility. Sirrah, 1 am sworn 
 brother to a leash of drawers ; and can call them all 
 by their christian names, as —Tom, Dick, and Francis. 
 They take it already upon their salvation, that, though 
 I be but prince of Wales, yet I am tlie king "of 
 courtesy ; and tell me flatly I am no proud .lack, 
 like FalstafT; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a 
 good boy, — by the Lord, so they call me ; and when 
 I am king of England, I shall command all the good 
 lads in Eastcheap. They call — drinking deep, dvino- 
 scarlet : and when you breathe in your watering, "they 
 cry — hem ! and bid you play it off. — To conclude, I 
 am so good a proficient in one quarter of an houi, 
 that I can drink M-ith any tinker in his own lantmac^e 
 during my life. I tell thee. Ned, thou hast lost much 
 honour, that thou wert not with me in this action. 
 But, sweet Ned, — to sweeten which name of Ned, I 
 give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now 
 into my hand by an under-skinker ; one that never 
 spake other English in his life, than — Eight shiUiwri 
 and sixjience, and i'ou are welcome ; with this shrill 
 addition. — Aiioa, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard 
 in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to drive away 
 the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do tliou stand 
 in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer, 
 to what end he gave me the sugar ; and do thou never 
 leave calling— Francis, that his tale to me may be 
 nothing but — anon. Step aside, and I'll shew thee 
 a precedent. 
 Poins. Francis ! 
 P. Hen. Thou art perfect. 
 Poins. Francis ! [Exit Poins. 
 
 Enttr Francis. 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. — Look down into the 
 pomegranate, Ralph. 
 
 P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. 
 
 Fran. My lord. 
 
 P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis 1 
 
 Fran. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to — 
 
 Poins. [Wiilnn.'\ Francis! 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Five years ! by'rlady, a long lease for the 
 
304 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 
 
 clinking of pewter. But, Francis, daresl thou be so 
 valiant, as to play the cownrd with thy indenture, and 
 to shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it? 
 
 Frini. O lord, sir ! I'll be sworn upon all the books 
 in England, I could find in my heart — 
 
 Poiiis. [n'jt/ji«.] Francis ! 
 
 Frajt. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? 
 
 Fran. Let me see, — About Michaelmas next I 
 shall be — 
 
 Poins. [Within-I Francis ! 
 
 Fran. Anon, sir. — Pray you, stay a little, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis : For the sugar 
 thou gavest me, — 'twas a pennyworth, was't not "i 
 
 Fran, O lord, sir! I would, it had been two. 
 
 P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound : 
 ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. 
 
 Poins. [Within.] Francis! 
 
 Frati. Anon, anon. 
 
 P. Hen. Anon, Francis 1 No, Francis : but to- 
 morrow, Francis ; or, Francis, on Thursday ; or, in- 
 deed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis, — 
 
 Fran. My lord ? 
 
 P. Hen.\\'\lt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal 
 button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis- 
 garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch, — • 
 
 Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean 1 
 
 P. Hen. ^^'hy, then, your brown bastard is your 
 only drink : for, look you, Francis, your white can- 
 vas doublet will sully : in Barbary, sir, it cannot 
 come to so much. 
 
 Fran. What, sir? 
 
 Poins. [Within.] Francis I 
 
 P. Hen. Away, you rogue ; Dost thou not hear 
 
 them call? [Here they both cult him; the Drawer 
 
 stands amazed, not knowi7ig which way to go. 
 
 Enter Vintner. 
 
 Vint. What ! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such 
 a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit Fran.] 
 My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are 
 at the door ; Shall I let them in ? 
 
 P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open 
 the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins I 
 
 Re-enter Poins. 
 
 Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff, and the rest of the thieves 
 are at the door ; Shall we be merry ? 
 
 Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark 
 ye; What cunning match have you made with this 
 jest of the drawer ? come, what's the issue ? 
 
 P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have shewed 
 themselves humours, since the old days of goodman 
 Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock 
 at midnight. [Re-enter Fhancis, with wine.] What's 
 o'clock, Francis ? 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir. 
 
 P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer 
 words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman I — 
 His industry is — up-stairs, and down stairs ; his elo- 
 quence, the parcel of a reckoning. 1 am not yet of 
 Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the nortli ; he that kills 
 me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, 
 washes his hands, and says to his wife, — Fye u'pon 
 this tjniet life! I want ^rorli. my sweet Harrif, Sdiys 
 she, how many hast thou killed to-day 1 Give my roan 
 horse a drench, says he ; and answers. Some fourteen, 
 an hour after ; a trijie, a trijie. I j>r'ythee, call in 
 Falstaff: I'll play Percy, and that damned brawn 
 shall play dame Mortimer his wife. Rivo^ says tlie 
 drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Gadsmii.l, BARDOtPH, and Peto. 
 Poi/is. Welcome, .lack. Where hast thou been ? 
 Fu(. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance 
 too ! marry, and amen ! — Give me a cup of sack, boy. 
 — Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew netheistocks, and 
 mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all 
 cowards ! — Give me a cup of sack, rogue. — Is there 
 no virtue extant ? [He drinks. 
 
 P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of 
 butter? pitiful hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet 
 tale of the son ! if thou didst, then behold that com- 
 pound. 
 
 Fat. You rogue, there is lime in this sack too: There 
 is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man : 
 Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime 
 in it : a villanous coward. — Go thy ways, old Jack ; 
 die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be 
 not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a 
 shotten herring. There live not three good men un- 
 hanged in England ; and one of them is fat, and grows 
 old : God help the while ! a bad world, I say ! I 
 would I were a weaver ; I could sing psalms or anv 
 thing : A plague of all cowards, I say still. 
 
 P. Hen. How now, woolsack ? what mutter you ? 
 Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy 
 kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy sub- 
 jects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never 
 wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales! 
 P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man! what's 
 the matter ? 
 
 Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that ; 
 and Poins there ? 
 
 Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call mecoward, 
 I'll stab thee. 
 
 Fat. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere 
 I call thee coward : but I would give a tliousand pound, 
 I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight 
 enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your 
 back : Call you that, backing of your friends ? ,\ 
 plague upon such backing ! give me them that will 
 face me. Give me a cup of sack ; — I am a rogue, if 
 I drunk to-day. 
 
 P. Hen. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since 
 thou drunk'st last. 
 
 Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, 
 still say I. [He drinks. 
 
 P. Hen. What's the matter? 
 Fat. What's the matter ? there be four of us here 
 have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. 
 P. Hen. Where is it. Jack? where is it? 
 Fal. Where is it? taken fr^om us it is : a hundred 
 upon poor four us. • 
 
 P. Hen. What, a hundred, man? 
 Fal. I am a rogue, if 1 were not at half-sword with 
 a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scap'd 
 by miracle. I am eight times tlirust through the 
 doublet ; four, through the hose ; my buckler cut 
 through and through ; my sword hacked like a hand- 
 saw, ecce siguum. I never dealt better since I was a 
 man : all would not do. A plague of all cowards ! 
 Let them speak : if they speak more or less than 
 truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness. 
 P. Hen. Speak, sirs ; how was it ? 
 
 Gads. We four set upon some dozen, 
 
 Fat. Sixteen, at least, my lord. 
 Gads. .\nd bound them. 
 Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 
 Fat. You rogue, they were bound, every man of 
 them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew. 
 
 Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh 
 men set upon us, ■ 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV. 
 
 385 
 
 FfiJ, And unbound the rest, and th*n come in the 
 other. 
 
 P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all » 
 
 Fill. All '. I know not what ye call, all ; but if I 
 fought not with Kftyof them, I am a bunch of radish: 
 if there were not two or three ami fifty upon poor old 
 Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. 
 
 l':iins. Pray God, you have not murdered some 
 of them. 
 
 Fill. Nay, that's past praying for : I have peppered 
 two of tiicm : two, I am sure, I have paid ; two rogues 
 in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, — if 1 tell 
 thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou know- 
 est my old ward: — here I lay, and thus I bore my 
 point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me, • 
 
 P. Hen. What, four'! thousaid'st but two, even now. 
 
 Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 
 
 Poiits. Ay, ay, he said four. 
 
 Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust 
 at me. 1 made me no more ado, but took all their 
 seven points in my target, thus. 
 
 P. Hen. Sevenl why, there were butfour, even now. 
 
 Fal. In buckram. 
 
 Poiiis. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 
 
 Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone ; we shall have 
 more anon. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 
 
 P, Hen. Ay, and mark thee too. Jack. 
 
 Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These 
 nine in buckram, that I told thee of, 
 
 P. Hen. So, two more already. 
 
 Fal. Their points being broken, 
 
 Poins. Down fell their hose. 
 
 Fal. Began to give me ground: But I followed 
 ine close, came in loot and hand ; and, with a thought, 
 seven of the eleven I paid. 
 
 P. Hen. monstrous I eleven buckram men grown 
 out of two ! 
 
 Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis- 
 begotten knaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, 
 and let drive at me; — for it was so dark, Hal, that 
 thou could'st not see thy hand. 
 
 P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets 
 them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, 
 thou clay-brained guts ; thou knotty-pated fool ; 
 tliou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-kecch, 
 
 Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou miidl is not 
 the truth, the truth 1 
 
 P. Hen. Why, iiow could'st thou know these men 
 in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou could'st 
 not see thy hand 1 come tell us your reason ; \Vhat 
 sayest thou to this ? 
 
 Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. 
 
 Fal. What, upon compulsion ? No; were I at the 
 strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not 
 tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on com- 
 pulsion ! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I 
 would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. 
 
 P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin ; this 
 sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse back- 
 breaker, this huge hill of flesh ; 
 
 Fal, Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried 
 neat's-tongue, buU's-pizzle, you stock-fish, — O. for 
 breath to utter what is like thee ! — you tailor's yard, 
 you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck; — 
 
 P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again : 
 and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, 
 hear me speak but this. 
 
 Pains. Mark, Jack. 
 
 P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four ; you 
 bound them, and were masters of their wealth. 
 
 Mark now, how plain a tale shall put you down. — 
 Then did we two set on you four: and, with a word, 
 out-faced vou from vour prize, and have it; yea, and 
 can shew it you here in the house : — and, Falstaff*, 
 you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as 'juick 
 dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and 
 roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art 
 thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done ; and then 
 say, it was in fight! What trick, what device, what 
 starting-hole, canst thou now find out, to hide thee 
 from this open and apparent shame ! 
 
 Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack; What trick hast 
 thou now ? 
 
 Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that 
 made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters : Was it for me, 
 to kill the heir apparent !'Sliould I turn upon the 
 true prince'! Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as 
 Hercules: but beware instinct ; the lion will not 
 touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter: I 
 was a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of 
 myself, and thee, during my life; 1, for a valiant lion, 
 and thou, for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, 
 
 I am glad you have the money Hostess, clap to 
 
 the doors ; watch to-night, pray to-morrow. — Gal- 
 lants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of "^ood 
 fellowship come to you ! What, shall we be merry ? 
 shall we have a play extempore ! 
 
 P. Hen. Content; — and the argument shall be, 
 thy running away. 
 
 Fal. Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me. 
 
 Enter Hostess. 
 
 Host, Jly lord the prince, 
 
 P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess 1 what 
 say'st thou to me ! 
 
 Host. JIarry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the 
 court at door, would speak with you : he says, he 
 comes from your father. 
 
 P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a 
 royal man, and send him back again to my mother. 
 
 Fal. What manner of man is he ? 
 
 Host. An old man. 
 
 PaLWhatdoth gravity out of his bed at midnight' 
 — Shall 1 give him his answer ! 
 
 P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do. Jack. 
 
 Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. [Eiit. 
 
 P. Hen. Now, sirs ; by'r lady, you fought fair ; — 
 so did you, Peto ; — so did you, Bardolph: you are 
 
 lions too. 
 
 you ran away upon instinct, you will not 
 
 touch the true prince ; no, — fye I 
 
 Baril. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 
 
 P. Hen. fell me now in earnest, how came Fal- 
 stalTs sword so hacked t 
 
 Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger ; and 
 said, he would swear truth out of England, but he 
 would make you believe it was done in fight ; and 
 persuaded us to do the like. 
 
 Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear- 
 grass, to make them bleed ; and then to beslubber 
 our garments with it, and to swear it was the blood 
 of true men. I did that I did no' this seven year 
 before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices. 
 
 P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack 
 eighteen years ago, andwert taken with the manner, 
 and ever since thou hast blush 'd extempore: Thou 
 hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran'st 
 away ; What instinct hadst thou for it t 
 
 Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors ? do you 
 behold these exhalations ! 
 
 P. Hen. I do. 
 
 Bard. What think you they portend ? 
 
 P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 
 2B 
 
'J06 
 
 KING HENRY IV.-PART I. 
 
 Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. 
 P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter. 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff, 
 
 Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How 
 now, my sweet creature of bombast ] How long is't 
 ago, .lack, since thou sawest thine own knee ? 
 
 Fal. My own knee 1 when I was about thy years, 
 Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist ; I could 
 have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: A plague 
 of sighingand grief ! it blows a man up like a bladder. 
 There's villainous news abroad : here was sir John 
 Bracy from your fa'her ; you must to the court in 
 the morning. That same mad fellow of the North, 
 Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the 
 bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the 
 devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh 
 hook, —What, a plague, call you him 1 — - 
 
 Poins. 0, Glendower. 
 
 Fal, Owen, Owen ; the same , — and his son-in-law, 
 Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and that 
 sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o'horse- 
 back up a hill perpendicular. 
 
 P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his 
 pistol kills a sparrow flying. 
 
 Fal. Vou have hit it. 
 
 P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow. 
 
 Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him : 
 he will not run. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise 
 him so for running. 
 
 Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo ! but, afoot, he will 
 not budge a foot. 
 
 P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 
 
 Fill. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there 
 too, and one Jlordake, and a thousand blue-caps 
 more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father's 
 beard is turned white with the news ; you may buy 
 land now as cheap as stinking mackarel. 
 
 P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot 
 June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy 
 maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds. 
 
 Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it is like, 
 we shall have good trading that way. — But, tell me, 
 Hal, art thou not horribly afeardl thou being heir 
 apparent, could the world pick thee out three such 
 enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, 
 and that devil Glendower 1 Art thou not horribly 
 afraid! doth not thy blood thrill at it! 
 
 P. Hen. Not a whit i' faith; 1 lack some of thy 
 instinct. 
 
 Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, 
 when thou comest to thy father : if thou love me, 
 practise an answer. 
 
 P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine 
 me upon the particulars of my life. 
 
 Fnl. Shall I ? content : — This chair shall be my 
 state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my 
 crown. 
 
 P. Henry. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy 
 golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious 
 ricn crown, for a pitiful bald crown ! 
 
 Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of 
 thee, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup of 
 sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be 
 thought I have wept ; for I must speak in passion, 
 and 1 will do it in king Cambyses' vein. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. 
 
 Fal. And here is my speech : — Stand aside, nobility. 
 
 Hast. This is excellent sport, i'faith. [vain. 
 
 Fnl. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are 
 
 Host. O the father, how he holds his countenance I 
 
 Fill. For Goc^'ssake, lords, convey ray Iristfol queen 
 For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 
 
 Jloit. O rare ! he doth it as like one of these hai- 
 lotry players, as I ever see. 
 
 Fat. Peace, good pint-pot j peace, good tickle- 
 brain. — Harry, 1 do not only marvel where thov 
 spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied; 
 for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, 
 the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, 
 the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have 
 partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion; but 
 chiefly avillainous trick of tliinc eye, and a foolish 
 hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. It 
 then thou be son to me, here lies the point ; — Why, 
 being son to me, art thou so pointed at! Shall the 
 blessed sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat black- 
 berries ! a questior not to be asked. Shall the son 
 of Kngland prove n thief, and take pursea ! a ques- 
 tion to be asked. There is a thing. Hairy, which ihou 
 hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our 
 land by the name of pitch : this pitch, as anciei^ 
 writers do repoit, doth defile ; so doth the company 
 thou keepest : for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in 
 drink, but in teai's ; not in pleasure, but in passion j 
 not in words only, but in woes also : — And yet there 
 is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy 
 company, but I know not his name. 
 
 P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your ma- 
 jesty ■>. 
 
 Fat. A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent ; 
 of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble 
 carriage ; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or by*r- 
 lady, inclining to threescore ; and now I remember 
 me, his name is Falstafl': ifthatmanshould be lewdly 
 given, he deceiveth me ; for, Harry, I see virtue in 
 his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, 
 as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak 
 it, there is virtue in thatFalstaff: him keep with, the 
 rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, 
 tell me, whe:e hast thou been this month ! 
 
 P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king 1 Do thou 
 stand for me, and I'll play my father. 
 
 Fal. Depose me ! if thou dost it half so gravely, 
 so majestically both in word and matter, hang me up 
 by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a poulter's hare. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, here I am set. 
 
 Fal. And here I stand : — judge, my masters. 
 
 P. Hen. Now, Harry ! whence come you ? 
 
 Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 
 
 P. HeH. The complaints I hear of thee are 'grievons. 
 
 Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : — nay, VH 
 tickle ye for a young prince, i'faith. 
 
 I'. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? hence- 
 forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried 
 away from grace : there is a devil haunts thee, in the 
 likeness of a fat old man : a tun of man is thy com- 
 panion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of 
 humours, that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoln 
 parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that 
 stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manninglree 
 ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, 
 that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in 
 years ! Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and 
 drink it ! wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a 
 capon and eat it! wherein cunning, bxit in craft? 
 wherein crafty, but in villany ! whcreinvillainous, 
 but in all things ! wherein worthy, but in nothing ? 
 
 fal. I would, your grace would take me with you ; 
 Whom rtieans your grace ! 
 
 P. Hen. That villanous abominable misleadcr ol. 
 youth, Falstafl', that old white-bearded Satan. 
 
 Ful. My lord, the man 1 know. 
 

 S^u 
 
 
 
 ::tvii"r,'ijii'"«i'"'i"'"'M'"fe>gaa^a "a'SJ^ajtBc^-' ^—^ 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 387 
 
 P. Htn. T know, ihou dost. 
 
 Fai. But to sav, I know more harm in him than 
 in myself, were to say more than I know. That he 
 is old, (the more the pity.) his white hairs do witness 
 >t: but that h« is (saving your reverence,) awhore- 
 Mster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a 
 fault, God help the wicked ! If to be old and merry 
 b« a sin, then many an old host that I know, is 
 damned : if to be fat, be to be hated, then Pharaoh's 
 lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord ; banish 
 Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins : but for sweet 
 Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Filstaff, true Jack Falstaft', 
 valiant .fack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being 
 «s he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's 
 company, banish not him thy Harry's company ; ba- 
 nish plump Jack, and banish all the world. 
 
 P, Ueri. I do, I will. [/I kRochit^ heard, 
 
 [£re««( Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. 
 
 He^etUer Bardolph, ruxnitig. 
 Bard. O, my lord, my lord ; the sheriff, with a 
 
 most monstrous watch, is at the door. 
 
 FaL Out, you rogue ! play out the play ; I have 
 
 much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. 
 
 Re-enter Hostess, ha^ilg. 
 
 Host. O Jesu, tny loi-d, my lord ! 
 
 FaL Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddle- 
 «ick : What's the matter t 
 
 Hmt. The sheriffand ail the watch are at the door : 
 t'hey are come to search the house ; Shall I let them inl 
 
 t'aU Dost thou hear, Hal ] never call a true piece 
 of gold, a counterfeit; thou art essentially laad, 
 without seeming so. 
 
 P. Hen. And thou a natutal coward, without in- 
 stinct. 
 
 FaU I deny your mapir ; if yo^ will deny the she- 
 riff, so ; if not^ let him enter : if I beco-.ne not a cart 
 as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up ! 
 t hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a halter, as 
 aaotticr. 
 
 F. Hen, Go, bide thee behind the arras ; — the rest 
 walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face, 
 and good conscience. 
 
 Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, 
 and therefore I'll hide me. 
 
 (£!»i(»< til hut the Prince and Pojns. 
 
 P. H<ti. Call in tlte sheriff. 
 
 Enter Sheriff and Carrier. 
 
 Now, master sheriff; what's your will with met 
 
 ShiT. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry 
 Hath foUow'd certain men unto this house. 
 
 P. Hen. What men! 
 
 Sker. One of them is well known, my gracious lord; 
 A gross fat man. 
 
 Car. As fat as butter, 
 
 P. Hex. The roan, 1 do assure you, is not here; 
 For I myself at this time have employ'd him. 
 And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee. 
 That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time. 
 Send him to answer thee, or any man. 
 For any thing he shall be charg'd withal : 
 And so let me entreat you leave the house. 
 
 Sher. I will, my lord : There are two gentlemen 
 Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. 
 
 P. Hen. It may be so : if he have robb'd these men, 
 He shall be answerable ; and so, farewell. 
 
 Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 
 
 P. Hen. I think it is good morrow ; Is it not 1 
 
 Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock, 
 ££i«urit Sheriff and Carrier. 
 
 P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as 
 Paul's. Go. call him forth. 
 
 Poins. Falstaff !— fast asleep behind the arras, and 
 snorting like a horse. 
 
 P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath : Search 
 his pockets. [Poixs seurcha.] What hast tJiou found ' 
 
 Pains. Nothing but papers, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen. Let's see what they be ; read thera 
 
 PmKS. Item, A capon, Ss, Hd. 
 Item, Sauce, 4d. 
 Item, S.ick", tw^ gallons, 5s. 6rf. 
 Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. 
 Item, Bread, a iiilf[)enny. 
 
 P. Hen. O monstrous 1 but one half-pennyworth 
 ofbreadtothis intolerable deal of sack ! — What there 
 is else keep close ; we'll read it at more advantage ; 
 there let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the 
 morning ; we must all to the wars, and thy place 
 shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a 
 charge of foot ; and, I know his death will be a 
 march of twelve-score. Tlie money shall be paid 
 back again with advantage. Be wiih me betimes in 
 the morning ; and so good morrow. Poins. 
 
 P*KHS. Good morrow, good my lord. [£ieiuit* 
 
 ACT IIL 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Can-gOT» — A Room i« the Archdtacon's ffou^e, 
 
 E«/.€r HoTSPim, WoocEsrrn, Mortimer, 
 av-d Glendower. 
 
 MorU Th«se promises are fair, the parties sure, 
 An<I o»jr induction full of prosperous hope. 
 
 l!<vt. Lord Mortirrrer, — and cousin Glendower, — 
 
 WilJ you sit down *! 
 
 And, uncle Worcester : — A pJague upon't! 
 I !ia.\'« forgot tiw map. 
 
 GlcK(L No, here it is. 
 
 Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur: 
 I''or by that name as oft as Lancaster 
 Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and, with 
 A rising sigh, he wishe'h you iu heaven. 
 
 IliyU And you in hell, as often as he hears 
 Owen Glendower spoke of. 
 
 Vletid. I cannot blame him : at ray nativity, 
 The front of heav«n was full of fiery shapes. 
 Of burning cressets ; and, at my birth, 
 The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
 Shak'd Uke a coward- 
 
 //<^. ^^'^hy, so it would have done 
 
 At the same season, if your mother's cat had 
 But kittened, though yourself had ne'er been born. 
 
 G'Uud. { say, the earth did shake vi'hen I was born, 
 
 Hot. And 1 say, the earth was not of my mind. 
 If you suppose, as fearing you it shook. [tremble. 
 
 Gicrid. The heavens were ail on 6re. the earth did 
 
 Hou O then the earth shook to .see the heavens on 
 And not in fear of your nativity. ffire. 
 
 Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
 In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth 
 Is with a kind of cholic pinch'd and ves'd 
 By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
 Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving 
 Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down 
 Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth. 
 Our grandam earth, having this dislemperature» 
 In passion shook. 
 
 Gtend. Cousin, of many men 
 
 I do not bear these crossings. Give me leav« 
 3B8 
 
Tie iwB Hf i«a»«» "' 
 
 U36G HEwnr ir.-i»Airr i 
 
 Aj 
 
 T 
 1 
 
 T»f 
 
 "ft. 
 
 
 
 bm tnaW t u™ trt/: * » 
 
 ^«» >***i- 1_ ,-«i ,'«■««: 3** *« 
 
 . 1US<EU , 
 
 ...!!•«, 
 
 WiD^rtyHM 
 
 ainwawMnr^ 
 
 - trot-tea. 
 
 '^atwc- 
 
 sri i«aft 
 
 ,1ml 
 
 
 
 
\ 
 
 T. 
 V 
 
 r 
 
 W: 
 IV 
 
 I. 
 
 l 
 
 II. 
 
 ACT III.— SCENE U. 
 
 
 
 .v;..;;a * stjua 
 
 S t 'mttr GiJFxpowKK, «M t»» U»h(^ 
 
 N.^: No. 
 Irfff* f TV- 
 
 ;-: " \ 
 
 3S9 
 
 A Webtt $ONG. .wi$ % Uif .V. 
 
 
 -5 ^ dlT Mti^ 
 
 Ski.. 
 
 . cot si^. 
 
 .■\". \. . . ".. 
 
 
 »w«. I »», 
 
 
 . \vH*, («■»#. V«9u M«fiaMr : y*« an ks i<«tr. 
 
 w !>:>■;.,-. 
 
 
 ^* ■ - ' ' 
 
 I »■.« ;.v 
 
 
 .: $Nil. awl tWa 
 
 1b »;icii . i ,. - . — .. .. 
 
 
 
 
 i.«>.M,4f«**s. 
 
 J»#r«. W It* ail i^y iwatt. f i"a«t»:. 
 
 1 v.r.,*,»?<:irv*, tV.v V;^.-<, »;>.< '.';.- 
 
 V. Tc;af , 
 
 
 .\ 
 
 
 - N -.^ 
 
 1" 
 
 1 
 
 v.:^ 
 
 X . . . . • - . ,\nis. 
 
 > 
 
 •I. 
 
 K. li«at. LriiKk^$i(« «$ iMvr; «fe Pmc* «f >Vai«s 
 
 < 
 
 
 »-.-..l 1 
 
 W 
 
 .n. 
 
 lad. 
 
 N . 
 
 w'U si* sua »».■ 
 
 .M^ 
 
 Jl«-. 0, 1 »»« ^5»«n*v-. 
 
 ^. 
 
 
 «;i»«.^ <'■ — ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 .■rsiSij; 
 
 .iaat*Me>>s 
 
 1\ • ', • . 
 
 - ;*.\ .KNAU ;». lii^\ . 
 
 ^ !*»»s. \V*H)l ; 
 
 ■Aln^VI v. 
 
 ..a W«r.-> 
 
 
390 
 
 KING HENRY IV.-PART I. 
 
 Of all the court anJ princes of my blood : 
 
 The hope anil expectation of thy time 
 
 Is ruin'd ; and the sou! of every mau 
 
 Prophetically does forethink thy fall. 
 
 Had I so lavish of my ]>resence been. 
 
 So common-hackney 'd in the eyes of men. 
 
 So stale and cheap to vulgar company ; 
 
 Opinion, that did help me to the crown. 
 
 Had still kept loyal to possession ; 
 
 And left me in reputeless banishment, 
 
 A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood. 
 
 By being seldom seen, ! could not stir. 
 
 But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at : 
 
 That men would tell their children. This is he; 
 
 Other.s would say, — Where? which is BotijtgUrvke? 
 
 And then I stole all courtesy from heaven. 
 
 And dress'd myself in such humility, 
 
 That 1 did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 
 
 Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, 
 
 Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
 
 Thus did 1 keep my person fresh, and new j 
 
 My presence, like a robe pontifical, 
 
 Ke'er seen, but wonder'd at : and so my state. 
 
 Seldom, but sumptuous, shewed like a feast j 
 
 And won, by rareness, such solemnity. 
 
 The skipping king, he ambled up and down 
 
 With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits. 
 
 Soon kindled, and soon burn'd : carded his state ; 
 
 Mingled his royally with capering fools ; 
 
 Had his great name profaned with their scorns : 
 
 And gave his countenance, against his name. 
 
 To laugh at gibing Ixiys, and stand the push 
 
 Of every beardless vain comparative : 
 
 Grew a companion to the common streets, 
 
 Enfeofi"'d himself to popularity : 
 
 That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes. 
 
 They surfeited with honey ; and began 
 
 To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little 
 
 More than a little is by much too much. 
 
 So, when he had oce;ision to be seen, 
 
 He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 
 
 Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes. 
 
 As, sick and blunted with cominunity. 
 
 Afford no extraordinary gaze, 
 
 Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 
 
 When it shines seldom in admiring eyes : 
 
 But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down, 
 
 Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect 
 
 As cloudy men use to their adversaries ; 
 
 Bein» with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full. 
 
 And in that very line, Harry, stand's! thou : 
 
 For thou hast lost thy princely privilege, 
 
 With vile participation ; not an eye 
 
 But is a-weary of thy common sight, 
 
 Save mine, whicli hath desir'd to see thee more ; 
 
 AVhich now doth that 1 would not have it do, 
 
 Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 
 
 y. Hen. 1 shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, 
 ' Be more myself. 
 
 K. lien. For all the world, 
 
 As thou art to this hour, was Richartl then 
 When 1 from France set foot at Ravenspurg ; 
 And even as 1 was then, is Percy now. 
 Mow by my sceptre, and my soul to boot. 
 He hath more worthy interest to the state. 
 Than thou, the shadow of succession : 
 For, of no right, nor colour like to right, 
 He doth fill fields with harness in the realm : 
 Turns head against the lion's armed jaws ; 
 And, being no more in debt to years than thou. 
 Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on. 
 To bloody battles, and to bruising anus. 
 
 What never-dying honour hath lie got 
 
 Against renowned Douglas ; whose high decdH, 
 
 Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms. 
 
 Holds from all soldiers chief majority. 
 
 And military title capital, 
 
 Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ? 
 
 Thrice hath this Hotspur IMars in swathing clothes. 
 
 This infant warrior in his enterprizes 
 
 Discomfited great Douglas : ta'cn him once, 
 
 Enlarg'd him, and made a friend of hiin, 
 
 To fill the mouth of deep defiance up. 
 
 And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 
 
 And wliatsay you to this * Percy, Northumberland, 
 
 The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortiiue/, 
 
 Capitulate against us, and are up. 
 
 But wherefore do 1 tell these news to tUee? 
 
 Why, Harry, do I tell tliec of uiy foes. 
 
 Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 
 
 Thou that art like enougii, — through vassal fear. 
 
 Base inclination, and the start of spleen, 
 
 'lo fight against me under Percy's pay, 
 
 To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns. 
 
 To shew how much degenerate thou art. 
 
 P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so; 
 And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd 
 Vour majesty's good thoughts away from ine t 
 1 will redeem all this on Percy's head, 
 And, in the closing of some glorious day, 
 lie bold to tell you, that I am your son ; 
 When I will wear a garment alt of blood. 
 And stain my favours in a bloody mask. 
 Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. 
 And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, 
 'i'hat this same child of honour and renown. 
 This gallant Hotspur, this all- praised knight. 
 And your unthoughtof Harry, chance to meet 
 F'or every honour sitting on his helm, 
 'Would they were multitudes ; and on my head 
 My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, 
 'I'hal I shall make this northern youth exchange 
 His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
 Percy is but my factor, "ood iny lord. 
 To engross up glorious deeds on my betialf ; 
 And 1 will call him lo so strict account, 
 That he shall render every glory up. 
 Yea, even the slightest worship of his time. 
 Or 1 will tear the reckoning from his hearL 
 This, in the name of Uod, I promise here : 
 The which if he be pleas'd 1 shall perform, 
 1 do beseech your majesty, may salve 
 The long-grown wounds of iny intemperance : 
 If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; 
 And 1 will die a hundred thousand deaths. 
 Ere break the smallest |)arcel of this vow. 
 
 K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this:— 
 Thou siialt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein. 
 
 Enter Blunt. 
 
 How now, good Dluntl thy looks are foil of spewl. 
 
 lilunl. So hath the business that 1 come to speak of, 
 Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word, — . 
 That Douglas, and the English reikis, met, 
 The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury 
 .\ mighty and a fearful head they are. 
 If promises be kept on every hand. 
 As ever olfer'd foul play in a slate. 
 
 A'. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth today, 
 With hiin my son, lord John of l.ancaster ; 
 For this advertisement is five days old : — 
 0« Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set 
 Forward ; on 'I'hursday, we ourselves will march : 
 Our meeting is BridgnortU: aivd. lliitry, yuu 
 
ACT III.- SCENE III. 
 
 391 
 
 Shall m»rch through Glosttrshire ; ty which accouut, 
 Our busiooss valued, some twelve days lienee 
 Otir gvnecal forces at Bridgnorth sh.iil mwt. 
 Our lumJs are full of business : let's away ; 
 Odvautaje feeds him fat, while ineu delay. [Emmt. 
 
 SCEXE III. 
 
 Easicheap. — A Rihxm in tltf Ikiar's Head Ta\'era. 
 
 Eutfr Fai^tatf fl«rf Bardolpii. 
 
 F.1I. Bardolph. ain I not fallen away vilely since 
 
 tills Ij-t action ! do I not bate ! do 1 not dwindle '. 
 
 \\ hy. my skin lungs about me like an old lady's loose 
 
 fowu ; i am witlier'd like an old apple-John. Well. 
 "11 repent, and that suddenly, while 1 am in some 
 liking; 1 sliall l>e out of heart shortly, and then 1 shall 
 have no strength to rejient. .\u 1 have not forgvtlen 
 what tlie insiiie of a church is madvof, 1 am a )>ep|>cr- 
 corn, a brewer's horse : the inside of a church ! Com- 
 pany, villanous corapany, hath been the siKiilof me. 
 liuid. Sir John, you are so frettui, you canuot lire 
 
 Pi!. Why. thei'e is it: — come, sing ine a bawdy 
 sotti: ; make me merry. 1 was as virtuously given, 
 as a geiuleman need to Iw ; virtuous enough: swore 
 little ; dioed, not al)0\^ se^■en times a week ; went 
 to a bawdy-house, not above once in a i^uarter — of 
 an hour: [laid money that 1 borivwed, three or four 
 times ; lived well, and in good comjuss : and now I 
 live out of all ovder, out 01 all compass. 
 
 litti\i. W hy vou are so fat, sir John, tliat )xiu must 
 net>ds be out \^i all compass ; out of all reasonable 
 compass, sir John. 
 
 >'i.''. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my 
 life ■ Thou art our adiuirai. thou bearesi the lantern 
 in the poop, — but 'tis in the nose of thee : thou ;irt 
 ihe knight of Uie burning lanip. 
 
 BcmJ. Why, sir Jolui. my face dvx's vou no harm. 
 
 FiiL Xo, I'll be sivoru ; \ make as good use of it 
 as many a man dotli of a death's head, or a mfrnfiito 
 lu.tri; Ineiwrse* thv face, but I think U|x>n hell-fire, 
 and Di\\;s tliat liveJ in purple ; for therx." he is in his 
 robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given 
 to virtue, 1 would swijar by tliy face ; my oath should 
 be, bv this fire ; but thou art alto;.:ether given over ; 
 and wert indeed, but for the liglit in thy face, the son 
 of utter darkness. \Miea thou ran'st up Liadslull 
 in tile niglit 10 catch my horse, if 1 did not think thou 
 hadst been an i^'ni.* fiilnn*. or a liall of wildlire. tliere's 
 DO purchase in money. O, fli.iu art a per(ietual 
 triumph, an everlasting boutitt?-lighi* thou hast saved 
 me a thousand marks in links and toiclies. walking 
 vvi;h tliee in the night betwixt ai\<rn and lawm : but 
 tile sack that thou hast drunk lue, would have bought 
 me Ii::hts as govkl cheap, at tlie dearest chandler's in 
 Euro}>e, I hai e maintained that saivuiiander of yours 
 with tire, any time this tux> and thirty years ; Heai^u 
 reward me for it ! 
 
 Bunl. 'Sblwvl. 1 would nivfiieewere in your lielly ! 
 
 I'at Godauierv-yl so should I besuivtobe heart- 
 burned. 
 
 Kiitfr Hostess. 
 How now, dame Partlet the hen ! have you intjuired 
 yet, wlio pioted my pi'cket t 
 
 W,«t. Why, sir.lolm! whatdoyouthink.sir.Iohn? 
 do you tliink 1 keep thieves in my liouse ' I have 
 seat\-hed. 1 have iuquiied, so has my husband, man 
 hv luau, boy by boy, servant by servant ; the tithe ot' 
 a hair was never lost in rnv house before. 
 
 l\il. Vou lie, hostess ; liar\lotph was shaved, and 
 lost many a hair : and HI be sworn, my pociet w*i 
 )>ii.'ktjd i Ui> to, you ait; a Hoiuaji, ^. 
 
 Kiisf. Who, I ! I defy the« : I was never called so 
 in mine own house before. 
 
 t\ti, (Jo to. 1 know you well enough. 
 
 IImi. No, sir John ; you do not know me, sir John : 
 I know you, sir John : vou owe me money, sir John, 
 and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it : I 
 bought vou a doien of shirts to your back. 
 
 Fat. "Dowlas, filthy dowlas : I have given them 
 a«uy to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters 
 of them. 
 
 W<>.^f. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight 
 shillinyi an ell. Vou owe money here besides, sir 
 John, for your diet, anil bv-siriukings, and money lent 
 you, four and twenty pound. 
 
 Fal. He had his part of it ; let him pay. 
 
 HiVt. He ! alas, lie is poor ; he hath nothing. 
 
 Ki/. How! poor! look ujwn his face ; W hat call 
 vou rich ! let them coin his nose, let them coin his 
 cheeks: I'Unot pay a denier. What, will you make 
 a younker of me ! shall 1 not rake mine ease in mine 
 inn. but I shall have niy pocket picked • I have lost 
 a seal-ring of mv gr:indfather's, worth forty mark, 
 
 //,vr, O Jesu \ I have heanl the prince tell him, 
 I know not how ott, that that ring was copjier. 
 
 t\:t. How '. the priuce is a Jack, a sneak-cup ; and, 
 if he were here, 1 would cudgel hiu like a dog, if be 
 wMulJ say so. 
 
 E«rpr Pkince Hknuv «ihJ Poins, warctiiti^. Fal- 
 sr.it'F mrttithe Pkinc£, pUtiiMg tfji hU ti-MucheuH^ 
 
 Fal. How now. lad \ is the wind in that door, 
 i'faith ! aiust we all march ! 
 
 Hiini. Vea, two and tw\i, Newgate-fashion. 
 
 H,«(. My lonl, I pray you, hear me. 
 
 f. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly! How 
 does thy husband ! 1 lovehiiu well, he isau honest man. 
 
 W,<st. Ciood my lord, liear me. 
 
 i-"ii(. I'r'vtiiee, let her alone, ,i«d list to me. 
 
 P. Heiu \Vhat sayest thou. Jack • 
 
 Ki/. The other night I fell asleep here behind the 
 arras, and had my pix-kct pickei.1 : this house is turned 
 bawdy-house, tiiev pick jKvkeis. 
 
 P. Hffi. \\ hat 'd^d^t thou lose. Jack '. 
 
 Fill. Wilt thou believe me, Hal ! three or four bonds 
 of forty pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my grand- 
 lather's. 
 
 P. Will. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. 
 
 HiVt. So 1 told him. my lord : and 1 said. I heanl 
 wur grace sav so : .\nd. my lord, he speaks most 
 vilely of wu, like a foul-moutlied mau as he is ; and 
 sail! he wouKl cudsel wu. 
 
 F. H<H. What! hedid not* 
 
 H.vf . There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood 
 in me else, 
 
 FM. I'hei'c's no more faith in thee than in a sten'ed 
 ^iruiie ; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn 
 los : and for womanluiod. maid Marian may be the 
 deputy's wife of the warvl 10 thee. Go, you ihiug. go. 
 
 H>st Say, what thing ! what thing ! 
 
 F.tL \Vhat thing ! why, a tiling to thank Go«l 0!i. 
 
 /(.v.(. I am no thing to thank GihI on. I would 
 thou should'st know it ; 1 am an honest mau's uife : 
 and, setting thy kotghthood aside, thou art a knave 
 to call me so. 
 
 >'iii. Setting thy womanhooii aside, thou art a beast 
 to say otherwise. 
 
 Hiwt. Say. what beast, thou knave thou ! 
 
 FiW. W hat be,ist ! why an otter. 
 
 /'. litit. An otter, sir John! why an otter! 
 
 Fill. Why ! she 's neither fish nor lieih ; a man 
 knows not when* to have her. 
 
392 
 
 KING HENRY IV.- PART I. 
 
 Host. Thou ait an unjust man in saying so ; tliou 
 or any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou! 
 
 P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and lie slanders 
 thee most grossly. 
 
 Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said this other 
 day, you ought him a thousand pound. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? 
 
 Fut. A thousand pound, Hal ■! a million : thy love 
 is worth a million ; tiiou owest me thy love. 
 
 Hc.Nt. Nay, my lord, he called you .Tack, and said, 
 he would cudgel you. 
 
 Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? 
 
 Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. 
 
 FuL Yea ; if he said, ray ring was copper. 
 
 P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper : Darest thou be as good 
 as thy word now? 
 
 Fed. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but 
 man, I dare: but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as 
 I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. 
 
 P. Hen, And why not, as the lion 7 
 
 Fill. The king himself is to be feared as the lion : 
 Dost thou think, I 'U fear thee as I fear thy father ? 
 nay, an 1 do, I pray God, my girdle break! 
 
 P. Hen. 0, if it should, how would thy guts fall 
 about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for 
 faith, truth, nor lionesty, in this bosom of thine ; it 
 is all filled up with guts and midrifT. Charge an 
 honest woman with picking thy pocket ! ^Vhy, thou 
 whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were 
 any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, me- 
 morandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny- 
 worth of sugar-candy, to make thee long winded ; if 
 thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but 
 these, I am a villain. .\nd yet you will stand to it ; 
 you will not pocket up wrong; Art thou not ashamed? 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, iu the 
 state of innocency, Adam fell ; and what should poor 
 .Tack Falstaft'do, in the days of villany ? Thou seest 
 I have more fiesh than another man ; and therefore 
 
 more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my 
 
 pocket ? 
 
 P. Hen. It appears so by the story. 
 
 Ful. Hostess, 1 forgive thee ; Go, make ready 
 breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, 
 cherish thy guests : thou shalt find me tractable to 
 any honest reason : thou seest I am pacified. — Still .' 
 — Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, 
 Hal, to the news at court : For the robbery, lad, — 
 How is that answered ? 
 
 P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good 
 angel to thee :— The money is paid back again. 
 
 Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double 
 labour. 
 
 P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may 
 do any thing. 
 
 Fal. Rob me the exchequer, the first thing thou 
 doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. 
 
 Bard. Do, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen.l have procured thee. Jack, a charge of foot. 
 
 Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall 
 I find one that can steal well ? O for a fine tliief, of 
 the age of two and twenty, or thereabouts ! I am 
 heinously unprovided. Well God be thanked for these 
 rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, 
 I praise them. 
 
 P. Hen. Bardolph. 
 
 Barrf. My lord. 
 
 P. Hi')!. Gobearthlsletter to lord John of Lancaster, 
 My brother John ; this to my lord of Westmoreland. — 
 Go, Poins, to horse, to horse ; for thou, and I, 
 
 Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. 
 
 .Tack, 
 
 Meet me to-morrow i'the TempIe-hall : 
 
 At two o'clock i'the afternoon ; 
 
 There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive 
 
 iloney, and order for their furniture. i 
 
 The land is burning ; Percy stands on high ; 
 
 And either they, or we, must lower lie. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph, 
 
 Fal. Tiare words! brave world I Hostess, my 
 
 breakfast ; come : — 
 0, I could wish, this tavern were my drum. [Ejtl, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — The liebel Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. 
 
 Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking truth. 
 In this fine age, were not thought flattery, 
 Such attribution should the Douglas have, 
 As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
 Should go so general current through the world. 
 By lieaven, I cannot flatter ; 1 defy 
 The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place 
 In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself: 
 Xay, task me to the word : approve me, lord. 
 
 boug. Thou art the king of honour : 
 No man so potent breathes upon the ground. 
 But I will beard him. 
 
 Hot. Do so, and 'tis well ; — 
 
 Enter a Messenger, with letters. 
 What letters hast tliou there? — I can but thank yoo, 
 
 Mi-<>s. These letters come from your father, — 
 
 H'it. Letters from him ! why comes he not himself? 
 
 M(\si. He cannot come, my lord ; he 's grievous sick* 
 
 Hot, 'Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be sick. 
 In such a justUng time? Who leads his power? 
 Under whose government come they along? 
 
 Me^jn. His letters bear liis mind, not I, my lord. 
 
 War, I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bedt 
 
 Mess, He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth ; 
 And at tlie time of my departure thence, 
 He was much fear'd by his physicians. [EiiJ. 
 
 Wor. 1 would tiie state of lime had first been whole. 
 Ere he by sickness had been visited ; 
 His healtii was never belter worth than now. 
 
 Hot. Sick now ! droop now! this sickness doth m- 
 The very life-blood of our enterprize : f ftot 
 
 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp, • 
 
 He writes me here, — that inward sickness — 
 
 And that his friends by deputation could not 
 
 So soon be drawn ; nor did he think it meet, 
 
 To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 
 
 On any soul remov'd, but on his own. 
 
 Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, — 
 
 That with our small conjunction, we should on. 
 
 To see how fortune is dispos'd to us ; 
 
 For, as he writes, there is no quailing now ; 
 
 Because the king is certainly possessed 
 
 Of all our purposes. What say you to it? 
 
 ITfir. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. 
 
 Hot, A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd ofl': — 
 And yet, in faith, 'tis not ; his present want 
 Seems more than we shall find it: — Were it good, 
 'J'o set the exact wealth of all our states 
 All at one cast? to set so rich a main 
 On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? 
 It were not good : for therein should we read 
 The very bottom and the soul of hope ; 
 The very list, the very utmost bouad 
 Of all our fortunes. 
 
ACT IV.- SCENE II. 
 
 393 
 
 Doug. 'Faith, and so we should ; 
 
 Where now remains a sweet reversion ; 
 We may boldly spend upon the hope of what 
 Is to come in : 
 A comfort of retirement lives in this. 
 
 Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, 
 If that the devil and mischance look big 
 Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. 
 
 Wor. But yet, 1 would your father had been here. 
 The quality and liair of our attempt 
 Brooks no division : It will be thought 
 By some, that know not why he is away. 
 That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike 
 Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence ; 
 And think, how such an a])prehensioa 
 May turn the tide of fearful faction, 
 And breed a kind of question in our cause : 
 For, well you know, we of the offering side 
 Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement ; 
 And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence 
 The eye of reason may pry in upon us : 
 This absence of your fatiier's draws a curtain, 
 That shews the ignorant a kind of fear 
 Before not dreamt of. 
 
 Hot. You strain too far. 
 
 I, rather, of his absence make this use ; — • 
 It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, 
 A larger dare to our great enterprize, 
 Th?n if the earl were here : for men must think, 
 If we. without his help, can make a head 
 To push against the kingdom ; with his help, 
 We shall o'erturn it top'^^-y-turvy down. — 
 Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 
 
 Doug. As heart can think ; there is not such a word 
 Spoke of in Scotland, as tliis term of fear. 
 
 Euter Sir Richard VtRNOx. 
 
 Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul. 
 
 Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. 
 T\\e earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong. 
 Is marching hitherwards ; with him, prince John. 
 
 Hot. No harm : What niore ? 
 
 Ver. And further, I have learn'd, — 
 
 The king himself in person is set forth, 
 Or hitherwards intended speedily. 
 With strong and mighty preparation. 
 
 Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son. 
 The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales. 
 And his comrudes, that da}}"d the world aside. 
 And bid it pass ? 
 
 Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, 
 
 All plum'd like estridges, that with the wind 
 Bated, like eagles having lately bath'd ; 
 Glittering in golden coats, like images ; 
 As full of spirit as the month of May, 
 And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; 
 Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 
 I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on, 
 His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, — 
 Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
 And vaulted with such ease into his seat. 
 As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds. 
 To turn and wind a tiery Pegasus, 
 And w^itch the world with noble horsemanship. 
 
 Hot. No more, no more; worse than the sun in March. 
 This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come ; 
 They come like sacrifices in their trim, 
 And to the fierce-ey"d maid of smoky war. 
 All hot, and bleedmg, will we offer thera :■ 
 The mailed Mars shall on hi* altar sit, 
 Up to tiie ears in blood. I am on tire, 
 To hear this ricli reprisal is so nigh, 
 
 And yet not ours : — Come, let me take my liorse, 
 
 Who is to bear me, like a thunderbolt, 
 
 Against the bosom of the prince of Wales : 
 
 Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse. 
 
 Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse.— 
 
 O, that Glendower were come! 
 
 Ver. There is more news : 
 
 I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along. 
 He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 
 
 Doug. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet. 
 
 M'or. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. 
 
 Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach unto? 
 
 Ver, To thirty thousand. 
 
 Hot. Forty let it be ■, 
 
 My father and Glendower being both away, 
 The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
 Come, let us make a muster speedi'v: 
 Doomsday is near ; die all, die nierrily. 
 
 Doug. Talk not of dying ; I am out of fear 
 Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year. 
 
 \^ Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE II. — A public Bond near Coventry, 
 
 Enter Falstaff (tud Bardolph. 
 
 Fdl. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry ; fill me 
 ;i bottle of sack : our soldiers shall march through : 
 we'll to Sutton-Colefield to-night. 
 
 Bard. Will you give me money, captain? 
 
 Fill. Lay out, lay out. 
 
 Burd. This bottle makes an angel. 
 
 Fal. An if it do. take it for thy labour ; and if it 
 make twenty, take them all, I '11 answer the coinage. 
 Bid my lieutenant Pelo meet me at the town's end. 
 
 Bard. 1 will, captain : farewell. [F,iit, 
 
 Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a 
 souced gurnet. I have misused the king's piess 
 damnably- 1 have got. in e>;change of a hundred and 
 fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press 
 me none but good householders, yeomen's sons : in- 
 quire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been 
 asked twice on the bans ; such a commodity of warm 
 slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum ; such 
 as fear the report of a caliver, worse than a struck 
 fowl, or a hurt wild-duck- I pressed mo none but 
 such toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no 
 bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out 
 their sei-vices ; and now my whole charge consists of 
 ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of com- 
 panies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted 
 cloth, w'here the glutton's dogs licked his sores ; and 
 such as, indeed, were never soldiers ; but discarded 
 unjust serving-men, youngei sons to younger brothers, 
 revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers 
 of a calm w^orld, and a long peace ; ten times more 
 dishonourable ragged than an old faced ancient: and 
 such have I, to fill up the rooms of them that have 
 bought out their services, that you would think, that 
 1 had a hundred and fifty tattered prodigals, lately 
 come from swine keeping, from eating draff and husks. 
 A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had 
 unloaded all the gibbets, and pressed the dead bodies. 
 No eye hath seen such scare-crows. I'll not march 
 through Coventry with them, that's flat ; — Nay, and 
 the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they 
 had gyves on; for, indeed, I had the most of them 
 out of prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all 
 my company; and the half-sliirt is two napkins, tacked 
 together, and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's 
 coat without sleeves ; and the shirt, to say the truth, 
 stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose 
 innkeeper of Daintry : But that 's all one ; they '1! 
 find linen enough on every hedge. 
 
394 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 
 
 Enter Phini-e Heniiy aiid Wf:flTMonj,LA?rD. 
 
 P. Ilea. How now, bjown Jack ? bow now quilt? 
 
 Fat. Wliat, Mali How now, mad wag? what a 
 devil doftt thou in Warwickkhire ? — Aly good lo<d of 
 V\ entmoreland, I cry you mercy; I tliuuglit, your 
 honour bad already bt^n at Sbrtwkbury. 
 
 Wen. 'Faith, kir John, 'tis mure than time that I 
 were there, and you too ; but my powers arc tliere 
 alrea/iy : The Ling, 1 can tell you, looks for u« all ; 
 we mui>t away all night. 
 
 Fjt. Tut, never fear me ; I am ait vigilant, ai a 
 cat to steal cream. 
 
 f. Hen. I think, to steal cream indeed ; for thy 
 theft bath already nia<le thee butter, iiut tell me. 
 Jack i Whose fellows are these tliat come after? 
 
 i'al. Mine, Hal, mine. 
 
 /■'. lien. 1 did never see such pitiful rascals. 
 
 Fal. Tut, tut ; good enough Uj toss : food for pow- 
 der, food for powder ; they II fill a pit, as well as 
 better: tush, man, mortal men, mortal men. 
 
 I('e»(. Ay, but, sir John, methinks they axe exceed- 
 ing p<.»or and bare ; loo beggarly, 
 
 tat. 'faith, for their poverty, — I know not where 
 they had that : and for their bareness, — I am sure 
 they never learned that of UiC. 
 
 P. Heu. No, I 'II be sworn ; unless you call three 
 fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste ; 
 Percy is already in the field. 
 
 Fal. What, IS the king encamped. 
 
 Weit. He is, sir John ; 1 fear, we shall stay too long. 
 
 Fal. Well, 
 Totlielatterendofafray.and thel>eginningofafea»t, 
 I'its a dull fighter, and a keen guest. [^Eieunl, 
 
 SCENE III. — The ReUl Camp near Shrewsbury. 
 Enter Hf/rspcit, VVouCKSxfcK, Docgi-as, and Vfcu.NON. 
 
 Hat. We'll fight with bim to-nighu 
 
 ll'vr. It may not be. 
 
 JJoug. You give him then advantage. 
 
 Ver, Not a whit. 
 
 Hut. Why say you so? looks he not for supply ? 
 
 Ver. So 00 we. 
 
 Hat. His is certain, ours is^oubtful. 
 
 yVar. Good cousin, \te advis'd ; stir not to-night. 
 
 Vrr. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Doug, You do not counsel well ; 
 
 You speak it out of fear, and cold heart. 
 
 Ver. Do me no slander, IJouglas : by my life, 
 C.\nd I dare well maintain it with my life,^ 
 If well-re»i<ecU;d honour bid me on, 
 I hold as little counsel with weak fear, 
 Aj you, my lord, or any Scot that lives :— 
 Let it be seen to-morrow in tlie battle, 
 Which of us fears. 
 
 Jj"ug. Yea, or to-night, 
 
 Ver. Content 
 
 Hot. To-night, say I. 
 
 Ver. Come, come, it may not be. 
 
 I wonder much, being men of such great leading, 
 Tliat yo'i foresee not what impe<liments 
 IJrag ba/.-k our expedition : f^ertain horse 
 t>t my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up : 
 Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ; 
 And now their pride and mettle is asleep, 
 I'heir cfjura^e with hard labour tame and dull, 
 'Jliat not a horse is half the lialf himself. 
 
 //i'(. Sti are the horses of the enemy 
 In general, journeybait/;d, and brought low ; 
 The l>etler part of ours is full of rest. 
 
 H'irr. The numljer of the king eiceedeth ours 
 For God's sake, cousin, stay 'ill all come in. 
 
 [Tlie trumpet iouiuit a parley. 
 
 Enter Sir Waltkr Ui.I'xt 
 
 Blunt. I come with gracious offers from the ling. 
 If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. 
 
 //ol.Welcome.sirWaiterlilunt; And 'would to Cod, 
 You were of our detennination ! 
 Some of us love you t^ell : and even those some 
 Envy your great deserving, and good name ; 
 Jiecause you are not of our quality. 
 But stand against us like an enerny. 
 
 Blunt. And God defend, but still I should stand so. 
 So long as, out of limit, and true rule, 
 You stand against anointed majesty ! 
 But, to my charge. — The king hath sent to know 
 The nature of your griefs ; and whereupon 
 You conjure from tlie breast of civil peace 
 Such bold hostility, teai;hing his duteous land 
 Audar;ious cruelty : If that the king 
 Have any way your good deserts forgot, — 
 V\'hich he confesseth to be manifold, — 
 lie bids you name your griefs ; and with all speed. 
 You shall have your desires, with interest; 
 And pardon absolute for yourself, and these. 
 Herein misle-d by your suggestion. 
 
 livt. The king is kind; and, well we know, the king 
 Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
 My father, and my uncle, and myself 
 IJid give him that same royalty he wears : 
 And, — when he was not six anil twenty strong. 
 Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low, 
 A poor unminded outlaw s/ieaking home, — 
 iMy father gave him welcome to the shore : 
 And, — when he heard him swear and vow to God, 
 He came but to be duke of I.ancaster, 
 To sue his livery, and beg his peace ; 
 U'ith tears of innocency, and terms of ztal, — 
 My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd. 
 Swore him assistance, and iierfonn'd it too. 
 .\ow, when the lords, and barons of the realm 
 I'erceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him. 
 The more and less came in with cap and knee ; 
 -Met him in boroughs, cities, villages ; 
 Attended him on bridges, stoo<l in lanes, 
 l-aid gifts before him, proflL-r'd him their oaths. 
 Gave him their heirs ; as pages follow'd him. 
 Even at the heels, in golden multitudes 
 He presently, — as greatness knows itself, — 
 Steps me a little higher than his vow 
 -Made to my father, while his blood was poor. 
 Upon the naked shore at Uavenspurg ; 
 And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 
 Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees. 
 That lie too heavy on the commonwealth : 
 Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 
 Over his country's wrongs ; and, by this face. 
 This seeming brow of justice, did he win 
 The hearts of all that he did angle for. 
 Proceeded further ; cut me ofT the heads 
 Of all the favouriujs, that the absent king 
 In deputation left behind him here, 
 When he was personal in the Irish war. 
 
 Illunt. Tut, I come not Ui hear this. 
 
 //"'■ Then, to the point. 
 
 In short time after, he deposed the king ; 
 .Soon after that, deprived liim of his life ; 
 And, in tlie neck of that, task'd the whole state : 
 To make that worse, sufler'd his kinsman .March 
 ( Who is, if every owner were well nlac'd. 
 Indeed his king.y to be incag'd in Wales, 
 There without ransome to lie forfeited : 
 i.)isgrai;'d me in my happy victories ; 
 Sought to entrap me by intelligence ; 
 Kated my uncle from the couocil-buard ; 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 39o 
 
 In ragv i\ismi-isM mv father from the court ; 
 Urokf onlli on oath," oommitttHl wronj; on wrong : 
 Ami. ill ooiiclusion, Jrove us to seek out 
 This h.ail of safety ; and, withal, to pry 
 Into his titU-. the which wc linJ 
 Too imtirwt for lonj continuance. 
 
 }iluHt. Shall 1 n>uun this answer to the kini; 1 
 
 //.•(. Not so. sir Walter ; we'll wilhilraw awhile. 
 Go to the kinv; ; anit let ihero he impawnM 
 Some suretv for a safe return again. 
 Anil in thoniorning caily shall mine uncle 
 Uriiii; hiui our |>ur(ioses : anvl so I'urewcll. 
 
 BUinl. 1 wonhl. you wouM accept of grace ami love. 
 
 Hot. Ami. may he. so we shall. 
 
 Bluiil. 'I'ray hoiiven, you ilo ! [F.re«nt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 York. — A Rtvm in tho Archbishop's House, 
 t'.iiltr thu Aivhhishop o/'YouK, iiHil II Cienllontan. 
 Arch. Hie, ^loJ sir .Michael ; bear this sealcil brief, 
 \Vilh winjiwl hasie. to the loni niaiesohal ; 
 This to mv cousin Scroop ; aiul all the iv>t 
 To whom they are iliix'cteil : if you knew 
 How much tliey ilo import, you would make haste. 
 
 (■'i!iit. .Mv good lorJ, 
 I guess their tenor. 
 
 Aiirh. like enough, you do. 
 
 To-morrow, giHul sir .Michael, is a day. 
 Wherein the fortune of ten thousand nicu 
 Jhist 'bide the touch : For, sir, at Shr«w.sbury, 
 As 1 am truly given to understand. 
 The kin'g. with mighty and nuick-raised power. 
 iMcels with loni liarry : and I fear, sir Michael, — 
 What with the sickness of Northumlierlaud, 
 (^ Whose power was in the tirst proportion,') 
 .\iid whit with Owen lileiidower's absence, thonco, 
 ( \\ ho with them was a rated sinew too. 
 Ami comes not in, o'er-rnhnlby prophecies,") — 
 1 fear, the jmwerof I'ercy is too weak 
 To wage an instant trial with the king. 
 
 Gtnl. \\ liy,s»odiny lorvl, you Deed uot fear; there's 
 
 And loixl Mortimer. ' [Douglas. 
 
 Arch. No, Mortimer's not there. [ I'ercy, 
 
 (I»iit. l>ut there is Monlake. Vernon, loi\l Harry 
 
 And there 's my loiil of Woivesler ; and a head 
 
 Of gallant waiViois, noble gentlcnicu. 
 
 Arch. .And so there is : but yet the king hath drawn 
 The sptrial head of all the land together ;— 
 The pnncc of Wales, loixl .lolin of Lancaster, 
 'i'he noble Westmoreland, and warlike Itlunt ; 
 And many mor* eorrivals, and dear men 
 Of estiimilion and command in arms. [pos'd. 
 
 Ofvi. Ooubt not, my loiil, thc> shall be wwl op- 
 Ir.-^. I hoiK- no less, yet m-edfnl lis to fear ; 
 -Vnd, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed : 
 For, if lonl I'etcy thrive not, ere the king 
 Pismiss his power, he means to visit us. — ■ 
 
 F'or he hath heard of our conl'ederacy. 
 
 And 'tis hut » isdoiu to make strong against him ; 
 Theitifoiv. make haste : 1 must s« wite again 
 To other friends ; aud so fawwe"' ..i Alichael. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE \.— Tht king's Cumy u*ar Shrewsbury. 
 filter Kino IIknhy, I'hinci: IIknhv. ruis'cK .loiiv 
 of Lanca.ster, A'ii- WAi.r>;K Uivnt. uhiI ^jl■ John 
 FAi.siAir. 
 K. U*n. Uow bloodily the tun begins to iic«r 
 
 .Vlwve yon busky hill the day looks pale 
 .\t his distenii>eraturt;. 
 
 V. llfu. The southern wind 
 
 Poih plav the trumpet to his purposes ; 
 Aiul, bv tiis hollow whistling in the leaves, 
 Foretels a tempest, and a blnstering day. 
 
 A, Hei> Then with the losers let it sym)>alhi<« ; 
 F'or nothing can seem I'oul to those that win, — 
 
 TrwH}>tt. Kilter Woucfstsk iim/ Vkrno.n. 
 How now, my lorxl of Worcester ! 'tis mit well. 
 That you and 1 should meet uiHin such terms 
 As now we meet : you have deceiv'd our trust ; 
 And made us dot!' our easy robes of (leace, 
 Vo crush our old limbs in ungentle steel : 
 That is not well, my lonl. this is not well. 
 \\ hat say von lo't '. will you again unknit 
 This churrish knot of allabhoried war ! 
 -Vnd move in that olH'dient orb again. 
 Where you did give a fair and natural light ; 
 .Vnd be no inoro an exhal'd meteor, 
 A prodigy of fear, and a portent 
 0< broaciicil uiischicf to the uuborn times 1 
 
 M .'!■. Hear me. mv liege : 
 For mine own part, I could be well content 
 To entertain the lag end of my life 
 With nuict hours; for, 1 do protest, 
 I have not sought the day of this dislike, 
 
 K lien. You havenot sought it! how conies it then' 
 fill. Uebellion lay in his way, and he found it, 
 /'. Hen. Teace. chewet, peace. 
 Ifei'. It pleas'd your majestv. to turn your looks 
 l>f favour, trom myself, and all our house ; 
 Ami vet 1 must remcmlH-r you, my lorvl. 
 We were the tii-st and dearest of your friends. 
 For vou, mv slalfof olhce did 1 bivak 
 \n Ulcliarvl's time , ami postinl day and night 
 I'o meet you on the way. and kiss your hand, 
 When vet you were in place and in account 
 Nothing so strong and fortunate as 1. 
 It was uivself, mv brother, ami his son. 
 That brought you home, and boldly did outdar« 
 The dangx'rs of the time: Von swore to us,— 
 
 .Viid you did swear that oath at Doncaster, 
 
 I'hat'vou did nothing purpose 'gainst the state ; 
 Nor claim no further than your new-faU'n right. 
 The seat of Ciaunt, dukedom of Lancaster: 
 lo this wc swore our aid, l'>ut, in short space, 
 It rain'd down forluiic showering on your head ; 
 Vnd such a tlood of greatness fell on you. — 
 \\ hat w itii our help ; what with the absent king ; 
 W hat with the injuries of a wanton time ; 
 I'he seeming suH'eiances that you had borne ; 
 .Vnd the contraiious winds, that held the kii:g 
 So long in his unlucky Lisli wars. 
 That all in Kngland did rx'pntc hiiii dead, — 
 .Vnd, from this swarm of fair advantag>f&, 
 \'ou took occasion to be ijuickly woo'U 
 I'o gri\>e the general sway into your hand : 
 Forgot your with to us at Ooucaster ; 
 Vml, being fed by us; you us'd us so 
 .Vs that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's biixl. 
 I'seth the sjwrrow ; did oppress onr nest ; 
 (.irow bv our feeiling to so gnnit a bulk. 
 That even our love durst not come near your sight, 
 For fear of swallowiiii; ; but with nimble wing 
 We weiv enfon"'d, foi safety sake, to Hy 
 Out of your sight, and raise this pn'sent head' 
 \Vlier\>by we stand opposed by such means 
 .Vs you yourseU have forg'd against yourself; 
 Ity unkind usage. daiii;erous countenance. 
 •Vud violation of all faith and troth 
 
:j96 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART T. 
 
 Sworn to us in your younger cnterprize. 
 
 A'. li<^ii. These things, indeed, youhave articulated, 
 Proclaiin'd at market crosses, read in churches ; 
 To face the garment of rebellion 
 With some fine colour, that may please the eye 
 Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents. 
 Which gape and ruo the elbow, at the news 
 Of hurlyburly innovation ■ 
 And never yet did insurrection want 
 Such water-colours, to impaint his cause j 
 Nor moody beggars, starving for a time, 
 Of pellmeil havoc and confusion. 
 
 p. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul 
 Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, 
 If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew. 
 The prince of Wales doth join with all the world 
 In praise of Henry Percy; V>y my hopes, — 
 This present enterprlze set oti' his head, — 
 I do not think a braver gentleman. 
 More active-valiant, or more valiant-young, 
 More daring, or more bold, is now alive. 
 To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
 For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
 I have a truant been to chivalry ; 
 And so, I hear, he doth account me too: 
 
 Yet this before my father's majesty, 
 
 I am content, that he shall take the odds 
 Of his great name and estimation ; 
 And will, to save the blood on either side, 
 Try fortune with him in a single fight. 
 
 A". lien- And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture 
 Albeit, considerations infinite [thee. 
 
 Do make against it : — No, good Worcester, no. 
 We love our people well ; even those we love. 
 That are misled upon your cousin's part :. 
 And, will they take the offer of our grace, 
 Both he. and they, and you, yea. every man 
 Shall be ray friend again, and I'll be his; 
 So tell your cousin, and bring me word 
 What he will do :— But if he will not yield. 
 Rebuke and dread correction wait on us. 
 And they shall do their office. So, be gone ; 
 AVe will not now be troubled with reply : 
 We offer fair, take it advisedly. 
 
 [Exeunt Worcesteii and Vernon. 
 
 P. Hph. It will not be accepted, on my life : 
 The Douglas and the Hotspur both together 
 Are confident against the world in arms. 
 
 A'. Hi:n. Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; 
 For, on their answer, will we set on them : 
 And God befriend us, as our cause is just ! 
 
 [Exeunt King, Blunt, and Pkince John. 
 
 Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and 
 bestridn me, so ; 'tis a point of frieudsliip. 
 
 P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that 
 friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell. 
 
 Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. 
 
 P. Hoi. Why, thou owest God a death. [Exit. 
 
 Fal. 'Tis not due yet ; I would be loath to pay him 
 before his day. What need I be so forward with him 
 that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter; Honour 
 pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour pricks me oft' 
 when 1 come out how thenl Can honour set to a 
 leg ? No. Or an arm ? No. Or take away the grief 
 01 a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery 
 then? No. What is honour? A word. What is in 
 that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A 
 trim reckoning I — Who hath it? He that died o' Wed- 
 nesday. Doth he feel it? No. Dotli he hear it? 
 No. Is it insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But 
 will it not live with the living ? No. Why ? Detrac- 
 tion will not suffer it:— therefore I'll none of it: 
 
 Honour is a mere scuUdieon, and so ends my cate- 
 chism. lExU 
 SCENE ll.~The Rebel Camp, 
 
 Ejifer Worcester and Vernon. 
 
 IIW. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir Richard, 
 The liberal kind ofl'er of the king. 
 
 Ker. 'Twere best, he did. 
 
 Wor. Then are we all undone 
 
 It is not possible, it cannot be, 
 The king should Keep his word in loving us ; 
 He w'ill suspect us still, and find a time 
 To punish this offence in other faults: 
 Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes : 
 For treason is but trusted like the fox ; 
 Who, neersotame, so clu;ri>h'd, and lock'd up. 
 Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
 Look how we can, or sad, or merrily, 
 Interpretation will misquote our looks ; 
 And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, 
 The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. 
 My nephew's tiespass may be well forgot. 
 It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood ; 
 And an adopted name of privilege, — 
 A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen : 
 All his offences live upon my head, 
 And on his father's ; — we did train him on ; 
 And, his corruption being ta'en from us. 
 We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
 Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know, 
 In any case, the offer of the king. 
 
 Ver. Deliver what you will, ITl say, 'tis so 
 Here comes your cousin. 
 
 Enter Hotspur und Douglas ; and Officers and 
 Soldiers, behind. 
 
 Hot. Hy uncle is return'd : — Deliver up 
 My lord of Westmoreland. — Uncle, what news? 
 
 ITfir. The kmg will bid you battle presently. 
 
 Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 
 
 Doug. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. [Ex. 
 
 Mar, There is no seeming mercv in the king. 
 
 Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! 
 
 Wor. I told him gently of our grievances, 
 Of his oath-breaking; which he mended tiius, — 
 By now forswearing that he is forsworn ; 
 He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will scourge 
 With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 
 
 He-enter T>ovGhAS, 
 
 Doug. Arm. gentlemen ; toarms! for I have thrown 
 A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, 
 And Westmoreland, that was engag'd, did bear it; 
 Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 
 
 JVor. The prince of Wales stepp'd forth before the 
 And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight, [king. 
 
 Hot. 0, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads; 
 And that no man might draw short breath to-day, 
 But I, and Harry IMonmouth ! Tell me, tell me, 
 How shew'd his tasking? seem'd it in contempt* 
 
 Ver. No, by my soul ; I never in my life. 
 Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly, 
 Unless a brother should a brother dare 
 To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
 He gave you all the duties of a man ; 
 Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue ; 
 Spoke your deservings like a chronicle ; 
 Making you ever better than his praise, 
 By still dispraising praise, valued with you : 
 And, wliich became him like a prince indeed. 
 He made a blushing cital of himself; 
 
ACT v.— SCENE IV. 
 
 59: 
 
 And chiJ his truant youth with such a grace, 
 
 As it lie master'd there a double spirit, 
 
 Of tcacliiu'', and of learning, instantly. 
 
 There did he pause ; But let me tell the wor.d,— 
 
 If he outlive the envy of this day, 
 
 England did never owe so sweet a hope. 
 
 So much misconstrued in his wantonness. 
 
 i/i)(. Cousin, I thiuli. thou art enamoured 
 Upon his follies ; never did 1 hear 
 Of anv prince, so wild, at liberty : — 
 Bui, be he as he will, yet once ere night 
 1 will embrace him with a soldier's arm. 
 
 That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 
 
 Arm, arm, with speed : And, fellows, soldiers, 
 
 Better consider what you have to do, [friends. 
 
 Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue. 
 Can lift your blood up with persuasion. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. J\Iy lord, here are letters for you. 
 
 Hoi. I cannot read them now. — 
 O gentlemen, the time of life is short ; 
 To spend that shortness basely, were too long. 
 If life did ride upon a dial's point, 
 Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 
 An if we live, we live to tread on kings ; 
 If die, brave death, when princes die wilh us ! 
 Now for our conscience, — the aims are fair, 
 When the intent of bearing them is just. 
 Entev another Blessenger. 
 Mess. My lord, prepare ; the king comes on apace 
 Hot. I thank him, that he cuts roe from my tale, 
 For I profess not talking ; only this — 
 Let each man do his best ; and here draw I 
 A sword, whose temper 1 intend to stain 
 With the best blood that I can meet withal 
 In the adventure of this perilous day. 
 Now, — Esperance !— Percy !— and set on. — 
 Sound all the lofty instruments of war, 
 And by that music let us all embrace : 
 For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 
 A second time do such a courtesy. 
 
 [T/ie trumpets sound. They embrace, and ereunt. 
 
 SCENE III. — Plain near Shrewsbury. 
 
 Excursions, and parties Jighting. Alarum to the battle. 
 Then enter Dougl.is and Blunt, meeting. 
 
 A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt ; 
 Semblably furnish'd like the king himself. 
 
 Vouir. .K fool go with thy soul, whither it goes! 
 A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear. 
 Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a kingl 
 
 Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats. 
 
 Diiiii;. Now. by my sword, I will kill all his coats ; 
 I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, 
 Until I meet the king. 
 
 Hot. Up, and away ; 
 
 Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Eieuul. 
 
 Other Alarums. Enter Falstaff. 
 
 F«/. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London, 
 I fear the shot here : here's no scoring, but upon the 
 pate. — Soft! who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt; — 
 there's honour for you : Here's no vanity ! — I am as 
 hot as molten lead, and as heavy too : God keep lead 
 out of me ! I need no more weight than my own 
 bowels. — I have led my raggamuffins where they are 
 peppered : there's but three of my hundred and fifty 
 left alive ; and they are for the town's end, to beg 
 during life. But who comes here 1 
 
 Enter Prince Henuy. 
 
 P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here! lend ir.e 
 JMany a nobleman lies stark and stiff [thy sword : 
 Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, [sword. 
 
 Whose deaths are unreveng'd : Pr'ythee, lend me thy 
 Fal. O Hal, 1 pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe 
 awhile. — Turk Gregory never did such deeds in arms, 
 as I have done this day. 1 have paid Percy, 1 have 
 made him sure. 
 
 P. Hen, He is, indeed : and living to kill thee. 
 Lend me thv sword, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Fal. Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, 
 thou get'st not my sword ; but take my pistol, if thou 
 wilt. 
 
 P. Hen. Give it me : What, is it in the case ? 
 
 Fal. Ay, Hal ; 'tis hot, 'tis hot ; there's that will 
 
 sack a citv. [The Prince draws out a bottle of sack, 
 
 P. Hen. Wliat, is't a time to jest and dally now '. 
 
 [Throws it at him, and exit. 
 
 Fal. AVell, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If 
 
 he do come in my way, so ; if he do not, if 1 come 
 
 in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me. I 
 
 like not such grinning honour as sir W^alter hath ; 
 
 Give me life; which if I can save, so ; if not, honour 
 
 comes unlooked for, and there's an end. [£aii 
 
 Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus 
 Thou crossest me 1 What honour dost thou seek 
 Upon my head 1 
 
 Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas ; 
 
 And 1 do haunt thee in the battle thus. 
 Because some tell me that thou art a king. 
 
 Blunt. They tell thee true. 
 
 Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath bought 
 Thy likeness ; for, instead of thee, king Harry, 
 The sword hath ended him ; so shall it thee. 
 Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 
 
 Blunt. I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot ; 
 And thou shall find a king that will revenge 
 Lord Stafford's death. [Theyjight, &; Blunt is slain. 
 
 Enter Hotspur. 
 Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Ilolmedon 
 I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. [thus, 
 
 Doug. All's done, all's won ; here breathless lies 
 Hoi. Where 1 [the king. 
 
 Doug. Here. 
 Hot. This, Douglas ! no, I know this face full well: 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another part of the Field. 
 
 Alarums. Excursions. Fitter the King, Prince 
 Henry, Prince John, and Westmoreland, 
 
 K. Hen. 1 pr'ythee, 
 Harry, withdraw thyself ; thou bleed'st too much : — 
 Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 
 
 P. John. Not 1, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 
 
 P. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up, 
 Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. 
 
 A'. Hen. I will do so ; — 
 My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent. 
 
 ll>s(. Come, my lord, 1 will lead you to your tent. 
 
 P. Hen, Lead me, my lord } I do not need your help; 
 ,\nd heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive 
 The prince of Wales from such a field as this ; 
 Where stain'd nobility lies trodden on. 
 And rebels' arms triumph in massacres ! 
 
 P. John. We breathe too long : — Come, cousin 
 Westmoreland, 
 Our duty this way lies : for God's sake come. 
 
 [Kieunt Prince John and West.moueland. 
 
398 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART I. 
 
 p. Hen. Bv heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lan- 
 I dill not think thee lord of such a spirit ; [caster, 
 Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John ; 
 But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 
 
 K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point, 
 .With lustier maintenance than I did look for 
 Of such an ungrown warrior. 
 
 P. Hen. 0, this boy, 
 
 I«nds mettle to us all. [Eiit. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Douglas. 
 
 Dotig. Another King! they grow like Itydras' 
 I am the Douglas, fatal to all those [heads : 
 
 That wear those colours on them. — What art thou, 
 That counterfeit'st the person of a king '. 
 
 K. Hen. The king himself; who, Douglas, grieves 
 So many of his shadows thou hast met, [at heart, 
 And not the very king. I have two boys, 
 Seek Percy, and thyself, about the tield: 
 But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
 I will assay thee ; so defend thyself. 
 
 Dong. 1 fear, thou art another counterfeit ; 
 And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king : 
 But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er thou be. 
 And thus I win thee. 
 
 [Theijight ; the Ki.vo being in danger, enter 
 Prince Henry. 
 
 P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art 
 Never to hold it up again ! the spirits [like 
 
 Of Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms : 
 It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee ; 
 Who never promiseth, but he means to pay. 
 
 [Tlieii Jiglit ; Vovgvas flies. 
 Cheerly, my lord ; How fares your grace? — 
 Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent. 
 And so hath Clifton ; I'll to Clifton straight. 
 
 A'. Hen. Stay, and breathe awhile : 
 Thou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ; 
 And sliew'd, thou mak'st some tender of my life. 
 In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 
 
 P. Hen. O heaven ! they did me too much injury. 
 That ever said, I hearken'd for your death. 
 If it were so, I migiit have let alone 
 The insulting hand of Douglas over you ; 
 Which would have been as speedy in your end. 
 As all the poisonous potions in the world. 
 And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son. 
 
 I\. Hen. Wake up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas 
 Gawsey. [£.titKiNG Henry. 
 
 Enter Hotspur. 
 
 Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. 
 
 P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. 
 
 Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, then I see 
 
 A very valiant rebel of the name. 
 I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy, 
 To share with me in glory any more : 
 Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
 Nor can one England brook a double reign, 
 Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales. 
 
 Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come 
 To end the one of us ; And 'would to God, 
 Thy name in arms were now as great as mine ! 
 
 P Hen. I'll make it greater, ere 1 part from thee ; 
 Aud all the budding honours on thy crest 
 I'll crop to make a garland for my head. 
 
 Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. [They fight. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 Fni Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal !— Nay, you shall 
 find no boy's play here. I can tell you. 
 
 Enter DouoLAs ; he fights with pALsTApr, who/allt 
 down ns if he were dead, and exit Douglas. Hot- 
 spur it uonnded and falls. 
 
 Hot. (), Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth : 
 I better brook the loss of brittle life, 
 Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; [flesh i 
 Tlicy wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my 
 But thought's the slave of life, and life, time's fool ; 
 And time, that takes survey of all the world, 
 Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy. 
 But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
 Lies on my tongue : — No, Percy, thou art dust, 
 
 And food for [Dies. 
 
 P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy: Fare thee well, 
 great heart! — 
 Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! 
 When that this body did contain a spirit, 
 .\ kingdom for it was too small a bound ; 
 I!ut now, two paces of the vilest earth 
 Is room enough : — This earth, that be.irs thee dead 
 Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
 If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 
 I should not make so dear a show of zeal : — 
 But let my favours hide thy mangled face ; 
 And, even in thy behalf, I 11 thank myself 
 For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
 Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven ! 
 Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave. 
 But not remember'd in thy epitaph ! — 
 
 [He sees Falstaff on the ground 
 What ! old acquaintance ! could not all this flesh 
 Keep in a little life ! Poor Jack, farewell ! 
 I could have better spar'd a better man. 
 O, I should liave a heavy miss of thee. 
 If I were much in love with vanity. 
 Death hath not struck so fat a deer today. 
 Though many dearer in this bloody fray ; — 
 Embowell'd will I see thee by and by : 
 Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Eiit. 
 
 Fal. [liising sIokIii.'] Embowell'd! if thou em- 
 bowel me to-day, I '11 give you leave to powder me, 
 and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas time to 
 counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me 
 scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no coun- 
 terfeit : To die is 'to be a counterfeit; for he is but 
 the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life of a 
 man; but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby 
 livetli, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and per- 
 fect image of life indeed. I'he better part of valour 
 is — discretion ; in the which better part I have saved 
 my life. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this gunpowder 
 Percy, though he be dead : How, if he should coun- 
 terfeit too, and rise ! I am afraid, he would prove the 
 better counterfeit. Therefore I '11 make him sure : 
 yea, and I U swear I killed him. Why may not he 
 rise, as well as I 1 Nothing confutes me but eyes, 
 and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah, [stabbing 
 him.'\ with a new wound in your thigh, come you 
 along with me. [Taiies Hoxspun on his back. 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John. 
 
 P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravelyhast thou 
 Thy maiden sword. [flesh'd 
 
 P.John. But, soft! whom have we here 1 
 
 Did you not tell me this fat man was dead 1 
 
 P. Hen, I did; I saw him dead, breathless and 
 
 Upon the ground. [bleeding 
 
 Art thou alive ? or is it phantasy 
 That plays upon our eye-sight 1 I pr'ythee, speak ; 
 We will not trust our eyes, without our ears : — 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st. 
 
 Fal. No, that's certain ; I am not a double man : 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 399 
 
 but if I be not Jack FalslafF, then am I a Jack. There 
 is Percy : [tln-oieing the bodu (lown.] if your father 
 will do me any honour, so ; if not, let him kill the 
 next Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, 
 I can assure you. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw thee 
 dead. 
 
 Fal, Didst thou? — Lord, lord, how this world is 
 given to lying ! — I grant you I was down, and out 
 of breath ; and so \vas he : but we rose both at an 
 instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. 
 If I maybe believed, so ; if not, let them, that should 
 reward valour, bear the sin upon their own heads. 
 I'll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound in 
 the thigh : if the man were alive, and would deny it, 
 I would make him eat a piece of my sword. 
 
 P.John. This is the strangest tale that e'er 1 heard. 
 
 P. ffc«. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. 
 Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back : 
 For my part, if a lie may do tliee grace, 
 rii gild it with the happiest terms I have. 
 
 [A retreat is sounded, 
 he trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours. 
 Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field, 
 To see what friends are living, who are dead. 
 
 [Exeunt Prince Henhy and Puince John. 
 
 Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that 
 rewards me, God reward him ! If 1 do grow great, 
 ri! grow less ; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and 
 live cleanly, as a nobleman should do. 
 
 [Eiit, bearing off the bodi). 
 
 SCENE V^—Anotherpartofthejieid. 
 
 The trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince 
 Henry, Prince John, Westmoreland, a/icf others, 
 with Worcester and Vernon, prisoners. 
 K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. — 
 
 Ill-spirited Worcester ! did we not send grace. 
 
 Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ? 
 
 And would'st thou turn our ofi^ers contrary? 
 
 Si 
 
 iNlisuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust? 
 Three knights upon our party slain to-day, 
 A noble earl, and many a creature else. 
 Had been alive this hour, 
 If, like a christian, thou hadst truly borne 
 Betwixt our armies true intelligence. 
 
 JVor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to ; 
 And I embrace this fortune patiently, 
 Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 
 
 K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon 
 Other offenders we will pause upon. — [too : 
 
 [Ereunt W'orcester and Vernon, guarded 
 How goes the field? 
 
 P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, wheti he saw 
 The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, 
 The noble Percy slain, and all his men 
 Upon the foot of fear, — fled with the rest , 
 And, falling from a hill, he was so bruis'd. 
 That the pursuers took him. At my tent 
 The Douglas is ; and t beseech your grace, 
 I may dispose of him. 
 
 A'. Hen. With all my heart 
 
 P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you 
 This honourable bounty shall belong: 
 Go to tlie Douglas, and deliver him 
 Up to his pleasure, ransomeless, and free : 
 His valour, shewn upon our crests to-day, 
 Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, 
 Even in the bosom of our adversaries, [power. 
 
 A'. Hen. Then this remains, — that we divide our 
 You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, 
 Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed. 
 To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop, 
 Who, as we hear, are busily in arras : 
 TMyself, — and you, son Harry, — will towards Wales, 
 To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March. 
 Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 
 Meeting the check of such another day : 
 And since this busine?;s so fair is done, 
 I Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt, 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY IV. 
 
 The first edition of this play was the quarto of 1600, in which entered at Stationers' Hall. August S3, 1600. 
 
 year it was twice reprinted in the same I'orm. As it is men- The transaciinns compriseJ in the history takeup almost nine 
 
 tioned in Nares' Wits' Treasury, IS'JH, and contains an allu- years. The action commences with the account of Hotspur's 
 
 sion to the murder of the sons of Amuraih the third by their being defeated and killed, 1403 ; and closes with the death of 
 
 hrnfhpp Mahrtnipt. which tnnt nlnp(> K"ph. T.^')f^ ■ fhp tratrcHv I Ipiirv fht» r'ntiprS ^nA itiu fln«nnnt;».. ^C n .w_ i.':.-.i. 
 
 llUlieU III i^UlCS " lia l rtrilSUi;. , It/'JU, .mu MriKiiiti:^ ail <iini- 
 
 sion to the murder of the sons of Amuraih the ihird by their 
 brother Mahomet, which took place Feb, 15'J6 ; the tragedy 
 mual have been written in the intervening period. It was 
 
 „„ _ric<.i.i-u ouu Kiiieu, i-Hjj ; aau ciosc-s with tne death oi 
 Henry the lourth, and the coronation of Henry the fifth. 
 1412—13. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henry the Fourth. 
 Henry, Prince of Wales, afterwards 
 
 King Henry V., 
 Thomas, Duke of Clarence, 
 Prince John of Lancaster, afteru-ards ^his sons, 
 
 (t Henry V.) Duke o/ Bedford, 
 Prince Hum ph r ey ofG loster, after wa rds 
 
 (2 Henry V.) Dufce o/Gloster, 
 Earl of Warwick, 1 
 
 Earl OF Westmoreland, / o/'tfte King's party. 
 GowER, Harcourt, 1 
 
 Earl of Northumberland, "^ 
 
 Scroop, Archbishop of York, {^enemies to 
 
 Lord Mowbray, Lord Hastings, f the King. 
 Lord Bardolph, Sir John Colevile,J 
 
 Lord Chief Justice of the King's Beiich, 
 
 A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice. 
 
 Travers OTtd Morton, domestics of Northumberland. 
 
 Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page. 
 
 PoiNS and Peto, attendants on Prince Henry. 
 
 Shallow and Silence, country jiist ices, 
 
 Davy, servant to Shallow. 
 
 Mouldy. Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf, 
 
 Fang and Snare, sheriff^'s officers, [recruits, 
 
 Ruinour, A Porter. 
 
 A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue. 
 
 Lady Northumberland. Lady Percy. 
 
 Hostess Quickly. Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 Lords and other Attendayits ; Officers, Soldiers, Mei' 
 
 senger, Drawers, Beadles, Grooms, &;c, 
 
 SCENE,— England. 
 
400 KING HENRY IV.— PART I! 
 
 INDUCTION. 
 
 Warkworth. — Before Noithumberland's Cattle. 
 
 Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. 
 Rum. Open your ears: Forwluch of you will stop 
 The vent of hearing, when loud Rumour spcalis ^ 
 J, from the orient to the drooping west, 
 INIalcing the wind my post-horse, stili unfold 
 The acts commenced on this ball of earth ; 
 Upon my tongues continual slanders ride ■, 
 The which in every language I pronounce, 
 Stuifing the ears of men with false reports. 
 I speak of peace, while covert enmity. 
 Under tlie smiie of safety, wounds llie world : 
 And who but Rumour, who but only 1, 
 Slake fearful musters, and prepar'd defence ; 
 Whilst tile big year, swol'n with some other grief, 
 Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, 
 And no such matter ! Rumour is a pipe 
 Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures ; 
 And of so easy and so plain a stop. 
 That the blunt monster with uncounted heads. 
 The still-discordant wavering multitude. 
 Can play upon it. But what need I thus 
 INIy well-known body to anatomize 
 Among my household l Why is Rumour here 1 
 I run before king Harry's victory ; 
 Who, in a bloody field' by Shrewsbury, 
 Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops, 
 Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 
 Even with the rebels' blood. But vvliat mean I 
 To speak so true at first 1 my office is 
 To noise abroad, — that Harry Monmouth fell 
 Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword ; 
 And tliat the king before the Douglas' rage 
 Stoop'd liis anointed head as low as death. 
 This have 1 rumour'd through the peasant towns 
 Between that royal field of Shrewsbury 
 And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone. 
 Where Hotspur's father, old Nortliumberland, 
 Lies crafty -sick : the posts come tiring on, 
 And not a man of them brings other news 
 Tlian they have learn'd of me ; From Rumour's tongues 
 They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true 
 wrongs. [Eai(. 
 
 The king Is almost wounded to the death ; 
 And, in the fortune of my lord your son 
 Prince Harry slain outright 
 
 and both the Blunts, 
 
 ( 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— The same. 
 
 The Porter before the Gate ; Enter Lord Bardolpii. 
 Bard. Who keeps th*|ate here, ho ? — Where is the 
 Pint. What shall 1 say you are ! [earU 
 
 Bard. Tell thou the earl. 
 
 That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 
 
 Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the orchard ; 
 
 Please it your honour, knock but at the gate, 
 
 And he himself will answer. 
 
 Enter NORTHUMBEItLAND. 
 
 Bard. Here comes the earl. 
 
 North. What news, lord Bardolph 1 every minute 
 Should be the father of some stratagem : [now 
 
 The times are wild ; contention, like a horse 
 Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose. 
 And bears down all before him. 
 
 Bard. Noble earl, 
 
 1 bring you certain news from Shrewsbury, 
 
 North. Good, an heaven will ! 
 
 Bard. As good as heart can wish : — 
 
 Kill'd by the hand of Douglas : young prince .John, 
 And Westmoreland, and Slatl'ord, fled the field ; 
 And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir .lohn, 
 Is prisoner to your son : O, such a day. 
 So fought, so follow'd. and so fairly won. 
 Came not, till now, to dignify the times, 
 Since Ctesar's fortunes ? 
 
 North. How is this deriv'd ? 
 
 Saw you the field t came you from Shrewsbury 1 
 
 Bard. I spake with one. my lord, that came from 
 A gentleman well bred, and of good name, [thence ; 
 That freely render'd me these news for true. 
 
 North. Here comes my serv.int, Travers, whom I 
 On Tuesday last to listen after news. [sent 
 
 Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way ; 
 And he is furnish'd with no certainties. 
 More than he haply may retail from me. 
 
 Enter Travers. 
 North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come with 
 you ? I 
 
 Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me backf 
 With joyful tidings ; and, being better hors'd, i 
 
 Outrode me. After him, came, spurring hard, I 
 A gentleman almost forspent with speed, f 
 
 That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse : 
 He ask'd tlie way to Chester ; and of him 
 I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury. 
 He told me, that rebellion had bad luck. 
 And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold : 
 With that, he gave his able horse the head. 
 And, bending forward, struck his armed heels 
 Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
 Up to the rowel-head ; and starting so. 
 He seem'd in running to devour the way, 
 Staving no longer question. 
 
 North. Ha! Again. 
 
 Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold ? 
 Of Hotspur, coldspur 1 that rebellion 
 Had met ill luck ! 
 
 Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what ; — 
 
 If my young lord your son have not the day, 
 Upon mine honour, for a silken jjoint 
 I'll give mv barony : never talk of it. 
 
 North. VVhy should the gentleman, that rode by 
 Give then such instances of loss? [Travers, 
 
 Bard. Who, he 1 
 
 He was some hilding fellow that had stol'n 
 The horse he rode on ; and, upon my life. 
 Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. 
 
 Enter Morton. 
 
 North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf, 
 Foretels the nature of a tragic volume : 
 So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood {^ 
 
 Hath left a witness'd usurpation, 
 
 Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury 1 
 
 Mor. 1 ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord ; 
 Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask, i 
 To fright our party. 
 
 North. How doth my son, and brother 7 
 
 Thou trerablest ; and the whiteness in thy check 
 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
 Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless. 
 So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone. 
 Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night. 
 And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd 
 But Priam foufid the fire, ere he his tongue. 
 And I my Percy's death, ere thou report's! it. 
 

 >nwiiinniiii1ff'''V""'*''''|fflt'T;-''r''''7'''i'nr"'--"'"'i'"'''''''"^"''''^'- , -;i'^/->-.i'^m^uiiii^tf/jq.«;p,.j,Kuya^.ai>--)<',.e<n.Mi»iMt>^ 
 
ACT I.-SCENE I. 
 
 401 
 
 rhisthouwouWstsay -Your sond.fUhus and thus. 
 your brother thus : so fought the i>ob e Douglas : 
 3tonpiug mv greedy ear wi.h the.r bold deed> . 
 Bui In the end, to stop mine ear indeed, 
 Ihou hast a sigh to blow away this p.a.se 
 Ending with-brothcr, son, and all are dead. 
 
 Tlor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet: 
 But for my lord your son, ^^ .^ ^^^^ 
 
 North. . . , .I I 
 
 See, what a ready tongue suspicion hall. 
 He that but fears the thing he wouUl not know. 
 Ha h by instinct, knowledge irom others eyes, 
 Vhltwhat he feafd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton; 
 Tell thou thv earl, his divination lies ; 
 And I will take it as a sweet disgrace 
 And make thee rich for doing me such wrong _ 
 M«r. You are too great to be by me gainsa.a . 
 Your spirit is loo true, your fears too certain. 
 
 AV<r Yet for all this, say not that Percy sdead 
 I see a stranse confession in tlime eve : 
 Thou shak'st thy head ; and hold'st it tear, or sin. 
 To speak a truth. If he be slam, say so ■ 
 The tongue offends not, that reports Ins death : 
 And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead ; 
 Not he, which says the dead is not alive. 
 Yet the first brlnger of unwelcome news 
 Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue 
 Sounds ever after .is a sullen beU, 
 Remember'd knoUing a departing triencl. 
 
 Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. 
 Mm: I am sorry, 1 should force you to believe 
 That, which I would to heaven 1 had not seen : 
 But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
 Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and otit-breath d, 
 To Harry aionmouth ; whose swift wrath beat down 
 The never- daunted Percy to the earth. 
 From whence with life he never more sprung up. 
 In few, his death (whose spirit lent a hre 
 Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,) 
 Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
 From the besttemper-d courage in his troops : 
 For from his metal was his party steel d ; 
 Which once in him abated, all the rest 
 Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. 
 And as the thing that's heavy in itseli. 
 Upon enforcement, flies with greatest speed ; 
 So did our men, heavy in Hotspur s loss, 
 Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear, 
 That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim. 
 Than did our soldiers, aiming at their saiety. 
 Fly from the field : Then was that noble \\ orcester 
 Too soon ta'en prisoner : and that furious Scot. 
 The bloody Douglas, whose well labouring sword 
 Had three times slain the appearance of the king, 
 'Gan vail his stomach, and did grace the shame 
 Of those that turn'd their backs ; and, in his tiight, 
 Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
 Is,— that^ho king hath won ; and hath sent out 
 A speedy power to encounter you, my lord. 
 Under the conduct of young Lancaster, 
 And Westmoreland : this is the news at lull. 
 
 North. For this I shall have timeenough to mourn. 
 In poison there is physic ; and these news. 
 Having been well, that would have made me sick. 
 Being sick, have in some measure made me well . 
 And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken d joints. 
 Like strengthless hinges, buckle under lile. 
 Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
 Out of his keeper's arms ; even so my limDs 
 'n'eakened with.gnef, being now enrag d^'h g"". 
 Are thrice themlelves: hence therefore, thou nice 
 crutch ; 
 
 A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel. 
 Must glole this hand : and hence, thou sickly quoif : 
 Thou art a guard too wanlon tor the head, 
 Which princes, fiesh'd wilh conquest, aim to hit. 
 Now bind mv brows wilh iron ; and approach 
 The ragged's't hour that time and spite daie bimg. 
 To frown upon the enraged Northumberland ! 
 Let heav'n kiss earth ! Now let not nature s hand 
 Keep the wild fiood confin'd ! let order die ! 
 And let this world no longer be a stage, 
 i To feed contention ina lingering act; 
 I But let one spirit of the hrsi-born Cain 
 Rei™ in all bosoms, that, each heart being set 
 On bloody courses, the rude scene may end. 
 And darkness be the burier of the dead . 
 
 7Vn. This strained passion dolh you wrong, my lora. 
 Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom Irom your 
 
 honour. 
 Mor. The lives of all your loving complices 
 Lean on your health ; the which, if you give o'er 
 To stormy passion, must perlorce decay. 
 You cast the event of war, my noble lord, 
 \ad summ'd the accountof chance, before you said,— 
 Let us make head. It was your presurmise, 
 That in the dole of blows your son might drop : 
 You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge. 
 More likely to fall in, than to get o er ; 
 You were advis'd, his flesh was capable 
 Of wounds, and scars ; and that his fonvard spmt 
 Would lift him where most trade of danger rang d ; 
 Yet did you say,-Go forth ; and none ot this, 
 Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
 The stifl'-borne action ; What hath then be alien. 
 Or what hath this bold enlerprize brought loith, 
 More than that being which was like to be ! 
 
 Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss. 
 Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas. 
 That, if we wrought our life, 'twas ten to one : 
 And vet we ventur'd, for the gain propos d 
 Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear d ; 
 And since we are o'erset, venture again. 
 Come, we will all put forth ; body, and goods. 
 
 Mor. 'Tis more than time : And, my most noble lord, 
 I hear for certain, and do speak the truth. 
 The gentle archbishop of York is up, 
 With well-appointed powers, he is a roan, 
 Who wilh a double surety binds his followers. 
 My lord your son had only but the corps 
 But shadows, and the shows of men, to figlit : 
 I For that same word, rebellion, did divide 
 ' The action of their bodies from their souls ; 
 And thev did fight with queasiness. constrain d 
 As men drink potions ; that Heir weapons only 
 Seem'd on our'side, but, fo. their spirits and souls, 
 This word, rebellion, itljad froze them up, 
 As fish are in a pond: But now the bishop 
 Turns insurrection 10 re igion:^ 
 Suppos'd sincere and holy in h.s tliought.. 
 He 's follow 'd both with body and with mind , 
 And doth enlarge his rising with the blood 
 Of fair King Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret s stones : 
 Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause; 
 Tells them, he doth bestride a bleeding land, 
 Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ; 
 And more, and less, do flock to follow him. 
 
 North. I knew of this before ; but. to speak truth. 
 This present grief had wiped it from my mind. 
 Go in with 'me ; and counsel every man 
 The aptest way for safety, and revenge : 
 Get posts, and letters, and make fnends with spe^ ; 
 Never so few, and never yet more need. l±.xe>int. 
 
 2C 
 
402 
 
 KING HENRY IV —PART II. 
 
 [. — London. A Street. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Enter Sir John Vai staff, with hit Page bearing 
 
 his sirorJ and huckler. 
 Fal. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my 
 
 witcr 1 
 
 Po»e. He said, sir, the water itself was a good 
 healthy water : but, for the laity that owed it, he 
 might have more diseases than lie knew for. 
 
 Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me : 
 The brain of this I'oolisli-compoiinded clay, man, is 
 not able to vent any thing that tends to laughter, 
 more than I invent, or is invented on me : I am not 
 only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other 
 men. 1 do here walk before thee, like a sow, that 
 hath overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the prince 
 put thee into my service for any other reason than 
 to set me off, why then I have no judgment. Thou 
 whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my 
 cap, than to wait at my heels. 1 was never manned 
 with an agate till now ; but I will set you neitlier in 
 gold nor silver, but in vile apparel, and send you 
 back again to your master, for a jewel ; the j»venal, 
 the prince your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. 
 I will sooner have a beard grow in the palm of 
 my hand, than he shall get one on his cheek ; and 
 yet he will not stick to say, his face is a face-royal: 
 God may finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss 
 yet ; lie'may keep it still as a face-royal, for a barber 
 shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he will 
 be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his fa- 
 ther was a bachelor. He may keep his own grace, 
 
 but he IS almost out of mine, I can assure hun. 
 
 What said master Dumbleton about the satin lor my 
 short cloak, and slops ! 
 
 Pa^e. He said, sir, you should procure him better 
 assurance than Bardolph : he would not take lus 
 bond and yours ; he liked not the security. 
 
 Fol. Let him be damned like the glutton ! may his 
 tongue be hotter !— A whoreson /Vchitophel I a ras- 
 cally yea- forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman in 
 hand, and then stand upon security !— Ihe whoreson 
 smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high shoes, 
 and bunches of keys at their girdles ; and it a man 
 is thorough with them in honest taking up, then 
 they must stand upon— security. I had as hef they 
 woiild put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer to stop it 
 with security. I looked he should have sent me two 
 and twenty yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and 
 he sends me security. Well, he may sleep in secu- 
 rity : for he hath the horn of abundance, and the light- 
 ness of his wife shines through it: and yet cannot 
 he see, though he have his own lantern to light him. 
 
 . Where's Bardolph'. 
 
 Pa<'e. He 's gone into Sinithfield to buy your wor- 
 ship a horse. 
 
 Fal. I bought him in Paul ;. and he '11 buy me a i 
 horse in Smitlifield : an I could get me but a wife in j 
 the stews, I were manned, horsed, aud wived. 
 Enter the Lonn Chief .Tusticf., and an Attendant. ] 
 Page. Sir, here conies the nobleman that committed 
 the prince for striking him about Bardolph 1 
 Fal. Wait close, I will not see him. 
 C/i. Just. What 's he that goes there 1 
 Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship. 
 Ch. Just. He that was in question for the robbery ? 
 Atten. He, my lord; but he hath since done good 
 service at Shrewsbury ; and, as I hear, is now going 
 with some charge to the lord .Tohn of Lancaster. 
 Ch.Just. What, to York! Call him back again. 
 Atten. Sir John Falstafl'! 
 Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf. 
 
 P,i"'e. 'V'oumust speak louder, my master is deaf- 
 Ch'!just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of any 
 thing good.— Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must 
 speak with him. 
 
 Atten. Sir John, , , i. 
 
 Ful. What! a young knave, and beg I Istherenol 
 wars 1 is there not employment ] Doth not the king 
 lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers ri'hougb 
 it he a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse 
 shame to beg tlian to be on the worst side, were it 
 worse than tlie name ofrebellioncan tellhow to make it. 
 Atlen. 'i'ou mistake me, sir. 
 
 Ful. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man 1 
 setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, 1 had 
 lied in my throat if I had said so. , , j 
 
 ^((eii. 1 pray you, sir, then set your knighthood and 
 your soldiership aside ; and give me leave to tell you, 
 you lie in your throat, if you say I am any other than 
 an honest man. ■ i .i . 
 
 Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay aside that 
 which grows to me ! If thou get'st any leave of me, 
 hang me ; if thou takest leave, thou wert better be 
 hanged : You hunt-counter, hence ! avaunt ! 
 Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 
 Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 
 Fal. My good lord !— God give your lordship good 
 time of day. I ain glad to see your lordship abroad : 
 I heard say, your lordship was sick : I hope, your lord- 
 ship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship, though 
 not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age 
 in you, some relish of the saltness of time ; and I 
 most humbly beseech your lordship, to have areverend 
 
 care of your health, 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your ex- 
 pedition to Shrewsbury. 
 
 Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear, his majesty 
 is returned with some discomfort from Wales. 
 
 Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty :— You would 
 not come when I sent for you. 
 
 Ful. And 1 hear moreover, his highness is fallen 
 into this same whoreson apoplexy. 
 
 Ch.Just. Well, heaven mend him! I pray, let me 
 speak with you, . , r i 
 
 Ful. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of le- 
 thargy, an't please your lordship ; a kind of sleeping 
 in the blood, a whoreson tingling. 
 
 Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it is. 
 
 Ful. It hath its original from much guef; from 
 
 study, and perturbation of the brain : I have read the 
 
 cause of his effects in Galen ; it is a kind of deafness. 
 
 Ch. Just. I think, you are fallen into the disease ; 
 
 for you hear not what I say to you. 
 
 Fal. Very well, my lord, very well : rather, an't 
 please you, it is the disease of not listening, the ma- 
 lady of not marking, that I am troubled withal. 
 
 Ch.Just. To punish you by the heels, would amend 
 ! the attention of your ears ; and I care not, if I do 
 1 become your physician. 
 
 Fal. 1 am as poor as Job, my lord ; but not so pa- 
 tient : your lordship may minister the potion of im- 
 prisonment to me, in respect of poverty ; but how I 
 I should be your patient to follow your prescriptions, 
 1 the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or, in- 
 deed, a scruple itself. 
 
 ' Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters 
 against you for your life, to come speak with me. 
 
 Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel 
 in the laws of this land-service, I did not come. 
 
 Ch.Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you live in 
 great infamy, 
 
 Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live 
 in less. 
 
ACT 1. -SCENE III. 
 
 403 
 
 C*. Just. Your means are very slender, and your 
 waste is great. 
 
 Fut. I would it were otherwise ; I would my means 
 were greater, and mv waist slenderer. 
 
 Ch.Just. You have misled the youthful prince. 
 
 Fal. The young piince hath misled me: I am the 
 fellow with the great belly, and he my dog. 
 
 Ch.Jiiit. Well. I am loath to gall a new-healed 
 wound ; your day's service at Shrewsbury hatli a 
 little gilded over your night's exploit on Gads hill : 
 you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er- 
 posting that action. 
 
 Fal. My lord ? 
 
 Ch.Just. But since all is well, keep it so: wake 
 not a sleeping wolf. 
 
 Fal. To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox. 
 
 Ch.Just. What! you are as a candle, the better 
 part burnt out. 
 
 Fal. A wassel candle, my lord ; all tallow : if I 
 did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth. 
 
 Ch.Just. There is not a white hair on your face. 
 but should have his effect of gravity. 
 
 Fal. His effect of giavy, gravy, gravy. 
 
 Ch. Just. You follow the young pricce up and 
 down, like his ill angel. 
 
 Fal. Not so. my lord ; your ill angel is light ; but, I 
 hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without 
 weighing : and yet, in some respects, I grant. 1 can- 
 not go, I cannot tell : Virtue is of so little regard in 
 these coster-monger times, that true valour is turned 
 bear-herd : Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath 
 his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings : all the 
 other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this 
 age shapes them, are not worth a gooseberry. Y'ou, 
 that are old, consider not the capacities of us that are 
 young : you measure the heat of our livers with the 
 bitterness of your galls ; and we that are in the va- 
 ward of our youth, 1 must confess, are wags too. 
 
 Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the 
 scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the 
 characters of age ? Have you not a moist eye ? a dry 
 bandl a yellow cheek"! a white beard ] a decreasing 
 leg? an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken 1 
 your wind short ? your chin double ? your wit single f 
 and every part about you blasted with antiquity I and 
 will you yet call yourself young ! Fye, fye, fye, sir 
 John! 
 
 Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock 
 in the afternoon, with a white head, and something 
 a round belly. For my voice, — I have lost it with 
 hollaing, anil singing of anthems. To approve my 
 youth further, I will not : the truth is. I am only old 
 in judgment and understanding ; and he that will 
 caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me 
 the money, and have at him. For the box o' the ear 
 that the prince gave you, — he gave it like a rude 
 prince, and you took it like a sensible lord. I have 
 checked him for it ; and the young lion repents : 
 marry, not in ashes, and sackcloth ; but in new silk, 
 and old sack. 
 
 Ch.Just. \Vell, heaven send the prince a better 
 companion ! 
 
 Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince ! 
 X cannot rid my hands of him. 
 
 Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and 
 prince Harry : I hear, you are going with lord John 
 of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl of 
 Northumberland. 
 
 Fal. Y'ea ; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it. 
 But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace 
 at home, that our armies join not in a hot day ! for, 
 by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and I 
 
 mean not to sweat extraordinarily : if it be a hut day, 
 an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I 
 miglit never spit white agam. There is not a dan- 
 gerous action can peep out his head, but I am thrust 
 upon it: Well, 1 cannot last for ever; But it was al- 
 ways yet the trick of our English nation, if they have 
 a good thing, to make it too common. If you will 
 needs say, I am an old man, you should give me rest. 
 I would to God, my name were not so terrible to the 
 enemy as it is. I were better to be eaten to death 
 with rust, tlian to be scoured to nothing with perpe- 
 tual motion. 
 
 Ch.Just. Well, be honest, be honest; And God 
 bless your expedition ! 
 
 Fal. Will your lordship iend me a thousand pound, 
 to furnish me forth ? 
 
 Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny ; you are too 
 impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well: Commend 
 me to my cousin Westmoreland. 
 
 l^Exeunl Chief Justice and Attendant 
 
 Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. — 
 A man can no more separate age and covetousness, 
 than he can part young limbs and lechery : but the 
 gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other ; 
 and so both the degrees prevent my curses. — Boy! — 
 
 Page. Sir! 
 
 Fal. What money is in my purse 1 
 
 Page. Seven groats and two-pence. 
 
 Fal. lean get no remedy against this consumption 
 of the purse : borrowing only lingers and lingers it 
 out, but the disease is incurable.— Go bear this letter 
 to mv lord of Lancaster ; this to the prince ; this to 
 the earl of Westmoreland ; and this to old mistress 
 Ursula, whom! have weekly sworn to marry since 1 
 perceived the first white hair on my chin: About it; 
 vou know where to find me. [ Ei it Page.] A pox of 
 this cout ! or, a gout of this pox ! for the one, or the 
 other, phiys the rogue with my great toe. It is no 
 matter, if i do halt ; I have the wars for my colour, 
 and mv pension shall seem the more reasonable : A 
 good wit will make use of any thing ; I will turn dis- 
 eases to commodity. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 York. — .i Room in the Archbishop's Palace. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop of Y'ork, the Lords Hastings, 
 Mowbray, and BAnooLPH. 
 
 Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known 
 our means ; 
 And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, 
 SpeaTc plainly your opinions of our hopes : — 
 And first, lord marshal, what say you to it ? 
 
 Moub. I well allow the occasion of our arms ; 
 But gladly would be better satisfied, 
 How, in our means, we should advance ourselves 
 To look with forehead bold and big enough 
 Upon the power and puissance of the kin». 
 
 Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file 
 To five and twenty thousand men of choice ; 
 .\nd our supplies live largely in the hope 
 Of great Northumberland, whose bosom burns 
 With an incensed fire of injuries. 
 
 Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, standeth 
 Whether our present five and twenty thousand [thus ; 
 May hold up head without Northumberland. 
 
 Hast. W'ith him, we may. 
 
 Bard. Ay, marry, there 's the point , 
 
 But if without him we be thought too feeble. 
 My judgment is, we should not step too far 
 Till we had his assistance by the hand : 
 For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this, 
 2 C 2 
 
404 
 
 KING HENRY IV.—PART II. 
 
 Conjecture, expectation, andsunnise 
 
 Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted. 
 
 Arch. *Tis very true. lord Bardolph ; for, indeed, 
 It was young Ilot'^pur's case al Shrewsbury. 
 
 Brtrd.It was, my lord ; who lin'd himself with hope, 
 Eating the air on promise of supply, 
 Flattering himself with project of a power 
 Much smaller tlian the smallest of his thoughts: 
 And so, with great imagination, 
 Proper to madmen, led his powers to death, 
 And, winking, leap'd into destruction. 
 
 Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did iiurt, 
 To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. 
 
 Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war ; — 
 Indeed the instant action, (a cause on foot,) 
 Lives so in hope, as in an early spring 
 We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, 
 Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair, 
 That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, 
 We first survey the plot, then draw the model ; 
 And when we see the figure of the house, 
 Then must we rate the cost of the erection: 
 Which if we find outweighs ability. 
 What do we then, but draw anew the model 
 In fewer offices; or, at least, desist 
 To build at all t Much more, in this great work, 
 (Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down, 
 And set another up,) should we survey 
 The plot of situation, and the model ; 
 Consent upon a sure foundation ; 
 Question surveyors ; know our own estate, 
 How able such a work to undergo. 
 To weigh against his opposite ; or else. 
 We fortify in paper, and in figures, 
 Using the names of men, instead of men : 
 Like one, that draws the model of a house 
 Beyond his power to build it ; who, lialf through, 
 Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost 
 A naked subject to the weeping clouds. 
 And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 
 
 ////s^ Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth,) 
 Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd 
 The utmost man of expectation ; 
 I think, we are a body strong enough. 
 Even as we are, to equal with the king. [sand? 
 
 Bard. What! is the king but five and twenty thou- 
 Hiist. To us, no more ; nay, not so much, lord Bar- 
 Tor his divisions, as the times do brawl. [dolph. 
 Are m three heads ; one power against the French, 
 And one against Glendower ; perforce, a third 
 Must take up us : So is the unfirra king 
 In three divided ; and his coffers sound 
 With hollow poverty and emptiness. 
 
 Arch. That he should draw his several strengths 
 And come against us in full puissance, [together, 
 Need not be dreaded. 
 
 Hiist, If he should do so. 
 
 He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh 
 Baying him at his heels : never fear that. 
 
 Bard Who, is it like, should lead his forces hither? 
 Hfist. The duke? of Lancaster, and Westmoreland : 
 Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth : 
 But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
 I have no certain notice. 
 
 Arch. Let us on ; 
 
 And publish the occasion of our arms. 
 The commonwealth is sick of their own choice. 
 Their over-greedy love hath surfeited: — 
 An habitation giddy and unsure 
 Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 
 O thou fond many ! with that loud applause 
 Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke, 
 
 Before he was what thou would'st have him be? 
 And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, 
 Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, 
 That thou provok'st thyself to cast him up. 
 So, so, thou common dog, didst thou disgorge 
 Thy glutton bosom of the royal Kichaid ; 
 And now thou would'st eat thy dead vomit up. 
 And howl'st to find it? V\ hat trust is in these times'* 
 They that, when Richard liv'd, would have him die. 
 Are now become enamour'd on his grave : 
 Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head, 
 M'lien through proud London he came sighing on 
 After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
 Cry'st now, earth, yield us that k'ut^ again. 
 And take thou this! O thoughts of men accurst! 
 Past, and to come, seems best ; things present, worst, 
 
 I^hnvb. Shall we go draw our numbers, and set on? 
 
 ii«st. Weare time's subjects, andtime bids be gone. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IL 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Street, 
 
 and 
 
 Enter Hostess; Fang, and his Boy, with her ; 
 Sfi ARE J olhwiiig. 
 
 Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action? 
 
 Faiig. It is entered. 
 
 Heat. Where is your yeoman? Is it a lusty yeo- 
 man ? will a" stand to 't ? 
 
 Fuuir. Sirrah, wliere's Snare? 
 
 Hoat. O lord, ay : good master Snare. 
 
 Snare. Here, here. 
 
 fang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff. 
 
 flost. Yea, good master Snare; I have entered him 
 and all 
 
 Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives, for 
 he will stab. 
 
 Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him ; be stabbed 
 me in mine own house, and that most beastly : in 
 good faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, ifhis 
 weapon be out : he will foin like any devil ; he will 
 spare neither man, woman, nor child. 
 
 Fang. If I can close with him, I care not for his 
 thrust. 
 
 Host. No, nor I neither : I'll be at your elbow. 
 Fang. An 1 but list him once ; an a' come but 
 within my vice : — 
 
 Host. 1 am undone by his going; I warrant you, 
 he's an infinitive thing upon my score;- — Good master 
 Fang, hold him sure ; — good master Snare, let him 
 not 'scape. He comes continuautly to Pie-corner, 
 (saving your manhoods,) to buy a saddle ; and he's 
 indited to dinner at the lubbar's head in Lumberi- 
 street, to master Smooth's the silkman : I pray ye, 
 since my exion is entered, and my case so openly 
 known to the world, let him be brought in to his an- 
 swer. A liundred mark is a long loan fnr a poor lone 
 woman to bear : and I have borne, and borne, and 
 borne ; and have been fubbed oft", and fubbed off, 
 and fubbed off. from this day to that day, that it is 
 a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in 
 such a dealing ; unless a woman should be made an 
 ass, and a beast, to bear every knave's wrong. 
 
 Enter Sir John Fai.staff, Page, and Bahdolph, 
 Yonder he comes ; and that arrant malmsey-nose 
 knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do your 
 offices, master Fang, and master Suare ; do me, do 
 me, do me your offices. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 405 
 
 Fov., How now 1 whose mare's dead 1 what's the 
 matter ? 
 
 Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mistress 
 Quickly- 
 
 /•'.j(."Away, varlets! — Draw, Bardolph ; cut me 
 off the villain's head ; throw the quean in the channel. 
 
 Hi<U. Throw nie iu the channel ^ I '11 throw thee 
 inthechanneh Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly 
 rogue! — Murder, murder! O thou honey-suckle vil- 
 lain ! wilt thou kill tiod's officers, and the king's ! O 
 thou honey-seed rogue ! thou art a honey-seed ; a 
 man riueller, and a woman queller. 
 
 Fill. Keep them off, Bardolph- 
 
 Fiiiig. A rescue ! a rescue! 
 
 Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two — Thou 
 wo't, wo't thou ! thou wo't, wo'tthou 1 do, do, thou 
 rogue! do, thou, heinp-secd ! 
 
 Fill. Away, you scullion ! you rampallian ! you 
 fustilarian ! I'll tickle your catastrophe. 
 
 Euter the Lohd Chief .Tiistice, attended. 
 
 C/i.Jusf. What's the matter! keep the peace here, ho! 
 
 Hmi. Good my lord, be good to me ! 1 beseech 
 you, stand to me ! [iog here ! 
 
 Ch.Jtut. Hownow,sir Johnl what, are you brawl- 
 Doth this become your place, your time, and business! 
 ■i'ou should have been well on your way to ^'ork. — 
 Stand from him, fellow ! Wherefore hang'st thou on 
 him ! 
 
 Host. O, my most worshipful lord, an't please 
 your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and 
 ne is arrested at my suit. 
 
 Ch.Just. For what sum? 
 
 Ho>l. It is more than for some, my lord ; it is for 
 all, all I have : he hath eaten me out of house and 
 hoine ; he hath put all my substance into that fat 
 belly of his ^ — but I will have some of it out again, 
 or I'll ride thee o'nights, like the mare. 
 
 Fal. I thmk, I am as like to ride the mare, if I 
 have any vantage of ground to get up. 
 
 Ch..Jusl. How comes this, sir .lohn? Fye! what 
 man of ^ood temper would endure this teinpest of 
 exclamation 1 Are you not ashamed, to enforce a poor 
 widow to so rough a course to come by her own ? 
 
 Fa!. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ? 
 
 Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man. thyself, 
 and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a 
 parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber, at 
 the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday 
 in Whitsun-week, when the prince broke thy head 
 for liking his father to a singing-man of Windsor ; 
 thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy 
 wound, to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife. 
 Canst thou deny it 1 Did not gnodwife Keech. the 
 butcher's wife, come in then, and call me gossip 
 Quickly I coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar ; 
 telling us, she had a good dish of prawns ; whereby 
 thou didst desire to eat some ; whereby I told thee 
 they were ill for a green wound? And didst thou 
 not, when she was gone down stairs, desire me 
 to be no more so familiarity with such poor people ; 
 saying, that ere long they should call me madam ? 
 And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee 
 thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath ; 
 deny it, if tiiou canst. 
 
 Fai. My lord, this is a poor mad soul: and she 
 says, up and down the town, that her eldest son is 
 like you : she hath been in good case, and, the truth 
 is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these foolish 
 officers, I beseech you, I may have redress against 
 them. 
 
 Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted 
 
 with your manner of wrenching the true cause the 
 false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng 
 of words that come with such more than impudent 
 sauciness from you, can thrust me from a level con- 
 sideration ; you have, as it appears to me, practised 
 upon the easy -yielding spirit of this woman, and made 
 her serve your uses both in purse and person. 
 
 Hi<st. Vea, in troth, my lord. 
 
 Ch. Just. Pr'ythee, peace : — Pay her the debt you 
 owe her, and unpay the villany you have done with 
 lier ; the one you may do with sterling money, and 
 the other with current repentance- 
 
 Fal. My lord. 1 will not undergo this sneap without 
 reply- You call honourable boldness, impudent sau- 
 ciness : if a man will make court'sy, and say nothing, 
 he is virtuous ; No, my lord, my humble duty re- 
 membered, I will not be your suitor ; I say to you, 
 I do desire deliverance from these officers, being upon 
 hasty employment in the king's affairs. 
 
 Ch. Just. Vou speak as having power to do wrong, 
 but answer in the effect of your reputation, and sa- 
 tisfy the poor woman- 
 
 Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Taking her aside. 
 
 Enter GowEn. 
 
 Ch. Just. Now, master Gower : What news? 
 
 Giiic. Theking.mylord.andHarryprinceof Wales 
 Are near at hand : the rest the paper tells, 
 
 Fal. As I am a gentleman ; 
 
 Host. Nay, you said so bt-fue. 
 
 Ful. As i am a gentleman ; Come, no more 
 
 words of it. 
 
 Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must 
 be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of 
 my dining-chambers. 
 
 Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and 
 for thy walls, — a pretty slight drollery, or the story 
 of the prodigal, or the German hunting in water- 
 work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings, 
 and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound 
 if tliou canst. Come, an it were not for thy humours, 
 tlieie is not a better wench in England. Go, wash 
 thy face, and draw thy action : Come, thou must not 
 be in this humour with me; dost not know me ? 
 Come, come, I know thou wast set on to this. 
 
 Hmt. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty 
 nobles ; i'faith I am loath to pawn my plate, in good 
 earnest, la. 
 
 Fal. Let it alone ; I'll make other shift : you'll be 
 a fool still. 
 
 Host. V\'ell, you shall have it, though I pawn my 
 gown. I hope, you'll come to supper : You'll pay 
 me altogether ? 
 
 Fal. Will I live?— Go, with her, with her; [to 
 BARnoLPH.] hook on, hook on. 
 
 Host. Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you at 
 supper ? 
 
 Ful. No more words, let's have her. 
 
 [Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers, 3f Page. 
 
 Ch. Just. I have heard better news. 
 
 Fal. What's the news, my good lord ? 
 
 Ch.Just. Where lay the king last night? 
 
 Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord. 
 
 Fal. I hope, my lord, all's well : What's the news, 
 my lord? 
 
 Ch. Just. Come all his forces back? 
 
 Gaw. No, fifteen hundred foot, five hundredhorse, 
 Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster, 
 Against Northumberland, and the archbishop. 
 
 Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble 
 lord? 
 
 Ch. Just. Y'ou shall have letters of me presently . 
 
406 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART IT. 
 
 Corae, go along with me, good master Gower. 
 
 Fal. My lord ! 
 
 Ch.Just. What's the matter? 
 
 Fal. Master Gower, shall 1 entreat you with mc 
 to dinner ? 
 
 Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here : I thank 
 you, good sir John. 
 
 Ch. Jjist. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being 
 you are to take soldiers up m counties as you go. 
 
 Fat. Will you sup with me, master Gower 1 
 
 Ch.Just. What foolish master taught you these 
 manners, sir John ? 
 
 Fal, Master Gower, if they become me not, he was 
 a fool that taught them me. — -This is the right fenc- 
 ing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and so part fair. 
 
 Ch. Just. Now the lord liguten thee ! thou art a 
 great fool. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE lh~~The same. Another street. 
 
 Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
 
 P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary. 
 Poins. Is it come to that? I had thought weariness 
 durst not have attached one of so high blood. 
 
 P. Hen. 'Faith it does roe ; though it discolours 
 
 the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. 
 
 Doth it not shew vilely in me, to desire small beer? 
 
 Poins. Why, a prince should not be so loosely 
 
 studied, as to remember so weak a composition. 
 
 P. He7i. Belike then, my appetite was not princely 
 got ; for, by my troth, I do now remember the poor 
 creature, small beer. But, indeed, these humble con- 
 siderations make me out of love with my greatness. 
 What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name ? 
 or to know thy face to-morrow ? or to take note how 
 many pair of silk stockings thou hast ; viz. these, and 
 those thai were the peach-colour'd ones? or to bear 
 the inventory of thy shirts ; as, one for superfluity, 
 and one other for use ? — but that, the tennis court- 
 keeper knows better than I ; for it is a low ebb of 
 linen with thee, when thou keepest not racket there ; 
 as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest 
 of thy low-countries have made a shift to eat up thy 
 Holland : and God knows, whether those that baud 
 out the ruins of thy linen, shall inherit his kingdom : 
 but the midwives say, the children are not in the 
 fault ; whereupon the world increases, and kindreds 
 are mightily strengthened. 
 
 Poins. How ill it follows, after you have laboure^l 
 so hard, you should talk so idly? Tell me, how many 
 good young princes would do so, their fathers being 
 so sick as yours at this time is ? 
 
 P. Hen. Shall 1 tell thee one thing, Poins 1 
 Poins. Yes J and let it be an excellent good thing. 
 P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher 
 breeding than thine. 
 
 Poins. Go to ; I stand the push of your one thing 
 that you will tell. 
 
 P. Hen. Why, I tell thee, — it is not meet that I 
 should be sad, now my father is sick : albeit I could 
 tell to tljee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a 
 better, to call my friend,) I could be sad, aud sad 
 indeed too. 
 
 Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject. 
 P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in 
 the devil's book, as thou, and Falstaff, for obduracy 
 and persistency : Let the end try the man. But I 
 tell thee, — my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father 
 is so sick : and keeping such vile company as thou 
 art, hath in reason taken froui me all ostentation of 
 sorrow ? 
 
 Poin$. The reason ? 
 
 P. Hen. What would'st thou think of me, if I 
 should weep ? 
 
 Poiit.s. I would think thee a most princely hypocrite. 
 
 P. Hrn. It would be every man's thought ; aud 
 thou art a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks; 
 never a man's thought in the world keeps the road- 
 way better than thine : every man would think me 
 an hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most 
 worshipful thought, to tliink so? 
 
 Poin.-<, Why, because you have been so lewd, and 
 so much engraffed to Falstaff. 
 
 P. Hen. And to thee. 
 
 Pnins. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can 
 hear it with my own ears : the worst that they can say 
 of me is, that I am a second brother, and that I am 
 a proper fellow of my hands ; and those two things, 
 I confess, 1 cannot help. By the mass, here comes 
 Bardolph. 
 
 P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff: he had 
 him from me christian: and look, if tlie fat villain 
 have not transformed him ape. 
 
 Enter Bakdolph and Page. 
 
 Bard. 'Save your grace ! 
 
 P. Hen, And yours, most noble Bardolph ! 
 
 Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [to the Page.] yoa 
 bashful fool, must you be blushing ? wherefore blush 
 now ? What a maidenly man at arms are you become? 
 Is it such a matter, to get a pottle-pot's maidenhead? 
 
 Pt/o'''. He called me even now, my lord, tlirough a 
 red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face 
 from the window : at last, I spied his eyes; and, me- 
 thought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new 
 petticoat, and peeped through. 
 
 P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited ? 
 
 Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away' 
 
 Piii^p. Away, you rascally Alihea's dream, away* 
 
 P. Hen. Instruct us. boy : What dream, boy ? 
 
 Page. Marry, mv lord, Althea dreamed she was 
 delivered of a firebrand ; and therefore I call him 
 her dream, 
 
 P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation. 
 — There it is, boy. [Gives him moneif. 
 
 Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kep< 
 from cankers! — Well, there's sixpence to preserve 
 thee. 
 
 Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among 
 you, the gallows shall have wrong. 
 
 P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph? 
 
 Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's 
 coming to town ; there's a letter for you. 
 
 Poins. Delivered with good respect. — And hovr 
 doth the martlemas, your master ? 
 
 Bard. In bodily health, sir. 
 
 Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician ; 
 but that moves him not; though that be sick, it dies not. 
 
 P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with 
 me as my dog : and he holds his place ; for, look you, 
 how he writes. 
 
 Poins. [Reads.] John Falstaff, htight. Every 
 
 man must know that, as oft as lie has occasion to name 
 himself. Even like tliose that are kin to the king ; for 
 they never prick their finger, but they say, There is 
 some of the king's hlofd spilt : How comes that? says 
 he, that takes upon him not to conceive : the answer 
 is as ready as a borrower's cap , 1 am the king's pool 
 coH.S(/t, sir, 
 
 P. Hen. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they wiU 
 fetch it from Japhet. But the letter; — 
 
 Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of tht 
 king, nearest his father Jiarrif j>rinceoj' Wales, greetingk 
 —Why this is *a ccitificate. 
 
ACT IL— SCENE IV. 
 
 407 
 
 P, Hen. Peace ! 
 
 Poiiis, I uill imitate the honoiirnhle Roman in bre- 
 vity : he sure means brevity in breath ; short winded. 
 - — I commend me t'' thee, I comtneiui thee, and I leave 
 thee. Be not too famHiar with Poins ; for he misuses 
 thv favours so muclt, that he swears thoa art to marrif 
 his sister Nell. Jiepent at idle times as thou mafst, 
 and safarewed. 
 
 Thine, Ay uea and vo, (uhirh ts as much as to sau, 
 as thou useM him,) Jack Falsta'ff, with jny fa- 
 miliars ; John, U'th viu brothers and sisters; 
 and sir John with all Europe. 
 My lord. I will steep this letter lu sack, and make 
 him eat it. 
 
 P. Hen . That's to make him eat twenty of his words. 
 Butdoyou use me thus. Ned! mustl marry your sister? 
 
 Poins. JMay the wench have no worse fortune ! but 
 I never said so. 
 
 P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the 
 time ; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, 
 and mock us. — Is your master here in London 1 
 
 Bard. Ves, my lord. 
 
 P. Hen Where sups he? doth the old boar feed 
 in the old frank 1 
 
 Bard. At the old place, my lord ; in Eastcheap. 
 
 P. Hen. What company] 
 
 Pa^e- Ephesians, my lord ; of the old church. 
 
 P. Hen. Sup any women with him? 
 
 Page, None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, 
 and mistress Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 P. Hen. What pagan may that be ? 
 
 P<ige. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswo- 
 man of my master's. 
 
 P. Hen. Even such kin, as the parish heifers are 
 to the town bull. — Shall we steal upon them, Ned, 
 at supper? 
 
 Poths. I am your shadow, my lord ; I '11 follow you. 
 
 P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph ; — no 
 word to your master, that I am yet come to town : 
 There's for your silence. 
 
 Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 
 
 Page. And for mine, sir, — I will govern it. 
 
 P. Hen. Fare ye well ; go. [Eaci(»t Bahdolph and 
 Page] — This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. 
 
 l*oius. 1 warrant you, as common as the way be- 
 tween St. Alban's and London. 
 
 P. Hen. How miijht we see Falstaff bestow himself 
 to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen ? 
 
 Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons, and 
 wait upon him at his table as drawers. 
 
 P. Hen. From a god to a bull ? a heavy descen- 
 sionl it was Jove's case. From a prince to a pren- 
 tice? a low transformation ! that shall be mine: for, 
 in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the foliy. 
 Follow me, Ned. [EieuHt. 
 
 SCENE IIL—Warkworth. Before the Castle. 
 
 Enter Northumberland, Ladu Northumberland, 
 and Ladu Percv. 
 
 North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle daughter, 
 Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
 Put not you on the visage of the times. 
 And be. like them, to Percy troublesome. 
 
 Ladii N. 1 have given over, I will speak no more : 
 Do what you will ; your wi>dom be your guide. 
 
 North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; 
 And, but my ^oing, nothing can redeem if. 
 
 I.ad)j P. O, yet, for God'ssake, go not to these wars! 
 The time was, father, that you broke your word. 
 When you were more endear'd to it than now ; 
 When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry 
 
 Threw many a northward look, to see his father 
 
 Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain. 
 
 Who then persuaded you to stay at home? 
 
 There were two honours lost; yours, and your son's. 
 
 For yours, — may heavenly glory brighten it ! 
 
 For his, — it stuck upon him, as the sun 
 
 In the grey vault of heaven : and, by his light, 
 
 Did all the chivalry of England move 
 
 To do brave acts ; he was. indeed, the giass 
 
 \\ herein the noble youth did dress themselves. 
 
 He had nc legs, that practis'd not his gait : 
 
 And ppeaking thick, which nature made his blemish, 
 
 Became the accents of the valiant ; 
 
 For those that could speak low, and tardily, 
 
 Would turn their own perfection to abuse, 
 
 To seem like him : So that, in speech, in gait, 
 
 In diet, in affections of delight. 
 
 In military rules, humours of blood. 
 
 He was the mark and glass, copy and book, 
 
 That fashion'd others. And him. — O wondrous him! 
 
 miracle of men ! — him did you leave, 
 (Second to none, unseconded by vou,> 
 To look upon the hideous god of war 
 In disadvantage ; to abide a field. 
 
 Where nothing but the sound of Hotspurs name 
 Did seem defensible : — so you left him : 
 Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong. 
 To hold your honour more precise and nice 
 With others, than with him ; let them alone ; 
 The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong ; 
 Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers, 
 To-day might I. hanging on Hotspur's neck. 
 Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave. 
 
 Noith. Beshrew your heart, 
 
 Fair daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me» 
 With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
 But I must go, and meet with danger there ; 
 Or it will seek me in another place, 
 And find me worse provided. 
 
 Ladii N, O, fly to Scotland, 
 
 Till that the nobles, and the armed commons, 
 Have of their puissance made a little taste, 
 
 Lad II P. If they get ground and vantage of the king. 
 Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, 
 'I'o make strength stronger ; but, for all our loves. 
 First let them trv themselves : So did your son ; 
 He was so suffer'd ; so came I a widow ; 
 And never shall have length of life enough, 
 To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, 
 That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven, 
 For recordation to my noble husband. 
 
 Worth. Come. come, goin with me : 'tis withmy mind. 
 As with the tide swell'd up unto its height. 
 That makes a still stand, running neither way. 
 Fain would I go to meet the archbishop. 
 But many thousand reasons hold me back :■ 
 
 1 will resolve for Scotland ; there am 1, 
 
 Till time and vantage crave my company. [^Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE IV. — London. A Roojn in t/ie Boar's Head 
 Tavern, in Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter two Drawers, 
 
 1 Draw. What tlie devil hast thou brought there? 
 apple- Johns? thou know'st, sir John cannot endure 
 an apple-John. 
 
 i^ Druw. Mass, thou sayest true: The prince once 
 set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him, 
 there were five more sir Johns : and, putting off his 
 hat, said. 1 toitl now take mij leave of (Afsc six drtf, 
 Tonud, old, withered knights. It angered hmi to the 
 heart : but he hath forgot that. 
 
408 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 
 
 1 Driiu:. Why then, cover, and set them down : 
 And see if tliou canst find out Sneak's noise ; mis- 
 tress Tear-sheet would fain iiave some music. De- 
 spatch : — The room where they supped, is too hot; 
 they '11 come in straight. 
 
 2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince, and master 
 Poinsanon: and they will put on two of car jerkins, 
 and aprons; and sir John must not know of it: liar- 
 dolph hath brought word. 
 
 1 Draw, By the mass, here will be old utis : It will 
 be an excellent stratagem. 
 
 2 Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak. [Eaii. 
 
 Enter Hostess and Doll Tear-sheet. 
 
 Host. I'faith, sweat heart, methinks now you are 
 in an excellent good temperality : your pulsidge beats 
 as extraordinarily as heart would desire ; and your 
 colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose : But, 
 i'faith, you have drunk too much canaries ; and that's 
 a pj^rvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood 
 ere one can say, — What's this? How do you now? 
 
 Doll. Better than 1 was. Hem. 
 
 Host. Why, that's well snid ; a good heart's worth 
 gold. Look, here comes sir John. 
 
 Enter Falstaff, singing. 
 
 Fal. When Arthur first in court — Empty the Jor- 
 dan. — And was a worthif king: [£nt Drawer.] How 
 now, mistress Doll 1 
 
 Host. Sick of a calm : yea, good sooth. 
 
 Fal, So is all her sect ; an they be once in a calm, 
 they are sick. 
 
 Dull. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort 
 you give i>ie ! 
 
 Fal. You make fat rascals, mistress Doll. 
 
 D,iU. I make them ! gluttony aud diseases make 
 them ; I make them not. 
 
 Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you 
 help to make the diseases, Doll : we catch of you, 
 Doll, we catch of you ; grant that, my poor virtue, 
 grant that. 
 
 Doll. Ay, marry ; our chains, and our jewels. 
 
 Fal. Your brooches, peaiis, and owches ; — for to 
 serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know : To 
 come off the breech with his pike bent bravely, and 
 to surgery bravely ; to venture upon the charged 
 chambers bravely : 
 
 Doll. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang 
 yourself ! , 
 
 Host. By ray troth, this is the old fashion ; you 
 two never meet, but you fall to some discord : you are 
 both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts ; 
 you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. 
 What the good-year ! one must bear, and that must 
 be you : [to Doll] you are the weaker vessel, as 
 they say, the emptier vessel. 
 
 Doll. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge 
 full hogshead ! there's a whole merchant's venture of 
 Bourdeaux stuff in him ; you have not seen a hulk 
 better stuffed in the hold. — Come, I'll be friends with 
 thee. Jack : thou art going to the wars ; and whether I 
 shall ever see thee again, or no, there is nobody cares. 
 
 Re-enter Drawer. 
 
 Draw. Sir, ancient Pistol's below, and would speak 
 ■with you. 
 
 Doll. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let him not 
 come hither : it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : no, 
 by my faith ; I must live amongst my neighbours ; 
 I'll no swaggerers : I am in good name and fame 
 
 with the very best : — Shu t the door ; —there comes do 
 swaggerers here; I have not lived all this while, to 
 have swaggering now : — shut the door, I pray you. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ? — 
 
 Host. Pray you, pacify yourself. Sir John ; there 
 conies no swaggerers here. 
 
 Fal. Dost thou hear ; it is mine Ancient. 
 
 Host. Tilly-fally, sir John, never tell me ; youi 
 ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was 
 before master Tisick, the deputy, the other day ; 
 and, as he said to me, — it was no longer ago than 
 Wednesday last, — NeiffhlMntr Qniclil}/, says he ; — 
 master Dumb, our minister, was by then ; — Neigh' 
 hour Qnichlii, says he, 7-eceire those that are civil; 
 for, saith he. von are in an ill name ; — now he said 
 so, I can tell whereupon ; for, says he, yon are an 
 honest uonian, aud well thought on ; therefore take 
 heed what guests uoit receive: lieceiie, says he, n^ 
 
 swaggering companions. There comes none here ; 
 
 — you would bless you to hear what he said , — no, 
 I'll no swaggerers. 
 
 Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, 
 he ; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy grey- 
 hound : he will not swagger with a liarbary hen, if 
 her feathers turn back in any show of resistance. — 
 Call him up, drawer. 
 
 Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest 
 man my house, nor no cheater : But I do not love 
 swaggering ; by my troth, I am tlie worse, when one 
 says — swagger: feel, masters, how I shake ; look 
 you. I warrant you. 
 
 Doll. So you Jo, hostess. 
 
 Host. Do 1 ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere ao 
 aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers. 
 
 Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 
 
 Pist. 'Save you, sir John ! 
 
 Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I 
 charge you with a cup of sack : do you discharge 
 upon mine hostess. 
 
 P(5t. I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two 
 bullets. 
 
 Fal. She is pislol-proof, sir ; you shall hardly of- 
 fend her. 
 
 Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets : 
 I'll drink no more than will do me good, for no man's 
 pleasure, I. 
 
 Pist. Then to you, mistress Dorothy ; I will charge 
 you. 
 
 Doll. Charge me? 1 scorn you, scurvy companioa. 
 What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen 
 mate ! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat 
 for your master. 
 
 Pist. I know you, mistress Dorothy. 
 Doll. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, 
 away ! by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your 
 mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. 
 Away, you bottle-ale rascal ! you basket-hilt stale 
 juggler, you! — Since when, I pray you. sir! — What, 
 with two points on your shoulder ? much ! 
 Pist. I will murder your rufl" for this. 
 Fat. No more. Pistol ; I would not have you go 
 off here : discharge yourself of our company, Pistol. 
 Host. No, good captain Pistol ; not here, sweet 
 captain. 
 
 Doll. Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, 
 art thou not ashamed to be called— captain ? If cap- 
 tains were of my mind, they would truncheon you 
 out, for taking their names upon you before you have 
 earned them. You a captain, you slave I for what? 
 for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house ? — 
 He a captain ! Hang him, rogue ! He liveii upon 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV. 
 
 40.9 
 
 mouldy stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A captain ! 
 these villains will make the word captain as odious 
 as the word occupy ; which was an excellent good 
 word before it was ill-sorted : therefore captains had 
 need look to it. 
 
 Bard. Pray thee, go down, good ancient. 
 
 Fat, Hark thee hither, mistress Doll. 
 
 Piit. Not I: tell thee what, corporal Bardolph ; — 
 I could tear her ; — I'll be revenged on her. 
 
 Page. Pray thee, go down. 
 
 Pist. I'll see her damned first ; — to Pluto's damned 
 lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures 
 vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down! down, 
 dogs ! down faitors ! Have we not Hiren here f 
 
 Host, Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is very late, 
 i'faith : I be>eek you now. aggravate your choler. 
 
 Pist, These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack- 
 And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, [hornet. 
 
 ^VIuch cannot go but thirty miles a day, 
 Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals, 
 And 7'rojan Greeks ? nay, rather damn ihein with 
 King Ceiberus ; and let tire welkin roar. 
 Shall we fall foul for toys ? 
 
 Host. By my troth, captain, these are vei-y bitter 
 words. 
 
 Bard. Be gone, good ancient ; this will grow to a 
 brawl anon. 
 
 Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins ; 
 Have we not Hiren here? 
 
 Host. O' my word, captain ; there's none such 
 here. What the good-year ! do you think, I would 
 deny her? for God's sake, be quiet. 
 
 Pist, Then, feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis : 
 Come, give's some sack. 
 
 Sifortuna vie tormeiita, sperato we conteiita. — - 
 Fear we broadsides \ no. let the fiend give fire ; 
 Give me some sack; — and, sweetheart, lie thou there. 
 l^Layi/ig down his sicord. 
 Come we to full points here; and are et cetera s nothing? 
 
 Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 
 
 Pist, Sweet knight, I kiss thyneif: What! we 
 have seen the seven stars. 
 
 Doll. Thrust him down stairs ; I cannot endure 
 such a fustian rascal. 
 
 Pist. Thrust him down stairs! know we not Gal- 
 loway nags 1 
 
 Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat 
 shilling : nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, 
 he shall be nothing here. 
 
 Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 
 
 Pist, What ! shall we have incision 1 shall we 
 
 imbrue"! [Sitatchiug vp his strord. 
 
 Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days ! 
 Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds 
 Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say! 
 
 Host. Here's goodly stuff toward ! 
 
 Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 
 
 Doll. I pray thee, .Tack, I pray'thee, do not draw. 
 
 Fal. Get you down stairs. 
 
 [Draiiing^ and driving Pistol out. 
 
 HosU Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keep- 
 ing house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights. 
 
 So ; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up 
 
 your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons. 
 
 l^Kieunt Pistol and Bahdolph. 
 
 Doll. I pray thee. Jack, be quiet; the rascal is 
 
 gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you. 
 
 Hoit. Are you not hurt i' the groin ? metiiought, 
 
 he made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 
 
 Re'enter Bardolph. 
 Fal. Have you turned him out of doors ] 
 
 Bard, Ves. sir. The rascal 's drunk : you have 
 hurt him, sir. in the shoulder. 
 
 Fill- A rascal ! to brave me ! 
 
 Dull, Ah, you sweet little rogue, you. Alas, poor 
 ape, how thou swcat'st ! Come let me wipe thy face ; 
 — comeon.you whoreson chops:- Ah, ro£:ue ! i'faith, 
 I love thee. Thou art as valorous as Hecior of Troy, 
 worth five of Agamemnon, and ten timei. better than 
 the nine worthies. Ah, villain ! 
 
 Fal. A rascally slave ! 1 will toss the rogue in a 
 blanket. 
 
 Doli. Do, if thou darest for thy heart : if thou 
 dost, I'll canvas thee between a pair of sheets. 
 
 Enter Mtisic. 
 Page. The music is come, sir. 
 Fal. Let them play ; — Play, sirs. — Sit on my knee, 
 Doll. A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue Hed from 
 me like quicksilver. 
 
 Doll. V faith, and thou followedst him like a 
 church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew 
 boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting o' days, and 
 foining o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body 
 for heaven l 
 
 Enter behind, Phince Hexrv and Poins, 
 disguised like drawers. 
 Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like a death's 
 head : do not bid me remember mine end. 
 Doll. Sin-ah, what humour is the prince of? 
 Fat. A good shallow young fellow: he would have 
 made a good pantler, he would have chipped bread 
 well. 
 
 Doll. They say, Poins has a good wit. 
 Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit 
 is as thick as Tewksbury mustard ; there is no moie 
 conceit in him, than is in a mallet. 
 
 Doll. Why does the prince love him so then? 
 Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness : and 
 he plays at quoits well ; and eats conger atid fennel , 
 and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons ; and 
 rides the wild mare with the boys ; and jumps upon 
 joint-stools; and swears with a good grace; and 
 wears his boot very smooth, like unto the sign of the 
 leg; and breeds no bate with telling of discreet sto- 
 ries, and such other gambol faculties he hath, that 
 shew a weak mind and an able body, for the which 
 the prince admits him : for the prince himself is such 
 another ; the weight of a hair will turn the scales 
 between their avoirdupois. 
 
 P. Hen. Would not this nave of awheel have his 
 ears cut off? 
 
 Poins, Let's beat hira before his whore. 
 P, Hen, Look, if the withered elder hath not his 
 poll clawed like a parrot. 
 
 Poms. Is it not strange, that desire should so many 
 years outlive performance? 
 Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 
 
 P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunc- 
 tion ! what says the almanac to that ? 
 
 Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his 
 man, be not lisping to his master's old tables ; his 
 note-book, his counsel-keeper. 
 
 Fal. Thou dost give me fiattering busses. 
 Doll, Nay, truly ; I kiss thee with a most constant 
 heart. 
 
 Fal. I am old, I am old. 
 
 Doll. I love tliee better than I love e'er a scurvy 
 young boy of them all. 
 
 Fal, What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? 1 shall 
 receive money on Thursday ; thou shall have a cap 
 to-morrow. A merry song, come ; it grows late, 
 we'll to bed, Thou'U forget me, when 1 ain gone. 
 
KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 
 
 410 
 
 Doll. By my Irotli tliou'lt set me a weeping, an tliou 
 sayest so : prove that ever I dress myself handsome 
 
 till thy return Well, hearken the eml. 
 
 Fttl. Some sack, Francis. 
 
 P. Hen. Poius. Anon, anon, sir. [Adrnurhig. 
 Fnl. Ha ! a bastard son of the king's ■! — And art 
 not thou Poins his brother? 
 
 P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, 
 what a life dost thou lead 1 
 
 Fal. A better than thou ; I am a gentleman, thou 
 art a drawer. 
 
 P. Hen. Very true, sir : and 1 come to draw you 
 out by the ears. 
 
 Hiist. C), the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my 
 troth, welcome to London.— Now the Lord bless that 
 sweet face of thine ! () .lesu , are you come from Wales ! 
 Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, 
 —by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art wel- 
 come. [Leiiniiiti his liiuiil ii;w« Doll. 
 Doll. How! you fat fool. 1 scorn you. 
 Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your re- 
 venge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not 
 the heat. 
 
 P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mme, you, how 
 vilely did you speak of me even now, before this 
 honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman ? 
 
 Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart, and so she is, 
 by my troth. 
 
 fn/. Didst thou hear me ? 
 
 P Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when 
 
 you ran away by Gads-hill : you knew. 1 was at your 
 
 back ; and spoke it on purpose, to try my patience. 
 
 Fal. No, no, no, not so ; 1 did not think thou 
 
 wa-st within hearing. 
 
 P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the wil- 
 ful abuse ; and then 1 know how to handle you. 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse. 
 P. Hen. Not! to dispraise me; and call me — 
 pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what 1 
 Fal. No abuse, Hal. 
 Poins. No abuse! 
 
 Fal No abuse, Ned, in the world ; honest Ned, 
 none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the 
 wicked might not fall in love with him : -in which 
 doing I have done ihe part of a careful friend and 
 a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks 
 for it. No abuse, Hal ; — none, Ned, none ;— no, 
 boys, none. 
 
 P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire 
 cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous 
 gentlewoman to close with us' Is she of the wicked 1 
 Is thine hostess here of the wicked 1 or is the boy of 
 the wicked '>. or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns 
 in his nose, of the wicked 1 
 
 Poiiis. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 
 Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph. irre- 
 coverable ; and his face is Lucifer's pnvy-kitchen, 
 where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For 
 the boy,— there is a good angel about him ; but the 
 devil outbids him too. 
 
 P. Hen. For the women, 
 
 Fal. For one of them,— she is in hell already, and 
 burns, poor soul ! For the other,— I owe her money ; 
 and whether she be damned for that, I know not. 
 Host. No, I warrant you. ,,.,., 
 Fal. No, 1 think, thou art not ; I think, thou art 
 nuit for that: Marry, there is another indictment upon 
 thee for sufi'ering flesh to be eaten in thy house con- 
 trary to the law ; for the which, I think , thou wilt h-jwl. 
 Host. All victuallers do so: Whafsajointof mut- 
 ton or two in a whole Lent ? 
 P. Hen. You, gentlewoman, 
 
 Doll. What savs your grace ? 
 Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels 
 against. , 
 
 Hesi. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the 
 door there, Francis. 
 
 Enter Pf.to. 
 P. Hen Peto, how now ? what news ? 
 Peio. The king your father is at Westminster; 
 And there are twenty weak and wearied posts, 
 Come from the north : and, as I came along, 
 1 met, and overtook, a dozen captains. 
 Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, 
 And asking every one for sir .lohn Falstafl. 
 
 P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, 1 feel me much to blame. 
 So idly to profane the precious time ; 
 When tempest of commotion, like the south 
 Borne v^ith black vapour, doth begin to melt, 
 .And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
 Give me my sword, and cloak:— Falstafl', good night. 
 [Eiennt P. HiNRV, PoiNS, Ptro, and BjitnOLrH. 
 Fal. Now conies in the sweetest morsel of the night, 
 and we must hence, and leave it unpicked. [A'liucfi- 
 111^' heard.] More knocking at the door ? 
 He-enter BAnnoLPH. 
 
 How now? what's the matter? 
 
 Burd. You must away to court, sir, presently; a 
 dozen captains stay at door for you. 
 
 Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.} — 
 Farewell, hostess ; — farewell, Doll. — You see, my 
 good wenches, how men of merit are sought after : the 
 undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is 
 calledon. Farewell, good wenches: H'Ibenotsent 
 away post, I will see you again ere I go. 
 
 Doll. 1 cannot speak ;— H' my heart be not ready 
 to burst ;— well, sweet .lack, have a care of thyself. 
 
 Fal. Farewell, farewell. [Fi. Falst.iff * Bard. 
 
 Host. Well, fare thee well : I have known thee these 
 twenty-nine years, come peascod time ; but an ho- 
 nesterand truer-hearted man,— Well, fare thee well. 
 
 Bard. l]Vithin.] Mistress Tear-sheet, 
 
 Host. What's the matter? 
 
 Bard. [ ll'it'iiiJ.] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to 
 my master. 
 
 Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll. [E.umit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Kino Henry in his nightgown, with a Page. 
 
 A'. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick, 
 But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters. 
 
 And well consider of them : Make good speed. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
 .<\re at this hour asleep !— -Sleep, gentle sleep, 
 Nature's soft nurse, how have 1 frighted thee. 
 That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down, 
 .\nd steep my senses in fotgelfulness ? 
 Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs. 
 Upon uneasy p.allets stretching thee. 
 And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber j 
 Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great, 
 Vnder the canopies of costly state, 
 .And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? 
 () thou dull god. why liest thou with the vile. 
 In loathsome beds ; "and leav'st the kingly coucH, 
 A watch-case, or a common 'lanim-bell ? 
 Wilt thou upon the high and giddy roast 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 411 
 
 Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge j 
 And in the visitation of the winds, 
 Who take tlie ruffian billows by the top, 
 Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging tliera 
 With deafning clamours in the slippery clouds. 
 That with the burly, death itself awakes ? 
 Can'st thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose 
 To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ; 
 And, in the calmest and most stillest night, 
 With all appliances and means to boot. 
 Uenv it to a king ! Then, happy low, lie down .' 
 Uneasy lies the head that \\ears a crown. ■s,,„^_^ 
 
 Enter Warwick and Surrey. 
 
 }Vai\ Many good morrows to your majesty ! 
 
 A. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords ■* 
 
 War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. 
 
 A'. Hen. \Vhythen,goodmorrowto you all my lords, 
 Have you read o'er the letters that 1 sent you ? 
 
 ]i'iir. We have, my liege. 
 
 A*. Hen, Then you perceive, the body of our kingdom 
 How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow, 
 And with what danger, near the heart of it. 
 
 War. It is but as a body, yet, dislemper'd ; 
 Which to his former strength may be restored, 
 
 With good advice, and little medicine : 
 
 My lord N'orthumberland will soon be cool'd. 
 
 A". Hen- O heaven ! that one might read the book 
 And see the revolution of the times [of fate ; 
 
 Make mountains level, and the continent 
 (Weary of solid firmness,) melt itself 
 Into the sea ! and, other times to see 
 The beachy girdle of the ocean 
 Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances mock, 
 And changes fill the cup of alteration 
 With divers liquors ! O, if this were seen, 
 The happiest youth, — viewing his progress through, 
 What perils past, what crosses to ensue, — 
 Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 
 *Tis not ten years gone, 
 
 Since Richard, and N'orthumberland, great friends, 
 Did feast together, and, in two years after, 
 Were they at wars : It is but eight years^ since 
 This Percy was the man nearest my soul ; 
 Who like a brother toil'd in my atVairs, 
 And laid his love and life under my foot ; 
 Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard, 
 Gave him defiance. But which of you was by, 
 (You, cousin Nevil, as 1 may remember, ) [7'i> Wau. 
 When Richard, — with his eye brimful! of tears, 
 Then clieck'd and rated by Northumberland, — 
 Did speak tliese words, now prov'd a prophecy? 
 North nmherluud, thou ladder, btj the which 
 Mu cousin Boii)igfiroke aiceiuts ?ni/ throne ; — 
 Though then, heaven knows, 1 had no such intent ; 
 But that necessity so bow'd the state, 
 
 That 1 and greatness were compell'd to kiss: • 
 
 The time shnU come, thus did he follow it, 
 The timf icill come, that foul sin, gathering head, 
 Shalt hreiik into corruption : — SO went on, 
 Foreti'lhng this same time's condition, 
 And the division of our amity. 
 
 War. 1 here is a history in all men's lives, 
 figuring the nature of the times deceas'd : 
 The which ohserv'd, a man may prophecy, 
 With a near aim, of the main cliance of things 
 As yet not come to life ; which in their seeds. 
 And weak beginnings, lie intrea>ured. 
 Such things become the hatch and brood of time ; 
 And. by the necessary form of this, 
 King Hkhard might create a perfect guess. 
 
 That great Northumberland, then false to Inm, 
 Would, of that seed, grow to a greater falseness ; 
 Which should not find a ground to root upon. 
 Unless on you. 
 
 A'. Hen. Are these things then necessities 1 
 
 Then let us meet them like necessities : — 
 And that same word even now cries out on us , 
 They say, the bishop and Northumberland 
 Are fifty thousand strong. 
 
 11 "'■. It cannot be, my lord ; 
 
 Rumour doth double, like tiie voice and echo, 
 The numbers of the fear'd : — Please it your grace, 
 To go to bed ; upon my life, my lord. 
 The powers that you already have sent forth, 
 Shall bring tliis prize in very easily. 
 To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd 
 A certain instance, tliat Glendower is dead. 
 Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill ; 
 And the^e unseason'd hours, perforce, must add 
 Unto your sickness. 
 
 A. Hen. I will take your counsel : 
 
 And, were these inward wars once out of hand, 
 We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. lEiennt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Court before Justice Shallow's 
 House in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Eyiter Shallow and Silence, meeting; Mouldy, 
 Shadow, Waut, Feeble, Bull-calf, and Ser- 
 vants behind. 
 
 Shut. Come on, come on. come on ; give nie your 
 hand, sir, give inc your hand, sir: an early stirrer by 
 the rood. And hmv doth my good cousin Silence? 
 
 Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 
 
 Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? 
 and your fairest daughter, aud mine, my goddaughter 
 Ellen ? 
 
 &il. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow. 
 
 Shal. By yea and nay, sir, 1 dare say, my cousin 
 William is become a good scholar: He is at Oxford, 
 still, is he not * 
 
 5(7. Indeed, sir ; to my cost. 
 
 Shal. He must tlien to the inns of court shortly : I 
 was once of Clenient's-inn ; where, I think, they will 
 talk of mad Sliallow yet. 
 
 SiL You were called — lusty Shallow, then, cousin. 
 
 Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing; and I 
 would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too. 
 There was 1, and little John Uoil of Staffordshire, 
 and black George liaie. and Francis Pickbone, and 
 Will Squele a Cotswold man, — you liad not four such 
 swinge-bucklers in all the inns of court again : and, 
 Imay say to you, we knew where the bona-robas were; 
 and had the best of them all at commandment. Then 
 was Jack Falstafi", now sir John, a boy ; and page to 
 Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk. 
 
 6/7. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon 
 about soldiers? 
 
 Shal. The same sir .Tohn. the very same. I saw 
 him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when he 
 was a crack, not thus high : and the very same day 
 did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, 
 behind Gray's inn. O, the mad days that I have 
 spent ! and to see how many of mine old acquaint- 
 ance are dead ! 
 
 Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 
 
 Shal. Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very sure : 
 death, as the P^almist saitii, is certain toaJI; all 
 shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford 
 fair? ^ ^ 
 
 Sil, Truly, cousin, I was not there. 
 
412 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 
 
 ShaL Death is certain. — Is old Double of v 
 town lividf^ yet? 
 
 Sit. Deail, sir. 
 
 ^liiiL Dead! — See, see! — he drew a good bow; 
 And dead ! — he shot a fine shoot : — John of Gaunt 
 loved him well, and btttedniuch money on his head 
 Dead! — he would have clapped i'the clout at twelve 
 score ; and cairied you a forehand shaft a fourteen 
 and fourteen and a half, that it would have done a 
 man's heart good to see. How a score of ewes now ? 
 
 Sit. Thereafter as they be : a score of good ewes 
 may be worth ten pounds. 
 
 iihaL And is old Double dead ! 
 
 Enter Bardolpii, and one with him. 
 
 Sit Here come two of Sir John FalstatTs men, as 
 I think. 
 
 Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen : I beseech 
 you, which is justice Shallow? 
 
 Shul. i am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor esquire of 
 thiscoiinty.andoneof the king's justices of the peace: 
 What is your good pleasure with me 1 
 
 Bald. lAly captain, sir, commends him to you ; 
 my captain, sir John Falstaff": a tall gentleman, bv 
 heaven, and a raoSL gallant leader. 
 
 Shut. He greets me well, sir ; 1 knew him a good 
 backsword man : How doth the good kniglit ] may 1 
 ask how my lady his wife doth t 
 
 Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accommo- 
 dated, than with a wife. 
 
 Shul. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is well said 
 indeed too. Uetter accommodated! — it is good; yea, 
 indeed, it is: good phrases are surely, and ever were, 
 very commendable. Accommodated I — it comes from 
 accomjiwdo : very good ; a good phrase. 
 
 Bard. Pardon me, sir : 1 have lieard the word. 
 Phrase, call you ill By this good day, I know not 
 the phrase : but I will maintain the word with my 
 sword, to be a soldier-Uke word, and a word of ex- 
 ceeding good command. Accommodated ; That is, 
 when a man is, as they say, accommodated : or, when 
 a man is, — being,- — whereby, — he may be thought to 
 be accommodated ; which is an excellent thing. 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 
 ShaL It is very just : — Look, here comes good sir 
 John. — Give me your good hand, give me your wor- 
 ship's good iiand : By my troth, you look well, and 
 bear your years very well: welcome, good sir John. 
 
 Fat. 1 am glad to see you well, good master Ro- 
 bert Shallow : — Master Sure-card, as 1 think. 
 
 ShaL No, sir John ; it is my cousin Silence, in 
 commission with me. 
 
 Fal. Good master Silence, it well befits you should 
 be of the peace, 
 
 Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 
 
 Fal. Fye ! this is hot weather. — Gentlemen, have 
 you provided me here half a dozen sutficient men ? 
 
 Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit 1 
 
 Fat. Let me see them, I beseech you. 
 
 Shal. Where's the roll 1 where's the roll 1 where's 
 the roll ? — Let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so : 
 Yea, marry, sir: — Ralph Mouldy : — let them appear 
 as I call ; let them do so, let them do so.— Let me 
 see ; Where is Mouldy 1 
 
 Maul. Here, an't please you. 
 
 ShaL What think you, sir John? a good limbed 
 fellow : young, strong, and of good friends. 
 
 FaL Is thy name ftlouldy I 
 
 Moid. Yea, an't please you. 
 
 FaL 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 
 
 SiuiL Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i'faith ! things, 
 
 that are mouldy, lack use : Very singular good ! — In 
 faith, well said, sir John ; very well said. 
 
 FaL Prick him. [To Shallow. 
 
 I^loiit. 1 was pricked well enough before, an you 
 could have let me alone : my old danie will be un- 
 done now, for one to do her husbandry, and lier drud- 
 gery : you need not to have pricked me ; there are 
 other men fitter to go out than 1. 
 
 FaL Go to ; peace, Mouldy, you shall go. Mouldy, 
 it is time vou ^vere spent. 
 Moid. Spent! 
 
 Shul. Peace, fellow, peace ; stand aside ; Know 
 you where you are? — For the other, sir John: — let 
 me see ; — Simon Shadow ! 
 
 FaL Ay, marry, let me have him to sit under: he's 
 like to be a cold soldier. 
 ShaL Where's Shadow ? 
 Shad. Here, sir. 
 
 FaL Sliadow, whose son art thou ? 
 Shad. My mother's son, sir. 
 
 FaL Thy mother's sou ! like enough ; and thy 
 father's shadow: so the son of the female is the sha- 
 dow of the male : It is often so indeed ; but not much 
 of the fatiier's substance. 
 
 ShaL Do you like him, sir John? 
 FaL Shadow will serve for summer,- — prick hira ; 
 — for we have a number of shadows to fill up the 
 muster-book. 
 
 Shid. 'i'homas Wart ! 
 FaL Where's he ? 
 XVart. Here, sir. 
 FaL Is thy name Wart? 
 Wart. Yea, sir. 
 
 Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 
 ShaL Shall I prick him, sir John. 
 Fal. It were superfluous ; for his apparel is built 
 upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins: 
 prick him no more 
 
 ShaL Ha, ha, ha ! — you can do it, sir ; you can do 
 it : I commend you well. — Francis Feeble ' 
 Fee- Here, sir. 
 
 FaL What trade art thou, Feeble? 
 Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 
 Shal. Shall I prick him, sir ? 
 FaL You may : but if he had been a man's tailor, 
 he would have pricked you. — Wilt thou make as 
 many holes in an enemy's battle, as thou hast done 
 in a woman's petticoat ! 
 
 Fee. 1 will do my good will, sir ; you can have no 
 more. 
 
 FaL Well said, good woman's tailor! well said, 
 courageous Feeble I Thou wilt be as valiani as the 
 wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. —Prick 
 the woman's tailor well, master Shallow ; deep, mas- 
 ter Shallow. 
 
 Fee. 1 would, Wart might have gone, sir. 
 Fal. I would, thou wert a man's tailor ; that thou 
 might'st mend him. and make him fit to go. I can- 
 not put hira to a private soldier, that is the leader of 
 so many thousands : Let that suffice, most forcible 
 Feeble. 
 
 Fee. It shall suffice, sir. 
 
 Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. — Who 
 is next? 
 
 ShaL Peter Bull-calf of the green ! 
 Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf, 
 Bull. Here, sir. 
 
 FaL 'Fore God, a likely fellow! — Come, prickme 
 Bull calf till he roar again. 
 
 BnlL O lord ! good my lord captain, — 
 
 FaL What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked ^ 
 
 Bull, lord, sir ! I ain a diseased mau. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE 11. 
 
 413 
 
 Fal, What disease hast tboii ? 
 
 Bull. A whoreson cold, sir ; a rough, sir; which 
 I ca\ight with ringing in the king's aftairs, upon his 
 coronation day, sir. 
 
 FaL Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown ; 
 we will have away thy cold ; and 1 will take such or- 
 der, that thy friends shall ring for thee. — Is here all ? 
 
 ahal. Here is two more called than your number; 
 you must have but four here, sir ; — and so, 1 pray 
 you, go in with me to dinner. 
 
 ful Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot 
 larry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good troth, 
 master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. O, sir John, do you remember since we lay 
 all night in the windmill in Saint George's tields. 
 
 Fal. No more of that, good master Shallow, no 
 more of that. 
 
 S/ifli. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane Night- 
 work alive 1 
 
 Fal. She lives, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. She never could away with me- 
 
 Fal. Never, never: she would always say, she 
 could not abide master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the heart. 
 Shewasthen abona-roba. Doth she holdher own well! 
 
 Fal. Old, old, master Shallow. 
 
 Shal. Nay, she must be old ; she cannot choore 
 but be old ; certain, she's old; and had Robin Night- 
 work by old Night-work, before I came to Cle- 
 ment's inn. 
 
 Sit. That's fifty-five year ago. 
 
 Shal. Ha. cousin Silence, that thou hadstseen that 
 that this knight and 1 have seen ! — Ha, sir John, said 
 1 well ? 
 
 FaL We have heard the chimes at midnight, mas- 
 ter Shallow. 
 
 Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have ; 
 
 in faith, sir John, we have ; our watch-word was, 
 
 Hem, boqs ! — Come, let's to dinner ; come, let's tw 
 
 dinner : O, the days titat we have seen ! Ccnie, come. 
 
 l^Exeunt Falstaff, Shallow, aitd Silence. 
 
 BulL Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my 
 fiiend ; and here is four Harry ten shillings in French 
 crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as lief be 
 hanged, sir, as go i and yet, for mine own part, sir, 1 
 do not care: but, rather, because I am unwilling, and, 
 for mine own part, have a desire to stay with my 
 friends ; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own part 
 so i«uch. 
 
 Bard, Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Maul. And good master corporal captain, for my 
 old dame's sake, stand my friend: she has nobody 
 to do any thing about h^r, when 1 am gone ; and she is 
 old, and cannot help herself: you shall have forty, sir. 
 
 Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 
 
 Fee. By my troth I care not ; — a man can die but 
 once ; — We owe God a death ; — I'll ne'er bear a base 
 mind : — an't be my destiny, so ; an't be not, so: No 
 man's too good to serve his prince ; and, let it go 
 which way it will, he that dies this year, is quit for 
 the next. 
 
 BanL Well said ; thou'rt a good fellow. 
 Fee, 'Faith, I'll beai" no base mind. 
 
 Re-enter Falstaff, and Justices. 
 
 Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have 1 
 Shal Four of which you please. 
 Bard. Sir, a word with you : — I have three pound 
 lo free Mouldy and Bull-calf. 
 Ful. Go to ; well. 
 
 Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have? 
 FaL Do you choose for me. 
 
 Shal. Marry then,— i\Iouldy, Bull-calf. Feeble, 
 and Shadow. 
 
 Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf :— For you. Mouldy, 
 stay at home, still ; you are past service : and, for 
 your part, Bull calf, — grow till you come unto it ; I 
 will noue of you. 
 
 Shal.. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong ; 
 they are your likeliest men, and 1 would have you 
 served with the beat. 
 
 Fiz/. Will you tell me. ma'.ter Shallow, how to choose 
 a man 1 Care 1 for the limb, the thewes, the stature, 
 bulk, and big assemblance of a man ! Give me the 
 spirit, master Shallow. — Here's Wart; — you see what 
 a ragged appearance it is : he shall chaige you, and 
 discharge you, with the motion of a pewteier's ham- 
 mer ; come ofi'. and on, swifter than he that gibbets 
 on the brewer's bucket. And this same lialf-faced 
 fellow, Shadow, — give me this man ; he presents no 
 mark to the enemy ; the foeman may with as great 
 aim level at the edge of a penknife : And, for a re- 
 treat, — how swiftly will this Feeble, the woman's 
 tailor, run ofl'! O, give me the spare men, and spare 
 me the great ones. — Put me a caliver into Wart's 
 hand, Bardolph. 
 
 Bard, Hold, Wart, traverse; thus, thus, thus. 
 Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So: — very 
 well: — go to: — very good: — exceeding gond. — O, 
 give me always a little, lean, old, chapped, bald shot, 
 — Weil said, i'faith, Wart ; thou'rt a good scab : 
 hold, there's a tester for thee. 
 
 Shal. He is not his crafl's-master, he doth not do 
 it right. I remember at Mile-end green, (when I lay 
 at Clement's inn,— I was then Sir Dagonet in Ar- 
 thur's show,) there was a little quiver fellow, and 'a 
 would manage you his piece thus : and 'a would 
 about, and about, and come you in, and come you in : 
 rah, tah, tah, would 'a say; bounce, would 'a say ; 
 and away again would 'a go, and again would 'a 
 come : — I shall never see such a fellow. 
 
 Ful. These fellows will do well, master Shallow. 
 — God keep you, master Silence; 1 will not use many 
 words with you : — Fare you well, gentlemen both : 
 I thank you : 1 must a dozen mile to-night. — Bardolph, 
 give the soldiers coats. 
 
 Shal. Sir John, heaven bless you, and prosper your 
 affairs, and send us peace ! As you return, visit my 
 house; let our old acquaintance be renewed : perad- 
 venture, I will with you to the court. 
 
 Fal, I would you would, master Shallow. 
 Shal, Go to ; 1 have spoke, at a word. Fare you 
 well. [Exeunt Shallow and Silence. 
 
 Fal Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar- 
 dolph ; lead the men away. [E^ieunt Bardolph, 
 Recruits, A;c.] As I return, I will fetch off these jus- 
 tices : 1 do see the bottom of justice Shallow. Lord, 
 lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying ! 
 This same stai^ved justice hath done nothing but prate 
 to me of the wildness of his youth, and the feats he 
 hath done about Turnbull-street ; and every third 
 word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk's 
 tribute. I do remember him at Clement's iun, like a 
 man made after supper of a cheese-paring : when he 
 was naked, he was, for all the world, like a forked 
 radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with 
 a knife : he was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any 
 thick sight were mvisible : he was the very Genius 
 of famine ; yet lecherous as a monkey, and the whores 
 called him — mandrake: he came ever in the rear- 
 ward of the fashion ; and sung those tunes to the over- 
 scutched huswives that he heard the carmen wliistle, 
 and sware — they were his fancies, or his good-uights. 
 And now is this Vice's dagger become a s^juire ; and 
 
414 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 
 
 talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he had 
 been sworn broiht-r w him : anil I'll be sworn he nev- 
 er saw him but once in the Tilt-yard j and then he 
 burst his head, for crouding among the marshals men. 
 I saw il ; and lold John of Gaunt, he beat his own 
 name ; ior you might have trnss'd him. and all his 
 apparel, into an eel-skin ; the case of a treble haut- 
 boy was a mansion for him, a eourt : and now has he 
 land and beeves. Well ; I will be acquainted with 
 him if I return : and it shall go hard, but I will make 
 him a philosopher's two stones to me : If the young 
 dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason, in 
 the law of nature, but I may snap at him. Let time 
 shape, and there an end. [Exit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Forest in Vorkshire. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop 0/ York, Mowbeay, 
 Hastings, and others. 
 Arch. What is this forest call'il? 
 Hast. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your 
 
 grace. 
 Arch. Here stand, my lords : and send discoverers 
 forth, 
 To know the numbers of our enemies. 
 Hast. We have sent forth already. 
 Arch. 'Tis well done. 
 
 My friends, and brethren in these great affairs, 
 I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd 
 New-datod letter's from Northumberland ; 
 Their cold intent, tennur and substance, thus: — 
 Here doth he wish his person, with such powers 
 As might hold sortance with his quality. 
 The which he could not levy ; whereupon 
 He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes, 
 To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers, 
 That your attempts may overlive the hazard, 
 And fearful meeting of their opposite. 
 
 Mou'b. Thus do the hopes we have in him touch 
 ground, 
 And dash themselves to pieces. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Hast. Now, what news ? 
 
 Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile, 
 In goodly form comes on the enemy : 
 And by the ground they hide, I judge their number 
 Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. 
 
 Moub. The just proportion that we gave them out. 
 Let us sway on, and face them in the field. 
 
 Enter Westmoreland. 
 
 Arch, What well-appointed leader fronts us here? 
 
 Mowb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 West. Health and fair greeting from our general, 
 The prince, lord John and duke of Lancaster. 
 
 Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace ; 
 What doth concern your coming? 
 
 West. Then, my lord, 
 
 ITnto your grace do I in chief address 
 The substance of my speech. If that rebellion 
 Came like itself, in base and abject routs, 
 Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage, 
 And countenanc'd by boys, and beggary ; 
 I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd, 
 In his true, native, and most proper shape, 
 Vou, reverend father, and these noble lords, 
 
 Had not been here to dress the ugly form 
 
 Of base and bloody insurrection 
 
 With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop,— 
 
 Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd ; 
 
 Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd } 
 
 Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd ; 
 
 Whose white investments hgure innocence, 
 
 The dove and very blessed sjiirit of peace, — 
 
 Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself. 
 
 Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace, 
 
 Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war? 
 
 Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood. 
 
 Your jiens to lances ; and your tongue divine 
 
 To a loud trumpet, and a point of war ? 
 
 Arch. Wherefore do I this? — so the question stands. 
 Rriefly to this end : — We are all diseas'd ; 
 Anil, with our surfeiting and wanton hours. 
 Have brought ourselves mto a burning fever, 
 And we must bleed for it; of which disease 
 Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
 But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland, 
 I take "not on me here as a physician ; 
 Nor do I, as an enemy to peace, 
 Troop in the throngs of military men : 
 But, rather, shew a while like feariid war. 
 To diet rank minds, sick of happiness ; 
 And purge the obstructions, which begin to stop 
 Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
 I have in equal balance justly weigh'd [fer, 
 
 What wrongs our arms may dn, wliiit wrongs we suf- 
 And find our griefs heavier than our offences. 
 We see which way the stream of time doth run, 
 And are enlbrc'd irom our most quiet sphere 
 By the rough torrent of occasion : 
 And have the summary of all our griefs. 
 When time shall serve, to shew in articles ; 
 Which, long ere this, we offered to the king, 
 And might by no suit gain our audience : 
 When we are wrong'd, and would untold our griefs. 
 We are denied access unto his person 
 Even by those men that most have done us wrong. 
 (The dangers of lh« days but newly gone. 
 Whose memory is written on the earth 
 With yet-appearing blood,) and the examples 
 Of every minute's instance, (]iresent now,) 
 Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms : 
 Not to break peace, or any branch of it; 
 But to establish here a peace indeed, 
 Concurring both in name and quality. 
 
 West. When ever yet was your appeal denied? 
 Wherein have you been galled by the king ? 
 What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you? 
 That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
 Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine, 
 And consecrate commotion's bitter edge? 
 
 Arch. My brother general, the commonwealth, 
 To brother born an household cruelty, 
 I make my quarrel in particular. 
 
 West. There is no need of any such redress; 
 Or, if there were, it not belongs to you. 
 
 Movb. Why not to him, in part ; and to us all. 
 That feel the bruises of the days before ; 
 And suffer the condition of these times 
 To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
 Upon our honours ? 
 
 West. 0, my good lord Mowbray, 
 
 Construe the times to their necessities. 
 And you shall say indeed, — it is the time, 
 And not the king, that doth you injuries. 
 Yet, for your part, it not appears to me. 
 Either from the king, or in the present time. 
 That you should have an inch of any ground 
 To build a grief on : Were you not restor'd 
 To all the duke of Norfolk's seigniories. 
 Your noble and right- well-remember'd father's? 
 
 Mou-b. What thing, m honour, had my father lost, 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 415 
 
 That need to be reviv'd, and breath 'd in me ? 
 The kiujj'. that iov'd hun, as the state stood then, 
 Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him; 
 And then, when Harrj' Bolingbroke, and he. — 
 Being luounted, and both roused in their seats, 
 Their neighing coursers daiiug of the spur. 
 Their ajroed staves in charge, their beavers down. 
 Their cyts of fire sparkling through sights of steel, 
 And the Joud trumpet blowing them together ; 
 Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid 
 My father from the breast of Bolingbroke, 
 O. when the king did throw his wardour down. 
 His own life hung upon llie staff he threw : 
 Then threw he down himself ; and all their lives. 
 That, by indictment, and by dint of sword, 
 Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 
 
 West. You speak, lord iSIowbray. now you know not 
 The earl of Hereford was reputed then [what : 
 
 In England the most valiant gent!t;man ; 
 Who knows, onv.hom fortune would then have smil'd? 
 But, if your father had been victor there. 
 He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry : 
 For all the country, in a general voice. 
 Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers and love, 
 Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on. 
 And bless'd, and grac'd indeed, more than the king. 
 But this is mere digression from my purpose. — 
 Here come I from our princely general. 
 To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace, 
 That he will give \ou audience: and wherein 
 It shall appear that your demands are just. 
 You shall enjoy them ; every thing set off. 
 That might so much as think you enemies. 
 
 Mittb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer ; 
 And it proceeds from policy, not love. 
 
 West. Mowbray, you overvveen, to take it so ; 
 This offer comes from mercy, not from fear : 
 For, lo ! within a ken, our army lies : 
 Upon mine honour, all too confident 
 To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
 Our battle is more full of names than yours. 
 Our men more perfect in the use of arms. 
 Our armour all as strong, our cause the best ; 
 Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good : — 
 Say you not then, our offer is compeird. 
 
 Moab- Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley. 
 
 West. That argues but the shame of your offence ; 
 A rotten case abides no handling. 
 
 Hast. Hath the prince John a full commission, 
 In vei.y ample virtue of his father, 
 To hear, and absolutely to determine 
 Of what conditions we shall stand upon? 
 
 West. That is intended in the general's name : 
 I muse, you make so slight a question, [schedule ; 
 
 Arch. Then take, my lord of Westmoreland, this 
 For this contains our general grievances : — 
 Each several article herein redress'd ; 
 All members of our cause, both here and hence, 
 That are insinew'd to this action, 
 Acquitted by a true substantial form ; 
 And present execution of our wills 
 To ns, and to our purposes, consign'd : 
 We come within our awful banks again. 
 And knit our powers to the arm of peace. 
 
 Weit. This willl shew the general. Please you lords, 
 In sight of both our battles we may meet : 
 And either end in peace, which heaven so frame ! 
 Or to the place of difference call the swords 
 Which must decide it. 
 
 Arch. My lord, we will do so. [Exit West. 
 
 Moirb. There is a thing within my bosom, tells me. 
 That no conditions of our peace can stand. 
 
 Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make our peace 
 Upon such large tenns and so absolute, 
 As our conditions shall consist upon. 
 Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. 
 
 Motcb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such. 
 That every slight and false derived cause, 
 Yea, ever}* idle, nice, and wanton reason, 
 Shall, to the king, taste of this action : 
 That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love. 
 We shall be wianow'd with so rough a wind, 
 That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff. 
 And good from bad find no partition. 
 
 ,^/T/i.Xo,no.raylord; Note this, — the kingis weary 
 Of dainty and such picking grievances : 
 For he hath found, — to end one doubt by death. 
 Revives two greater in the heirs of life. 
 And therefore will he wipe his tables clean ; 
 And keep no tell-tale to his memory. 
 That may repeat and history his loss 
 To new remembrance: For full well he knows. 
 He cannot so precisely weed this land. 
 As his misdoubts present occasion : 
 His foes are so enrooted with his friends, 
 That, plucking to unfix an enemy, 
 He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend. 
 So that this land, like an offensive wife, 
 That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes; 
 As he is striking, holds his infant up. 
 And hangs resolv'd correction in the arm 
 That was uprear'd to execution. 
 
 Hast. Bi;sides the king hath wasted all his rods 
 On late offenders, that he now doth lack 
 The very instruments of chastisement: 
 So that his power, like to a fangiess lion. 
 May offer, but not hold. 
 
 Arch. 'Tis verv true : — 
 
 And therefore be assured, my good lord marshal. 
 If we do now make our atonement well. 
 Our peace will, like a broken limb united, 
 Grow stronger for the breaking. 
 
 Mowb. Be it so. 
 
 Here is return'd my lord of AVestmoreland. 
 
 Re-enter Westmoreland. 
 
 West. The prince is here at hand : Pleaseth your 
 
 lordship, 
 To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies? 
 Mowb. Your grace of York in God's name then 
 
 set forward. 
 Avck. Before, and greet his grace : — my lord, we 
 
 come. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II.— Another Part of the FwesU 
 
 Enter from one side, Mowbray, the Archbishop, 
 Hastings, and others : from the other side, PniNCE 
 John (/ Lancaster, Westmoreland, Othcers, aud 
 Attendants. 
 
 P. John. You are well encounter'd here, my cou- 
 sin Mowbray : 
 Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop 
 And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to all. — 
 My lord of York, it better shew'd with you, 
 When that your flock, assembled by the bell, 
 Encircled you, to hear with reverence 
 Your exposition on the holy text ; 
 Than now to see you here an iron man, 
 Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, 
 Turning the word to sword, and life to death. 
 That man, that sits within a monarch's heai't, 
 And ripens in the sunshine of his favour. 
 Would he abuse the countenance of the king. 
 
410 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 
 
 Alack, what mischiefs might he set abroach. 
 
 In shadow of such greatness ! With you, lord bishop, 
 
 It is even so: — Who hath not hi;atd it spoken, 
 
 How deep you were withiu the book:^ of God t 
 
 To us, tiie speaker in his parliament ; 
 
 To us, the imagin'd voice of God himself ; 
 
 The very opener and intelligencer. 
 
 Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven, 
 
 And our dull workings : O, who shall believe, 
 
 But you misuse the reverence of your place ; 
 
 Employ the countenance and grace of heaven. 
 
 As a false favourite doth his prince's name. 
 
 In deeds dishonourable 1 You have taken up. 
 
 Under the counterfeited zeal of God, 
 
 The subjects of his substitute, my father ; 
 
 And, both against the peace of heaven, and him, 
 
 Have here up-swavm'd them. 
 
 Arch. Good my lord of Lancaster, 
 
 I am not here against your father's peace : 
 But, as 1 told my lord of Westmoreland, 
 The time misorder'd doth, in common sense, 
 Croud us, and crush us, to tins monstrous form, 
 To hold our safety up. 1 sent your grace 
 The parcels and particulars of our grief; 
 The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court. 
 Whereon this Hydra son of war is born : 
 Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep. 
 With grant of our most just and right desires ; 
 And true obedience of this madness cur'd. 
 Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 
 
 Moivb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes 
 To the last man. 
 
 Haat. And though we here fall down, 
 
 We have supplies to second our attempt ; 
 If they miscarry, there's shall second them: 
 And so, success of mischief shall be born ; 
 And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up, 
 Whiles England shall have generation. 
 
 P. John, Vou are too shallow, Hastings, much too 
 To sound the bottom of the after-times. [shallow, 
 
 West, Plea^eth your grace, to answer them directly.. 
 How far-forth you do like their articles 1 
 
 P. John. 1 like them all, and do allow them well: 
 And swear here by the honour of my blood, 
 My father's purposes have been mistook ; 
 And some about him have too lavishly 
 Wrested his meaning, and authority. — 
 My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd ; 
 Upon my soul, they shall. If this may please you, 
 Discharge your powers unto their several counties, 
 As we will ours ; and here, between the armies, 
 Let's drink together friendly, and embrace : 
 That all their'eyes may bear those tokens home, 
 Of our restored love, and amity. 
 
 Arch. 1 lake your princely word for these redresses. 
 
 P. Jchfi. I give ityou.and will maintain my word: 
 And thereupon. I drink unto your grace. 
 
 Hast. Go, captain, [(o a^i Officer.] and deliver to 
 the army 
 This news of peace -, let them have pay, and part : 
 I know, it will well please them ; Hie thee, captain. 
 
 [KiH Officer. 
 
 Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland. 
 
 Went. I pledge your grace: And, if you knew 
 what pains 
 I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace. 
 You would drink freely : but my love to you 
 Shall shew itself more openly hereafter. 
 
 Arch. I do not doubt you. 
 
 West. I am glad of it: — • 
 
 Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray. 
 
 Mowb, You wish me health in very happy season: 
 
 For I am, on the sudden, something iH. 
 
 Arch, Against ill chances, men are ever merry, 
 But heaviness foreruns the good event. [row 
 
 West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden sor- 
 Serves to say thus, — Some good thing comes to* 
 morrow. 
 
 Arch. Believe me, I am passing light in spirit. 
 
 Mowb. So much the worse, if your own rule be 
 true. [Shouts within. 
 
 P.John. The word of peace is rendei'd j Hark, 
 how they shout ! 
 
 Mowh. This had been cheerful, after victory. 
 
 Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest ; 
 For then both parties nobly are subdued, 
 And neither party loser, 
 
 P. John. Go, my lord, 
 
 And let our army be discharged too. — [Eiit West. 
 And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains 
 March by us, that we may peruse the men 
 We should have con'd withal. 
 
 Arch. " Go, good lord Hastings, 
 
 And, ere they be dismissed, let them march by. 
 
 [Exit Hastings. 
 
 P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-nighl 
 together. 
 
 Pe-enter Westmoueland. 
 
 Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still? 
 
 West. The leaders, having charge from you to stand. 
 Will not go oft' until they hear you speak. 
 
 P. John. They know their duties. 
 
 Pe-enter Hastings. 
 
 Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already . 
 Like youthful steers unyok'd, they take theirtourses 
 East, west, north, south ; or, like a school broke up. 
 Each hurries toward his home, and sporting-place. 
 
 West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings; for the which 
 Ido arrest thee, traitor, of high treason: 
 And you, lord archbishop, — and you, lord Mowbray, 
 Of capital treason I attach you both. 
 
 Mow. Is this proceeding just and honourable? 
 
 West. Is your assembly so ? 
 
 Arch. Will you thus break your faith 1 
 
 P. John. I pawn'd thee none. 
 
 I promis'd you redress of these same grievances, 
 Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine honour^ 
 I will perform with a most christian care. 
 But, for you, rebels, — look to taste the due 
 Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours. 
 Most shallovvly did you these arms commence, 
 Fondly brought here, and foolishly sent hence. — 
 Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray ; 
 Heaven, and not we, hath safely fought to-day. — 
 Some guard these traitors to the block of death ; 
 Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath. [Ei, 
 
 SCENE III. — Another Part of the Forest, 
 Alarums: Ercursions. Enter Falstaff and 
 Coi.EviLE, Tneetingt 
 Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condition 
 are you ; and of what place, I pray? 
 
 Cole. I am a knight, sir ; and my name is— Cole- 
 vile of the dale. 
 
 Ful. Well then, Colevile is your name ; a knight 
 is your degree ; and your place, the dale : Colevile 
 shall still be your name ; a traitor your degree; and 
 the dungeon your place, — a place deep enough; so 
 shall you still be Colevile of the dale- 
 Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff? 
 Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE IV, 
 
 417 
 
 yc yield, sir ? or shall I sweat for you ? If I do sweat, 
 they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy 
 death ; therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and 
 do observance to my mercy. 
 
 Cote. I think, you are sir John Falstaff; and in 
 that thought, yield me. 
 
 Fid. I have a whole school of tongues in this belly 
 of mine ; and not a tongue of them all speaks any 
 other word but my name. An I had but a belly of 
 any indifferency, I were sin-.ply the most active 
 fellow in Europe : My womb, my womb, my womb 
 undoes me. — Here comes our general. 
 
 £?i(«r Prince Johs of Lancaster, Westmoueland, 
 a?id otliers, 
 
 P. John.The heat is past, follow no further now ;— 
 Call in tlie powers good cousin Westmoreland. — 
 
 [Exit West. 
 Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while 1 
 When every thing is ended, then you come : 
 These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life. 
 One time or other break some gallows' back. 
 
 Fat. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be 
 thus ; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was 
 the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, 
 an arrow, or a bullet 1 have I, in my poor and old 
 motion, the expedition of thought 1 I have speeded 
 hither with the very extremest inch of possibility; I 
 have foundcr'd nine-score and odd posts : and here, 
 travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and imma- 
 culate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a 
 most furious knight, and valorous enemy : But what 
 of that ? he saw me, and yielded ; that I may justly 
 
 say with the hook-nosed fellow of Rome, 1 came, 
 
 saw, and overcame. 
 
 P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your 
 deserving. 
 
 Fat. I know not; here he is, and here I yield him : 
 and I beseech your grace, let it be booked with the 
 rest of this day's deeds; or, by the Lordj[ will have 
 it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture 
 on the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot : To thi 
 which course, if I be enforced, if you do not all shew 
 like gilt two-pences, to me ; and I, in the clear sky 
 of fame, o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth 
 the cinders of the element, which shew like pins' 
 heads to her ; believe not the word of the noble ; 
 Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount. 
 
 P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount. 
 
 Fat. Let it shine then. 
 
 P. John. Thine's too thick to shine. • 
 
 Fat. Let it do something, my good lord, that may 
 do me good, and call it what you will. 
 
 P. John. Is thy name Colevile 1 
 
 Cole. It is, my lord 
 
 P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 
 
 Fat. And a famous true subject took him. 
 
 Cole. I am. my lord, but as my betters are, 
 Tliat led me hither : had they been rul'd by me, 
 You should have won them dearer than you have. 
 
 Fat. 1 know not how they sold themselves : but 
 thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away ; and I 
 thank thee for thee. 
 
 lie-enter Westmoreland. 
 
 P. John. Now, have you left pursuit 7 
 West. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd. 
 P. Jci/i)i. Send Colevile, with his confederates. 
 
 To York to present execution : — 
 
 Blunt, lead him hence ; and see you guard Wm sure. 
 [Exeunt some with Colevile. 
 
 \nd now despatch we toward the court, my lords ; 
 
 I hear, the king my father is sore sick : 
 Our news shall go before us to his majesty, — 
 Which, cousin, you shall bear,— to comfort him ; 
 And we with sober speed will follow you. 
 
 Fid. Mv lord, I beesech you, give me leave logo 
 through tilostershire: and, when you come to court, 
 standmy good lord, 'pray, in your good report. 
 
 P.John. Fare you well, Falstatf: I, in my condition. 
 Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit. 
 
 Fat. 1 would, you had but the wit; 'twere better 
 than your dukedom.— Good faith, this same young 
 sober-blooded boy doth not love me ; nor a man can- 
 not make him laugh ; — but that's no marvel, he 
 drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure 
 boys come to any proof ; for thin drink doth so over- 
 cool their blood, ahd making many fish-meals, that 
 Ihev fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and 
 then, when they marry, they get wenches ; they are 
 generally fools and cowards; — which some of us 
 should be too, but for inflammation. Agoodsher- 
 ris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends 
 me into the brain ; dries me there all the foolish, and 
 dull, and crudy vapours which environ it : makes it 
 apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of .nimble, fiery, 
 and delectable shapes ; which deliver'd o'er to the 
 voice (the tongue,) which is the birth, becomes ex- 
 cellent wit. The second property of your excellent 
 sherris is, — the warming of the blood; which, be- 
 fore cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, 
 which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice : 
 but the sherris warms it and makes it course from the 
 inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the 
 face ; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the 
 rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm: and then 
 the vitalcommoners, and inland petty spirits, muster 
 me all to their captain, the heart ; who, great, and 
 pulled up with this retinue, doth any deed of cou- 
 rage; and this valour comes of sherris : So that skill 
 in the weapon is nothing without sack ; for that sets 
 it a- work: and learning a mere hoard of gold kept 
 by a devil ; till sack commences it, and sets it in act 
 and use. Hereof comes it, that prince Harry is va- 
 liant : for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of 
 his father, he hath, like lean, steril, and bare land, 
 manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent en- 
 deavour of drinking good, and good store of fertile 
 sherris; that he is become very hot, and valiant. If 
 I had a tliousaud sons, the first human principle 1 
 would teach them, should be, — to forswear thin po- 
 tations, and addict themselves to sack. 
 
 Enter BARDOLrn. 
 
 How now, Bardolph 1 
 
 Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone. 
 Fat. Let them go. I 'II through Glostershire ; and 
 there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire ; I 
 have him already tempering between my finger and 
 my thumb, and shortly will I seal with him. Come 
 away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Westminster. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Clarence, Prince 
 HirMPHUEV, Warwick, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Now. lords, if heaven doth give successful 
 To this debate that bleedeth at our doors, [end 
 
 We will our youth lead on to higher fields. 
 And draw no swords but what are sanctified. 
 Our navy is address'd, our power collected. 
 Our substitutes in absence well invested. 
 And every thing lies level to our wish : 
 Only, we want a little personal strength; 
 
410 
 
 KING HENRY IV. -PART II. 
 
 And pause us, till these rebels, now afoot, 
 Come underneath the yoke of government. 
 
 War, Both which, we doubt not but your majesty 
 Shall soon enjoy. 
 
 A'. lien. Humphrey, my son of Gloster, 
 
 Where is the prince your brother ? 
 
 P. Humph. I think, he's gone to hunt, my lord, at 
 
 A', lien. And how accompanied? [Windsor. 
 
 P. Ihimph. I do not know, my lord. 
 
 A'. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence, 
 with him ? 
 
 P, Humph. No, my good lord ; he is in presence here. 
 
 Cla. What would my lord and father 1 [rence. 
 
 A'. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thpmas of Cla- 
 How chance, thou art not with the prince thy brother ? 
 He loves thee, and thou dost ne-j^lect him, Thomas j 
 Thou hast a better place in his affection. 
 Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy j 
 And noble offices thou may'st effect 
 Of mediation, after I am dead, 
 Between his greatness and thy other brethren . — 
 Therefore, omit him not ; blunt not his love ; 
 Nor lose the good advantage of his grace. 
 By seeming cold, or careless of his will. 
 For he is gracious, if he be observ'd ; 
 He hath a tear for pity, and a hand 
 Open as day for melting charity : 
 Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint; 
 As iiumorous as winter, and as sudden 
 As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 
 His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd : 
 Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, 
 W'hen you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth : 
 But, being moody, give him line and scope ; 
 Till that his passions, like a wliaie on ground, 
 Confound themselves with working. Learn this, 
 
 Thomas, 
 And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends ; 
 A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in ; 
 That the united vessel of their blood. 
 Mingled with venom of suggestion, 
 (As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,") 
 Shall never leak, though it do work as strong 
 As aconitum, or rash gunpowder. 
 
 CLa. I shall observe him with all care and love. 
 
 K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him, 
 Thomas ? 
 
 Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines in London. 
 
 JT.ifew. And how accompanied ? can'st thou tell that? 
 
 Cla. With Poins, and other his continual followers. 
 
 A'. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds; 
 And he, the noble image of my youth. 
 Is overspread with them : Therefore my grief 
 Stretches itself beyond the hour of death ; 
 The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape, 
 In forms imaginary, the unguided days. 
 And rotten times, that you sliall look upon 
 When I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
 For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, * 
 When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, 
 When means and lavish manners meet togethei, 
 0, with what wings shall his affections fly 
 Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay! 
 
 War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite: 
 The prince but studies Ins companions. 
 Like a strange tongue : wherein, to gain the language, 
 'Tis needful, tiiat the most immodest word 
 Be look'd upon, and learn'd : which once attain'd. 
 Your highness knows, comes to no further use, 
 But to be known, and hated. So, like gross terms, 
 The prince will, in the perfectness of time, 
 Cast off his followers : and their meraorv 
 
 Shall as a pattern or a measure live. 
 By which his grace must mete the lives of olhers; 
 Turning past evils to advantages. [comb 
 
 K. Hen. *Tis seldom, wlien the bee doth leave her 
 In the dead carrion. — Who's here? Westmoreland 1 
 
 Enter Westmorfxand. 
 
 West. Htaltli to my sovereign' and new happiness 
 Added to that that 1 am to deliver ! 
 Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace s hand: 
 Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all. 
 Are brought to the correction of your law ; 
 Tiiere is not now a rebel's sword unsheathed, 
 But peace puts forth her olive every where, 
 1'he manner how this action hath been borne. 
 Here at more leisure may your highness read ; 
 With every course, in his particular. 
 
 K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, 
 Which ever in the Launch of winter sings 
 Tlie lifting up of day. Look ! here's more news. 
 
 Enter Harcourt. 
 
 Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty ; 
 And, when they stand against you, may they fall 
 As those that I am come to tell you of! 
 The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph, 
 With a great power of English, and of Scots, 
 Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown: 
 The manner and true order of the fight. 
 This packet, please it you, contains at large. 
 
 K. Hen. And wherefore should these good new? 
 make me sick ? 
 Will fortune never come with both hands full. 
 But write her fair words still in foulest letters ? 
 She either gives a stomach, and no food, — 
 Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast. 
 And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich, 
 I'hat have abundance, and enjoy it not. 
 1 should rejoice now at this happy news ; 
 And now 4fy sight fails, and my brain is giddy : — 
 O me I come near me, now I am much ill. [Swoo7^s» 
 
 P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty ! 
 
 Cla* O my royal father ! 
 
 West. l\Iy sovereign lord, cheer up yoursel f , look up ! 
 
 War. Be patient, princes ; you do know, these fits 
 Are with his highness very ordinary. 
 Stand from him, give him air ; he'll straight be well. 
 
 Cla. No, no ; he cannot long hold out these pangs ; 
 The incessant care and labour of his mind 
 Ilath wrought the mure, that should confine it in, 
 So thin, that life looks through, and will break out. 
 
 P. Humph. The people fear me ; for they do observe 
 Unfather'd heirs, and loathly birds of nature : 
 The seasons change their manners, as the year 
 Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them over. 
 
 Cla. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb between . 
 And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
 Say, it did so, a little time before 
 That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died. 
 
 War. Speak lower, princes, for the king recovers. 
 
 P. Humph. This apoplex will, certain, be his end. 
 
 K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence 
 Into some other chamber : softly, pray. 
 
 [Tliey convey the Ki.ng into an inner part of 
 the room, and place him on a bed. 
 Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends ; 
 Unless some dull and favourable hand 
 Will whisper music to my we»ry spirit, 
 
 I!'(/r. Call for the music in the other room. 
 
 A'. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here. 
 
 Cla. His eve is hollow, and he changes much. 
 
 War. Less noise, less noise. 
 
ACT IV.- SCENE IV. 
 
 419 
 
 Enter Pbince Henry. 
 
 P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Claience ? 
 
 Cla. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 
 P. flea. How now! rain within doors, and none 
 How doth the king 1 [abroad ! 
 
 P. Humph. Exceeding ill. 
 
 p. lifii. Heard he the good news yet 1 
 
 Tell it him. 
 
 P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 
 P. Hen. If he be sick 
 With joy, he will recover without physic. 
 
 ICar.'Not so much noise, my lords ; — sweet prince, 
 speak low ; 
 The king your father is disposed to sleep. 
 CUi. Let us withdraw into the other room. _ 
 War. Will't please your grace to go along with us 1 
 P. Hen. No ; I will sit and watch here by the king ? 
 [Ewiiiit all but P. Henry. 
 Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow. 
 Being so troublesome a bedfellow t 
 O polish'd perturbation I golden care ! 
 That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide 
 To many a watchful night ! — sleep with it now ! 
 Yet not" so sound, and half so deeply sweet. 
 As he, whose brow, with homely biggin bound, 
 Snores out the watch of night. O majesty 1 
 When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit 
 Like a rich armour worn in heat of day, 
 That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath 
 There lies a downy feather, which stirs not; 
 Did he suspire, that light and weightless down 
 
 Perforce must move My gracious lord ! my fallier ! — 
 
 This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep, 
 That from this golden rigol hath divorc'd 
 So many English kings. Thy due, from me, 
 Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood ; 
 . Which nature, love, and filial tenderness. 
 Shall, dear father, pay thee plenteously : 
 My due, from thee, is this imperial crown ; 
 Which, as immediate from thy place and blood. 
 Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, — 
 
 [Patting it c-n his head. 
 Which heaven shall guard: And puttheworld'swhole 
 Into one giant arm, it shall not force [strength 
 
 This lineal honour from me : This from thee 
 Will I to thine leave, as 'tis left to me. [Eiif. 
 
 K.Hen. Warwick! Gloster I Clarence! 
 Re-enter Warwick, and the rest. 
 Cla. Doth the king call 1 - [grace? 
 
 War. What would your majesty 1 How fares your 
 K. Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my lords. 
 Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege, 
 Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 
 
 A'. Hen. The prince of Wales ] Where is he 1 let roe 
 He is not here. [see him : 
 
 War. This door is open ; he is gone this way. 
 P. Humph. He came not through the chamber 
 where we stay'd. [pillow ? 
 
 K. Hen. ^Vhere is the crown t who took it from my 
 War. When we withdrew, ray liege, we left it here. 
 A'. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence : — go, seek 
 Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose [him out. 
 
 My sleep my death t 
 find hira, my lord of Warwick ; chide him hither. 
 
 [Eiit Warwick. 
 This part of his conjoins with my disease. 
 And helps tocnd me.— See, soiis,what things you are ! 
 How quickly nature falls into revolt, 
 When gold becomes her object ! 
 For this the foolish over-careful fathers [care. 
 
 Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with 
 
 Their bones with industry, 
 
 For this they have engrossed and piVd up 
 
 The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ; 
 
 For this they have been thoughtful to invest 
 
 Their sons with arts, and martial exercises : 
 
 \\'hen, like the bee, tolling from every flower 
 
 Tlie virtuous sweets ; 
 
 Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey. 
 
 We bring it to the hive ; and, like the bees, 
 
 -Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste 
 
 Yield his engrossments to the ending father, — 
 
 Re-enter Warwick. 
 
 Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
 Till his friend sickness hath determin'd met 
 
 War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room, 
 \Vashing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ; 
 With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow. 
 That tyranny, which never quaffed but blood. 
 Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife 
 With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither, 
 
 A". Hen. But wherefore did he take away the crown ' 
 
 Re-enter Prince Henry. 
 
 Lo, where he comes, — Come hither to me, Harry, 
 Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 
 
 \^Eiennt Clarence, P. Humphrey, Lords, S^, 
 
 P. Hen, I never thought to hear you speak again. 
 
 K.Hen.Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought; 
 I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
 Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair, 
 That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours 
 Hefore thy hour be ripe? O foolish youth ! 
 Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. 
 .Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity 
 Is held from falling witli so weak a wind. 
 That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
 Thou liast stol'n that, which, after some few hours. 
 Were thine without offence ; and, at my death. 
 Thou hast seal'd up my expectation : 
 Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not. 
 And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it. 
 Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts ; 
 Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart. 
 To stab at half an hour of my life. 
 What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour? 
 Then get thee gone ; and dig my grave thyself ; 
 And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear. 
 That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
 Let all tlie tears that should bedew my hearse. 
 Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head : 
 Only compound me with forgotten dust ; 
 Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms. 
 Pluck down my olficers, break my decrees ; 
 For now a time is come to mock at form, 
 Harry the fifth is crown*d : — Up, vanity ! 
 Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence ? 
 And to the English court assemble now. 
 From every region, apes of idleness ! 
 Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum : 
 Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance. 
 Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit 
 'Jhe oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? 
 Be happy, he will trouble you no more : 
 England shall double gild his treble gilt : 
 England shall give him office, honour, might : 
 For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks 
 The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog 
 Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent. 
 O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
 When that my care could not withhold thy riots 
 What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care 1 
 2D2 
 
«/ 
 
 420 
 
 / 
 
 KING HENRY IV.—PART II. 
 
 O, tliou wilt be a wilderness again. 
 Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 
 
 P. lien, O, pardon me. mv liege ! but for my tears, 
 
 {^KneeUjig, 
 The moist impediments unto my speech, 
 I had forestaU'd this dear and deep rebuke, 
 Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard 
 The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
 And He that wears the crown immortally, 
 Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more. 
 Than as your honour, and as vour renown. 
 Let me no more from this obedience rise, 
 (Which my most true and inward duteous spirit 
 Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending ! 
 Heaven witness with me, when I here came in 
 And found no course of breath within your majesty, 
 How cold it struck my heart ! If I do feign, 
 O, let me in my present wildness die ; 
 And never live to shew the incredulous world 
 The noble change that I have purposed ! 
 Coming to look on you, thinking you dead. 
 (And dead, almost my liege, to think you were,) 
 1 spake unto the crown as having sense. 
 And thus upbraided it. Tlie care on ihee depending, 
 llath fed upon the bodif of' vti/ father ; 
 Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. 
 Other, less fine i7i carat, is more precious^ 
 Preserving life in med'cine potable : 
 But thou, most fine, most honoured, most renowned, 
 Bast eat thy hearer up. Thus, my most royal liege. 
 Accusing it, I put it on my head ; 
 I'o try with it, — as with an enemy, 
 That had before my face murder'd my father, — 
 'J'he t|uarrel of a true inheritor. 
 But if it did infect my blood with joy, 
 Or swell my thoughts to any stain of pride ; 
 If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
 Did, with the least affection of a welcome, 
 Give entertainment to the might of it, 
 Let God for ever keep it from my head ! 
 And make me as the poorest vassal is. 
 That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 
 
 A'. Hen. my son ! 
 Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence. 
 That thou might'st win the more thy father's love. 
 Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. 
 Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 
 And hear, I tliink, the very latest counsel 
 That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son. 
 By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways, 
 I met this crown ; and I myself know well, 
 How troublesome it sat upon my head : 
 To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
 Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
 For all the soil of the achievement goes 
 With me into the earth. It seem'd iti me. 
 But as an honour snatch'd witli boisterous hand ; 
 And I had many living, to upbraid 
 Wy gain of it by their assistances ; 
 AVhich daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed. 
 Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears, 
 Tliou see'st, with peril I have answered : 
 Tor all my reign hatli been but as a scene 
 Acting that argument •, and now my death 
 Changes the mode : for what in me was purchas'd, 
 I'all» «pon thee in a more fairer sort ; 
 So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
 Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do. 
 Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; 
 Andall thy friends,which thoumustmake thy friends. 
 Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; 
 By whose fell working I was first advanc'd. 
 
 And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
 
 To be again displac'd: which to avoid, 
 
 I cut them off: and had a purpose now 
 
 To lead out many to the Holy Land ; 
 
 Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look 
 
 Too near unto my state. 'J'herefore, my Harry, 
 
 Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds 
 
 U'ith foreign quarrels; that action, hence borne out, 
 
 ]\lay waste the memory of the former days. 
 
 jMore would I, but my lungs are wasted so, 
 
 That strength of speech is utterly denied me. 
 
 How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! 
 
 .■Vnd grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 
 
 P. Hen. Wy gracious liege. 
 You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
 Then plain, and right must my possession be : 
 Which 1, with more than with a common pain, 
 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 
 
 Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Warwick 
 Lords, and others. 
 
 K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of Lan- 
 caster, [father ! 
 
 P. John, Health, peace, and happiness, to my royal 
 
 K.Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace, son 
 John ; 
 But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown 
 From this bare, wither'd trunk : upon thy sight, 
 
 I\Iy worldly business makes a period.- • 
 
 Where is my lord of Warwick ? 
 
 P. Hen. My lord of Warwick I 
 
 A'. Hen. Doth any name particular belong 
 Unto the lodging where 1 first did swoon t 
 
 War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord. 
 
 A'. Hen. Laud be to God ! — even there my life must 
 It hath been prophesied to me many years, [end 
 I should not die but in Jerusalem ; 
 Which vainly I suppos'd the Holy Land : — 
 But, bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie ; 
 In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. [Eieunt 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Glostershire. — .4 Hall in Shallow's House. 
 Entei- Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and Page. 
 
 Shal. By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away 
 to-night. What, Davy, I say. 
 
 Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow 
 
 Shal. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be ex- 
 cused ; excuses shall not be admitted ; there is no 
 excuse shall serve ; you shall not be excused. — 
 Why, Davy ! 
 
 Enter Davy. 
 
 Dai^ij. Here, sir. 
 
 Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, — let me see, Davy ; let 
 me see : — yea, mairy, William cook, bid him come 
 hither. — Sir John, you shall not be excused. 
 
 Davy. Marry, sir, thus ; — those precepts cannot be 
 served : and, again, sir, — Shall we sow the head land 
 with wheat ? 
 
 SJial. With red wheat, Davy. But for William 
 cook ; Are there no young pigeons 1 
 
 Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note, 
 
 for shoeing, and plough-irons. 
 
 Shal. Let it be cast, and paid : — sir John, you 
 shall not be excused. 
 
 Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must 
 needs be had : — And, sir, do you mean to stop any o< 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 421 
 
 William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day 
 at Hinckley fair? 
 
 Shal. He shall answer it : Some pigeons, Davy; 
 
 a couple of short-legged hens ; a joint of mutton ; 
 and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell William cook. 
 
 Davif. Doth the man of war stay ail night, sir t 
 
 Slial. Yes, Davy. I will use iiim well ; A fiiend 
 i'the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his 
 men well, Davy ; for they are arrant knaves, and 
 will backbite. 
 
 Davy. No worse than they are back-bitten, sir ; 
 for they have marvellous foul linen. 
 
 bhaL V^ell conceited, Davy. About thy business, 
 Davy, 
 
 Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance AViiliam 
 Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill. 
 
 Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against 
 tliat V^isor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my 
 knowledge. 
 
 Davif. 1 grant your worship, that he is a knave, sir: 
 but yet, God forbid, sir, but *a knave should have 
 some counteuance at his friend's request. An honest 
 man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when a knave 
 is not. I have f.er\'ed your worship truly, sir, this 
 eight years ; and if I cannot once or twice in a quar- 
 ter bear out a knave against an honest man, I have 
 but a very little credit with your worship. The knave 
 is mine honest friend, sir : tiierefore, 1 beseech your 
 worship, let hira be countenanced. 
 
 ShiU. Goto; I say, he shall have no wrong. Look 
 about, Davy. [L'lif Daw.] Where are you, sir John ? 
 Come, off with your boots. — Give me your hand, mas- 
 ter Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 
 
 Shal. I thank thee with all my heart, kind master 
 Bardolph : — and welcome, my tall fellow. [To the 
 Page.] Come, sir John. [Exit Shallow. 
 
 Fat. I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow. 
 Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Bardolph and 
 Page.] If I were sawed into quantities, 1 should make 
 four dozen of such bearded hermit's staves as master 
 Shallow. It is a wonderful thing, to see the sembla- 
 ble coherence of iiis men's spirits and his : They, by 
 observing him, do bear themselves like foolish jus- 
 tices ; he, by conversing with them, is turned into a 
 justice-like serving-man ; theirspiritsare so married in 
 conjunction with the participationof society, that they 
 flock together in consent, like so many wild-geese. 
 If 1 had a suit to master Shallow, i would humour 
 his men, with the imputation of being near their mas- 
 ter: if to his men, 1 would curry with master Shallow, 
 that no man could better command his servants. It 
 is certain, that either wise bearing, or ignorant car- 
 riage, is cauglit as men take diseases, one of another ; 
 therefore, let men take heed of their company. I will 
 devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep 
 prince Harry in continual laughter, the wearing-out 
 of six fashions, (which is four terms or two actions,) 
 and he shall laugh without interiallmns. O, it is 
 much, that a lie, with a slight oath, and a jest, with 
 a sad brow, will do with a fellow that never had the 
 ache in his shoulders : O, you should see him laugh, 
 till his face be like a wet cloak ill laid up. 
 
 Shal. [n'tthui.] Sir John! 
 
 Fal. I come, master Shallow ; I come, master 
 Shallow, [Eiit Falstaff. 
 
 SCENE II.— Westminster. A Boom in the Palace, 
 Enter Warwick ana the Loud Chief Justice. 
 Mar. How now, my lord chief justice? whither away"! 
 Ch.Ju.it. How doth the king \ 
 
 War, Exceeding well; his cares are now all ended. 
 
 Ch.Just. I hope, not dead. 
 
 War. He *s walk'd the way of nature ; 
 
 And, to our purposes, he lives no more. 
 
 Ch.Ju<;t. I would his majesty had caU'dme with him: 
 The service that I truly did his life, 
 Hath left me open to all injuries. 
 
 War. Indeed. I think the young king loves you not. 
 
 Ch.Jiist. 1 know he doth not; and do arm myself, 
 To welcome the condition of the time ; 
 Which cannot look more hideously upon me 
 Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 
 
 Enter Prince John, Prince Humphrey, Clarence, 
 
 Westmoreland, and others. 
 
 War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry ; 
 O. that the living Harry had the temper 
 Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen ! 
 How many nobles then should hold their places. 
 That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort! 
 
 Ch.Just. Alas! I fear, all will be overturn'd. 
 
 P.John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick. 
 
 P. Humph. Cla. Good morrow, cousin. 
 
 P.John. We meet like men that had forgot to speak. 
 
 War. We do remember ; but our argument 
 Is all too heavy to admit much talk. [us heavy! 
 
 P.John. Well, peace be with him that hath made 
 
 Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier ! 
 
 P. Humph. O, good my lord, you have lost a friend. 
 And I dare swear, you borrow not that face [indeed: 
 Of seeming sorrow ; it is, sure, your own. 
 
 P. John. Though no man be assur'd what grace to 
 You stand in coldest expectation : [find, 
 
 1 am the sorrier ; 'would, 'twere otherwise. 
 
 Cla. Well youmustnowspeaksir JohnFalstaff fair; 
 Which swims against your stream of quality. 
 
 Ch.Just. Sweet princes, what 1 did, I did in honour. 
 Led by the impartial conduct of my soul ; 
 And never shall you see, that I will beg 
 A ragged and fovestall'd remission.— 
 If truth and upright innocency fail me, 
 I'll to the king my master that is dead. 
 And tell him who hath sent me after him. 
 
 War. Here comes the prince. 
 
 Enter King Henry V. 
 
 Ch. Just. Good morrow; and heaven save your 
 majesty 1 
 
 King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty. 
 Sits not so easy on me as you think. 
 Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear ; 
 This is the English, not the Turkish court ; 
 Not Amuiath an Amurath succeeds. 
 But Harry Harry: Vet be sad, good brothers. 
 For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you ; 
 Sorrow so royally in you appears, 
 That I will deeply put the fashion on. 
 And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad : 
 But entertain no more of it, good brothers. 
 Than a joint burden laid upon us ail. 
 For me, by heaven, I bid you be assur'd, 
 1 '11 be your father and your brother too ; 
 Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares 
 Vet weep, that Harry's dead ; and so will 1 ; 
 But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears, 
 By number, into hours of happiness. 
 
 P.John,6;c. We hope no other from your majesty. 
 
 King. Vou all look strangely on me: — and you 
 most ; [To the Chief Justice. 
 
 You are, 1 think, assur'd I love you not. 
 
 Ch. Just. 1 am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly, 
 , Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 
 
KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 
 
 422 
 
 King. No! . r 
 
 How miglit a prince of my great hopes forget 
 So treat inJignilies you laid upon me 1 
 What ! rale, rebuke, and roughly send to prison 
 The immediate heir of England ! Was tins easy ? 
 May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten ? 
 
 Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father ; 
 The image of his power lay then in me : 
 And, in the administration of his law. 
 Whiles 1 was busy for the commonwealth. 
 Your highness jileased to forget my place. 
 The majesty and power of law and justice. 
 The image of the king whom I presented. 
 And struck me in my very seat of judgment ; 
 Whereon, as an offender to your father, 
 I gave bold way to my authority. 
 And did commit you. If the deed were ill, 
 Be you contented, wearing now the garland 
 To have a son set your decrees at nought : 
 To pluck down jus'tice from your awful bench ; 
 To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword 
 That guards the peace and safety of your person . 
 Kay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image, 
 And mock your workings in a second body. 
 Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours ; 
 Be now the father, and propose a son : ^ 
 Hear your own dignity so much profan'd. 
 See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted. 
 Behold yourself so by a son disdained ; 
 And then imagine me taking your part, 
 And, in your power, soft silencing your son : 
 After this cold considerance, sentence me ; 
 And, as you are a king, speak in your state. 
 What I have done, that misbecame my place. 
 My person, or my liege's sovereignty. 
 A'ing.Youare right, justice, and you weigh this well 
 
 Therefore still bear the balance, and the sword : 
 
 And I do wish your honours may increase. 
 
 Till you do live to see a son of mine 
 
 Offend you, and obey you, as I did. 
 
 So shall I live to speak my father's words ;— 
 
 Happu am I, that have a mmi so bold. 
 
 That dares do justice on my proper son: 
 
 And not less happy, having such a son. 
 
 That would delioer up his greatness so 
 
 Into the hands of justice. — Yon did commit me . 
 
 For which, I do commit into your hand 
 
 The unstained sword that you have us'd to bear ; 
 
 With this remembrance,— That you use the same 
 
 With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit. 
 
 As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand ; 
 
 You shall be as a father to my youth : 
 
 My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear ; 
 
 And I will stoop and humble my intents 
 
 To your well praclis'd, wise directions. 
 
 And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ;— 
 My father is gone wild into his grave. 
 For in his tomb lie my affections ; 
 And with his spirit sadly I survive. 
 To mock the expectation of the world ; 
 To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out 
 Rotten opinion, who hath writ inc down 
 After ray seeming. The tide of blood in me 
 Hath proudly flow'd in vanity, till now . 
 Kow doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea ; 
 Where it shall mingle with the state of floods. 
 And fiow henceforth in formal majesty. 
 Now call we our high court of parliament : 
 And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel. 
 That the great body of our state may go 
 In enual rank with the best govern'd nation ; 
 That war, or peace, or both at once, may be 
 
 I 
 
 As things acquainted and familiar to us ; 
 
 In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. 
 
 [7'ii the Limn Chief Justice. 
 Our coronation done, we will accite, 
 ,\s I before remeinber'd, all our state : 
 ..^nd (God consigning to my good intents,) 
 No prmce, nor peer, shall have just cause to say,-- 
 ileaven shorten Harry's happy life one day. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Glostershire.— rfce Garden of Shallow's House. 
 
 Enter Falstaif, Shallow, Silence, Bardolpk, the 
 
 Page, and Daw. 
 
 Shot. Nay, you shall see mine orchard: where, m 
 
 an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own 
 
 grarting, with a dish of carraways, and so forth ;— 
 
 come, cousin Silence ;— and then to bed. 
 
 Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, 
 and a rich. 
 
 .S7ki(. Barren, barren, harren ; beggars all, beg- 
 gars all, sir John :— marry, good air.— Spread, Davy ; 
 spread, Davy , Well said, JJavy. _ 
 
 Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; he is 
 your serving man, and your husbandman. 
 
 Shot. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good 
 varlet, sir John.— By the mass, 1 have drunk too 
 
 much sack at supper : A good varlet. Now sit 
 
 down, now sit down :— come, cousin. 
 
 Sil. Ah, sirrah ! tiuoth-a,— we shall ^ ^ 
 
 Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, [Singing 
 And praise heaven J'm- the merry year; 
 Wheujiesh is cheap and females dear, 
 And iusty tads roam here and there. 
 So merrily. 
 And ever among so merrily. 
 Fat. There's a merry heart I— Good master Silence 
 I'll give you a health for that anon. 
 
 Shut. Give master Baidolph some wine, Davy. 
 Davy. Sweet sir, sit ; [sailiiij Bahdolph and the 
 Page at another table.] I'll be with you anon :— most 
 
 sweet sir, sit. Master Page, good master Page, 
 
 sit : preface ! What you want in meat, we'll have m 
 drink. But you must bear ; The heart's all. [Eut. 
 Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph ;— and my little 
 soldier there, be merry. . 
 
 Sil. Be memi, be merry, my u-ij'e's as all ; [Singing 
 Fin- iramfJ! ore shrews, both short and tall ; 
 'Tis merry in. hall, when beards wag all. 
 
 And welcome merry stirave-tide. 
 Be merrn, be merru, &e. 
 
 Fat. I did not think, master Silence had been a 
 man of this mettle. 
 
 Sit. Who 1 1 I have been merry twice and once 
 ere now, 
 
 Ke-enter Davy. 
 
 Dui'V- There is a dish of leather-coals for you. 
 
 ISetting them bejore Bardolph. 
 
 Shal. Davy,— . 
 
 Dull/. Your worship?— I'll be with you straight. 
 [Til B.4RD.]— A cup of wine, sir? 
 
 Sil. .^ <■"/'';/«''"'.''"'''''"''*'' '""'.''"'*' . . 
 
 And drinhunio the leman mine; [Singiug. 
 
 And a merrii heart lives long a. 
 
 Fal. Well said, master Silence. 
 
 Sil. And we shall be merry ;— now comes in the 
 sweet of the night. 
 
 Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence. 
 
 Sil. Fill the cup, a}id let it come ; 
 
 I'll pled'^e iinu a mile to the bottom. 
 
 Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome; If thou wantest 
 any thing, and wilt not call, beshrow Uiy hear:.— 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 423 
 
 Welcome, my little tiny thief; [to the Page.] and 
 welcome, indeed, too. — I '11 drink to master Bar- 
 dolpli, and to all the cavaleroes about London. 
 
 Davy. 1 hope to see London once ere I die. 
 
 Bard. An 1 might see you there, Davy, — 
 
 %al. By the mass, you '11 crack a quart together. 
 Ila ! will you not, master Bardolph 1 
 
 Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot. 
 
 Sfial. I thauk thee : — Tlie knave will stick by thee, 
 I can assure thee that : he w ill not out ; he is true bred. 
 
 Bard. And I '11 stick by him, sir. 
 
 ShaL Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing : be 
 meiry. [Kjwcking heard.] Look who's at door there: 
 Ho ! who knocks ! [Exit Daw. 
 
 FaL Why, now you have done me right. 
 
 [Tu SiLENCD, who drinlis a bumper. 
 
 Sil. Do me right, [Singing. 
 
 And dub me knight : i^ 
 
 Sumingo, 
 Is't not so t 
 
 Fat. "ris so. 
 
 Sil. Is 't so ? Why, then say, an old man can do 
 somewhat. 
 
 Re-enter Davy. 
 
 DavU' An it please your worship, there 's one 
 Pistol come from the court with news. 
 
 FaL From the court, let him come in. — 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 How now, Pistol ? 
 
 Fist. God save you, sir John '. 
 
 Fal. What wind blew you hither, PistoH 
 
 Pist, Not the ill wind which blows no man to 
 good. — Sweet knight, thou art now one of the great- 
 est men in the realm. 
 
 Sit. By 'r lady, I think 'a be ; but goodman Puff 
 of Barsoa. 
 
 Pist. Puff! 
 Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base ! — • 
 Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend, 
 And helter-skelter have I rode to thee ; 
 And tidings do 1 bring, and lucky joys, 
 And golden times, and happy news of price. 
 
 Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of 
 this world. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldings base! 
 I speak of Africa, and golden joys. 
 
 FaL base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? 
 Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. 
 
 Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, ajidJuhn. [Sings. 
 
 Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons ? 
 And shall good news be baffled ! 
 Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 
 
 iS7(«/. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding 
 
 Pist. Why then, lament, therefore. 
 
 ShaL Give me pardon, sir; — If, sir, you come with 
 news from the court, I take it, there is but two ways ; 
 cither to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, 
 under the king, in some authority. 
 
 Pist. Under which king, Bezonian? speak, or die. 
 
 ShaL Under king Harry. 
 
 Fist. Harry the fourth? or fifth? 
 
 ShaL Harry the fourth. 
 
 Pist. A foutra for thine office I — 
 
 Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king ; 
 Harry tlie fifth's the man. I speak the truth : 
 When Pistol lies, do this ; and tig me, like 
 The bragging Spaniard. 
 
 FaL What ! is the old king dead ? 
 
 Pist, As nail in door: the things I speak, are just. 
 
 FaL Away, Bardolph ; saddle my horse. — Master 
 Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the 
 
 land, 'tis thine. — Pistol, I will double*charge thee 
 with dignities. 
 
 Bar<L O joyful day! — I would not take a knight- 
 hood for my fortune. 
 
 Pist. What ? I do brmg good news? 
 
 FaL Carry master Silence to bed. — Master Shal- 
 low, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am for- 
 tune's steward. Get on thy boots; we'll ride all night: 
 — 0, sweet Pistol: — Away, Bardolph. [Kiit Baud-] 
 — Come, Pistol, utter more to me ; and, withal, de- 
 vise somethinf^, to do thvself good. — Boot, boot, 
 master Shallow : 1 know the young king is sick for 
 me. Let us take any man's horses ; the laws of Eng- 
 land are at my commandment. Hajjpy are they which 
 have been my friends ; and woe to my lord chief 
 justice ! 
 
 Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also 
 Where is the life that late I led, say they ; 
 Why, here it is; Welcome these pleasant days. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE IV.— London. A Street. 
 
 Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess Quickly and 
 Doll TEAn-SHEiiT. 
 
 Ho^t. No, thou arrant knave ; I would I might die, 
 that 1 might have thee hang'd : thou iiast drawn my 
 shoulder out of joint. 
 
 1 Bead. Tlie constables have delivered her over to 
 me : and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I 
 warrant lier ; there hath been a man or two lately 
 killed about her. 
 
 /)(j//! Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll 
 tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal ; an 
 the child I now go with, do miscarry, thou hadst better 
 thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper- faced villain. 
 
 Host. O the Lord, that sir John were come ! he 
 would make this a bloodv day to somebody. But I 
 pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry! 
 
 1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions 
 again ; you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you 
 both to go with me ; for the man is dead, that you 
 and Pistol beat among you. 
 
 DolL I 'U tell thee what, thou thin man in a censer ! 
 1 will have you as soundly swinged for this, you blue- 
 bottle rogue! you filthy famished correctioner ; if 
 you be not swinged, I will forswear half-kirtles. 
 
 1 Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant, come. 
 
 Host. O, that right should thus overcome might ! 
 Well ; of sufferance comes ease. 
 
 Dtdi Come, you rogue, come ; bring me to a justice. 
 
 Host. Ay ; come, you starved blood-hound. 
 
 VolL Goodman death ! goodman bones ! 
 
 Host. Thou atomy thou. 
 
 Di'lL Come, you thin thing ; come, you ra'^cal ! 
 
 1 Bead. Very well. 9 lEieunl. 
 
 SCENE V. — A public Place near Westminster Abbey. 
 Enter two Grooms, strewing rushes. 
 
 ] Groom, IMore rushes, more rushes. 
 
 i2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice. 
 
 1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come from 
 the coronation ; Despatch, despatch. [EieuntG rooms 
 
 Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph, 
 and the Page. 
 
 Fal. Stand here by me, master Kobert Shallow, 
 I will make the king do you grace : I will leer upoii 
 him, as 'a comes by ; and do but mark the counte- 
 nance that he will give me. 
 
 Pist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 
 
 FaL Come here. Pistol ; stand behind me. — 0. if 
 
424 
 
 KING HENRY IV.— PART II. 
 
 I had bad time to have made new liveries, I would 
 have bestowed the tliousaiid pound I borrowed of you. 
 [To Shallow.] Jiut 'tis no matter ; tiiis poor show 
 doth better : this doth infer the zeal I had to see him. 
 
 Shal. It doth so. 
 
 Fal. It shews my earnestness of affection. 
 
 Slicd. It doth so. 
 
 fill. I\]y devotion, 
 
 Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 
 
 Fal. As it were, to ride day and night ; and not 
 to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience 
 to shift me. 
 
 SliuL It is most certain. 
 
 Ful. But to stand stained with travel, and sweat- 
 ing with desire to see him: thinking of nothing else ; 
 putting all affairs else in oblivion ; as if there were 
 nothing else to be done, but to see him. 
 
 Pist, 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est: 'Tis 
 all in every part. 
 
 iS7/a/. *Tis so, indeed. 
 
 Pist. My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver, 
 And make tliee rage. 
 
 Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 
 Is in base durance, and contagious prison ; 
 Haul'd thitlier 
 
 By most mechanical and dirty hand : — 
 Rouze up revenge from ebon den with fell Alecto's 
 For Doll is in; Pistol speaks nought but truth, [snake, 
 
 Fal. 1 will deliver her. 
 
 [i7i()i(f5 within, and the trvmvets soviid, 
 
 Pist. There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor 
 sounds. 
 
 "Enter the King a7id his Train, the Chief Justice 
 among them. 
 
 Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Hal ! 
 
 Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal 
 imp of fame ! 
 
 Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 
 
 King. j\Iy lord chief justice, speak to that vainman. 
 
 Ch. Just. Have you your wits? know you what 'tis 
 you speak 1 
 
 fai. Myking! my.Tove! I speak to thee, my heart! 
 
 King. 1 know thee not, old nian : Fall to thy prayersj 
 How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester ! 
 I have long dream'd of such a kind of man. 
 So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane ; 
 But, being awake, 1 do despise my dream. 
 i\lake less thy body, hence, and more tliy grace ; 
 Leave gormandizing ; know, the grave doth gape 
 For thee thrice wider than for other men : — 
 Reply not to me with a fool-born jest ; 
 Presume not, that 1 am the thing I was : 
 For heaven doth know, so shall the world perceive. 
 That I have turn'd away my iormer self; 
 So will I those who kept me company. 
 When ihou dost hear 1 am as I have been. 
 Approach me ; and tliou shalt be as thou wast. 
 The tutor and the feeder of my riots ; 
 Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, — 
 As I have done the rest of my raisleaders, — 
 Not to come near our person by ten mile. 
 For competence of life, I will allow you, 
 '''hat lack of means enforce you not to evil ; 
 And, as we hear you do reform yourselves. 
 We will, — according toyourstiength, and qualities, — 
 Give you advancement. — Be it your charge, my lord, 
 To see perfonn'd the tenor of our word. — 
 Set on. [Erennt King and. his Traiju 
 
 Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand pound. 
 
 Shal, Ay, marry, sir.Iohn; which 1 beseech you 
 to let me have home with me. 
 
 Fat, That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do not 
 you grieve at this ; 1 shall be sent for in private to 
 nim: look you, he must seem thus to the world. Feai 
 not your advancement ; I will be the man yet, that 
 shall make you great. 
 
 .Shal. I cannot perceive how ; unless you give me 
 your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I beseech 
 you, good sir John, let me have five hundred of my 
 thousand. 
 
 Ful. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this that 
 you heard, was but a colour. 
 
 Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir 
 John. 
 
 Fat. Fear no colours ; go with me to dinner. Come, 
 lieutenant Pistol; — come, Bardolph ; — 1 shall bo 
 sent for soon at night. 
 
 Re-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice, 
 Officers, lSc. 
 
 Ch. Just. Go, carry sir John Falstaff to the Fleet; 
 1'ake all his company along with him. 
 
 Fat. My lord, my lord, 
 
 Ch. Just. I cannot now speak : I will hear you soon. 
 Take them away. 
 
 Pist. Si J'artuna me tormenta, spero me contenta. 
 [Fi\ Fal. Shal. Pist. Baud. Page, &; Officers. 
 
 P. John, 1 like this fair proceeding of the king's r 
 He hath intent, his wonted followers 
 Shall all be very well provided for; 
 liut all are banish'd, fill their conversations 
 Appear more wise and modest to the world. 
 
 Ch.Just. And so they are. 
 
 P. John. The king hath call'd his parliament, my 
 
 Ch. Just. He hath. [lord. 
 
 P. John. I will lay odds, — that, ere this year expire, 
 We bear our civil swords, and native fire. 
 As far as Fiance : I heard a bird so sing, 
 \Vhose music, to my thinking, pleas'd the king. 
 Come, will you hence 1 [Exeunt, 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 Spoken by a Dancer. 
 
 First, my fear ; then, my court'sy : last, my speech. 
 iVIyfearis, your displeasure; my court'sy, my duty; 
 and my speech, to beg your pardons. If you look for 
 a good speech now, you undo me : for what I have to 
 say, is of mine own making ; and what, indeed, I 
 should say, will, I doubt, prove mine own marring, 
 
 Hut to the purpose, and so to the venture Be it 
 
 known to you, (as it is very well,) I was lately here 
 in the end of a displeasing play, to pray your patience 
 tor it, and to promise you a better. I did mean, in- 
 deed, to pay you with this ; which, if, like an ill ven- 
 ture, it come unluckily home, I break, and you, mv 
 gentle creditors, lose. Here, I promised you, I would 
 be, and here I commit my body to yourmeicies : ba'e 
 me some, and I will pay you some, and, as most 
 debtors do, promise you infinitely. 
 
 If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will 
 vou command me to use my legs ? and yet that were 
 but light payment, — to dance out of your debt. But 
 a good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, 
 and so will I, All the gentlewomen here have for- 
 given me ; if the gentlemen will not, then the gen- 
 tlemen do not agree with the gentlewomen, which was 
 never seen before in such an assembly. 
 
 One word more, 1 beseech you. If you be not too 
 much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will 
 continue the story, with Sir John in it, and make you 
 merry witli fair Katherine of France ; where, for any 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 425 
 
 thiag 1 know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless I tongue is weary ; when ray legs are too, I will bid 
 already he be killed with your hard opinions; fori you good night: and so kneel down before you ■ but, 
 Oldcastle died a martyr, and thisisnotthemau. Myl indeed, to pray for the queen. 
 
 I fancy ererv reader, when he ends this play, cries out with 
 DeBdeniooa, "O niobi lame aud impotent concluiiou !" Asthis 
 
 flay was not. to our knowledge, divided into acts hy the aiith^r, 
 could be content to coDclude it with the death of Henry the 
 Fourth ; i 
 
 " In that Jerusalem shall Harry die." 
 
 These scenes, which now make the fifth act of Henry the 
 'Fourth, mit^ht then be the first of Henry the I'ifth ; bat the truth 
 ir that ihey do not unite very cuinmodiousiy to either play. 
 When these plays wtre represented. [ believe they ended as 
 they are now ended in the books ; but Shakspeare seems lo have 
 designed that the whole series of aciion, from the bei,'iumng of 
 Kic/iard the Second, to the end of Heniy the Fifth, should be con- 
 sidered by the reader as one work, upon one plan, only broLen 
 iDlopai-ts by the necessity uf exhibition. 
 
 None of Shakspeare 's plavsaremore read than the First and 
 Second Parts of He^nrv the Fourth. Perhaps no author has ever, 
 in two i)ldys, afforded so much delight. Ihe t^re^t events are 
 ijiteresting, for the fate of kin^'douis depends upon them ; the , 
 slighter occurreaces are diverting, and, except one ortwo, suf- ; 
 ficientlv probable : the incidents are multiplied with wonderful 
 fertility of invention, and the characters diversified with the 
 utmost nicety of discernment, aud the profouudest skill in the 
 nature of man. 
 
 The prince, who is the hero both of the comic and tragic part. 
 is a young man of gre nl abilities and violent passions, whose 
 sentiments are ncht, though his actions are wrong ; whose vir- I 
 tues are obscured by negligence, and whose underst.inding is 
 di>sipated hy levity. In his idle hours he is ra'her loose than i 
 wicked ; and when the occasion forces out his latent uualiiies, ' 
 he is sreat without effort, and brave without tumult, lue tritier ^ 
 
 IS roused into a hero, and the Jiero apaiu reposes iu the trifler. 
 I he character is great, original, and just. 
 
 Percy is a rugged soldier, choleric, and quarrelsome, and has 
 ouly tlie soldier's virtues, generosity and courage. 
 
 but FaUtaff, ummitated, unimilable lalstafF, how shall I de- 
 scribe thee ? thou compound of sense aud vice ; of sense which 
 may be admired, but not esteemed ; of vice, which uiav be de- 
 siMsed, but hardly detested. Falstaff is a character loaded with 
 faults, and with those faults which naturally produce contempt. 
 He IS a thief and a glutton, a coward ana a boaster, always 
 re.idy to cheat the weak, and prey uiion the poor ; to terrify the 
 timorous, and in^^lt the defenceless At once obsequious and 
 malignant, he satirizes in their absence those whom he lives 
 hy flattering. \\k is familiar with the prince only as an agent 
 of vice, but of this familiarity he is so proud, as not only lo be 
 S'lpercilious and haughty with common men. but to think his 
 interest ol importance to the Duke of Lancaster. Yet the man 
 tiius corrupt, thus despicable, makes himself necessary to the 
 prince that despises h:m, hy the most pleasing of all qualities, 
 jierpetual gaiety, by an unfailing power of excitinj,' laughter, 
 which is the more Ireely induK-ed, as his wit is not of the splen- 
 did or amhitiotis kind, but consists in easy scapes and sallies of 
 levitj- which mnke sport, but raise no envy. It must be ob- 
 served, that he is stained with no enormous or sanguinary 
 crimes, so that his licentiousness is not so offensive but that it 
 niiy be borne for his mirth. 
 
 Ihe moral to b«^ drawn from this representation is, that no 
 man is more danLjerous than he that, with a will to corrupt, hath 
 tlie power to please ; and that neither wit nor honesty ought 
 to think themselves safe with such a companion, when they see 
 lleary seduced by Falstaff.— Jounson. 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 This play was entered on the Stationers' books, August 14, 
 1000, and printed in the same year. It was written after the 
 Second Part of King Henry IV.. beintr jiromised' in the epi- 
 logue to that play ; and while the earl uf L'-sex was in Ireland, 
 as we learn from the chorus to the fifth act. Lord Essex 
 went to Ireland, April 15, 1599, and returned to London 
 on the 28Lh of September in the same year. So that this 
 
 play must have been produced between April and September. 
 1599. • 
 
 The transactions comprised in this Historical Play commence 
 about the lattereud of the first, and terniinale in the eighth, 
 year of this king's reign . when he married Katharine princess 
 of France, and closed up the differences betwixt £iiglaud aud 
 that crown.— Malone and Thlobald. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henry the Fifth. 
 
 Duke of Gi.oster, ) . .t ^ .. t-- 
 „ „ > brothers to the King. 
 
 Duke of Bedford, ) ° 
 
 Duke of Exfter, nude to the King. 
 
 Duke op York, cousin in the King. 
 
 EarlsofSalisbury, Westmoreland, a7!d Warwick. 
 
 Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Bishop of Ely. 
 
 Earl of Cambridge, "^ 
 
 Lord Scroop, ^ conspirators against the King. 
 
 Sir Thomas Grey, 3 
 
 Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluellen, Mac- 
 morris, Ja3iv, officers in King Henry's army. 
 
 Bates, Court, Williams, soldiers in the same. 
 
 Nysi, Bardoi.ph, Pistol, formerlu servants to Fal- 
 staff, now soldiers in the same* 
 
 Bott, servant to them. 
 
 A Herald, Chorus. 
 
 Charles the Sixth, King (i/" France. 
 
 Lewis, the Dauphin. 
 
 DuKFS of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bourbon. 
 
 The Constable of France. 
 
 Ramburfs, and Grandpree, French lords, 
 
 Goiernor of Harfleur. 
 
 AIosTjoY, a F.'ench herald. 
 
 Ambassadors to the King of England. 
 
 Isabel, Queen oJ France. 
 
 KATHitBiNE, daughter of Charles and Isabel. 
 
 Alice, a ladii attending on the Princess Katharine. 
 Quickly, Pistol's viife, an hostess. 
 
 Lords, Ladles, Officers, French and English Soldiers, 
 Messengers and Attendants. 
 
 The SCENE, at the beginning of the Plan, lies in Eng 
 LAND ; but aftertcards wholly i;i France. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 O, for a muse ot fire, that would ascend 
 The brightest heaven of invention! 
 A kingdom for a stage, princes to act. 
 And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
 Then should llie warlike liarrv, like'liimself. 
 Assume the port of iMars ; and. at his heels, 
 Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire 
 Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all. 
 The flat unraised spirit, that hath dar'd, 
 On this unworthy scaftbld, to bring forth 
 So great an object : Can this cockpit hold 
 The vasty fields of France 1 or may we cram 
 Within this wooden U, the very casques. 
 That did afl'right the air at Ajincourt? 
 O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may 
 Attest, in little place, a million ; 
 And let us, ciphers to this great accompt. 
 On your imaginary forces work ; 
 Suppose, with'.n the girdle of these walls 
 
426 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Are now confinM two mi^lity monarcliies, 
 
 Whose high uprearcd and abutting tVonts 
 
 The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. 
 
 Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts ; 
 
 Into ii thousand parts divide one man, 
 
 And niuke imaginary puissiince : 
 
 Think, "hen we talk of horses, that you see them 
 
 Trinting their proud iioofs i'the receiving earth : 
 
 For His your thouglits that now must deck our kings, 
 
 Carry thern here and there ; jumping o'er times ; 
 
 Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 
 Into an hour-glass ; For the which supply, 
 
 Admit me chorus to this history : 
 
 AVho, prologue-like, your humble patience pray, 
 
 Gently to liear, kindly to judge, our play. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 London An Ante-chamber in the King's Palace^ 
 
 Enter the Akchbishop of CANTLiinuny, and 
 Bishop of Ely. 
 
 Cant. My lord, I'll tell you, — that self bill is urg'd, 
 Wliich, in the elevenlli year o' the last lung's leign 
 Was like, and liad indeed against us pass'd. 
 But that the scumbling and unquiet time 
 Did publi it out of further question. 
 
 JE/y. Bui how, my lord, shall we resist it now"! 
 
 Cnnt, itmust be tliought on. If it pass against us, 
 AVe lose the better half of our possession ; 
 For all the temporal lands, which men devout 
 By testainent have given to the church. 
 Would they strip from us ; being valued thus, — • 
 As much as would maintain, to the king's honour. 
 Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights ; 
 Six thousand and two hundred good esquires ; 
 And, to relief of lazars, and weak age, 
 Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil, 
 A hundred alms houses, riglit well supplied; 
 And to the coders of the king beside, 
 A thousand pounds by the year : Thus runs the bill. 
 
 Et[/. This would drink deep. 
 
 Cant. 'Twould drink the cup and all. 
 
 Ely. But what prevention "! 
 
 Cant. The king is full of grace, and fair regard. 
 
 i'/u. And a true lover of the holy church. 
 
 Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not. 
 The breath no sooner left his father's body. 
 But tliat his wildness, mortified in him, 
 Seem'd to die too : yea, at that very moment, 
 Consideration like an angel came. 
 And whipp'd the oft'ending jVdam out of him ; 
 Leaving his body as a paradise. 
 To envelop and contain celestial spirits. 
 Never was such a sudden scholar made ; 
 Never came reformation in a flood. 
 With such a heady current, scouring faults ; 
 Nor never Hydra headed wilfulness 
 So soon tlid lose his seat, and all at once. 
 As in this king. 
 
 Jviy. We are blessed in the change. 
 
 Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, 
 And, all-admiring, with an mward wish 
 ■V'ou would desire, the king were made a prelate: 
 Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, 
 You would say, — it hath been all-in-all his study: 
 List his discourse of war, and you shall hear 
 A fearful battle render'd you in music ; 
 Turn him to any cause of policy, 
 The Gordian knot of it he will unloose. 
 
 Familiar as his garter ; that, when he speaks, 
 
 The air, a cliarter'd libertine, is still. 
 
 And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears. 
 
 To steal Ids sweet and honeyed sentences , 
 
 So that the art and practic part of lit'e 
 
 iNIust be the mistress to this theoric : 
 
 Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it. 
 
 Since his addiction was to courses vain : 
 
 His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow ; 
 
 His hours fiU'd up with riots, banquets, sports ; 
 
 And never noted in him any study. 
 
 Any retirement, any sequestration 
 
 From open haunts and popularity. 
 
 Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle: 
 And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, 
 Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality : 
 And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation 
 Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt, 
 Grew like the sumnfer grass, fastest by night. 
 Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty. 
 
 Cant. It m\ist be so -, for miracles are ceas'd ; 
 .'Vnd therefore we must needs admit the means. 
 How things are perfected. 
 
 Fill. But, my good lord, 
 
 How now for mitigation of this bill, 
 Urg'd by the commons 1 Doth his majesty 
 Incline to it, or no ? 
 
 Cant. He seems indifferent ; 
 
 Or, rather, swaying more upon our part. 
 Than cherishing the exhibiters against us : 
 For 1 have made an offer to his majesty, — 
 Upon our spiritual convocation ; 
 And in regard of causes now in hand. 
 Which I have open'd to his grace at large, 
 As touching France, — to give a greater sum 
 Than ever at one time the clergy yet 
 Did to his predecessors partwiihal. 
 
 Ell). How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord ? 
 
 Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty ; 
 Save, that there was not time enough to hear 
 (As I perceiv'd his giace would fain have done,) 
 The severals. and unhidden passages. 
 Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms ; 
 And, generally, to the crown and seat of France, 
 Deriv'd from Edwai'd, his great grandfather. 
 
 Etii. What was the impediment that broke this off ? 
 
 Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant, 
 Crav'd audience ; and the hour, I think, is come. 
 To give him hearing : Is it four o'clock 1 
 
 Kill. _ It is. 
 
 Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy ; 
 Which I could, with a ready guess, declare. 
 Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. 
 
 Elii. I'll wait upon you ; and 1 long to hear it. 
 
 [Eieunt, 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. A Room of State in the same. 
 
 Enter King Hfvry, Glosteu, BrnFORn, Exf.Tru, 
 Warwick, Westmoreland, and Attendants. 
 
 A*. Hen. Where is my giacious lord of Canterbury ? 
 
 Kxe, Not here in presence. 
 
 K. Hen. Send for liim, good uncle. 
 
 West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege? 
 
 K.Hen. Not yet, my cousin ; we would beresolv'd. 
 Before we bear him, of some things of weight, 
 That task our thoughts, concerning us and France. 
 
 Eater the Archhisiioi- of Canteuburv and 
 BisHoi' OF Ely. 
 Cant. God andhis angels, guard your sacred throne. 
 And make you long become it I 
 E. Hen. Sure, we thank yoa. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE II. 
 
 427 
 
 My learned lord, we pray you to proceed ! 
 And jusliy and religiously unfold, 
 Why the law Salique. that they have in France, 
 Or should, nr should not, bar us in our claim. 
 And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord, 
 That you should fashion, rest, or bow your reading, 
 Or nicely charge your understanding soul 
 With opening titles miscreate. whose light 
 Suits not in native colours with the truth ; 
 For God doth know, how many, now in health, 
 Shall drop their blood in approbation 
 Of what your reverence shall incite us to : 
 Therefore take heed how you impawn our person, 
 How you pwake the sleeping sword of war : 
 We charge you in the name of God, take heed : 
 For never two such kingdoms did contend. 
 Witliout much fall of blood ; whose guiltless drops 
 Are every one a woe. a sore complaint, 
 'Gainst him whose wrongs give edge unto the swords 
 That make such waste in brief mortality. 
 Under this conjuration, speak, my lord : 
 And we will hear, note, and believe in heart, 
 That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd 
 As pure as sin with baptism, [peers, 
 
 Cant. 'J'hen hear me. gracious sovereign, — and you 
 That owe your lives, your faith, and services. 
 To this imperial throne ; — Tlieie is no bar 
 To make against your higliness claim to France, 
 But this, whicli tliey produce from Pharamond, — 
 Jn terrain 6aUcam mulieres nt succedant, 
 No woman shall aiiccecd in Saliqtte (and : 
 Which Salitjue land the French unjustly glo^e, 
 To be the realm of France, and Pharamond 
 The founder of this law and female bar. 
 Yet their own authors faithfully affinii, 
 That the land Salique lies in Germany, 
 lietween the floods of Sala and of Elbe : 
 Wliere Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons, 
 There left behind and settled certain French ; 
 W'ho, holding in disdain tlie German womtn, 
 For some dishonest manners of their life, 
 Establish'd there this law, — to wit, no female 
 Should be inheritrix in Salique land ; 
 AVhich Salique, as I said, "twixt Kibe and Saia, 
 Is at this day in Germany call'd — I\Ieisen, 
 Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law 
 Was not devised for the realm of France ; 
 Nor did the French possess the Salique land 
 Until four hundred one and twenty years 
 After defunction of kin^j Pharamond, 
 Idli^^ppos'd the founder of this law ; 
 Wh^flied within the year of our redemption 
 Four hundred twenty-six ; and Charles ilte great 
 Subdued tlie Saxons, and did seat the French 
 Beyond the river Sala, in the year 
 Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, 
 King Pepin, which deposed Childerick, 
 Did, a-s lieir general, being descended 
 Of Biitliild, which was daughter to king Clnthair, 
 i\Iake claim and title to the crown of France. 
 Hugh Capet also, — that usurp'd the crown 
 Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male 
 Of the true line and stock of Ciiarles the great, — 
 To fine his title wilii some show of truth, 
 (Though, in pure truth, il was corrupt and naught,) 
 Convey 'd himself as heir to the lady Lingare, 
 Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son 
 To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son 
 Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth. 
 Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
 Could not keep quiet in his conscience. 
 Wearing the crown oi France, till satisfied 
 
 Tnat fair queen Isabel, his grandmother. 
 
 Was lineal of the lady Ermengare, 
 
 Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain : 
 
 By tlie which marriage, the line of Charles the great 
 
 Was re-united to the crown of France. 
 
 So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, 
 
 King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's clami, 
 
 King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear 
 
 To hold in right antl title of the female : 
 
 So do the kings of France unto this day ; 
 
 Howbeit they would liold un this Salique law. 
 
 To bar your highness claimnig from the female ; 
 
 And rather choose to hide them in a net, 
 
 Than amply to irnbare their crooked titles 
 
 Usurp'd from you and your progenitors, [this claim? 
 
 A'. Hen. INlay I, with right and conscience, make 
 
 Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign ' 
 For in the book of Numbers is it writ,— 
 ^Vhen the son dies, let the inheritance 
 Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord. 
 Stand for your own ; unwind your bloody flag ; 
 Look back unto your mighty ancestors ■ 
 Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire s tomb, 
 From whom you claim ; invoke his warlike spirit. 
 And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince j 
 Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, 
 JMaking defeat on the full power of France ; 
 Wjiiles his most mighty father on a hill 
 Stood'fcmiling, to behold his lion's whelp 
 Forage in blood of French nobility. 
 noble English, that could entertain 
 With half their forces the full pride of France ; 
 And let another half stand laughing by, 
 All out of work, and cold for action ! 
 
 Z-Vy. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead. 
 And willi your puissant arm renew their feats: 
 You are their heir, you sit upon their throne ; 
 Tiie blood and courage, that renowned them. 
 Runs in your veins ; and my thrice-puissant liege 
 Is in the very May-morn of his youth. 
 Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprizes. 
 
 Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth, 
 Do all expect that you should rouse yourself. 
 As did the former lions of your blood, [and might j 
 
 K't'sf . They know, your grace hath cause, and means, 
 So hath your highness ; never king of England 
 Had nobles riciier, and more loyal subjects ; 
 Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England, 
 And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France. 
 
 Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege, 
 With blood, and sword, and fire, to win your right 
 In aid whereof, we of the spiritualty 
 Will raise your highness such a mighty sum. 
 As never did the clergy at one time 
 Bring in to any of your ancestors. 
 
 K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the French , 
 But lay down our proportions to defend 
 Against the Scot, who will make road upon us 
 With all advantages. 
 
 Cant. They of those marches, gracious sovereign. 
 Shall be a wall suHiciont to defend 
 Our inland from the pilfering borderers. 
 
 A*. Hen, We do not mean the coursing snatcheis 
 But fear the main intendment of the Scot, [only, 
 Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us ; 
 For you shall read, that my great grandfather 
 A'ever went with his forces into France, 
 But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
 Came pouring, like the tide into a breach, 
 With ample and brim fulness of his force ; 
 Galling the gleaned land with hot essays . 
 Girding with grievous siege, castles and towns; 
 
428 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 That England, bein^ empty of defence, 
 
 Hath shook, and trembled at tlie ill-neighbourhooJ. 
 
 Cant. She hath been then more fear'd than hami'il. 
 For hear her but exampled by herself, — [my liege : 
 When all her chivalry hath been in France, 
 And she a mourning widow of her nobles, 
 She haih herself not only well defended, 
 But taken, and impounded as a stray, 
 Tlie king of Scots ; whom she did send to France, 
 To ftU king Edward's fame with prisoner kings j 
 And make your chronicle as rich with praise, 
 As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
 With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries. 
 
 West. But there's a saying, very old and true, — 
 If that you will France win, 
 Then with Scotland first begin ; 
 For once the eagle England being in prey, 
 To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 
 Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs j 
 Playing the mouse, in absence of the cat. 
 To spoil and havoc more than she can eat. 
 
 Eje. It follows then, the cat must stay at home : 
 Yet that is but a curs'd necessity ; 
 Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries, 
 And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
 While that the armed hand doth tight abroad, 
 The advised head defends itself at home : 
 For Government, though high, and low, and lower, 
 Put into parts, dolh keep in one concent-, 
 Congruing in a full and natuial close, 
 Like music. 
 
 Cant. True: therefore doth heaven divide 
 
 The state of man in divers functions, 
 Setting endeavoui in continual motion ; 
 To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, 
 Obedience : for so work the honey bees ; 
 Crealuies, that, by a rule in nature, teach 
 Tlie act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
 They liave a king, and officers of sorts : 
 Where some, like magistrates, correct at home j 
 Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; 
 Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, 
 Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ; 
 Which pillage they with merry march bring home 
 To the tent- royal of their emperor : 
 Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
 The singing masons building roofs of gold j 
 The civil Citizens kneading up the honey ; 
 The poor mechanic porters crouding in 
 Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ; 
 The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum. 
 Delivering o'er to executors pale 
 The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, — ■ 
 That many things, having full reference 
 To one concent, may work contrariously ; 
 As many arrows, loosed several ways, 
 Fly to one mark ; 
 
 As many several ways meet m one town ; 
 As many fresh streams run in one self sea; 
 As many lines close in the dial's center ; 
 So many a thousand actions, once afoot, 
 End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
 Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege. 
 Divide your happy England into four ; 
 Whereof take you one qi-aiter into France, 
 And you withal shall make all Gallia shake, 
 if we, with thrice that power left at home, 
 Cannot defend our own door from the dog. 
 Let us be worried ; and our nation lose 
 The name of hardiness, and policy. [phin. 
 
 A'. Hen. Call in the messengers sent from the Dau- 
 
 [Eiii an Attendant. The King asce7ids lus tlnone. 
 
 Now are we well resolv d ; and, — by God's help ; 
 And yours, the noble sinews of our power,— 
 France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe, 
 Or break it all to pieces : Or there we'll sit, 
 Ruling, in large and ample erapery, 
 O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms : 
 Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 
 Tombless, with no remembrance over them: 
 Either our history shall, with full mouth. 
 Speak freely of our acts ; or else our grave, 
 Like Turkish mute shall have a tongueless mouth, 
 Aot worship'd with a waxen epitaph. 
 
 Enter Ambassadors n/' France. 
 
 Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure 
 Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for, we hear. 
 Your greetina is from him, not from the king. 
 
 Ainb. IVIav it please your majesty, to give us leave 
 Freely to render \Vhat we have in charge ; 
 Or shall we sparingly shew you far off 
 The Dauphin's meaning, and our embassy 1 
 
 K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king; 
 Unto whose grace our passion is as subject, 
 As are our wretclies fciter'd in our pnsons : 
 Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness 
 Tell us the Dauphin's mind. 
 
 Amb. Thus, then, in few. 
 
 Your highness, lately sending into Fiance, 
 Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
 Of your great predecessor, king Edward tlie tiiird. 
 In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
 Says. — that you savour too much of your youth ; 
 And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France, 
 That can be with a nimble galliard won ; 
 You cannot revel into dukedoms there : 
 He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, 
 Tliis tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this, 
 Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim, 
 flear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks, 
 A'. Hen. What treasure, uncle? 
 Exe. Tennis-balls, ray liege. 
 K. Hen. We are glad, the Dauphin is so pleasant 
 with us ; 
 His present, and your pains, we thank you for : 
 AV'hen we have match'd our rackets to these balls. 
 We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set, 
 Shal' strike his father's crown into the hazard : 
 Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler. 
 That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
 With chaces. And we understand him well, 
 How he comes o'er us with our wilder days, ^ 
 Not measuring what use we made of them, W 
 We never valu'd this poor seat of England ; 
 And therefore, living hence, did give ourself 
 To barbarous license ; As 'tis ever common. 
 That men are merriest when they are from home. 
 But tell the Dauphin, — 1 will keep my state : 
 He like a king, and shew my sail of greatness, 
 W hen I do rouse me in my throne of France : 
 For that 1 have laid by my majesty, 
 .Vnd plodded like a man for working days 
 But 1 will rise there with so full a glory. 
 That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 
 Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. 
 And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his 
 Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones ; and his soul 
 Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance 
 That shall fly with them : for many a thousand widows 
 Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands; 
 Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down: 
 And some are yet ungotten, and unborn. 
 That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. 
 
w^i^ryf'^^'^^n 
 
 
 fttii:jr'"'iir"r'ii""V""'*''-'Mriirii' '■I'"~-W r""""ii"i'ii't'aitrmiiVi:'Hi"ni'r'^iiiif"'.'"""»"'"" 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 429 
 
 Bui lliis lies all within the will of God, 
 
 To whom I do appeal ; And in whose name, 
 
 Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on, 
 
 To venge me as 1 may, and to put forth 
 
 My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause. 
 
 So, get you hence in peace ; and tell the Dauphin, 
 
 His jest will savour but of shallow wit. 
 
 When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it. — 
 
 Convey them with safe conduct. — Fare you well. 
 
 [Exeu7tt Ambassadors. 
 
 Ere. This was a merry message. 
 
 A'. Hen. We hope to make the sender olush at it. 
 [Descends J I'om hia throne. 
 Therefore, my .ords, omit no happy hour, 
 Tliat may give furtherance to our expedition : 
 For we have now no thought in us but France ; 
 Save those to God, that run before our business. 
 Therefore, let our proportions for these wars 
 Be soon collected ; and all things thought upon, 
 That may, with reasonable swiftness, add 
 More leathers to our wings ; for, God before, 
 Vi'e'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. 
 Therefore, let every man now task his thought. 
 That this fair action may on foot be brought. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire, 
 And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies ; 
 Now thrive tlie armourers, and honour's thought 
 Reigns solely in the breast of every man : 
 They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse ; 
 Following the mirror of all Christian kings, 
 "U'ith winged heels, as English Mercuries, 
 For now sits Expectation in the air ; 
 And hides a sword from hilts unto the point. 
 With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, 
 Promis'd to Harry, and his followers. 
 The French, advis'd by good intelligence 
 Of this most dreadful preparation, 
 Shake in their fear ; and with pale policy 
 Seek to divert the English purposes. 
 O England ! — model to thy inward greatness. 
 Like little body with a mighty heart, — 
 What might'st thou do, that "honour would thee do. 
 Were all thy children kind-und natural ! 
 But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out 
 A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills 
 With treacherous crowns ; and three corrupted men, — 
 One, Richard earl of Cambridge ; and the second, 
 Henry lord Scroop of Masham ; and the third, 
 Sir Thomas Grey knight of Northumberland,^ 
 Have, for the gilt of France. (O guilt, indeed !) 
 Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France ; 
 And by their hands this grace of kings must die, 
 (If hell and treason hold their promif.es,) 
 Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. 
 Linger your patience on ; and well digest 
 The abuse of distance, while we force a play. 
 The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
 The king is set from London; and the scene 
 Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton : 
 Theie is the playhouse now, there must you sit : 
 And thence to France shall we convey you safe. 
 And bring you back, charming the narrow seas 
 To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may, 
 ^\ e'll not off"end one stomach with our play. 
 But. till the king come forth, and not till then. 
 Unto Soulhampton do we shift our scene. [Eri(, 
 
 SCENE I The same. Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter Nvm and Bardolph. 
 
 Bard. Well met, corporal Nym. 
 
 Num. Good nrorrow, lieutenant Bardolph. 
 
 Biad. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet? 
 
 Ktim. For my part, I care not : I say little ; but 
 when time shall serve, there shall be smiles ;— but 
 that shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but 1 will 
 wink, and hold out mine iron : It is a simple one ; 
 but what though ? It will toast cheese ; and it will 
 endure cold as another man's sword will : and there's 
 the humour of it. 
 
 Bard. I will bestow a breakfast to make you 
 friends ; and we'll be all tliree sworn brothers to 
 France ; let it be so, good corporal Iv'ym. 
 
 Num. 'Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's 
 the certain of it ; and when I cannot live any longer, 
 I will do as I may : that is my rest, that is the ren- 
 dezvous of it. 
 
 Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married to 
 Nell Quickly, and. certainly, she did you wrong ; 
 for you were troth-plight to her. 
 
 iVi/m. I cannot tell; things must be as they may : 
 men may sleep, and they may have their throats about 
 them at that time ; and, some say, knives have edges. 
 It must be as it may : though patience be a tired 
 mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. 
 Well, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter Pistol and Mrs. QurcKLv. 
 
 Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife: — 
 good corporal, be patient here. — How now, mine 
 host Pistol ! 
 
 Fist. Base tike, call'st thou me — host ? 
 Now, by this hand I swear, I scorn the term ; 
 Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. 
 
 Quich. No, by my troth, not long : for we cannot 
 lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen, 
 that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but 
 it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house straight. 
 [Nvm draws his sword,'] O well-a-day. Lady, if he 
 he not drawn now! O Lord! here's corporal Nyni's 
 — now shall we have wilful adultery and murder com- 
 mitted. Good lieutenant Bardolph, — good corporal, 
 offer nothing here. 
 
 Ni)m. Pish ! 
 
 Fist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick- 
 eared cur of Iceland. 
 
 Quick. Good corporal Nym, shew the valour of a 
 man, and put up thy sword. 
 
 Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you solus. 
 [Sheathing his sword. 
 
 Pist. Solus, egregious dog 1 O viper vile ! 
 The solus in thy most marvellous face ; 
 The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat. 
 And in thy hateful lungs, yea. in thy maw, perdy j 
 -Vnd, which is worse, within thy nasty moutlil 
 I do retort the solus in thy bowels ; 
 For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up, 
 And flashing fire will follow. 
 
 Num. I am not Barbason ; you cannot conjure me. 
 I have an humour to knock you indifferently well ; If 
 you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with 
 my rapier, as I may, in fair terms : if you would walk 
 off. I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, 
 as I may ; and that's the humour of it. 
 
 Pist. O braggard vile, and damned furious wight! 
 1'he grave doth gape, and doting death is near ; 
 Therefore e.xlrale. [Pistol and Nv.m draw. 
 
 Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say : — he that 
 strikes the first stroke, I'll run him iip to the hilts, as 
 I am a soldier. [Draws. 
 
430 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Prst. An oath of micklc might ; and fury shall abate. 
 Give nie thy fist, tliy fore-foot to rne give ; 
 Thy spirits are most tall. 
 
 Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in 
 fair terms ; that is the humour of it. [again. 
 
 Pht. Coupe le gorge, that's the word?— I thee defy 
 
 hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get ? 
 No ; to the spital go. 
 And from the powdering tub of infamy 
 Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 
 Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse : 
 
 1 have, and I will hold, the quonditm Quickly 
 For the only she: and — Pauca, tliere's enough. 
 
 Enter the Boy. 
 Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my mas- 
 ter,— and you, hostess;— he is very sick, and would 
 to bed.— Good Bardolph, put thy nose between his 
 sheets, and do the office of a warming-pau : 'faith, 
 he's very ill. 
 
 Burd. Away, you rogue. 
 
 Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding 
 one of these days ; the king has killed his heart. — 
 Good husband, come home presently. 
 
 [Exeunt Mrs. Qi'icKi.Y and Boy. 
 Bnrd. Come, shall I make you two friends ! We 
 must to France together; Why, the devil, should we 
 keep knives to cut" one another's throats'! 
 
 Pist.Letfloodso'erswell, and fiends for food howl on! 
 Num. You '11 pay me the eight shillings I won of 
 you at betting. 
 
 Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 
 
 Xum. Thatnow I will have ; that 's the humourof it. 
 
 Pist. As manhood shall compound ; Push home. 
 
 Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust 
 
 I '11 kill him ; by this sword, I will. [course. 
 
 Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their 
 
 Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be 
 
 friends : an thou wilt not, why then be enemies witli 
 
 me too. Pr'ythee, put up. 
 
 iYum. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of 
 you at betting ? 
 
 Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay ; 
 And liquor likewise will I give to thee. 
 And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood : 
 I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ; — 
 Is not this jus"t !— for I shall sutler be 
 Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. 
 Give nie thy hand. 
 
 Nym. I shall have my noble ? 
 
 Pist, In cash most justly paid. 
 
 Nym. Well then, that's the humour of it. 
 
 Re-enter Mrs. Quickly. 
 Qnick. As ever you came of women , come in quickly 
 to sir .Tohn : Ah, poor heart ! he is so shalied of a 
 burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable 
 to behold. .Sweet men, come to him. 
 
 A'yw. The king hath run bad humours on the knight, 
 that 's the even of it. 
 
 Pist. Nym. thou hast spoke the right ; 
 His heart is fracted, and corroborate. 
 
 iVi/m. The king is a good king : but it must be as 
 it may : he passes some humours and careers. 
 
 Pist. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, 
 we will live. [Eieimt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Southampton. A Cimncil Chamber. 
 Enter Exeter, BEnronn, and Westmoreland. 
 Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold to trust these trai- 
 F.re. They shall be apprehended by and by. [tors. 
 1 IVsf . How smooth and evendo theybear themselves! 
 As if allegiance in their bosom sat, 
 
 Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty. 
 
 Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend. 
 By interception which they dream not of. 
 
 jRif. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow. 
 Whom he hath cloy'il and grac'd with princely fa- 
 Thatheshould,fora foreignpurse,sosell . [vours,— 
 His sovereign's life to death and treachery ! 
 
 Tnimfirt sounds. Enter King Henry, Scroop, 
 Cambridge, Grey, Lords, and Attendants. 
 K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard 
 ^ly lord of Cambridge, — and my kind lord of Ma- 
 sham, — 
 And you, my gentle knight, — givemeyonr thoughts: 
 T'hink you not, that the powers we bear with us. 
 Will cut their passage through the force of France ; 
 Doing the execution, and the act. 
 For which we have in head assembled themi 
 
 Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best 
 A'. Hen. I doubt not that since weare well persuaded, 
 We carry not a heart with us from hence. 
 That grows not in a fair consent with ours ; 
 Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish 
 Success and conquest to attend on us. 
 
 Cam. Never was monarch better fcar'd, and lov'd 
 Than is your majesty ; there 'snot, I think, a subject. 
 That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
 Under the sweet shade of your government. 
 
 Grey. Even those, that were your father's enemies. 
 Have steep'd their galls in honey ; and do serve you 
 With hearts create of duty and of zeal. 
 
 K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thankfu'- 
 ,\nd shall forget the office of our band, [ness ; 
 
 Sooner than quittance of desert and merit. 
 According to the weight and worthiness. 
 
 Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil ; 
 And labour shall refresh itself with hope, 
 To do your grace incessant services. 
 
 K. Hen. We judge no less. — Uncle of Exeter, 
 Enlarge the man committed yesterday. 
 That rail'd E^ainst our person : we consider. 
 It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
 And, on his more advice, we pardon him. 
 
 Scroop. That 's mercy, but too much security : 
 Let him be punish'd, sovereign ; lest example 
 Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. 
 K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. 
 Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. 
 Grev. Sir, you shew groat mercy, if you give him life. 
 After the taste of much correction. 
 
 A'. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me 
 .\re heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch. 
 If little faults, proceeding on distemper. 
 Shall not be wink'd at, liow shall we stretch our eye. 
 When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, anddiges ted. 
 Appear before us ? — We '11 yet enlarge that man. 
 Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey,— in their dear 
 And tender preservation of our person, — [care. 
 Would have him punish'd. And now to our French 
 Who are the late ccmmissiouers t [causes ; 
 
 Cam. I, one, my loid; 
 Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 
 Scroop, So did you me, my liege. 
 Greif. And me, my royal sovereign. [yours ; — 
 K. Hen. Then. Ricliard, earl of Cambridge there is 
 There yours, lord Scroop of Masham — and, sir knight. 
 Grey of Noithumberland, this same is yours — 
 Read them ; and know, I know your worthiness. — 
 My lord of Westmoreland, — and uncle E.xeter, — 
 We will aboard to-night. — Why, how now, gentle- 
 ^Vhat see you in those papers, that you lose [men ? 
 So much complexion 1 — look ye, how tliey change! 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 431 
 
 riicK checks are paper.-Why, what read you there, 
 1 hai hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood 
 Ju^o^fappearaacel ^ ^^ ^„„f^,, „y f,„U ; 
 And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 
 
 Greu. Scroop. To which we all appeal. | 
 
 K. He. The mercy, that was qmckm us but late. 
 Bv vour own counsel .s suppress d and kill d. 
 ?L^ must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy ; 
 
 ^^ni^r=^:"^^t/Tcfb-s 
 
 Vou know" how apt our love was, to accord 
 
 To furnish him with all appertinents 
 
 Belon.'ing to his honour ; and this man _ 
 
 Hath,°for\ few light crowns, lightly conspir d. 
 
 And sworn unto the practices ot France, 
 
 To kill us here in Hampton: to the w-luch. 
 
 This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
 
 Than Cambridge is,-hath likewise sworn.-BulO 
 
 What shall I say to tliee, lord Scroop; thou cruel, 
 
 In^rateful, savage, and inhuman creature . 
 
 Thou, that did'st bear the key of all my counsels, 
 
 That knew'st the very bottom of my soul. 
 
 That almost mi?hfst have coin d me into gold, 
 
 Would-st thon have practis'd on me for thy use . 
 
 May it be possible, that foreign hire 
 
 Could out of thee extract one spark of evil. 
 
 That mightannoy my finger? tis so strange. 
 
 That, though the truth of it stands off as gross 
 
 As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it. 
 
 Treason, and murder, ever kept together. 
 
 As two yoke- devils sworn to either s purpose, 
 
 Workint- so grossly in a natural cause. 
 
 That admiration did not whoop at them : 
 
 But thou, 'gainst all proportion didst bring in 
 
 Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder ; 
 
 And whatsoever cunning fiend it was. 
 
 That wrought upon thee so preposterously, 
 
 H'ath got the voice in hell for excellence : 
 
 And other devils, that suggest by treasons, 
 
 Do botch and bungle up damnation 
 
 With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch d 
 
 From glistering semblances of piety ; 
 
 But he that temper-d thee, bade thee stand up. 
 
 Gave thee no instance why thou should st do treason, 
 
 Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. 
 
 if that same daemon, that hath gull'd thee thus. 
 
 Should with his lion gait walk the whole world. 
 
 He might return to vasty Tartar back. 
 
 And tell the legions-I can never _wm 
 
 \. soul so easy as that Englishman s. 
 
 O. how hast thou with jealousy infected 
 
 The sweetness of affiance '. Shew 'men dutiful 1 
 
 Why, so didst thou : Seem they grave and learned 
 
 Why so didst thou : Come they of noble family . 
 
 Why! so didst thou : Seem they religious 1 
 
 Why so didst thou -. Or are they spare in diet: 
 
 Free from gross passion, or of mirth or anger ; 
 
 Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood ; 
 
 Garnish'd and deck'd in modest compliment ; 
 
 Not working with the eye, without the ear, 
 
 \nd but in purged judgment, trusting neither . 
 
 •Such and so finely bolted, didst thou seem : 
 
 And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, 
 
 To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued, 
 
 W^ith some suspicion. I will weep for thee ; 
 
 For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
 
 Another fall of man.-Their faults are open, 
 
 Arrest them to the answer of the law ;.— 
 
 And God acquit them of their practices ! 
 
 E«. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
 
 Richard earl of Cambridge. „fiipn-„ 
 
 1 arrest thee o( high treason, by the name of Henry 
 
 lord Scroop of Masham. „f T>,«m-,<i 
 
 I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of fhomas 
 
 Grev, knight of Northumberland. , , 
 
 &;„n,,. Our purposes God justly hath discover d ; 
 And I repent my fault, more than my death ; 
 Which 1 beseech your highness to forgive. 
 Although my body pay tlie price of it. _ 
 
 CVn«. Forme.-lhe gold of France did not seduce , 
 Although 1 did admit it as a motive. 
 The sooner to effect what I intended : 
 But God be thanked for prevention ; _ 
 Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, 
 Beseeching God. and you, to pardon me. _ 
 
 Creii. Never did faithful subject more rejoice 
 At the discovery of most dangerous treason, 
 Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself, 
 Trevented from a damned enterprue : 
 JIv fault, but not mv body, pardon, sovereign. 
 
 A'. Hen. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear your sen- 
 You have conspir'd against our royal person, [tence: 
 loin'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and Irom his coHeis 
 Receiv'd the i^olden earnest of our death ; 
 W herein you would have sold your king to slaughter, 
 His princes and his peers to servitude, 
 His subjects to oppression and contempt, 
 \nd his whole kingdom unto desolation. 
 Touching our person, seek we no revenge; 
 Hut we our kingdom's safety must so tender. 
 Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws 
 We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, 
 I'oor miserable wretches, to your death : 
 The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you 
 Patience to endure, and true repentance 
 Of all vour dear offences !— Bear them hence. 
 i [Frxeuiit Conspirators, i-iMnfed. 
 
 Now, Lords, for France ; the enterprize whereof 
 Shall' be to you, as us, like glorious. 
 We doubt not of a fair and lucky war ; 
 Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
 This dangerous treason, lurking in our way. 
 To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now. 
 Hut every rub is smoothed on our way. 
 Then, forth, dear countrym.en ; let us deliver 
 Our puissance into the hand of God, 
 Putting it straight in expedition. 
 Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance : 
 Ko king of England, if not king of France. [Eieuni, 
 
 SCENE HI. 
 
 London.— fl/rs. Quickly's House in Eastcheap. 
 
 Enter Pistol, Mrs. Quicm.v, Nvm, 
 
 Baruolph, and Boy. 
 
 Qn ick. Pr'ythee, honey-sweet hutband, let me bring 
 
 thee to Staines. 
 
 I'hi. No ; for my manly heart doth yearn. — 
 Pardolph.beblithe:— Nym, rouse thy vauntingveins; 
 
 Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for Falstaff he is dead. 
 And we must yearn therefore. _ 
 
 hord. "Would, I were with him, wheresome er he 
 ' is, either in heaven, or in hell '. , . ■ 
 
 Quick. Nay, sure, he's not in hell; he's in Arthur 3 
 bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A 
 made a finer end, and went away, an it had been any 
 chrisom child; 'a parted even just between twelve 
 and one, e'en at turning o' the tide : for after 1 saw 
 him fumble with tlie sheets, and play with liower^, 
 and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was 
 but one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 
 
432 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 'a babbled of green fields. IIow now, sir John? 
 quoth I : what, man ! be of good cheer. So 'a cried 
 out — God, God, God! three or four times: now I, to 
 comforl him, bid him, 'a should not thiuli of God; I 
 hoped, there was no need to trouble himself with any 
 such thoughts yet : So, 'a bade me lay more clothes 
 on his feet: I put my hand into the bed, and felt them, 
 and they were as cold as any stone ; then I felt to his 
 knees, and so upward, and upward, and all was as 
 cold as any stone. 
 
 Niim. They say, he cried out of sack. 
 
 Quick. Ay, that 'a did. 
 
 Bard. And of women. 
 
 Quick. Nay, that 'a did not. 
 
 Bill/. Yes, that 'a did ; and said, they were devils 
 incarnate. . 
 
 Quick. 'A could never abide carnation ; 'twas a 
 colour he never liked. 
 
 Bnt/. 'A said once the devil would have him about 
 women. 
 
 Quick. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle w-omen : 
 but then he was rheumatic j and talked of the whore 
 of Babylon. 
 
 Boy. Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick 
 upon P.ardolph's no^e ; and 'a said, it was a black 
 soul burning in hell-lire ? 
 
 Banl. Well, the fuel is gone, that maintained that 
 fire: that's all the riches 1 got in his service. 
 
 A'vjii. Shall we shog off! the king will be gone 
 from Southampton. 
 
 Pist. Come, let's away. — My love, give me thy lips. 
 Look to my chattels, and my moveables : 
 Let senses rule j the word is, Pitch and jmy ; 
 Trust none ; 
 
 For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes. 
 And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck; 
 Therefore, caveto be tliy counsellor. 
 Go, clear thy chrystals. — Yoke-fellows in arms, 
 Let us to France! like horse-leeches, my boys ; 
 To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! 
 
 Bill/. And that is but unwholesome food, they say. 
 
 Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. 
 
 Bard. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her. 
 
 Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but 
 adieu. 
 
 fist. Let housewifery appear ; keep close, I thee 
 command. 
 
 Quicli. Farewell ; adieu. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 France. — A Room in the French King's Palace. 
 Enter the French King atteitded ; the Dauphin, the 
 
 Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and others. 
 
 Fr. King. Thus come the English with full power 
 And more than carefully it us concerns, [upon us ; 
 To answer royally in our defences. 
 Therefore the dukss of Berry, and of Bretagne, 
 Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, — 
 And you, prince Dauphin, — with all sweet despatch. 
 To line, and new repair, our towns of war. 
 With men of courage, and with means defendant: 
 For England his approaches makes as fierce. 
 As waters to the sucking of a gulf. 
 It fits us then, to be as provident 
 As fear may teach us, out of late examples 
 Left by the fatal and neglected English 
 Upon our fields. 
 
 Dun. Jly most redoubted father, 
 
 It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe : 
 For peace itself should not so dull a kinsdom, [tion,) 
 (Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in ques- 
 But that defences, musters, preparations. 
 
 Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected. 
 
 As were a war in expectation. 
 
 Therefore, 1 say, 'tis meet we all go forth, 
 
 To view tlie sick and feeble parts of France ; 
 
 And let us do it with no show of fear ; 
 
 No, with no more, than if we heard that England 
 
 Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance : 
 
 For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd. 
 
 Her scepter so fantastically borne 
 
 By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth. 
 
 That fear attends her not. 
 
 Con. O peace, prince Dauphin 
 
 You are too much mistaken in this king : 
 Question your grace the late ambassadors, — 
 With what great state he heard their embassy. 
 How well supplied with noble counsellors. 
 How modest in exception, and withal 
 How terrible in constant resolution,^ 
 And vou shall find, his vanities fore-spent 
 Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
 Covering discretion with a coat of folly; 
 As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
 That shall first spring, and be most delicate. 
 
 Dau. Weil, 'tis not so, my lord high constable. 
 But though we think it so, it is no matter : 
 In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh 
 I'he enemy more mighty than he seems. 
 So the proportions of defence are fiU'd ; 
 Which, of a weak and niggardly projection. 
 Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting 
 A little cloth. 
 
 Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong ; 
 And, princes, look, you strongly arm to meet him. 
 The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; 
 And he is bred out of that bloody strain. 
 That haunted us in our familiar paths : 
 Witness our too much memorable shame. 
 When Cressy battle fatally was struck. 
 And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand 
 Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales, 
 Whiles that his mountain sire, — on mountain stand- 
 Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, — [ing, 
 Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him 
 IMangle the work of nature, and deface 
 The patterns that by God and by French fathers 
 Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 
 Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear 
 The native mightiness and fate of him. 
 
 Enter a Blessenger. 
 
 Jlless. Ambassadors from Henry king of England 
 Do crave admittance to your majesty. 
 
 F.King. We'll give them present audience. 
 Go, and bring them. [Ejeii itiftless. iiiirf ceituiu Lords. 
 You see, this chase is hotly follow'd, friends. 
 
 Dan. Turn head, and stop pursuit ; for coward dog3 
 Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to 
 
 threaten, 
 Runs far before them. Good my sovereign. 
 Take up the English short ; and let them know 
 Of what a monarchy you are the head : 
 Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
 As self-neglecting. 
 
 Re-enter Lords, with Exeter and Train. 
 
 Fr. King. From our brother England? 
 
 Eie. From him ; and thus he greets your majesty. 
 He wills you, in tlie name of God Almighty, 
 That you divest yourself, and lay apart 
 The borrow'd glories, that, by gift of heaven. 
 By law of nature, and of nations, 'long 
 To him, and to his heirs ; namely, the crown. 
 And all wide stretched honours that pertain. 
 
ACT III— SCENE I. 
 
 433 
 
 ^v custom and the ordinance of times 
 
 Jnio the crown of Fra-ce That you may know, 
 
 Tis no sinister, nor no awkward claun, 
 
 Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vamsh d days, 
 
 Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak d 
 
 Hese,idsyouthismostmemorablehne,[G.t««pap«-. 
 
 In every branch truly demonstrative ; 
 Willing you, overlook this pedigree : 
 •\nd when you find him evenly deny d 
 From his most fam'd of famous ancestors, 
 Edward the Thud, he bids you then resign 
 Your crown and kingdom, indirect y held 
 From him the native and true challenger. 
 Fr, Kiw. Or else what follows ? 
 E,. Bfoody constraint ; for if you hide the crown 
 Even ia your hearts, there will he rake for it : 
 And therefore in Kerce tempest is he coming. 
 In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove ; 
 (That, if requiring fail, he will compel ;) 
 And bids you, m the bowels of the Lord, 
 Deliver up the crown ; and to take mercy 
 On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war 
 Opens his vasty jaws : and on your head 
 Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans cries. 
 The dead men's blood, the pining maidens groans 
 For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers. 
 That shall be swallowed in this controversy. 
 This is his claim, his threafning, and my message 
 Unless the Dauphin be in presence here. 
 To whom expressly I bnng greeting too. 
 
 Fr. Kin^. For us, we will consider ot this further . 
 To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
 Back to our brother England. 
 
 jj^,^ For the Dauphin, 
 
 I stand here for him; What to him from England? 
 
 E^e. Scorn, and defiance; slight regard, conleiupl. 
 And any thing that may not misbecome 
 The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
 Thus slys my king : and, if your father's highness 
 Do not,'in grant of all demands at large, 
 Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, 
 He '11 call you to so hot an answer for it. 
 That caves and womby vaultages of France 
 Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock 
 In second accent of his ordnance. 
 
 Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply. 
 It is against my will : for I desire 
 Nothing but odds with England ; to that end. 
 As matching to his youth and vanity, 
 I did present him ^vith those Pans balls. 
 
 Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it. 
 Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe : 
 \nd, be assur'd, you'll find a difference, 
 (As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,; 
 Between the promise of his greener days, 
 And these he masters now ; now he weighs time. 
 Even to the utmost grain ; which you shall read 
 In your own losses, if he stay in France. ItuH- 
 
 /-,-. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind at 
 E.e. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king 
 Come here himself to question our delay ; 
 For he is footed in this land already. [,':<>'>da.ons • 
 Fr Km". You shall be soon despatch d.with tair 
 A night is'but small breath, and little pause 
 To answer matters of this consequence. L'^-"""'- 
 
 Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen 
 The well appointed king at Hampton pier 
 Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet 
 AVith silken streamers the young Phcebas fanning. 
 Plav with your fancies ; and in them behold. 
 Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing: 
 Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give 
 To sounds confus'd ! behold the threaden sails, 
 Borne with the invisible and creeping wind. 
 Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow d sea. 
 Breasting the lofty surge; O, -jo ''f 'J""^' 
 \'ou stand upon the rivage. and behold 
 ..V city on the inconstant billows dancing ; 
 For so appears this fleet majestical, , „ , 
 
 Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow 
 Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy ; 
 \nd leave your England, as dead midmght, still. 
 Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old womep. 
 Either past, or not arrived to, pith and puis.ance : 
 For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
 
 for WHO 15 lie, wiiu=<; ^..... .- — - 
 
 With one appearing hair, that will not loUow 
 The^e cuU'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to Irs ace . 
 Work, work, your thoughts, and therein see a siege: 
 Behold tlie or'dnance on their carriages, 
 With fatal mouths gaping on girded Hartieur. 
 Suppo'^e, the ainbassadorfromtheFrenchcomes back; 
 
 Tells Harry-that the king doth ofter hira 
 Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry. 
 Some petty and unpiofitable dukedoms. 
 The offer likes not : and the nimble gunner 
 With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, 
 
 [Alarum; and chambers jro ojt- 
 And down goes all before them. Still be Kind 
 And eke out our performance with your mind. [int. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Ejitcr Chorus. 
 Cho. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies. 
 In motion of no less celerity 
 
 SCENE l.—The same. Before Harfleur. 
 Alarums. Enter King Henrv, Exeteu Bedford. 
 Gi.osTER, and Soldiers, with scaling ladders. 
 K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, 
 once more ; „ ,. , , i r 
 
 Or close the wall up with our English dead . 
 In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, 
 ■Vs modest stillness, and humility : 
 But when the blast of war blows in our ears. 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
 Stifi'en the sinews, summon up the blood, 
 Diso-uise fair nature with hard-favour d rage: 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
 Let it prv through the portage of the head, 
 Like the'brass cannon ; let the brow o erwhelm it. 
 As fearfully, as doth a galled rock 
 O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 
 SwiU'd with the wald and wasteful ocean. 
 Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostnl wide , 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 To his full height !— On, on, you noblest English, 
 Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proot . 
 Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 
 Have in these parts, from morn till even fought. 
 And sheath'd their swords for lack of argumenu 
 Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest ^ 
 
 That those, wh'om you call'd fathers, did beget you . 
 Be copy now to men of grosser blood, [men. 
 
 And teich them how to war !-And you, good yeo- 
 Whose limbs were made in England, shew us he.e, 
 The mettle of your pasture ; let us s'.vear _ 
 
 That you are w orthyour breeding : which I doubt not , 
 For there is none of you so mean and base. 
 That hath not noble lustre in your eves. 
 I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
 Straining upon the start. The game s afoot ; 
 2 K 
 
-134 
 
 KING HENRY V 
 
 Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, 
 Cry— God for Harry! England! and Saint George I 
 \_EieuHt. Alurim, and chambers go ojf'. 
 
 -The same^ 
 
 SCENE II 
 
 Forces jwss over ; then enter Nym, BAnuOLPii, 
 Pistol, and Boy. 
 
 Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the 
 breach I 
 
 Kym. 'Pray tliee, corporal, stay ; the knocks are 
 too hot ; and,' for mine own part, I have not a case 
 of lives ; the humour of it is too hot, that is the very 
 plain song of it. [abound ; 
 
 Pht The plain song is most just ; for humours do 
 Knocks go and come ; God's vassals drop and die ; 
 And sword and shield, 
 In bloody field, 
 Doth win immortal fame. 
 Boil. 'Would I were in an alehouse in London! 
 I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety. 
 I'Ul. And I : 
 
 If wishes would prevail with me. 
 My purpose should not fail with me. 
 But thither would I hie. 
 R-iy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing 
 on hough. 
 
 Enter Fluellen. 
 Fin. Got's plood ! — Up to the preaches, you ras- 
 cals ! will you not up to the preaches ! 
 
 [Driving them forward. 
 Fist. Be merciful, great duke, to meu of mould! 
 Abate thy rage, abate tliy manly rage! 
 Abate thy rage, great duke ! 
 
 Good bawcock, bate tliy rage ! use lenity, sweetchuck! 
 A'vm. These be good humours ! — your honour wins 
 bad humours. lEiennt Nym, Pistol, A' BAnDOLPH, 
 J'olloired by Fluellen. 
 Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these tliree 
 swashers. I am boy to them all three : but all they 
 three, though they would serve me, could not be man 
 to me ; for,°indeed, thiee such antics do not amount 
 to a man. For Bardolph, — he is white-liyer'd, and 
 red-faced; by the means whereof, 'a faces it out, but 
 tights not. For Pistol, —he hath a killing tongue, and 
 a quiet sword ; by the means whereof 'a breaks words, 
 and keeps whole weapons. For Nym,— he hath heard, 
 that men of few words are the best men ; and there- 
 fore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be 
 thought a coward : but his few'bad words are match'd 
 with as few good deeds ; for 'a never broke anyman's 
 head but his own ; and that was against a post, when 
 he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it, 
 — purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case ; bore it 
 twelve leagues, and sold it lor three halfpence. Nym 
 and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching ; and in 
 Calais they stole a fire-shovel : I knew, by that piece 
 of service, the men would carry coals. They would 
 have me as familiar with men's pockets, as their gloves 
 or their handkerchiefs : which makes much against 
 my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket, 
 to put into mine ; for it is plain pocketing up of 
 wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better 
 service : their villany goes against my weak stomach, 
 and therefore I must cast it up. [Exit Boy. 
 
 Re-mter Fluellen, Go\vek following. 
 Gcw. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently 
 to the mines ; the duke of Gloster would speak with 
 
 is not according to the disciplines of the war ; the 
 concavities of it is not sufficient ; for, look you, 
 th' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look 
 you,) is dight himself four yards under the counter- 
 mines ; by Cheshu, I think, 'a will plow up all, if 
 there is not better directions. 
 
 Gow. The duke of Gloster. to whom the order of the 
 siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman ; 
 a very valiant gentleman, i'faith. 
 
 Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not? 
 
 Gow. 1 think, it be. 
 
 Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 'orld : I 
 will verify as much in his peard ; he has no more di- 
 rections in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, 
 of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. 
 
 Enter Macmorris and Jamy, at a distance. 
 Goio. Here 'a comes ; and the Scots captain, cap- 
 tain Jamy, with him. 
 
 Flu. Captain .lamy is a marvellous falorous gen- 
 
 you.. 
 
 Flu. To the mines 
 
 tell you the duke, it is not so 
 
 good to come to the mines ; For, look you, the mines 
 
 tleman, that is certain ; and of great expedition, and 
 knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my particular 
 knowledge of his directions : by Cheshu, he will 
 maintain his argument as well as any military man 
 in the 'oild, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of 
 the Romans. 
 
 Jamil. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. 
 f/u." God-den to your worsliip, gootcaptain Jamy. 
 Gou: How now, captain iMacmorris^ have you quit 
 the mines ! have the pioneers given o'er ? 
 
 Mac. l!y Chrish la, tish ill done : the work ish 
 live over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand, 
 f swear, and by my father's soul, the work ish ill 
 done ; it ish give over : I would have blowed up the 
 town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O, tish ill 
 done, tish ill done ; by my hand, tish ill done ! 
 
 Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, will 
 you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with 
 you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines 
 of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, 
 look you, and friendly communication; partly, to 
 satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction, 
 look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of 
 the military discipline ; that is the point. 
 
 Jumii. It sail be very gud, gud feith, gud captains 
 bath : "and I sail quit you with gud leve, as I may 
 pick occasion ; that sail I. marry. 
 
 Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me, 
 the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and 
 tlie king, and the dukes ; it is no time to discourse. 
 The tovvn is beseeched, and the trumpet calls us to 
 the breach ; and we talk, and, by Chrish, do nothing ; 
 'tis shame for us all : so God sa' me, 'tis shame to 
 stand still ; it is shame, by my hand : and there is 
 throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there 
 ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la. 
 
 Jamti. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take 
 themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile 
 ligge i'the grund for it ; ay, or go to death ; and aile 
 pay it as valorously as I may, that sal I surely do, 
 that is the breff and the long : Siary, I wad full fain 
 heard some question 'tween you 'tway. 
 
 Flu. Captain lAIacmorris, I think, look you, under 
 
 your correction, there is not many of your nation — 
 
 Mac. Of my nation"! What ish my nation ! ish a 
 
 villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal 1 
 
 What ish my nation 1 Who talks of my nation"! 
 
 Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise 
 than is meant, Captain INIacniorris, peradventure, I 
 shall tliink you do not use me with that afl'ability as 
 in discretion you ought to use me, look you ; being 
 as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of 
 
ACT III.— SCENE V. V 
 
 wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest ; 
 
 435 
 
 particularities. 
 
 Mac. I do not know you so good a man as myself: 
 so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. 
 
 Gull'. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. 
 
 Jumi/. Au ! that's a foul fault. [-4 parleu sounded. 
 
 Ckio. The town sounds a parley. 
 
 flu. Captain IMacmorris, when there is more bet- 
 ter opportunity to be required, look you, I mil be so 
 bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of war ; 
 and there is an end. \_Eieuiit. 
 
 SCENE III.— r/i«sam«. Before the Gates ofHarfleur. 
 
 The Governor and some Citizens on the walls ; the 
 
 Ent- lish Forces below. Enter King Henrv S^ Train. 
 
 To-morrow for the march are we addrest. 
 
 [Flourish. The King, &e. enter the town. 
 
 SCENE IV Roiien. A Rmm in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Katharine and Alice. 
 
 Kath. Alice, tu as esti en Angleterre, et tu paries 
 bien le language. 
 
 Alice. Un pen, madame. 
 
 Kath. Je te prie, m' enseigtK^ ; ilfaut que j'ap- 
 prenne a purler. Comment appellez vous la main, en 
 Angloisl 
 
 Alice. Lamaini elle est appellee, de hand. 
 
 Kttth. De hand. El le doigts ? 
 
 Alice, l.es doigts ? majoii.je oMie les doigts ; mais 
 Les doigts? je peitse, qu'ils soiU 
 
 je rne souvtcnitrttq. 
 K. Hen. How yet resolves the goTcrnor of the townl ^^,^^11^ j^ (i„gres' ; ouy, de fingres. 
 
 Kaih. Z-o mui K, de hand ; ics Woigts, de fingres. Je 
 
 This is the latest parle we will admit 
 
 Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves ; 
 
 Or like to men proud of destruction. 
 
 Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier, 
 
 (.■V name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,) 
 
 If I begin the battery once again, 
 
 I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur, 
 
 Till in her ashes she lie buried. 
 
 The gates of mercy shall be all shut up ; 
 
 .\nd the fiesh'd soldier, — rough and hard of heart, — 
 
 In liberty of bloody hand, shall range 
 
 With conscience wide as hell ; mowing like grass 
 
 Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. 
 
 What is it then to me, if impious war, — 
 
 .\iTiy'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, — 
 
 Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats 
 
 Knlink'd to waste and desolation 1 
 
 What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, 
 
 !f your pure maidens fall into the hand 
 
 Of hot and forcing violation ? 
 
 What rein can hold licentious wickedness. 
 
 When down the hill he holds his fierce career I 
 
 We may as bootless spend our vain command 
 
 Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil. 
 
 As send precepts to the Leviathan 
 
 To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, 
 
 Take pity of your town, and of your people. 
 
 Whiles yet my soldiers, are in my command -. 
 
 Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace 
 
 O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds 
 
 Of deadly murder, spoil, and villany. 
 
 If not, why, in a moment, look to see 
 
 The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
 
 Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters ; 
 
 Your fathers taken by the silver beards. 
 
 And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls ; 
 
 Your naked infants spitted upon pikes ; 
 
 Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd 
 
 Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry 
 
 At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
 
 What say you ! will you yield, and this avoid 1 
 
 Or guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd 1 
 
 (Vim. Our expectation hath this day an end : 
 The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated. 
 Returns us— that his powers are not yet ready 
 To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king, 
 ■VVe vield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy : 
 Enter our gates ; dispose of us, and ours ; 
 For we no longer are defensible. 
 
 A'. Hen. Open your gates. — Come, uncle Exeter, 
 Go you and enter Harfleur ; there remain. 
 And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French : 
 Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, — 
 The winter coming on, and sickness growing 
 Upon our soldiers,- -we'll retire to Calais. 
 
 pense, quejc suis le bon escalier. J'ay gagne denx mots 
 d'.ingtois vistement. Comment appellez vous les angles? 
 Alice. Lesonglesi ies appe((uHS, de nails. 
 Kath. De nails. Escoute: ; dites moy, si je parle 
 bien : de hand, de fingres, de nails. 
 
 Alice. C'est bien (lit, madame ; it estfr't bon Anglois, 
 Kath. Dites mou en Anglois, le bras. 
 Alice. De arm, madame. 
 Kath. Et le coude. 
 Alice. De elbow. 
 
 Kath. De elbow. Je m'en faitz la repeilion de 
 tons les mots, que vous m'avez appris des a present. 
 Alice. 11 est trop difficile, madame, commeje pense. 
 Kath. Eicusez moy. Alice ; escoutez ; De hand, de 
 fingre, de nails, de arm, de bilbow. 
 Alice. De elbow, madame. 
 
 Kath. Q Seigneur Dieu !je m'en oublie ; De elbow. 
 Comment appellez vous le col ? 
 Alice. De neck, madame. 
 Kath. De neck : Et le menton ? 
 Alice. De chin. 
 
 Katk. De sin. Le col, de neck : le menton, de sin. 
 
 Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre hontteur : en verite, vous 
 
 prononces les motsaussi droict que les natifs d' Angleterre, 
 
 Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre par la grace dt 
 
 Dicu ; et en pen de temps. 
 
 .ilice. N'avez vous pas deja oublii ce queje vous ay 
 enseigtixeJ 
 
 Kath. Kon.je reciteray a vous promptement. De 
 hand, de fingre, ne mails, — 
 Alice. De nails, madame. 
 Kath. De nails, de arme, deilbow. 
 .-tlice. Sauf vostre honneitr, dQ elhovr. 
 Kath. Ainsi disje; de elbow, de neck, et de sin : 
 Comment appellez vous le pieds et la ro&e ? 
 Alice. De foot, madame ; et de con. 
 Kath. De foot, et de con 1 Seigneur Dieu ! ces 
 sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, et impu- 
 diijue, et mm pour les dames d'honneur d'user: Je no 
 voudrois prononccr ces mots devaut /es Seigneurs de 
 France, pour tout le monde. 11 faut de foot, et de 
 con, neant-moins. Je reciterai une autre J'ois ma 
 • U'<;on ensemble : Dehand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, 
 de elbow, de neck, de sin, de foot, de con. 
 Alice. Excellent, madame ! 
 
 Kath. C'est assez pour uuefois ; allons nous a disner. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE "V.—The same. Another Room in the same. 
 E/i(er(;ieFrenchKiNO,t/!eDAVPnix,DutEOF Bour- 
 bon, the CoxsTABLE 11/' France, and others. 
 Fr.A'i>io'.'riscertain,he hath pass'd the river Some 
 Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, 
 2 E ^ 
 
430 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Let us not live in France ; let us quit all, 
 And give our vineyards to a barliarous people. 
 
 Dull. Dieii vi'miit ! shall a few sprays of U9,— 
 The emptying of our fathers' luxury, 
 Our scions, put in wild and savage stock. 
 Spurt up so suddenly into the clouds, 
 And overlook their grafters 1 
 
 Bdur. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman 
 Mirrt lie ma vie ! if they march along [bastards ! 
 Unfouglit witlial, but I will sell my dukedom, 
 To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
 In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. 
 
 Con. Dieii de hattaiies ! where have they this 
 Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull ? [mettle ! 
 On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale. 
 Killing their fruit with frowns] Can sodden water, 
 A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley biotli, 
 Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? 
 And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, 
 Seem frosty 7 O, for the honour of our land, 
 Let us not hang like roping icicles 
 Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people 
 Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields ; 
 Poor — we may call them, in their native lords. 
 
 Dau. By faith and honour, 
 Our madams mock at us ; and plainly say, 
 Our mettle is bred out ; and they will give 
 Their bodies to the lust of English youth. 
 To new-store France with bastard warriors. 
 
 Bour. They bid us— to tlie English dancing-schools 
 And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos ; 
 Saying, our grace is only in our heels. 
 And that we are most lofty runaways. [hence 
 
 Fr. AiKg. Where is Montjoy, the herald? speed him 
 Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. 
 Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd. 
 More sharper than your swords, hie to the field : 
 Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France ; 
 You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry, 
 Alen9on, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy ; 
 Jaques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont, 
 Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg, 
 Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois ; 
 High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, andknights. 
 For your great seats, now quit you of great shames. 
 Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land 
 With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur : 
 Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow 
 Upon the valleys : whose low vassal seat 
 The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon : 
 Go down upon him, — you have power enough,— 
 And in a captive chariot, into Roiien 
 Bring him our prisoner. 
 
 Coil. This becomes the great. 
 
 Sorry am I, his numbers are so few. 
 His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march ; 
 For, I am sure, when he shall see our army, 
 He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear. 
 And, for achievement, ofl'er us his ransome. 
 
 Fr. A'iiig.Tiierefore, lord constable, haste on Mont- 
 And let him say to England, that we send [j'jy ; 
 To know what willing ransome he will give.— ■ 
 Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roiien. 
 Viiu. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 
 Fr. King. Re patient, for you shall remain with us. — 
 Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all ; 
 And quickly bring us word of England's fall. [Ei. 
 
 SCENE Yi.—The English Camp in Picardy. 
 
 Enter Goweu and Fluellen. 
 Gmr. How now, captain Fluellen 1 come you from 
 the bridge 1 
 
 Flu. I assure you, there is very excelleniservice 
 committed at the pridge. 
 
 Gnu. Is the duke of Exeter safe? 
 
 Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as 
 Agamemnon ; and a man that I love and honoui 
 with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my 
 life, and my livings, and my uttermost powers : he 
 is not, (God be praised and plessed!) any hurt in 
 the 'orld ; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with 
 excellent discipline. There is an ensign there at the 
 pridge, — I think, in my very conscience, he is as 
 valiant as Mark Antony ; and he is a man of no esti- 
 mation in the 'orld ; but I did see him do gallant 
 
 service. 
 Oow. 
 Flu. 
 Gow. 
 
 What do you call him ? 
 He is called — ancient Pistol. 
 I know him not. 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 Fin. Do you not know him ? Here comes the man. 
 Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours . 
 The duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 
 
 Flu. Ay, I praise Got ; and 1 have merited some 
 love at his hands. 
 
 Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, 
 Of buxom valour, hath, — by cruel fate. 
 And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, 
 That goddess blind. 
 That stands upon the rolling restless stone, — 
 
 fill. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune 
 is painted plind, with a muffler before her eyes, to 
 signify to you that fortune is plind : And she is 
 painted also with a wheel ; to signify to you, which 
 is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, 
 and variations, and mutabilities : and her foot, look 
 you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and 
 rolls, and rolls ; — In good truth, the poet is make a 
 most excellent description of fortune : fortune, look 
 you. is an excellent moral. 
 
 Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on 
 For he hath stol'n apia, and hanged must 'a be. [him; 
 A damned death ! 
 
 Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free. 
 And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate : 
 But Exeter hath given the doom of death. 
 For pix of little price.- 
 
 Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice ; 
 .\nd let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
 With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach : 
 Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite. 
 
 Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your 
 meaning. 
 
 Pist. Why then rejoice therefore ? 
 Fill. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice 
 at : for if, look you, he were my brother, I would 
 desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put hiiu 
 to executions ; for disciplines ought to be used. 
 Pist. Dieandbe damn'd ; andjigo for thy friendship. 
 Flu. It is well. 
 
 Pist. The fig of Spain. [E«i Pistol. 
 
 Flu. Very good. 
 
 Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ; I 
 remember him now ; a bawd ; a cutpurse. 
 
 Flu. I'll assure you, 'a uttered as prave 'ords at 
 the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day : But 
 it is very well ; what he has spoke to me, that is well, 
 I warrant you, when time is serve. 
 
 Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue; that now 
 and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his 
 return into London, under the form of a soldier. And 
 such fellows are perfect in great commanders' names : 
 and they will learn you by rote, where services were 
 
ACT III.— SCENE VII. 
 
 437 
 
 done ; — at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, 
 at such a convoy ; who came oW bravely, who was 
 shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood on ; 
 and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, 
 which they trick up with new-tuned oaths : And 
 what a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit 
 of the carap, will do among foaming bottles, and ale- 
 washed wits, is wonderful to be thoughton! butyou 
 must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else 
 you may be marvellous mistook. 
 
 Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower ; — I do per- 
 ceive, he is not the man that he would gladly make 
 show to the 'orld he is j if 1 find a hole in his coat, I 
 will tell him my mind. [Druji} heard.'\ Hark you, 
 the king is coming ; and 1 must speak with him from 
 the pridge. 
 
 E?tter King Hekry, Gloster, and Soldiers. 
 
 Flu. Got pless your majesty ! 
 
 A'. Hen. How now, Fluellen? earnest thou from 
 the bridge 1 
 
 Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of 
 Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge : the 
 French is gone otF, look you ; and there is gallant 
 and most prave passages : Marry, th' athversary was 
 have possession of the pridge ; but he was enforced to 
 retire, and the duke of Exeter is master of the pridge : 
 I can tell your majesty, the duke is a prave man. 
 
 K. Hen. What men have you lost. Fluellen ? 
 
 Ftu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been very 
 great, very reasonable great : marry, for my part. I 
 think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is 
 like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bar- 
 dolph, if your majesty know the man : his face is all 
 bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire ; 
 and his lips plows at his nose, and it is like a coal 
 of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes red ; but his 
 nose is executed, and his fire is out. 
 
 K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut 
 off: — and we give express charge, that, in our marches 
 through the country, there be nothing compelled from 
 the villages, nothing taken but paid for ; none of the 
 French upbraided, or abused in disdainful language : 
 For when lenity and cruelty plav for a kingdom, the 
 gentler gamester is the soonest winner. 
 
 Tucket sounds. Enter Montjoy. 
 
 Mont. You know me by my habit. 
 
 A'. Hen. Weil then, 1 know thee ; What shall I 
 know of thee ? 
 
 Mont. My master's mind. 
 
 A'. Hen. Unfold it. 
 
 Mont. Thus says my king: — Say thou to Harrv of 
 England, Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep ; 
 Advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell 
 him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur : but 
 that we thought not good to bruise an injury, till it 
 were lull ripe ; — now we speak upon our cue, and 
 our voice is imperial : England shall repent his folly, 
 see his weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid 
 him. therefore, consider of his ranaome: which must 
 proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we 
 have lost, the disgrace we have digested ; which, in 
 weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. 
 For our losses, his exchequer is too poor ; for the 
 effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too 
 faint a number ; and for our disgrace, his own person, 
 kneeling at our feet, but a weak and worthless satis- 
 faction. To this add — defiance ; and tell him, for 
 conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose 
 condemnation is pronounced. So far my king and 
 aiaster; so much my othce. 
 
 A'. Hen. What is thy name"! I know thy quality, 
 
 Mont. Montjoy. 
 
 A'. H^».ThoQ dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, 
 And tell thy king.— I do not seek him now ; 
 But could be willing to march on to Calais 
 Without impeachment : for, to say the sooth, 
 (Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much 
 Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,) 
 j\Iy people are with sickness much enfeebled ; 
 My numbers lessen'd ; and those few 1 have, 
 Almost no better than so many French : 
 Who when they were in health. I tell thee, herald, 
 I thought, upon one pair of English legs 
 Did march three Frenchmen. — Vet, forgive me, God, 
 That 1 do brag thus ! — this your air of France 
 Hath blown that vice in me ; I must repent. 
 Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am ; 
 My ransome, is this frail and worthless trunk ; 
 My army, but a weak and sickly guard ; 
 Vet, God before, tell him we will come on, 
 Though France himself, and such another neighbour, 
 Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy. 
 Go bid thy master well advise himself: 
 If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd, 
 We shall your tawny ground with your red blood 
 Discolour ; and so, Montjoy, fare you well. 
 The sum of all our answer is but this : 
 We would not seek a battle, as we are : 
 Nor as we are, we say, we will not shun it ; 
 So tell your master. 
 
 Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your high- 
 ness. \_Exit MONTJOV. 
 
 Glo. I hope, they will not come upon us now. 
 
 K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs. 
 March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night, — 
 Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves : 
 And on to-morrow bid tliem march away. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE VII.— r/ie French Camp, near Agincourt. 
 
 Euferffte Constable (i/'France, (fteLoRDRAMHURES, 
 the Duke of Orleans, Daui'Hin, and others. 
 
 Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the world. — 
 'Would it were day ! 
 
 Orl. You have an excellent armour ; but let my 
 horse have his due. 
 
 Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 
 
 Orl. Will it never be morning 1 
 
 Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high con- 
 stable, you talk of horse and armour. — 
 
 Orl. You are as well provided of both as any 
 prince in the world. 
 
 Dan. What a long night is this ! I will not 
 
 change my horse with any that treads but on four 
 pasterns. Cu, ha ! tie bounds from the earth, as if 
 his entrails were hairs ; le cheial volant, the Pegasus, 
 (jui a les narines de feu'. When I bestride him, I soar, 
 I am a hawk : he trots the air ; the earth sings when 
 he touches it ; the basest horn of his hoof is more 
 musical than the pipe of Hermes. 
 
 Orl, He's of the colour of the nutmeg. 
 
 Dau, And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast 
 for Perseus ; he is pure air and fire ; and the dull 
 elements of earth and water never appear in him, 
 but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts 
 him: he is, indeed, a horse ; and all other jades you 
 may call — beasts. 
 
 Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and 
 excellent horse. 
 
 Dau. It is the prince of palfreys ; his neigh is 
 like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance 
 enforces homage. 
 
438 
 
 KI^G HENRY V. 
 
 Ori. No more, cousin. 
 
 Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from 
 the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary 
 deserved praise on my palfrey : it is a theme as fluent 
 as the sea ; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, 
 and my horse is argument tor them all ; 'tis a subject 
 for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's 
 sovereign to ride on : and for the world (familiar to 
 us, and unknown,) to lay apart their particular func- 
 tions, and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in 
 his praise, and begun thus : Wojiihr of nature, — 
 
 Oil. I have heard a sonnet beginso to one's mistress. 
 
 Dau. Then did they imitate that which I composed 
 to my courser ; for my horse is my mistress. 
 
 Ori. Your mistress bears well. 
 
 Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript praise and 
 perfection of a good and particular mistress. 
 
 Con. Ma foy ! the other day, methought, your 
 mistress shrewdly shook your back. 
 
 Dau. So, perhaps, did yours. 
 
 Con. Mine was not bridled. 
 
 Dau, O ! then, belike, she was old and gentle ; 
 and you rode, like a Kerne of Ireland, your French 
 hose off, and in your straight trossers. 
 
 Con. You have good judgment in horsemanship. 
 
 Dau. Be warned by me then : they that ride so, 
 and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs ; 1 had rather 
 have my horse to my mistress. 
 
 Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 
 
 Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears her 
 own hair. 
 
 Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had 
 a sow to my mistress. 
 
 Dau. Le chien est retonrn^ a son "prapre vnmisse- 
 ment, et la truie lavee au bourbier : thou mckest use 
 of any thing. 
 
 Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress ; 
 or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose. 
 
 iiani. My lord constable, the armour that I saw in 
 your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns upou it? 
 
 Con. Stars, my lord. 
 
 Dau, Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope. 
 
 Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 
 
 Dau. That may be, for you bear a many superflu- 
 ously ; and 'twere more honour, some were away. 
 
 Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; who 
 would trot as well were some of your brags dismounted, 
 
 Dau. ' Would, I were able to load him with his de- 
 sert ! Will it never be day ? I will trot to-morrow a 
 mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces. 
 
 Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced 
 out of my way : But 1 would it were morning, for I 
 would fain be about the ears of the English. 
 
 kam. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty 
 English prisoners '! 
 
 Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you 
 have them. 
 
 Dau. 'Tis midnight, I'll go arm myself. [Eaif. 
 
 Oil. The Dauphin longs for morning. 
 
 Ram. He longs to eat the English. 
 
 Con. I think, he will eat all he kills. 
 
 Ori. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant 
 prince. 
 
 Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the 
 oath. 
 
 OrL He is, simply, the most active gentleman of 
 France. 
 
 Con. Doing is activity ; and he will still be doing. 
 
 Ori. He never did harm, that 1 heard of. 
 
 Con. Nor will do none to-morrow : he will keep 
 that good name still. 
 
 Ori I know him to be valiant 
 
 Cim. I was told that, by one that knows hhn 
 
 better than vou. 
 
 Ori. What's he? 
 
 Con. Marry, he told me so himself j and he said, 
 he cared not who knew it. 
 
 Ori. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him. 
 
 Con. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never any body 
 saw it, but his lackey : 'tis a hooded valour ; and, 
 when it appears, it will bate. 
 
 Ori. Ill will never said well. 
 
 Con. I will cap that proverb with — There is flat- 
 tery in friendship. 
 
 0/7. And I will take up that with— Give the devil 
 his due. 
 
 Con. Well placed; there stands your friend for the 
 devil : have at the very eye of that proverb, with — 
 A pox of the devil. 
 
 Ori. You are the better at proverbs, by how much 
 — A fool's bolt is soon shot. 
 
 Con. You have shot over. 
 
 Ori. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie 
 within fifteen hundred paces of your tent. 
 
 Con. Who hath measured the ground? 
 
 Mess. The lord Grandpre. 
 
 Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. — 
 Would it were day ! — Alas, poor Harry of England! 
 he longs not for the dawning, as we do. 
 
 Ori. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this 
 king of England, to mope with his fat-brained fol- 
 lowers so far out of his knowledge ! 
 
 Con. If the English had any apprehension they 
 would run away. 
 
 Ori. That they lack ; for if their heads had any 
 intellectual armour, they could never wear such lieavy 
 head-pieces. 
 
 Ham, That island of England breeds very valiant 
 creatures ; theirmastiffs are of unmatchable courao-e. 
 
 Ori. Foolish curs ! that run winking into the mouth 
 of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like 
 rotten apples : You may as well say, — that's a valiant 
 flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. 
 
 Con. Just, just ; and the men do sympathize with 
 the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, 
 leaving their wits with their wives : and then give 
 them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will 
 eat like wolves, and fight like devils. 
 
 Ori. Ay. but these English are shrewdly out of beef. 
 
 Con. Then we shall find to-morrow — they have 
 only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it 
 time to arm : Come, shall we about it ? 
 
 Ori. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see, by ten, 
 Weshall haveeachanhuudred Englishmen. [£.i«uiit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time, 
 When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, 
 Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
 From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night 
 The hum of either army stilly sounds, 
 Tliat the fix'd sentinels almost receive 
 The secret whispers of each other's watch : 
 Fire answers fire : and through their paly fiances 
 Each battle sees the other's umber'd face : 
 Steed threatens steed, in liigh and boastful neighs 
 Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the tents. 
 The armourers, accomplishing the knighis. 
 
ACT IV. -SCENE I. 
 
 4.']9 
 
 With busy hammers closing liyets up, 
 
 Give dreadful note of preparation. 
 
 Tite country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
 
 And the third hour of drowsy morning name. 
 
 Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul, 
 
 The confident and over-lusty Frenci. 
 
 Do the low-rated English play at dice ; 
 
 And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night. 
 
 Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
 
 So tediously away. The poor coudemned Kuglish, 
 
 Like sacritices, by their watchful fires 
 
 Sit patiently, and" inly ruminate 
 
 The morning's danger ; and their gesture sad, 
 
 Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, 
 
 Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
 
 So many horrid ghosts. O, now,_who will behold 
 
 The royal captain of this ruin'd band. 
 
 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent. 
 
 Let him cry — Praise and glory on his head! 
 
 For forth he goes, and visits all his host ; 
 
 Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile : 
 
 And calls them — brothers, friends, and countrymen. 
 
 Upon liis royal face there is no note, 
 
 How dread an army hath enrounded him ; 
 
 Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour 
 
 Unto the weary and all-watcli'd night: 
 
 But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint, 
 
 Witli cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty ; 
 
 That every wretch, pining and pale before. 
 
 Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks: 
 
 A largess universal, like the sun. 
 
 His liberal eye doth give to every one, 
 
 Thawing cold fear. Then mean, and gentle all, 
 
 Behol(^ as may unwortiiiness define, 
 
 A little touch of Harry in the night : 
 
 And so our scene must to tiie battle fly ; 
 
 Where, (O for pity '. ) we shall much disgrace— 
 
 With four or five most vile and ragged foils, 
 
 Rio-ht ill dispos'd in brawl ridiculous, — 
 
 The name of .Vgincouit : Yet, sit and see ; 
 
 Minding true tilings, bywhat their mockeries be. [Ej'it. 
 
 SCENE I.— The English Camp at Agincourt. 
 Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloster. 
 
 K./fen.Gloster, 'tis true; that we are in great danger; 
 The greater therefore should our courage be. — 
 Good morrow, brother Bedford — God .\lmighty ! 
 There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
 Would men observingly distil it out ; 
 For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, 
 Which is both healthful, and good husbandry: 
 Besides, they are our outward consciences. 
 And preachers to us all ; admonishing. 
 That we should dress us fairly for our end. 
 Thus may we gather honey from the weed. 
 And make a moral of the devil himself. 
 
 Enter Erpingham. 
 
 Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham : 
 A good soft pillow for that good white head 
 Were better than a churlish turf of France. 
 
 Erp. Not so, my liege ; this lodging likes me better, 
 Since I may say — now lie I like a king. 
 
 K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains. 
 Upon example ; so the spirit is eased : 
 And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, 
 The organs, though defunct and dead before. 
 Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move 
 With casted slough and fresh legerity. 
 Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas.— Brothers both, 
 Coimneud me to the princes in our camp; 
 
 Do my good morrow to them ; and, anon. 
 Desire them all to my pavilion. 
 
 Gla. We shall, my liege. [Er. Gi.os. and Brn. 
 
 Erp. Shall I attend your grace 1 
 
 A'. Hen. No, my good knight : 
 
 Go with my brothers to my lords of England : 
 I and my bosom must debate a while. 
 And then 1 would no other company. 
 
 Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry ! 
 [Eiit Erpinohav. 
 
 K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ' thou speakest 
 cheerfully. 
 
 Enter PtSTOu 
 
 Fist. Qni va la? 
 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Fist. Discuss unto me ; Art thou an oflficerl 
 Or ajt thou base, common, and popular? 
 
 7\ . Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 
 
 Fist. Trailest thou the puissant pike ! 
 
 K. Hen. Even so : What are you 1 
 
 Put. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 
 
 A'. Hen. I'hen you are a better than the king. 
 
 Fist, The king's a bawcor.k, and a heart of gold, 
 A lad of life, an imp of fame ; 
 Of parents good, of fist most valiant ; 
 I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings 
 I love the lovely bully. What's thy name? 
 
 A'. Hen. Harry le llnii. [crew? 
 
 Pht. Le Rf^.' a Cornish name ; art thou of Cornish 
 
 A'. Hen. No, I am a \Velshman. 
 
 Pht. Knowest thou Fluellea ? 
 
 A'. Hen. \ai. 
 
 Pist. 'I'ell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate. 
 Upon Saint Davy's day. 
 
 A. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap 
 that day, lest he knock that about yours. 
 
 Fist. Art thou his friend ? 
 
 A'. Hen. Aad his kinsman too. 
 
 Pist. Thejif^o for thee then ! 
 
 K. Hen. I thank you ; God be with you '. 
 
 Fist. My name is Pistol called. [Eiil. 
 
 A'. Hen. It sorts well with your f.erceness. 
 
 E7tter Fluellen and Gower, severalty. 
 
 Goto. Captain Fluellen ! 
 
 Fin. So ! in the name of Chesu Christ, speak lower. 
 It is the greatest admiration in the universal 'orld, 
 when the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of 
 the wars is not kept ; if you would take the pains but 
 to examine the wars of Pompcy the Great, you shall 
 find, I warrant you. that there is no tiddle tmldle, or 
 pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp , I warrant you, 
 you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the 
 cares of it, and the forms of it. and the sobriety of it, 
 and the modesty of it, to be otherwise. 
 
 Gow. Why, the enemy is loud ; you heard hira all 
 night. 
 
 Fin. If the enemy is an ass. and a fool, and a prat- 
 ing coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should 
 also, look yon. be an ass, and a fool, and a prating 
 coxcomb ; in your own conscience now ? 
 
 Ginv. I will speak lower. 
 
 Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will 
 [Eieuut Gowi-R and Fu'EHFv 
 
 K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashu'ii, 
 There is much care and valour in this Welshman. 
 
 Enter Bates, Court, and Williams. 
 
 CoiLTt. Brother John Bates, is not that the morn- 
 ing which breaks yonder ? 
 
 Bates. I think it be : but we have no great cause 
 to desire the approach of day. 
 
440 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but 
 I think, «e shall never see the end of it.-Who goes 
 there \ 
 
 K. Hen. A friend. 
 
 Will. Under what captain serve you ! 
 
 A' Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. 
 
 Will. A good old commander, and a most kmd gen- 
 tleman : I pray you, what th.nks he of o^^r^sizte^ 
 
 K. Hen. Even as men wreck d upon a sand, that 
 look to be wash'd off the next tide. 
 
 Bates.. He hath not told his thought to the king! 
 
 K Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should, lor, 
 though I speak it to you, I think, the king .s but a 
 man, as I L ; the violet smells to h,m, as n doth to 
 me; the element shews to him, as it doth to me; all 
 his senses have but human conditions: his ceremo- 
 nies laid by, in his nakedness he appeai-s but ^ n a" • 
 and though his affections are higher counted t an 
 ours, yet? when they stoop, they ^'""P "'"^f ^ '^e 
 wing ; therefore when he sees reason "f f«=^"- ^^^ 
 do. his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish a^ 
 ours are : Yet, in reason, no man should possess him 
 Tvith any appearance of fear, lest he. by shewing it, 
 should dishearten his army. 
 
 Bates. He may shew what outward courage he w K 
 but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wi.h 
 himself in the Thames up to the neck ; and so J 
 would he were, and I by him. at all adventures, so 
 
 ^™A^ Her By my troth, I will speak mv conscience 
 
 of the king ; I think, he would not wish himsell any 
 
 where but where he is. i,„„u\ 
 
 Tt«. Then, 'would-he were here alone; so should 
 
 he be sire to be ransomed, and a many poor men s 
 
 "1- X:'-! dare say. you love him not so ill. to 
 wish him here alone ■. howsoever you speak tnis, o 
 fcel other men's minds: Methinks. I could not die 
 Iny w ere so contented, as in the king's company ; 
 Ls cause beinj just, and his quarrel honourable. | 
 Will That's more than we know. 
 il. ly. or move than we should seek after ; for 
 we know enough, if we know we are the king s sub- 
 
 ects "f his ctuse be wrong, our obedience to the 
 
 kincr wipes the crime of it out of us ,■ „^:„ 
 
 fri/i. But if the cause be not good, the tmg him- 
 
 sel hath aheavy reckoning to make ; when all tl o.e 
 
 legs, and arms, and heads, chopped "jf " ^J'^'^^ 
 
 "liali ioin tocrether at the latter day, and cry all-\\ e 
 
 d ef it such place ; some, swearing ; --^^J-^ 
 
 for a surgeon ; some, upon their wives left poor be 
 
 hind thei ; sime, upon the debts they "we ; -m^ 
 
 upon their children rawly left. I f''^^^fj\l^^ 
 
 a?e few die well, that die i" ^''"''^ V Wood !s the'^ 
 
 charitably dispose of any thing ^'"'^"blood is their 
 
 argument 1 Now, if these men do not die w-el , U w 11 
 
 be''a black matter for the king that led them o it , 
 
 Ihom to disobey, were against all proportion of sub- 
 
 ^"1" H.-,. So, if a son, that is by his father sent 
 aboutmerchandise.do sinfully "fajry upon the sea , ^^^^ ^^ 
 
 l!r-r:S"Hi:'^^th^^si:t\^:^nrif a| r... K^epthyw 
 ser v^t" unde^his master's command, Tanspor ing a 
 
 ir.; =X";tir»5 "S^ 
 
 never so spotless, if it come to the aioitremenl of 
 swords can try it out with all unspotted so diers. 
 Some peradventure, have on them the gu.U of pre- 
 medUated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling 
 "r.,iuswith the broken seals of perjur)- some, making 
 Ihe'wars their bulwark, that have before gored the 
 Jentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now, 
 inhete men have defeated tie law, and outrun na- 
 ve punishment, though they can outs np men, they 
 have no wings to fly from God; war is his beadle, 
 war is his venseance ; so that here men are punished 
 for before-bre^ch of the king's laws in now the kmg » 
 ouarrel where they feared the death, they hav-e borne 
 ?ife away ; and where they would be safe, they pe- 
 rish : Then if they die unprovided no more is the 
 kin., guilty of their damnation, than be was before 
 tuilty^f those impieties for the which they are now 
 ?is ted. Every subject's duty is the king s ; but every 
 lubec's soul is his own. Therefore should every 
 soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed. 
 was^f every mote out of his conscience : and dying so 
 death is t'o him advantage ; or. not dying, he tune 
 was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was 
 :"ned anPin him that escapes, it were not sin to 
 think, that making God so free an "ff^^ he 'et hun 
 outlive that day to see his greatness, and to teach 
 others how they should prepare. 
 
 Will "Tis certain, eveiy man that dies ill, the ill is 
 upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it. 
 ^ Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; 
 and yet 1 determine to fight lustily for him. 
 
 K.Hen. I myself heard the king say. he would not 
 
 ^" m/rTy 'he said so. to make us fight ch^rfuUy : 
 but when "our throats are cut, he may be raSsomed, 
 
 ^°1: h"!' U nitt'-see it, I will never trust Uis 
 
 "°H-,if 'Mass. yon'U pay him then ! That's a peril- 
 ous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and prna« 
 displeasure can do against a monarch you may as 
 ' teU go about to tnrn^he sun to ice. with fanning m 
 Ws fafe with a peacock's feather. \ou'll never trust 
 his word after ! come, 'tis a foolish saying. 
 
 K Hni Your reproof is something too round; I 
 should be' angry with you. if the time were conve- 
 
 °'Tri;'. Let it be a quarrel between us. if you live. 
 
 A'. Hen. I embrace it- 
 
 ir,7/. How shall 1 know thee again? 
 
 V.Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will 
 wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest ac- 
 knowledge it, 1 will make it my quarrel. 
 
 mil. Here's my glove ; give me another of thine. 
 
 rifI."Thl''win I also wear in my cap : if ever 
 
 thou come to me and say. after to-morrow, Th,.n vy 
 
 Z rthis hand, I win take thee abox on the ear. 
 
 ■ KHen. If ever I live to see it. 1 will challenge it. 
 
 Will Thou darest as well be hanged. . 
 
 K.Hen. Well. I will do it. though I take thee .d 
 
 i 
 
 TI-,//" keeo 'thy word: fare thee well. 
 B, ; Be friends, you English fools, be friends; 
 we have French quan^ls enough, if you could tcU 
 
 '°K H™ lnS«d. the Erench may lay twenty French 
 crowns to one, they will beat us -.fo^ «h?y bear 'heja 
 on their shoulders : But it is no English treas<.nW 
 
 Upon the king ! let us onr lives, our souls. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 441 
 
 Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and 
 
 Our sins, lay on the king ;— we must bear all. 
 
 O hard condition ! twin-born with greatness, 
 
 Subjected to the breath of every fool. 
 
 Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing ! 
 
 \Vhal infinite heart's ease must kings neglect, 
 
 That private men enjoy \ 
 
 And what liave kings, that privates have not too, 
 
 Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? 
 
 And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ^ 
 
 What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more 
 
 Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers 1 
 
 "What are thy rents ? what are thy comings-in"! 
 
 ceremony, shew me but thy worth ! 
 What is the sou! of adoration t 
 
 An thou aught else but place, degree, and form, 
 
 Creating awe and fear in other men ? 
 
 "Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd 
 
 Than they in fearing. 
 
 AVhat drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, 
 
 But poison'd flattery'! O, be sick, great greatness. 
 
 And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! 
 
 Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out 
 
 With titles blown from adulation 1 
 
 "Will it give place to flexure and low bending? 
 
 Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, 
 
 Command the health of itl No, thou proud dream, 
 
 That play'st so subtly with a king's repose ; 
 
 1 am a king that find thee ; and 1 know, 
 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and tlie ball, 
 I'lie sword, the mace, the crown imperial, 
 The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl. 
 The farced title running 'fore the king, 
 The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
 That beats upon the high shore of this world, 
 No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, 
 Not all these, laid in bed majestical. 
 
 Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave ; 
 
 Who, with a body fiU'd, and vacant mind, 
 
 Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread ; 
 
 Never sees horrid night, the child of hell ; 
 
 Cut, like a lackey, from the rise to set. 
 
 Sweats in the eye of Phcebus, and all night 
 
 Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn. 
 
 Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse ; 
 
 And follows so the ever-running year 
 
 With profitable labour, to his grave : 
 
 And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, 
 
 Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep, 
 
 Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 
 
 The slave, a member of the country's peace, 
 
 Enjoys it ; but in gross brain little wots, 
 
 What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, 
 
 Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 
 
 Enter Eri'inoiiam. 
 
 Erp. !My lord, yournobles, jealous of your absence. 
 Seek through your camp to find you. 
 
 A'. Hen. Good old knight, 
 
 Collect them all together at my tent, 
 I'll be before thee. 
 
 Eip. I shall do't, my lord, [Eiit. 
 
 K. Hen. O God of battles ! steel my soldiers' hearts ! 
 Possess them not with fear ; take from tiiem now 
 The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers 
 Pluck their hearts from theml — Not to-day, O Lord, 
 
 not to-day, think not upon the fault 
 5Iy father made in compassing the crown ! 
 
 1 Kichard's body have interred new ; 
 
 And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, 
 Titan from it issued forced drops of blood, 
 five hundred poor 1 have in yearly pay, 
 
 Who twice a day their wilher'd hands hold up 
 Towards heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have built 
 Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests 
 Sing still for Richard's soul. More will 1 do: 
 Though all that 1 can do, is nothing worth ; 
 Since that my penitence comes after all, 
 Imploring pardon. 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. My liege ! 
 
 K. Hen. I\Iy brother Gloster's voice? — Ay ; 
 
 I know thy errand, I will go with thee :_ — 
 The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [Ei. 
 
 SCENE II.— The French Camp. 
 Enter Dauphix, Orleans, Ramhures, and others. 
 
 Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords, 
 
 Dau. Montezachcvat : — My horse! valet! lacquaif! 
 
 Orl. O brave spirit ! [ha ! 
 
 Dau. Via! — les eaux et la terre 
 
 Orl. Rien pais? I'air et lefeu 
 
 Dau. Ciel ! cousin Orleans. 
 
 Enter Constable. 
 Now, my lord Constable ! 
 
 Con. Hark. how our steeds for present service neigh. 
 
 Dau. I\Iount them, and make incision in their hides; 
 That their hot blood may spin in English eyes. 
 And dout them with superfluous courage: Ha! 
 
 Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses' 
 How shall we then behold their natural tears 1 [blood? 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 jAL'ss. The English are embattled, you French peers. 
 
 C'Ut. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse' 
 Do but behold yon poor and starved band, 
 And your fair show shall suck away their souls. 
 Leaving them but the shades and husks of men. 
 There is not work enough for all our hands ; 
 Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins. 
 To give each naked curtle-ax a stain. 
 That our French gallants shall to-day draw out. 
 And sheath for lack of sport : let us but blow on them, 
 The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 
 'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, 
 That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants, — 
 Who, in unnecessary action, swarm 
 About our squares of battle, — were enough 
 To purge this Held of such a hilding foe : 
 Though we, upon this mountain's basis by 
 Took stand for idle speculation : 
 Hut that our honours must not. What's to say? 
 A very little little let us do, 
 .\nd all is done. Then let the trumpets sound 
 Tiie tucket sonuance, and the note to mount : 
 For our approach shall so much dare the fiekl. 
 That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. 
 Enter Guandpre. 
 
 Grand. Whydoyou staysolong.mylordsofFrance, 
 Von island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
 Ul-favouredly become the morning field ; 
 Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose. 
 And our air shakes them passing scornfully. 
 Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host. 
 And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. 
 Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, 
 With torch-staves in their hand: and their poor jades 
 Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips ; 
 The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes ; 
 And in their pale dull mouths the gmimal bit 
 Lies foul with chewed grass, still and motionless j 
 And their executors, the knavish crows. 
 Fly er them all, impatient for their hour. 
 
442 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 Description canDOt suit itself in words 
 To demonstrate tlie life of such a battle 
 In life so lifeless as it shews itsell. [Acalh. 
 
 Clin. Thev have said their prayers, and they stay tor 
 Dim. Sha'U we go send them dinners, and fresh suits, 
 And give their fasting horses provender, 
 And after fight with them ? , „ . ., r' 1 1 
 
 Cm. I stay but for my guard ; On, to the field : 
 I will the banner from a trumpet take. 
 And use it for my haste. Come, come away^ 
 The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [h^eunt. 
 
 SCENE in.— T/ie English Camp. 
 Enter the English Host; Glosteh, Bedford, 
 
 Exeter, Salisbury, and Westmoreland. 
 Gb. Where is the king? _ ,.,.., 
 
 IW The king himself is rode to view their battle. 
 West. Of fighting men they have full threescore 
 thousand. , , ,, r i. 
 
 Eve. There's five to one ; besides, they all are fresh. 
 Sal God's arm strike with us I 'tis a feariul odds. 
 God be wi' you, princes all ; I'll to my charge : 
 If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven. 
 Then, joyfully, -my noble lord of Bedford — 
 My dear lord Gloster,— and my good lord Exeter,— 
 And my kind kinsman.-warnors, all adieu . 
 
 Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go 
 
 with thee ! 
 F.ie. Farewell, kind lord, fight valiantly to-day ; 
 And yet 1 do thee wrong, to mind thee of it. 
 For tluju art fram'd of the firm truth ol valour. 
 
 [L'ait Salisuury. 
 Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness ; 
 Princely in both. 
 
 II esl. O that we now had here 
 
 Enter King Henry. 
 But one ten thousand of those men in England, 
 That do no work to-day ! , , . , i 
 
 1^ jj^„ What's he, thatwishes sol 
 
 My cousin Westmoreland 7-No, my fair cousin : 
 If we are marked to die, we are enough 
 To do our countrv loss ; and if to live. 
 The fewer men, t'iie greater share of honour. 
 God's will ! 1 pray thee, wish not one man more. 
 By .'ove, I am not covetous for gold ; 
 Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost ; 
 It yearns me not, if men my garments wear ; 
 Such outward things dwell not in my desires : 
 But if it be a sin to covet honour, 
 I am the most offending soul alive. „ , , 
 
 No 'faitli, my coz, wish not a man from England : 
 God's peace ! I would not lose so great an honour. 
 As one man more, methinks, would share Irom me. 
 For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more : 
 Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, 
 That he, which hath no stomach to this h^ht, 
 Let him depart ; his passport shall be made, 
 And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 
 We would not die in that man's company. 
 That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
 This day is call'd— the feast of Crispian : 
 He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home. 
 Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd. 
 And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
 He that shall live this day, and see old age. 
 Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends. 
 And say— to-movrow is saint Crispian : 
 Then will he strip his sleeve, and shevv his scars. 
 And sav, these wounds I had on Crispin s day. 
 Old men forget ; yet all shall be lorgot, 
 But he'll remember with advantages, 
 
 What feats he did that day : Then shall onr names. 
 Familiar in their mouths as household words,— 
 Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, 
 Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,— 
 Be in their flowing cups freshly lemember'd ; 
 This story shall the good man teach his son ; 
 ,\nd Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 
 From this day to the ending of the world. 
 But we in it shall be remember'd : 
 We few, we happy few, we band of brotheis , 
 For he, to-dav that sheds his blood with me, 
 Shall be my brotlier ; be he ne'er so vile. 
 Tills day shall gentle his condition : 
 And gentlemen in England, now abed. 
 Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here, 
 And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks. 
 That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed : 
 The French are bravely in their battles set. 
 And will with all expedience charge on us. 
 
 A'. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so. 
 West. Perish the man.whose mind is backward now . 
 A'. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from Eng- 
 land, cousin 1 
 Tfpsf. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone, 
 Without more help, might fight this battle out ! 
 A'. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish d five thou- 
 sand men ; 
 Which likes me better, than to wish us one.-- 
 You know your places : God be with you all . 
 Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 
 Mmit. Once more I come to know of thee, king Harry, 
 If for thy ransome thou wilt now compound. 
 Before thy most assured overthrow : 
 For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf, ^ 
 Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, m mercy, 
 The constable desires thee-thon wilt mind 
 Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls 
 May make a peaceful and a sweet retire _ 
 From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor 
 Must lie and fester. [bodies 
 
 j^ lifn. Who hath sent thee now 1 , 
 
 Mmt. The Constable of Fiance. 
 A'. Hen- 1 pray thee, bear my former answer back ; 
 Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. 
 Good God ! why should they mock poor fellows thus 7 
 The man that once did sell the lion's skin 
 While the beast lived, was kill'd with hunting him. 
 A many of our bodies shall, no doubt. 
 Find native graves ; upon the which, I trust. 
 Shall witness live in brass of this day's work : 
 .ind those that leave their valiant bones m France, 
 Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills. 
 They shall befam'd ; for there the sun shall greet them, 
 And draw their honours reeking up to heaven ; 
 Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, 
 I'he sm'ell whereof shall breed a plague in France. 
 Mjrk then a bounding valour in our English ; 
 That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, 
 Break out into a second course of mischief. 
 Killing in relapse of mortality. 
 Let me speak proudly ;— Tell the Constable, 
 We are but warriors for the woiking-day: 
 Our gayness, and our gilt, are all besmirch'd 
 With rainy marching in the painful field ; 
 There's not a piece of feather in our host, 
 (Good argument, 1 hope, we shall not fly,) 
 And time hath worn us into sloveury : ^ 
 But by the mass, our hearts are in the trim 
 And my poor soldiers tell toe— yet ere night 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 
 
 443 
 
 They '11 be in fresher robes ; or they will pluck 
 1 lie gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads, 
 And turn them out of servine. If they do this, 
 (As, if God please, they shall,) my ransome then 
 Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; 
 Come thou no more for ransome, gentle herald ; 
 They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints: 
 Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them, 
 Shall yield llicm little, tell the Constable. 
 
 Mont. 1 shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well : 
 Thou never slialt hear herald any more. [Eiic 
 
 K. Hen. 1 fear, thou It once more come again for 
 ransome. 
 
 Enler the Duke of Vohk. 
 
 York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg 
 The leading of the vaward. [march away : — 
 
 K. Hen. Take it, brave York. — Now, soldiers, 
 And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! lEieunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Field of Battle. 
 
 Alarums : EicursionsM Enter French Soldier, 
 
 Pistol, and Boy. 
 Pi$t. Yield, cur. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Je pewse, que I'ous estes le gentilhomme de 
 bonne quaiite. 
 
 Put. Quality, call you me 1 — Construe me, art 
 thou a gentleman 1 W hat is thy name 1 discuss. 
 Fr. Sol. seigneur Dien ! 
 
 Pist. O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman : — 
 Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark : — 
 O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, 
 Except, O signieur, thou do give to me 
 Egregious ransome. 
 
 Fr. Sol. 0, jirennez misericorde '. ayez piti^ de moi/ .' 
 Pist. Moy shall not serve, 1 will have foi-ty moys ; 
 For I will fetch tliy rim out at thy throa*. 
 In drops of crimson blood. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Est it iinpoisible d'eschajipcr la force de Ion 
 bras ■> 
 
 Pist. Brass, cur I 
 Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, 
 Offer'st me brass? 
 
 Fr. Sol. pardnnnez moy ! 
 
 Pist. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of moys 1 
 Come hither, boy ; Ask me this slave in French, 
 What is his name. 
 
 Boy. Escontez ; Comment estes tons appellc ? 
 Yr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 
 Bou. He says, his name is — master Fer. 
 Piit. Master Fer ! I '11 fer him, and firk him. and 
 ferret him ; — discuss the same in French unto liim. 
 
 Boil. I do not know the French lor fer, and ferret, 
 and hrk. 
 
 Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. 
 Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur? 
 Boy. // jne cojnnuinde de vous dire que vous faites 
 vmts prest i car ce soldat icy est dispose tout a cette 
 lieure de couper vostre ^orge. 
 
 Pist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant. 
 Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns ; 
 Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. 
 
 Fr. Sol. O^je rous supplie pour roinour de DieUy jnc 
 pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme dr honnemaison; gar- 
 dez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cent escus. 
 Pist. What are his words ] 
 
 Bui/. He prays you to save his life : he is a gen- 
 tleman of a gooii house ; and, for his ransome, he will 
 give you two hundred crowns. 
 
 Pist. Tell hiin, — iny fury shall abate, and I 
 The crowns will take. 
 
 Fr. Sol. Pttit monsieur, que ditili 
 
 Boy. Encore qu'il est conire son jurement, de nor- 
 donner aucun prisonnier ; neantmoins, pour les escus 
 que vous t' ave: promis, il est content de vous dottncr la 
 liberte, le f'ranchisement, 
 
 Fr. Sol." .S'lii- mes gemmx,jevous donne mille remer- 
 ciemcns ; et Je m^estime heureni que je suis tomhe enire 
 les mains d^ui chevalier, je pcnse, le plus brave, valiant , 
 et Ires distingue seigneur d'.ingteterre. 
 
 Pist. Expound unto me, boy. 
 
 Boil. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand 
 thanks : and he esteems himself happy that he hath 
 fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) tiiemost brave, 
 valorous, and thrice-worthy seignieur of England. 
 
 Pist. As I suck blood, 1 will some mercy shew. — 
 Follow me, cur. [Exit Pistol. 
 
 Poy. Suivez vous le strand capitaine. [Exit Fr. Sol. 
 I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty 
 a heart : but the saying is true, — the empty vessel 
 makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and Nym, had 
 ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' the old 
 play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden 
 da2"£rer ; and they are both hanged ; and so would 
 this be, if he durst steal any thing adventurously. 1 
 must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of our 
 camp : the French might have a good prey of us, if 
 he knew of it : for there is none to guard it, but bovs. 
 
 [Elit. 
 
 SCENE V,_Anolher Part of the Field of Bottle. 
 
 Alarums. Enter D.h:phin, Orle.^ns, Bovrdox, 
 Constable, RAMEunts, and others. 
 
 Con. diiMe ! 
 
 Orl. seigneur ! — lejour est perdu, tout est perdu ! 
 
 Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all ! 
 Reproach and everlasting shame 
 Sits mocking in our plumes. — meschante fortune ! — 
 Do not run away. [A short alarum. 
 
 Coil. Why, all our ranks are broke. 
 
 l)au. O perdurable shame ! — let's stab ourselves. 
 Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for ? 
 
 Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransome ? 
 
 Bi)!/i'. Shame, and eternal shame, nothingbut shame! 
 Let us die instant : Once more back again ; 
 And he that will not follow Bourbon now. 
 Let him go hence, and. with his cap in hand. 
 Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door. 
 Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog. 
 His fairest daughter is contaminate. 
 
 Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now ! 
 Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives 
 Unto these English, or else die with fame. 
 
 Orl. We are enough, yet living in the field. 
 To smother up the English in our throngs. 
 If any order might be thought upon. 
 
 Bo'ur. The devil take order now ! I'll to the throng; 
 Let life be short ; else shame will be too lon^r. 
 
 l^Exeiintt 
 
 SCENE VI.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 .ilarums. Ejiter KiNO Henry and Purees; Exlter, 
 and others. 
 K. Hen. Wei! have we done, thrice-valiant coun- 
 trymen : 
 But all's not done, yet keep the French the field. 
 Eie. The duke of York commends him to your 
 majesty. [liouf. 
 
 K.Heii. Lives" he, good uncle 1 thrice within this 
 I saw him down ; thrice up again, and fighting ; 
 From helmet to the spur, all blood he was. 
 
 Eire. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he he. 
 Larding the plain : aiid by his bloody side. 
 
444 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 
 (Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,) 
 
 The noble earl of Suffolk also lies. 
 
 Suffolk, first died: and York, all haggled over, 
 
 Conies to him. where in gore he lay iiisteep'd, 
 
 And takes hiin by the beard ■, kisses the gashes, 
 
 That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; 
 
 And cries aloud, — Tarrii, dear cousin Suffolki 
 
 Hy soul ahall thine keep compariii to heaven: 
 
 Tarrtj, sweet soul^for mine, thenjiij a-breast ; 
 
 As, in this glorious and well-foughten Jield, 
 
 We kept together in our chivalrii I 
 
 Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up: 
 
 He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand. 
 
 And with a feeble gripe, says, — Dear my lord, 
 
 Commend my sendee fj nip sorereign. 
 
 So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck 
 
 He threw his wounded ami. and kiss'd his lips; 
 
 And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd 
 
 A testament of noble-ending love. 
 
 The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd 
 
 Those waters from me. which 1 would have stopp'd ; 
 
 But I had not so much of man in me. 
 
 But all my mother came into mine eyes, 
 
 And gave me up to tears. 
 
 A'. Hen. I blame you not ; 
 
 For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
 With mistful eyes, or tliey will issue too. — [AUrum. 
 But, hark! what new alarum is this same? — 
 The French have reinforc'd .their scatter'd men: — 
 Then every soldier kill his prisoners ; 
 Give the word through. [Exeujit. 
 
 -Another Part of the Field, 
 er Fluellen and Gower. 
 
 SCENE VII.- 
 Alarums. Ent 
 
 Flu. Kill thepoys and the luggage! 'tis expressly 
 against the law of arms : 'tis as arrant a piece of 
 knavery, mark you now, as can be offered, in the 
 'orld : In your conscience now, is it not ? 
 
 Gow. 'Tis certain there 's not a boy left alive ; and 
 the cowardly rascajs, that ran from the battle, have 
 done this slaughter : besides, they have burned and 
 carried away all thai was in the king's tent; where- 
 fore the king, most worthily, hath caused every soldier 
 to cut his prisoner's throat. 0, 'tis a gallant king| ! 
 
 Fin. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain 
 Gower : What call you the town's name, where 
 Alexander the pig was porn. 
 
 Goiv. Alexander the great. 
 
 Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great! The pig, 
 or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the mag- 
 uanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is 
 a little variations. 
 
 Gow. I think Alexander the great was born in 
 Macedon ; his father was called — Philip of Macedon, 
 as I take it. 
 
 Flu, I think it is in Macedon, where Alexander is 
 porn. I tell you. captain, — If you look in the maps 
 of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the com- 
 parisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the 
 situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river 
 in Macedon ; and there is also moreover a river at 
 Monmouth : it is called Wye. at Monmouth ; but it 
 is out of my prains, what is the name of the other 
 river ; but 'tis all one, 'tis so like ai my fingers is to 
 my fingers, and there is salmons in both If you mark 
 Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is 
 come after it indifferent well ; for there is figures in 
 all things. Alexander (God knows, and you know.) 
 in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his 
 choiers. and his moods, and his displeasures, and his 
 indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his 
 
 prains, did. in his ales and his angers, look you, kill 
 ids pest friend. Clytus. 
 
 Gow, Our king is not like him in that ; he never 
 killed any of his friends. 
 
 Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take 
 tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and 
 finished. I speak but in tiie figures and comparisons 
 of it: As Alexander is kill his friend Clytus, being 
 in his ales and his cups ; so also Harry Monmouth, 
 being in his right wits and his goot judgments, is turn 
 away the fat knight with the great pelly-doublet : he 
 was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and 
 mocks : I am forget his name. 
 
 Gow. Sir John Falstaff. 
 
 Flu. That is he: I can tell you, there is goot men 
 porn at Monmouth. 
 
 Gow. Here comes his majesty. 
 
 Alirum, Enter King Henry with a part of the 
 English Forces; Warwick, Gloster, Exeter, 
 and others. 
 
 K.Hen. I was not angry since I came to Franco 
 Until this instant. — Take a trumpet, herald ; 
 Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill ; 
 If they will fight with us. bid them come down 
 Or void the field ; they do offend our sight : 
 If they'll do neither, we will come to them ; 
 And make them skirr away, as swift as stones 
 Enforced from the old Assyrian slings : 
 Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have ; 
 And not a man of them, that we shall take, 
 Shall taste our mercy ; — Go, and tell them so 
 
 Enter Montjoy. 
 
 Ere. Here comes the herald of the French , my liege. 
 
 Glo. His eyes are 'humbler than they us'd to be- 
 
 K. Hen. How now! what means this, herald? 
 know'st thou not. 
 That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransome 1 
 Com'st thou again for ransome ? 
 
 Mont. No, great king 
 
 I come to thee for charitable licence. 
 That we may wander o'er this bloody field, 
 To book our dead, and then to bury them ; % 
 
 To sort our nobles from our common men ; 
 For many of our princes (woe the while I ) 
 Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; 
 (So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs 
 In blood of princes ;) and their wounded steeds 
 Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage, 
 Verk out their armed heels at their dead masters. 
 Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king. 
 To view the field in safety, and dispose 
 Of their dead bodies. 
 
 K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, 
 
 T know not, if the day be ours, or no ; 
 For yet a many of your horsemen peer. 
 And gallop o'er the field. 
 
 Mont. The day is yours. 
 
 K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, for 
 What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by* [it! — 
 
 Mont. They call it — Agincourt. 
 ' K. Hen. Then call we this— the field of Agincourt, 
 Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 
 
 Fin. Your grandfather of famous memory, an 'I 
 please your majesty, and your great uncle Edward 
 the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the chro- 
 nicles, fought a most prave pattie here in France. 
 
 A'. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 
 
 Fin, Yourraajesty says very true: if your majesties 
 is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot ser\ice 
 in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks m 
 
ACT IV. -SCENE VIII. 
 
 445 
 
 their Monmouth caps ; which, your majesty knows, 
 lo this hour is an honourable padge of the service ; 
 and, I do believe, your majesty takes no scorn to wear 
 the leek upon Saint Tavy"s day. 
 
 A'. Hen. I wear it for a raemoi able honour : 
 Fori am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 
 
 Flu* All the water in Wye cannot wash your ma- 
 jesty's Welch plood out of your pody, 1 cantellyou 
 that: Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases 
 his grace, and his majesty too ! 
 
 A". Hen, Thanks, good my countryman. 
 
 Flu. By Cheshu, lam your majesty's countryman, 
 I care not who know it; I will confess it to all the 
 'orld : I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, 
 praised be God, so long as your majesty is an ho- 
 nest man. 
 
 K.Hen. God keep me so! — Our heralds go with 
 Bring rae just notice of the numbers dead [him ; 
 On both our parts. — Call yonder fuliow hither. 
 
 [P<n';((s to Williams. Fieunt Montjoy and others. 
 
 Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. 
 
 A'. Hen. Soldier, why wear'st thou thit glove in thy 
 cap? , 
 
 Will. An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of one 
 that I should fight withal, if he be alive. 
 
 A'. Hen. An Englishman? 
 
 Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal, that 
 swaggered with me last night : who, if 'a live, and 
 ever dare to challenge this glove, 1 have sworn to take 
 han a box o' the ear : or, if I can see my glove in his 
 cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would 
 wear, if alive.) I will strike it out soundly. 
 
 K.Hen. What think you, captain Fluellen? is it 
 fit this soldier keep his oath t 
 
 Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please 
 Your majesty, in my conscience. 
 
 A'. Hen. It may be, his enemy is a gentleman of 
 great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. 
 
 Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the tevil 
 is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, 
 look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath : 
 if he be perjured, see you now, his reputation is as 
 arrant a villain, and a Jack sauce, as ever his plack 
 shoe trod upon Got's ground and his earth, in my 
 conscience, la. 
 
 A'. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou 
 meet'st the fellow. 
 
 Will. So I will, ray liege, as I live. 
 
 K. Hen. Who servest thou under I 
 
 Will. Under captain Gower, my Hege. 
 
 Fin. Gower is a goot captain ; and is goot know- 
 ledge and literature in the wars. 
 
 A- Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. 
 
 Will. I will, my liege. [Esit. 
 
 K. Hen. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for 
 me, and stick it in thy cap: When Alen^on and my- 
 self were down together. I plucked this glove from 
 his helm ; if any man challenge this, he is a friend 
 to Alen^on and an enemy to our person ; if thou en- 
 counter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost love 
 me. 
 
 Flu. Your grace does me as great honours, as can 
 be desired in the hearts of his subjects : 1 would fain 
 see tlie man, that hast but two legs, that shall find 
 himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all ; but I 
 would fain see it once : an please Got of his grace, 
 that I might see it. 
 
 A. Hun Knowest thou Gower \ 
 
 Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you. 
 
 A. Hen, Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to 
 my tent. 
 
 Flu. I will fetch him. [Eiit, 
 
 K, Hen. My lord of War\vick,— and my brother 
 Follow Fluellen closely at the heels: [Glosler, 
 
 The glove, v/hich I have given him for a favour, 
 May, haply, purchase him a box o' the ear ; 
 It is the soldier's ; I. by bargain, should 
 Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick: 
 If that the soldier strike him, (as, 1 judge 
 By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,) 
 Some sudden mischief may arise of it j 
 For I do know Fluellen valiant, 
 And, touch d with choler, hot as gunpowder. 
 And quickly will return an injury : 
 Follow, and see there be no harm between them. — 
 Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [E.ieunt. 
 
 SCENE VIIL— Before King Henry's Pavilion. 
 Enter Gower and Williams. 
 
 Will. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain. 
 Enter Fluellen. 
 
 Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I peseech 
 you now, come apace lo the king: there is more goot 
 toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowledo-e 
 to dream of. 
 
 Will. Sir, know you this glove 1 
 
 Flu. Know the glove? I know, the glove is a glove. 
 
 Will, I know this ; and thus I challenge it. 
 
 [^tri/ies him. 
 
 Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any's in the uni- 
 versal 'orld, or in France, or in England. 
 
 Gow. How now, sir * you villain ! 
 
 Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn? 
 
 Flu. Stand away, captain Gower ; I will give trea- 
 son his payment into plows, 1 wanant you. 
 
 Will. I am no traitor. 
 
 Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. — I charge you m 
 his majesty's name, apprehend him; he 's a friend to 
 the duke Alenfon's. 
 
 Enter Warwick and Gloster. 
 
 War. How now, how now! what's the matter? 
 
 Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be Got 
 for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, look 
 you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is 
 his majesty. 
 
 Enter King Henry and Exeter. 
 
 K, Hen. How now ! what *s the matter ? 
 
 Flu. My liege, here is a villain, and a traitor, that, 
 look your grace, has struck the glove which your 
 majesty is take out of the helmet of Alen9on. 
 
 Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is the 
 fellow of it: and he, that I gave it to in change, pro- 
 mised to wear it in his cap; 1 promised to strike him, 
 if he did : I met this man with my glove in his cap, 
 and I have been as good as my word. 
 
 Flu. Vour majesty hear now, (saving your ma- 
 jesty's manhood, ) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, 
 lowsy knave it is : I hope, your majesty is pear me 
 testimony, and witness, and avouchments, that this is 
 the glove of A]en9on, that your majesty is give me, 
 in your conscience now. 
 
 A. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier ; Look, here 
 is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st 
 to strike ; and thou hast given rae most bitter terms. 
 
 Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer 
 for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld. 
 
 A, Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction? 
 
 Will. All offences, my liege, come from the heart : 
 never came any from mine, that might offend your 
 majesty. 
 
 A. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse- 
 
446 
 
 KING, HENRY V, 
 
 Will. Your majesty came not like yourself : you 
 appeared to me but as a common man ; witness the 
 nu(lit, vour garments, your lowliness; and what your 
 highness suffered under that shape, I beseech you, 
 lake it for your own fault, and not mine: for had 
 you been as I took you for, T made no offence ; there- 
 fore, I beseech your highness, pardon me. [crowns, 
 
 A'. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, Hll this glove with 
 And give it to this fellow. — Keep it, fellow ; 
 .'Vnd wear it for an honour in thy cap. 
 Till I do challenge it. — Give him the crowns : — 
 And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. 
 
 Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has 
 mettle enough in his pelly ; — Hold, there is twelve 
 pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and keep 
 you out of prawls, and prabbles, and ([uarreis, and 
 dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter for you. 
 
 Will. I will none of your money. 
 
 Flu. It is with a goot will ; I can tell you, it will 
 serve you to mend your shoes : Come, wherefore 
 should you be so pashful 7 your shoes is not so goot : 
 'tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. 
 
 Enter an English Herald. 
 
 K. Hen. Now, herald ; are the dead number'd ^ 
 
 Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd French. 
 l^Delivers a paper, 
 
 K.Hen.WhaX prisoners of good sort are taken uncle? 
 
 Exe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king; 
 .Tohn duke of Bourbon, and the lord Bouciqualt : 
 Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires. 
 Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. [French, 
 
 A'. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand 
 That in the field lie slain : of princes, in this number. 
 And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
 One hundred twenty-six : added to these, 
 Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen. 
 Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the which, 
 Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights : 
 So that, in these ten thousand they have lost. 
 There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; 
 Therestare — princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires, 
 And gentlemen of blood and quality. 
 The names of those their nobles that lie dead, — 
 Charles Dela-bret, high constable of France ; 
 Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France ; 
 The master of the cross-bows, lord Kambures ; 
 Great master of France, the brave sir Guischard 
 
 Dauphin ; 
 John duke of Alen9on ; Antony duke of Brabant, 
 The brother to the duke of Burgundy ; 
 And Edward duke of Bar ; of lusty earls, 
 Grandpr^, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix, 
 Beaumont, and Marie, Vaudemont, and Lestrale. 
 
 Here was a royal fellowship of death ! 
 
 Where is the number of our English dead 1 
 
 [Herald presents another paper, 
 Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, 
 Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire: 
 None else of name ; and of all other men. 
 But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here, 
 And not to us, but to thy arm alone. 
 Ascribe we all. — When, without stratagem. 
 But in plain shock, and even play of battle, 
 Was ever known so great and little loss. 
 On one part and on the other"! — Take it, God, 
 For it is only thine ! 
 
 F,xe. 'Tis wonderful '. 
 
 K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village : 
 And be it death proclaimed through our host. 
 To boast of this, or take that praise from God, 
 Which is his duly. 
 
 Flu. Is it not lawful, and please your majesty, to 
 tell how many is killed 1 
 
 A'. Hen. Yes, captain ; but with this acknowledg. 
 That God fought for us. [meiit, 
 
 Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. 
 
 A'. Hen. Do we all holy rites ; 
 Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum, 
 The dead with charity enclos'd in clay. 
 We'll then to Calais ; and to England then , 
 Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. 
 
 {^Kjeunt, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 Cho. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story. 
 That I may prompt them : and of such as have. 
 I humbly pray them to admit the excuse 
 Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, 
 Which cannot in their huge and proper life 
 Be here presented. Now we bear the king 
 Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen, 
 Heave him away upon your winged tlioughts, 
 Athwart the sea; Behold, the English beach 
 Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys, 
 Whose shouts and claps out- voice thedeep-mouth'd 
 Which, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king, [sea, 
 Seems to prepare his way : so let him land; 
 And, solemnly, see him set on to London. 
 So swift a pace hath thought, that even now 
 \ ou may imagine him upon Blackheath : 
 Where that his lords desire him, to have borne 
 His bruised helmet, and his bended sword, 
 Before him, through the city: he forbids it. 
 Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride ; 
 Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, 
 Quite from himself, to God. But now behold, 
 In the quick forge and workinghouse of thought. 
 How London doth pour out her citizens! 
 The mayor, and all liis brethren, in best sort, — 
 Like to the senators of the antique Borne, 
 With the plebeians swarming at their heels, — 
 Go forth, and fetch their conquering C^sar in: 
 As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, 
 Were now the general of our gracious empress 
 (As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland coming, 
 Bringing rebellion broached on his sword. 
 How many would the peaceful city quit, 
 To welcome liim ] much more, and much more cause, 
 Uid they this Harry. Now in London place him 3 
 (As yet the lamentation of the French 
 Invites the king of England's stay at home : 
 The emperor's coming in behalf of France, 
 To order peace between them ;) and omit 
 All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd. 
 Till Harry's back-return again to France ; 
 There must we bring him ; and myself have play'd 
 Tlie interim, by lemembering you — 'lis past. 
 Then brook abridgment ; and your eyes advance 
 After your thoughts, straight back again to France, 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 SCENE I.— France. An English Court cf Guard, 
 Enter Fluf.li.en and Gower. 
 
 Goxo. Nay, that's right ; but why wear you your 
 leek to-day "! Saint Davy's day is past. 
 
 Flu. There is occasions and causeswhyand where- 
 fore in all things: I will tell you, as my friend, captain 
 Gower ; The rascally, scald, beggarly, lowsy. prag- 
 ging knave, Pistol, — which you and yourself, and all 
 
ACT V.-SCEN^ II. 
 
 447 
 
 the 'oilJ, know to be no petter than a fellow, look 
 you now of no merits, — he is come to me, and 
 prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and 
 bid me eat my leek : it was in a place where I could 
 not breed no contentions with him ; but I will be so 
 t)oM as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, 
 and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. 
 
 Enter Pistol. 
 
 Cow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey- 
 cock. 
 
 Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his tur- 
 key-cocks. — Got pless you, ancient Pistol ! you 
 scurvy, lowsy knave. Got pless you ! 
 
 P'ist. Ha! art thou Bedlam 1 dost thou thirst, base 
 To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ? [Trojan, 
 Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 
 
 Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lowsy knave, 
 at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to 
 eat, look you, this leek ; because, look you, you do 
 not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, 
 and your digestions, does not agree with it, 1 would 
 desire you to eat it. 
 
 Fist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats. 
 
 Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.] 
 Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it? 
 
 Fist. Base Ti-ojan, thou shalt die. 
 
 Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Oct's 
 vvill is : I will desire you to live in the mean time, 
 and eat your victuals ; come, there is sauce for it. 
 [Striking him ugain.] You called me yesterday, 
 mountain-squire ; but I will make you to-day a squire 
 of low degree. I pray you, fall to ; if you can mock 
 a leek, you can eat a leek. 
 
 Goii,: Enough, captain ; you have astonished him, 
 
 Fiu. I say. I will make him eat some part of my 
 leek, or I will peat his pate four days ; Pite, I pray 
 you ; it is good for your gieen wound, and your 
 ploody co.^comb. 
 
 Pist. Must I bite I 
 
 Flu. Yes, certainly ; and out of doubt, and out of 
 questions too, and ambiguities. 
 
 Pist. By this leek, 1 will most horribly revenge ; 
 I eat, and eke 1 swear. — 
 
 Flu. Eat, I pray you : Will you have some more 
 sauce to your leek ! there is not enough leek to 
 swear by. 
 
 Pist. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see, I eat. 
 
 Fiu. INIuch goot do you, scald knave, heartily. 
 Nay, 'pray you, throw none away ; the skin is goot 
 for your proken coxcomb. When you take occasions 
 to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them j 
 that is all. 
 
 Pist. Good. 
 
 Flu. Ay, leeks is goot : — Hold you, there is a groat 
 to heal your pate. 
 
 Pist Me a groat ! 
 
 Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it ; 
 or 1 have another leek in ray pocket, which you shall 
 eat. 
 
 Pist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge. 
 
 Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in 
 cudgels ; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy no- 
 thing of mc but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep 
 you, and heal your pate. [Kxit. 
 
 Pist. All hell shall stir for this. 
 
 G(Ui'. Go, go ; you areacounterfeit cowardly knave. 
 Will you mock at an ancient tradition, — -begun upon 
 an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable 
 trophy of predeceased valour, — and dare not avouch 
 in your deeds any of your words ? I have seen you 
 gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice or tliricc. 
 
 You thought, because he could not speak English in 
 the native garb, he could not therefore handle an 
 Euj^-lish cudgel : you find it otherwise ; and, ht^iice- 
 forth. let a Welsh correction teach you a good Eng- 
 lish condition. Fare ye well. [Exit. 
 Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife with me now! 
 News have I, that my Nell is dead i'the spital 
 Of malady of France ; 
 And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 
 Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs 
 Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn, 
 And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 
 To England will I steal, and there I'll steal ; 
 And patches will I get unto these scars. 
 And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE II. — Troyes in Champagne. An Apartinent 
 in the French King's Palace, 
 
 Enter at one door. King Henry, Bedfoiid, Glostei!, 
 Exeter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and otiier 
 Lords ; at another, the French King, Queen Isa- 
 bel, the Princess Katharine, Lords, Ladies, tj^'c. 
 the Duke or Burgundy, and his Train. 
 
 K.Hen. Peace to thismeeting.wherefore we are met! 
 Unto our brother France, — and to our sister. 
 Health and fair time of day ; — joy and good wishes 
 To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine ; 
 And (as a branch and member of this royalty. 
 By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,) 
 We do salute you, duke of Burgundy ; — • 
 And, princes French, and peers, health to you all! 
 
 Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face. 
 Most worthy brother England ; fairly met : — 
 So are you, princes English, every one. 
 
 Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England, 
 Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting, 
 As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; 
 Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 
 .\gainst the French, that met them in their bent, 
 The fatal balls of murdering basilisks : 
 The venom of such looks, we fairly hope. 
 Have lost their quality ; and that this day 
 Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love. 
 
 K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus \ye appear. 
 
 Q.Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you. 
 
 Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love, [bour'd 
 Great kings of France and England ! That I have la- 
 With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours. 
 To bring your most imperial majesties 
 Unto this bar and royal interview. 
 Your mightiness on both parts best can witness. 
 Since then my office hath so far prevail'd, 
 That face to face, and royal eye to eye. 
 You have congreeted ; let it not disgrace me. 
 If I demand, before this royal view, 
 Wiiat rub, or what impediment, there is, 
 Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace. 
 Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births, 
 Should not, in this best garden of the world. 
 Our fertile France, put up her lovely visat^e ! 
 Alas ! she hath from France too long been chas'd ; 
 And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, 
 Corrupting in its own fertility. 
 Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
 Unpruned dies : her hedges even-pleached, — 
 Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair. 
 Put forth disorder'd twigs : her fallow leas 
 The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory. 
 Doth root upon ; while that the coulter rusts, 
 'i hat should deracinate such savagery: 
 The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
 
448 
 
 K1NG.J1ENRY V. 
 
 The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, 
 Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
 Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems, 
 But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, 
 Losing botli beauty and utility. 
 And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges, 
 Defective in their natures, grow to wildness ; 
 Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children. 
 Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, 
 Tlie sciences that should become our country ; 
 But grow, like savages, — as soldiers will. 
 That nothing do but meditate on blood, — 
 To swearing, and stern looks, diflTus'd attire, 
 And every thing that seems unnatural. 
 Which to reduce into our former favour. 
 You are assembled : and my speech entreats, 
 That I may know the let, why gentle peace 
 Should not expel these inconveuiences, 
 And bless us with her former qualities. 
 
 A'. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace, 
 Whose want gives growth to the imperfections 
 Which you have cited, you must buy that peace 
 With full accord to all our just demands j 
 Whose tenours and particular effects. 
 You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands. 
 
 Bur. The king hath heard them ; to the which, us 
 There is no answer made. [yet, 
 
 K. Hen. Well then, the peace, 
 
 Which you before so urg'd, lies in !iis answer. 
 
 Ft. Kin'j;. I have but witli a cursorary eye 
 O'er-glanc'd the articles : pleaseth your grace 
 To appoint some of your council presently 
 To sit with us once. more, with better heed 
 To re-survey them, we will, suddenly. 
 Pass our accept, and peremptory answer. 
 
 K.Heu. Brother, we shall. —Go, uncle Exeter, — 
 And brother Clarence, — and you, brother Gloster, — 
 Warwick. — and Huntins^ton, — go with the king; 
 And take with you free power, to ratify. 
 Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
 Shall see advantageable for our dignity, 
 Any thing in, or out of, our demands ; 
 And we'll consign thereto. — Will you, fair sister, 
 Go with the princes, or stay here with us ? 
 
 Q. hah. Our^racious brother, I will go with them ; 
 Haply, a woman's voice may do some good, 
 When articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on. 
 
 K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine herewith 
 She is our capital demand, compris'd [us ; 
 
 Within the fore rank of our articles. 
 
 Q. hub. She hath good leave. 
 [Ex, all but Henry, Kath., 5f her Gentlewoman. 
 
 K.Heu. Fair Katharine, and most fair I 
 
 Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms, 
 Such as will enter at a lady's ear, 
 And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart? 
 
 Kulh. Your majesty shall mock at me ; I cannot 
 speak your England. 
 
 K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me 
 soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to 
 hear you confess it brokenly with yourEngUsh tongue. 
 Do you like me, Kate? 
 
 Kath. Fardonnez moij, I cannot tell vat is — like me. 
 
 K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate ; and you are 
 like an angel. 
 
 Kath. Que dU-ill queje iuh semhlable a les anises? 
 
 Alice. Ouv, vrayment, (sauf vostre grace) ainsi 
 dit-ii. 
 
 K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine ; and I must not 
 blush to affirm it. 
 
 Kath. hon D'teu ! les langnes dcs hommcs sont 
 pleincs des trompcrien. 
 
 K. Hen, What says she, fair one ? that the tongues 
 of men are full of deceits ? 
 
 Alice. Ouu ; dat de tongues of de mans is be full 
 of deceits : dat is de princess. 
 
 A'. Hen. The princess is the better English-woman. 
 I'faith. Kate, my wooing is fit for my understand- 
 ing : I am glad, thou can'st speak no better English ; 
 for, if thou couklst, thou would'st find me such a 
 plain king, that thou would'st think, 1 had sold my 
 farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in 
 love, but directly to say — 1 love you : then, if you 
 urge me farther than to say — Do you in faith? I wear 
 out my suit. Give me your answer; i'faith, do ; and 
 30 clap hands and a bargain : How say you, lady T 
 
 Kath, Saufvostre honnsnr, me understand wtdl. 
 
 A'. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses, or 
 to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me : for 
 the one. I have neither words nor measure ; and for 
 the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a rea- 
 sonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady 
 at leap frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my 
 armour on my back, under the correction of bragging 
 be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or, 
 if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for 
 her favours, I could lay on like a butcher, and sit like 
 a jack-an-apes, never oft": but, before God, I cannot 
 look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor 1 have 
 no cunning in protestation ; only downright oaths, 
 which I never use till urged, and never break for urg- 
 ing. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, 
 whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks 
 in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let 
 thine eye be thy cook. I speak lo thee plain soldier: 
 If thou canst love me for this, take me : if not, to 
 say to thee — that I shall die, is true : but — for thy 
 love, by the Lord, no ; yetl love thee too. And while 
 thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and un- 
 coined constancy ; foj he perforce must do thee right, 
 because he hath not the gift to woo in other places : 
 for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme 
 themselves into ladies' favours, — they do always rea- 
 son themselves out again, What ! a speaker is but a 
 prater ; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall ; 
 a straight back will stoop ; a black beard will turn 
 white ; a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair face will 
 wither ; a full eye will wax hollow ; but a good heart, 
 Kate, is the sun and moon ; or, rather, the sun, and 
 not the moon ; for it shines bright, and never changes, 
 but keeps its course truly. If thou would have such 
 a one, take me : And take me, take a soldier ; take 
 a soldier, take a king : And what sayest thou then to 
 my love ? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. 
 
 Kath, Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of 
 France ? 
 
 K. Hen. No ; it is not possible, you should love 
 the enemy of France, Kate : but, in loving me, you 
 should love the friend of France ; for I love France 
 so well, that I will not part with a village of it ; I 
 will have it all mine : and, Kate, when France is mine, 
 and I am yours, then yours is France, and you are mine. 
 
 Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat, 
 
 K. Hen. 'No, Kate? I will tell theein French ; which, 
 I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like anew-mar- 
 ried wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook 
 off. Quandfaif la possession de France, et quand vous 
 avez te possession de moi, (let me see, what then? Saint 
 Dennis be my speed !) done vostre est France, et vous 
 estes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer 
 the kingdom, as to speak so much more French: 1 shall 
 never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me. 
 
 Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, te Francois que vom, 
 par/es, est meiileur que VAnglois Icqueljc parte. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 449 
 
 K. Uen. No, 'faith, is't not, Kate : but thy speak- 
 ing of mv tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, 
 nmst needs be granted to be much at one. But 
 Kate,dostthou understand thus much English! Can.t 
 thou love me t 
 
 Kalli. I cannot tell. . ,, ,- ,„ , 
 
 K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate 1 
 I 'U ksk them. Come, 1 know, thou lovest me : and 
 L ,;ght wl en you come into your closet you 11 ques- 
 tion this gentlewoman about me ; and I know Kate, 
 vou w ill. to her, dispraise those parts m me that you 
 ove with vour heart : but, good Kate mock me mer 
 dfullvi the rather, gentle prmcess because I love 
 thee cr .elly. If ever thou be'st mine, Kate (as I W 
 a savm.. faith vvithin me, tells me,-thou shalt.) I get 
 thee wi'tb scambling, and thou must there ore needs 
 p ove a -ood soldie^'r breeder : Shall not thou and I 
 between°Saint Dennis and Saint- George compound 
 a bov , half Vrench, half English, thatshall go to C on- 
 Winople, and take the Turk by the bea,d shall 
 TL (what sayest thou, my fair flower-de luce ! 
 Aul'i- 1 do not know dat. 
 
 K Hen. No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to 
 promise : do but now promise, Kate, you '-'^^['^f^:. 
 vour for your Trench part ot such a boy ; and o 
 my English moiety, take the word ot a king and a 
 bad>elor. How auswer you, i« p/«s helte h.tl^anne 
 du tmmde, man Ires chere et dimne deeise. 
 
 Katlu Your majesti 'ave fausse French enough to 
 deceive de most scge d,u,nvsdte dat .6 en ^™''^«- 
 
 K. Hen. Now fve upon my false French ! By m ne 
 honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate : by wlucli 
 honour I dare not swear, thou lovest me , jet my 
 blood begins to flatter me ; that thou dost, notw.th- 
 standing'the poor and untempenng effect ol "Y "sage 
 Now beshrew my father's ambnion ! hewastHmk ng 
 of civil wars when he got me ; therefore was I created 
 wilh a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron tli.U 
 when I come to woo latt.es, I fright them but m 
 faith, Kate, the elder I wax. the belter 1 shall appeal, 
 my comfort is, that old age,thatil layer-upof beauty: 
 ci do no more spoil upon my face : thou hast me, 
 if thou hast me, at the worst ; and thou shalt wear 
 me, if thou wear me, belter and better ; And H'ere ore 
 tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me ? 1 ut 
 off your maiden bluslies ; avouch the thoughts of your 
 heart with the looks of an empress ; take me by the 
 hand, and say-Harry of England, I am thine: wlucli 
 word Ihou shalt no sooner bless mineear w^illial, but 
 1 will tell thee aloud-England is thine, Ireland is 
 thine, France is thine, and Heniy Plantagenet is 
 thine ; wlio, though I speak it belore his ace, if he 
 be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt tind the 
 best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in 
 broken music ; for thy voice is music,and ihy >^nglisn 
 broken : therefore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy 
 mind to me in broken English, Wilt thou have me1 
 Kath. Dat is, as it shall please de roy mon pere. 
 K. Hen. Nay, it will please hira well, Kate^ it 
 sliall please him, Kate. 
 
 Kath. Den it shall also content me. 
 A-. Hen. Upon that 1 will kiss your hand, and 1 
 call you— my queen. . ^ 
 
 hith. LaLez, man seigneur, laissez. Imssez : majon. 
 je ne vem- point qnevons ahbaissez vostre grandeur, en 
 baisant la main d'une vcstre indigne serviteure ; ex- 
 er,sez movje oous supplie, man tres pnissant seigneur. 
 K. Hen. Then 1 will kiss your lips, Kate. 
 Kath. Les dames, et damoiselles. ponr estreba.sees 
 demnt lour n.pces, it nest pas le coutiune de France. 
 K. Hen. Madam mv interpreter, what says she . 
 Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies ol 
 
 France,— I connot tcU what is, baiser, en English. 
 
 A'. Hen. To kiss. 
 
 Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre qtie moy. 
 
 A- Hen. It is nut the fashion for the maids in 
 France to kiss before they are married, would she sayl 
 
 Alice. Ouu, rranment. 
 
 K Hen 6 Kate, nice customs curtsy to great 
 kings. Dear Kate, you and 1 cannot be conhned 
 within the weak list of a country's fashion : we aie 
 Ihe makers of manners. Kale ; and < 'e iberty that 
 follows our places, stops the mouths of all findfauUs - 
 as I will do yours, for upholding the nice fashion of 
 vour country, in denying me a kiss : therefore, pa 
 tiently and yielding. [Kissin^her.] \ ou have witch- 
 craft m your lips, Kate : there is more eloquence m 
 asuaartouch of them, than in the tongues of the 
 French council ; and they should sooner persuade 
 Harry of England, than a general petition of mon- 
 archs. Here comes your father. 
 
 Enter the French King and Qitef.v, BencuNDy, 
 Bedfoki., Gloster, ExETEn,WEsrMonr.L.*ND, and 
 other French and English Lords. 
 JB,,,-. God save your majesty! my royal cousin, 
 teach you our princess English ! 
 
 K Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, 
 how'perfectly I love her ; and that is good English. 
 Bur. Is she not apt ! 
 
 A'. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz ; and my con- 
 dition is not smooth : so that, having neither the 
 voice nor the heart of flatiery about me, I cannot so 
 conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will ap- 
 pear in his true likeness. . , tt 
 
 Bio- Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if 1 answer 
 vou for that. If vou would conjure in her you must 
 make a circle r if conjure up love in her in his true 
 likeness, he must appear naked, and blind : Can you 
 blame her then, being a maid yet rosed over wilh the 
 virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the appearance 
 of a naked blind boyin her naked seeingselflltwere, 
 mv lord a h.ird condition for a maid to consign to. 
 
 K. Hen. Yet they do wink, and yield ; as lOve is 
 blind and enforces. , , u .i.„ , 
 
 Bur. They are then excused, my lord, when they 
 see not what they do. 
 
 A". Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin 
 to consent to winking. 
 
 Bur I will wink on her to consent, my lord, it 
 YOU will teach her to know my meaning : tor maids, 
 well summered and warm kept, are like flies at Bar- 
 Iholomew-tidc, blind, though they have their eyes ; 
 and then they will endure handling, which betore 
 would not abide looking on. , 
 
 A Hen. This moral ties me over to time, and a 
 hot summer; and so I will catch the fly your cou- 
 sin in the latter end, and she must be blind too. 
 Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 
 A Hen It is so : and you may, some of you, 
 thank love for my blindness ; who cannot see many 
 a fair French city, for one fair French maid that 
 stands in my way. 
 
 Fr Kin''. Yes, my lord, you see them perspec- 
 tively the'cities turned into a maid ; for they are a 1 
 cirdled with maiden walls, that war hath neverentered. 
 
 " A. Hen. Shall Kate be my wile 1 
 Fr. Kinf. So please vou. 
 
 A >/.„:' I am content ; so the maiden cities you 
 talk of mav woit on her: so the maid that stood in 
 he wa ■ of mv wi.h. shall shew me the way to my will. 
 F,^K We have consented to all terms of reason. 
 K.'Hen. Is't so, my lords of England ? 
 tlVst The king hath granted every article . 
 2 F 
 
450 
 
 KING HENRY V, 
 
 His daugliter, first ; and then, in sequel, all, 
 According to their firm proposed natures. 
 
 Eie, Only, he hath not yet subscribed this : — 
 "Where your majesty demands, — That the kmg of 
 France, having any occasion to write for matter of 
 grant, shall name your highness in this form, and 
 with this addition, in French, — Notre tres cher Jilz 
 Henry my d'Angleterre, heretier de Fi'ance ; and thus 
 in Latin, — Praciarissimiis ^lius rioster Benricns^ rex 
 Aiigii(E, et hicres Fraiici(C, 
 
 Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied, 
 But your request shall make me let it pass. 
 
 A'. Hen. 1 pray you then, in love and dear alliance, 
 Let that one article rank with the rest : 
 And, thereupon, give me your daughter. 
 
 Fr. King. 'I'ake her, fair son ; and from her blood 
 Issue to me : that the contending kingdoms [raise up 
 Of France and England, whose very shores look pale 
 With envy of each other's happiness, 
 May cease their hatred ; and this dear conjunction 
 Plant neighbourhood and christian-like accord 
 In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
 His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France. 
 
 All. Amen ! [ness all, 
 
 A', Hen. Now welcome, Kate : — and bear me wit- 
 That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. [Flourish* 
 
 Q. hah. God, the best maker of all marriages. 
 Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one ! 
 As man and wife, being two, are one in love, 
 
 So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal^ 
 That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, 
 \Vhich troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage, 
 Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms, 
 To make divorce of their incorporate league ; 
 That English may as French, French Englishmen, 
 Receive each other ! — God speak this Amen ! 
 
 All. Amen! 
 
 A'. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage ; — on which 
 My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, [day, 
 And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. — 
 Then shall 1 swear to Kale, and you to me ; 
 And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be! [Ei. 
 
 Enter Chorus. 
 
 Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen, 
 
 Our bending author hath pursu'd the story j 
 In little room confining mighty men. 
 
 Mangling by starts the full course of their glory. 
 Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd 
 
 This star of England : fortune made his sword ; 
 By which the world's best garden he achiev'd, 
 
 And of it left his son imperial lord. 
 Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king 
 
 Of France and England, did this king succeed ; 
 Whose state so many had the managing, 
 
 That they loil France, and made his England bleed : 
 Which oft our stage hath shewn; and, for their sake 
 In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [Eaif, 
 
 This play has many scenes of high dignity, and many of easy 
 merrimeiil. I he character of the kins is well supported, except 
 ill his courtship, where he has neither the vivacity of Hal, nnr 
 the crraiideur of flenry. The humour of Fibtol is very happily 
 coDtiiiued : his character has perhaps been the model of all the 
 bullies that have yet appeared on the English staije. 
 
 ihe lines b'iven to the Chorus have many admirers; hut the 
 truth is, that in them a little may be praised, and much must 
 be forgiven ; nor can it be easily discovered why the intelli- 
 gence given by the Chorus i.s more necessary in this play than 
 m uaoY others where it is omitted. The great defect of this 
 
 play is the emptiness and narrowness of the last act, which a 
 very little diligfnce mighi have easily avoided — Juhnkon, 
 
 Of the general coDduct of this play it may be remarked, that 
 the interest turns altoiieiher upon the circumstances whirh ac- 
 company a single baule ; consequently, the poet has jiut forth 
 all his strength in colourinn and contrasting the situation of the 
 two armies ; and so adniiraldy has he succeeded in this ctiempt, 
 by opposing the fullassuranceofvictorypn theparlof therrcnch, 
 their boastful clamour and impatient levity, to thcconscimisdar- 
 ger, and calm valour, of the English, that we wait the issue of 
 the combat with an almost breathless anxiety.— Dr. Drake. 
 
 FIRST PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 Of this play there is no edition extant previous to the folio, 
 1623. It is a miserable production; and M alone has distinctly 
 proved, in his iogi-nious and elaborate Essay on the three parts 
 of Aiu^ lUiny n. that it has been unjustly ascribed to the 
 hand ol Shakspeare 
 
 In the second and third parts of King Henry I- J. the pen of 
 our great poet is easily distinguished ; but in the present play 
 there is not a singU* passage marked with the characters ot his 
 genius. "It may be asked." says .]\l;iloiie, " if the drama 
 was not written by Shakspeare, why did lleminge niid Con- 
 dell print it with the rest of his works 1 1 he only way I can 
 
 account for their having' done so. is by supposing, that they 
 imagined the insertion of this historical drama was necessary 
 to understanding the two pieces that follow it; or. that .Shak- 
 spenre, for the advantage of his own theatre, having written 
 a few lines in thejint part of King Henry VI. after nis own 
 second and third parts had been played, they conceived this 
 a sufficient wan-ant for attributing it, along' with the others, 
 to him, in the general collection of his works." 
 The historical transactions contained in this play, take in the 
 compass of about thirty years. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King HrNnv the Sixth. 
 
 Duke of Gi.oster, uncle to ihe King, and Protector, 
 
 Dl'ke ok Bedfohd, uncle to theKing, and rc^^nt of 
 
 France. [the King. 
 
 Tiio:*iAS Beaufoht, Duke of Exeter, great iincle to 
 Henry Beaufort, great uncle to the King, bishop of 
 
 Winchester, and ofteru'avd:i cardinal. 
 .ToHN BEAUFtiRT, £ur/ 1)/' Somerset ; afterwards duke. 
 Richard Plantagenet, eldest son of Ricliard lute 
 
 Earl o/' Cambridge ; afterwards Duke of York. 
 Karls OF Warwick, Salisbury, and Suffolk. 
 Lord Talbot, aj'terioards Euriii/' Shrewsbury. 
 .ToiiN Taliiot, his son. 
 EoMUNii Mortimer, Earl ii/' March. 
 Marior of London. Mortijncr^s Keeper, and a Lawyer. 
 Sir .ToiiN Fastolfe. Sir William Lucy. 
 Sir William Gunsdale. Sir Thomas Garcrave. 
 
 WooDViLLE, Lieutenant of (/le Tower. 
 
 Vernon, ij/(/ie White Rose, or York faction. 
 
 Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster /aclioii. 
 
 Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King oj France. 
 
 Reigmer, Dukeof AnjoM, and titular King of 'Ha.fWs. 
 
 Duke of Burgundy. Duke of ALEN90N. , 
 
 Bastard of Orleans. Governor of Paris. 
 
 Mu5(ci--Gtiiii!fr(i/'0rleans, and his son. 
 
 General of the French /'orces i)i BourJeaux. 
 
 A French Sergeant, A t'orter. 
 
 An old Shepherd, father to Joan la Pucelle. 
 
 Maroaret, daughter to Reignier ; afterwards mar- 
 
 Countess of Auverone. [ried to King Henry. 
 
 Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan 0/ Arc. 
 
 Fiends appearing to La Pucelle, Lords, Warders oJ 
 the Tower, Heralds, Ufticers, Soldiers. Messengers, 
 and several Attendants both on the English 6; French. 
 
 SCRNH,— partly in Esci.AfD, and partly in Francl. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 451 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 SCENE I.— Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Vend march. Corpse of King Henry the Fifth 
 
 diii'overed, lying in state ; attended on hy the Dtjki.3 
 
 OF BEDrouD, Gi-OSTEu, and Exeter ; the Earl 
 
 OF Warwick, the Bishop ofW'uiv.\iestidT,HerakU,S;c. 
 
 Bed. Hung; be the heavens with black, yield day to 
 Comets, importing changeof times and states, [night ! 
 Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky ; 
 And wirii tliem scourge the bad revolting stars, 
 That have consented unto Henry's death ! 
 Henry the fifth, too famous to live long ! 
 England ne'er lost a king of so much worth. 
 
 Gto, England ne'er had a king until his time. 
 Virtue he had deserving to command : 
 His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams : 
 His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings: 
 His sparkling eyes replete with wrathful fiie. 
 More dazzled and drove back his enemies, 
 Than mid- day sun, fierce bent against their faces. 
 What should I iiiyl his deeds exceed all speech: 
 He no'er lift up hi.i hand but conquered. 
 
 Eie. We mourn in black ; Why mourn we not in 
 Henry is dead, and never shall revive : [blood 1 
 
 Upon a wooden coffin we attend ; 
 And death's di.--honourable victory 
 We with our stalely presence glorify, 
 Like captives bound to a triumphant car. 
 What i shall we curse the planets of mishap, 
 That plotted thus our glory's overthrow 1 
 Or shall we think the subtle- witted French 
 Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, 
 By magic verses have contriv'd his end t 
 
 Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings. 
 Unto the Fre^^ch the dreadful judgment day 
 So dreadful will not be, as was his sight. 
 The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought: 
 The church's prayers made him so prosperous. 
 
 G/c. Thechurcli ! whereisitl Had not churchmen 
 His tliread of life had not so soon decay'd ; [pray'd, 
 None do you like but an effeminate prince, 
 Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe. 
 
 Win. Glosler, whate'er we like, thou art protector; 
 And lookest to command the prince, and realm. 
 Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe, 
 More than God, or religious churchmen, may. 
 
 GUu Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh ; 
 And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st. 
 Except it be to pray against thy foes- [peace ! 
 
 Bed. Cease,cease these jars, and rest your minds in 
 Let's to tlie altar : — Heralds, wait on us : — 
 Instead of gold, we'll ofl'er up our arms ; 
 Since amis avail not^ow that Heni-y's dead. — 
 Posterity, await for wietched years, 
 When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck j 
 Our isle be made a nourish of salt tears, 
 And none but women left to wail the dead. — 
 Henry tiie fifth ! thy ghost I invocate ; 
 Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils ! 
 Combat with adverse planets in the heavens I 
 A far more glorious star thy soul will make, 
 Than Julius Ca:sar, or bright 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all ! 
 Sad tidings bring 1 lo you out of France, 
 Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture : 
 Guienne, Chanipaigne, Rheims, Orleans, 
 Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost, [corse? 
 
 Bed, What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's 
 
 Speak softly ; or the loss of those great towns 
 
 Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death. 
 
 Glo, Is Paris lost ? is Rouen yielded up \ 
 If Henry were recall'd to life again, 
 These newswouldcausehimoncemore yield the ghost. 
 
 J'.'ie. How were they lost ^ what treachery was us'd? 
 
 Mci>s. No treachery; but want of men and money. 
 Among the soldiers this is muttered, — 
 That here you maintain several factions ; 
 And, whilst a field should be dcspatch'd and fought 
 Vou are disputing of your generals. 
 One would have Hng'ring wars, with little cost ; 
 Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings ; 
 A third man thinks, without expence at all. 
 By guileful fair words peace may be obtaiu'd. 
 Awake, awake, English nobility! 
 J.et not sloth dim your honours, new-begot ; 
 Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ; 
 Of England's coat one half is cut awav. 
 
 Kxe. Wore our tears wanting to this funeral, 
 These tidings would call forth her flowing tides. 
 
 Bed. i\Ie they concern ; regent I am of France: — 
 Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France. — 
 Away with these disgraceful wailing robes ! 
 Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes. 
 To weep their intermissive miseries. 
 
 Eiiter annt)ter Messenger. 
 
 ii Mess. Lords, view these letters, full of bad mis- 
 France is revolted from the English quite ; [chance 
 Except some petty towns of nn import : 
 The Dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims ; 
 The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd ; 
 lleignier, duke of Anjou, doth take his part; 
 The duke of Alen^on flieth to his side. 
 
 F.ie. The Dauphin crowned king! all fly to him! 
 0, whither shall we fly from this reproacli 1 
 
 Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies* throats: — 
 Bedford, if thou be slack, I 'II fight it out. 
 
 Bed. Gloster, whvdoubt'st thou of my forwardness! 
 An army have 1 muster'd in my thoughts. 
 Wherewith already France is over- run. 
 
 Enter a third Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess. My gracious lords, — to add to your laments 
 Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse, — 
 I must inform you of a dismal fight, 
 Betv.'ixt the stout lord Talbot and the French. 
 
 Win, What! wherein 'I'albot overcame ? is'tso? 
 
 3 Mess. 0,no; wherein lordTalbotwaso'erthrown: 
 The circumstance 1 '11 tell you more at large. 
 The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord. 
 Retiring from the siege of Orleans, 
 Having scarce six thousand in his troop. 
 By three and twenty thousand of the French 
 Was round encompassed and set upon : 
 No leisure had he to enrank his men ; 
 He wanted pikes to set before his arcliers ; 
 Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of liedges 
 They pitched in the ground confusedly, 
 To keep the horsemen off from breaking in. 
 More than three hours the fight continued ; 
 Where valiant Talbot, above human thought, 
 Enacted wonders with his sword and lance. 
 Hundreds he sent to hell, and none durst stand him, 
 Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew : 
 The French exclaim'd. The devil was in arms i 
 All the whole army stood agaz'd on him ; 
 His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit, 
 A Talbot ! a Talbot ! cried out amain. 
 And rush'd into the bowels of the battle. 
 Here had the conquest fully been seal'd up, 
 
452 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 
 
 If sir John Falstolfu had not play'd the coward ; 
 
 He beinsj in the vaward, (plac'd behind, 
 
 With pmpose to relieve and fuUow them,) 
 
 Cowardly fled, not having btruck one stroke. 
 
 Hence grew the general wreck and massacre ; 
 
 Enclosed were they with their enemies : 
 
 A Lase Walloon, to win the Dauphin's grace. 
 
 Thrust Talbot with a spear into the back ; 
 
 Whom all France, with their cliief assembled strengtli 
 
 Durst not presume to look once in tlie face. 
 
 Bed Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself, 
 For living idly here, in pomp and ease. 
 Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid. 
 Unto his dastard foe-men is betray'd. 
 
 J Mess. no, he lives ; but is took prisoner. 
 And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungeiford : 
 Jlost of the rest slaughter'd, or took, likewise. 
 
 Bed. His ransome there is none but I shall pay • 
 I'll hale the Dauphin headlong from his throne, 
 His crown shall be the ransome of my friend ; 
 Four of their lords I '11 change for one of ours — 
 Farewell, ray masters ; to my task will I ; 
 Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make. 
 To keep our great Saint George's feast withal : 
 Ten thousand soldiers with me will I take. 
 Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake. 
 
 3 Mess. So you had need ; for Orleans is besieg'd 
 The English army is grown weak and faint : 
 The earl of Salisbury craveth supply. 
 And hardly keeps his men from mutiny. 
 Since they, so few, watch such a multitude. 
 
 Kie. Remember, lords, youroaths to Henry sworn ; 
 Either to quell the Daupliin utterly. 
 Or bring him in obedience to your yoke. 
 
 Beil. I do remember it ; and here take leave, 
 To go about my preparation. [F.iit. 
 
 G lo. 1 '11 to the Tower, with all the haste I can. 
 To view the artillery and munition ; 
 And then I will proclaim young Henry King. [Exit. 
 
 Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is. 
 Being ordain'd his special governor ; 
 And for his safety there 1 '11 best devise. [Eiit. 
 
 Win. Each hath his place and function to attend : 
 I am left out ; for me nolliing remains. 
 But-long I will not be .lack-out-of-office ; 
 The king from Eltham I intend to send. 
 And sit at chiefest stern of puBlic weal. 
 
 [Exit. Seme closes. 
 
 SCENE II.— France. Be/ore Orleans. 
 
 Enter Charles, with his Forces; Alen90n, 
 REiGNtEn, and others. 
 
 Char. Slars his true moving, even as in the heavens, 
 So in the earth, to this day is not known : 
 Late did he sliine upon the English side ; 
 Now we are victors, upon us he smiles. 
 What towns of any moment, but we have t 
 At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans ; 
 Otherwhiles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts. 
 Faintly besiege us one hour in a month. 
 
 Aten. They want their porridge, and their fat bull- 
 Either they must be dieted like mules, [beeves : 
 And have their provender tved to their mouths. 
 Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice. 
 
 Bei". Let's raise the siege ; Why live we idly here? 
 Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear : 
 Remaineth none. b\it mad brain'd Salisbury; 
 And he may well in fretting spend his gall. 
 Nor men, nor money, hatli he to make war. 
 ' Char. Sound, sound alarum ; we will rush on them. 
 Now for the honour of the forlorn French : — 
 
 Him I forgive my death, that killelh me. 
 
 When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Eieunt. 
 
 Alarums ; Eicursions ; afterwards a Retreat. 
 Re-enter Charles, Ale>-90n, Reigner, and others. 
 
 Char. Who ever saw the like 1 what men have I ? — 
 Dogs ! cowards '. dastards ! — I would ne'er have fled. 
 But that they left me midst my enemies. 
 
 Rei^. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ; 
 He fighteth as one weary of his life. 
 The other lords, like lions wanting food, 
 Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. 
 
 Alen. Froissard, a countryman of ours, records, 
 England all Olivers and Rowlands bred, 
 During the time Edward the third did reign. 
 More truly now may this be verified ; 
 For none but Samsons, and Goliasses, 
 It sendeth forth to skinnish. One to ten .' 
 Lean raw-bon'd rascals ! who would e'er suppose 
 They had such courage and audacity 1 [slaves. 
 
 Char. Let'sleave this town; for they are hair-brain'd 
 And hunger will enforce them to be more eager : 
 Of old 1 know them ; rather with their teeth 
 The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege. 
 
 Beii;. I think, by some odd gimmals, or device, 
 Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on ; 
 Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do. 
 By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone. 
 
 Alen. Be it so. 
 
 Enter the Bastard of Orleans. 
 Bast. Where's the prince Dauphin 1 I have news 
 
 for him. 
 Char. Bastard of Orleans, thrice welcome to us. 
 Bust. Methinks, your looks are sad, your cheer ap- 
 pal I'd ; 
 Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence 1 
 Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand : 
 A holy maid hither with me I bring. 
 Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, 
 Ordained is to 1-aise this tedious siege. 
 And drive the English forth the bounds of France. 
 The spirit of deep prophecy she hath. 
 Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome ; 
 What's past, and what's to come, she can descry. 
 Speak, shall I call her in 1 Believe my words, 
 For they are certain and unfallible. [her skill. 
 
 Char. Go, call her in: [EufBast.] But, first, to try 
 Reignier, stand thou as Dauphin in my place :— 
 Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern : — 
 By this means shall we sound what skill she hath. 
 
 [Retires. 
 
 Enter La Puceli.e, Bastard of Orleans, and others. 
 
 Reiir. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wond'rous 
 feats ! 
 
 Flic. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile nve! 
 Where is the Dauphin 1 — come, come from behind , 
 I know thee well, though never seen before. 
 Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me : 
 In private will 1 talk with thee apart ; — 
 Stand back, you lords, and give us leave awhile. 
 
 Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash. 
 
 Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, 
 My wit untrain'd in any kind of art. 
 Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it pleas'd 
 To shine on my contem]>tible estate : 
 Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs. 
 And to sun's parching heat display 'd my cheeks, 
 God's mother deigned to appear to me ; 
 And, in a vision full of majesty, 
 Will'd me to leave my base \ocation. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 453 
 
 And free my country from calamity : 
 Her aid she promis'd, and assur'd success : 
 In cuinplete glory she reveal'd herself; 
 And, wliereas I was black and swart before. 
 Wiih those clear ravs which she infus'd on me, 
 That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see. 
 Ask me what question thou canst possible. 
 And I will answer unpremeditated : 
 My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st, 
 And thou shall fiiid that 1 exceed my sex. 
 Resolve on this : Thou shalt be fortunate, 
 If thou receive me for thy warlike mate. 
 
 Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high terms; 
 Only this proof I '11 of thy valour make. — 
 In sintrle combat thou shalt buckle with me : 
 And. if ihou vauquishest. thy words are true ; 
 Othenvise. I renounce all confidence. 
 
 Puc. I am prepared : here is my keen-edg'd sword, 
 Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side ; 
 The which, at Touraine. in Saint Katharine's church- 
 Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth. fy"''' 
 
 Char, Then come o' God's name. I fear no woman. 
 
 Fuc, And, 'while I live, I '11 ne'er fly from a man. 
 
 [TImi fight. 
 
 Char. Stay, stay tliy hands ; thou art an Amazon, 
 And fighie<t with the sword of Deborah. 
 
 Pnc- Christ's mother helps me. else I were too weak. 
 
 C/inr. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must help 
 Impatiently I burn with thy desire : [me : 
 
 My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd. 
 Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so, 
 Let me thv servant, and not sovereign, be : 
 'Tis the French Dauphin sueth to thee thus. 
 
 Puc. I must not yield to any rites of love. 
 For my profession's sacred fiom above: 
 When 1 have chased all thy foes from hence, 
 Tlien will 1 think upon a recompense. 
 
 Char. Mean time, look gracious on thy prostrate 
 thrall. 
 
 Hei^. I^Iy lord, methinks, is very long in talk. 
 
 AUn. Doubtless, he shrives this woman to her smock; 
 Else ne'er could he so long protract his speech. 
 
 Peig Shall we disturb him, since he keeps no mean? 
 
 Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do 
 know : 
 These women are shrewd tempters with their tongues. 
 
 Peig. ]My lord, where are you ? what devise you on ? 
 Shall we give over Orleans, or nol 
 
 Pnc. Whv, no, I say. distnistful recreants ! 
 fight till the last gasp ; I will be your guard. 
 
 Char. \Vhat she says. I'll confirm ; w-e'll fight it out. 
 
 Pitc. Assign'd am I to be the English scourge. 
 This night the siege assuredly I'll raise : 
 Expect Saint JIartin's summer, halcyon days. 
 Since I have entered into these wars. 
 Glory is like a circle in the water. 
 Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself, 
 Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought. 
 M'ith Henry's death, the English circle ends ; 
 Dispersed are the glories it included. 
 Xow am I like that proud insulting ship. 
 Which Cssar and his fortune bare at once. 
 
 Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove? 
 Thou with an easrle art inspired then. 
 Helen, the mother of great Constantine. 
 Nor yet Saint Philip's daughters, were like thee. 
 Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth, 
 How may I reverently worship thee enough ? 
 
 Alen. Leave off' delays, and let us raise the siege. 
 
 Reig. Woman, do vN-hat thou canst lo save our ho- 
 nours. 
 Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd. 
 
 Char. Presently we'll try — Come, let's away 
 about it : 
 No prophet will I trust, if she prove false. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— London. Hill before theTover. 
 
 Enter, at the gates, the Di'KE of Gloster, with his 
 Serving-men, in blue coats, 
 
 Glo. I am come to survey the Tower this day : 
 Since Henry's death. I fear, there is conveyance. 
 Where be these warders, that they wait not here? 
 Open the gates ; Gloster it is that calls. [Serv. knock. 
 
 1 IVaril. [H'i(/ii?i.] Who is there that knocks so im- 
 
 1 Serv, It is the noble duke of Gloster. [periously? 
 
 Sf Ward. [ Within.'] Whoe'er he be, you may not be 
 let in. 
 
 1 Serv. Answer you so the lord protector, villains? 
 
 1 Ward. [ Within.] The Lord protect him ! so we an- 
 W'e do no otherwise than we are will'd. ' [swerhim: 
 
 G/o. Who willed you! or whose will stands, but mine? 
 There's none protector of the realm, but I. — 
 Break up the gates. I'll be your warrantize: 
 Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms ? 
 
 Servants rush at the Tower gates. Enter to the 
 gates, WoODViLLE, the Lieutenant. 
 
 Wood. [Tri(^)(H.] What noise is this; what traitors 
 have we here ? 
 
 Glo. Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear? 
 Open the gates ; here's Gloster, that would enter. 
 
 Wood. [ Wiiliin.] Have patience, noble duke ; I may 
 The cardinal of W'inchester forbids : [not open ; 
 
 From him I have express commandment. 
 That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in. 
 
 Glo. Faint-hearted W'oodville, prlzest him 'fore me? 
 Arrogant Winchester? that haughty prelate, 
 Wliom Henr)'. our late sovereign, ne'er could brook? 
 Thou art no friend to God, or to the king : 
 Open the gales, or I '11 shut thee out shortly. 
 
 I Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector ; 
 Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly 
 
 Enter Wincuestek, attended btf a Train o/' Servants 
 in taivnii coats. 
 
 Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey? what means 
 this? 
 
 Glo. Piel'J priest, dost thou command me to be shut 
 
 Win. I do. thou most usurping proditor, [out? 
 And not protector of the king or realm. 
 
 GU\ Stand back, thou manifest conspirator; 
 Thou, that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord; 
 Thou, that giv'st whores indulgences to sin : 
 I '11 canvas thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, 
 If thou proceed in this thy insolence. 
 
 Tfii!. Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot ; 
 This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
 To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. 
 
 Glo I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back : 
 Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing cloth 
 I '11 use. to carry thee out of this place. 
 
 Win. Do wha't thou dar'st ; I beard thee to thv face. 
 
 Glo. What? amidar'd. andbeaxdedtoray face? — 
 Draw, men, for all this privileged place ; 
 Blue-coats to tawny-coats. Priest, beware your beard ; 
 [Gloster and his men attach the Bishop. 
 I mean to tug it, and to cuff' you soundly : 
 Under ray feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat; 
 In spite of pope, or dignities of church. 
 Here by the cheeks I'll drag thee up and down. 
 
 II in. Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope. 
 Glo. Winchester goose. 1 cry — a rope! a rope I 
 
 Now beat them hence, \A'hy do you let them stay ? — 
 
454 
 
 KING HENRY VI._PART I. 
 
 Thee I'll chase hence, tliou nulf in sheep's array.— 
 Out, tawny coats! — out, scarlet hypocrite ! 
 
 Here a great tuymdt. In the midst of it. Enter the 
 Mayor of London, and Officers. 
 
 May- Fye, lords! that you, being supreme magis- 
 Thuscontumcliously should break tlie peace! [iial^s, 
 G/ii. Peace, mayor; thou knovv'st little of my wrongs: 
 Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king, 
 Hath here distrained the Tower to Iiis use. 
 
 Win. Here's Gloster, too, a foe to citizens; 
 One that still motions war, and never peace, 
 O'ercharging your free purses with large fines ; 
 That seeks to overthrow religion. 
 Because he is protector of tlie realm ; 
 And would have armour here out of the Tower, 
 To crown himself king, and suppress the prince. 
 Glo. 1 will not answer thee with words, but blows. 
 [^Here theij skirmish again. 
 Mai). Nought rests for me in thus tumultuous strife. 
 But to make open proclamation : — 
 Come, ofKcer, as loud as e'er thou canst. 
 OfT. Ail manner of men, as!.embled here in arms tliis 
 day, against God's peace and the king's, we charge 
 and command you, in his liighness' name, to repair 
 to your several dwelling-places ; and not to wctr, 
 handle, or use, any sword, u-eapon, or dagger, hence- 
 forward, upon pain of death- 
 
 Glo. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law: 
 But we shall meet, and break our minds at large. 
 
 Win. Gloster, we'll meet ; to thy dear cost be sure : 
 Thy heart-blood I will have, for this day's work. 
 
 lilay. I'll call for clubs, if you will not away : — 
 This cardinal is more haughty than the devil. 
 
 Gio. Mayor.farewell; thou dost but what thou may'st. 
 
 Win. Abominable Gloster ! guard thy head ; 
 For I intend to have it, ere long. [Exeunt. 
 
 Ma u . See the coast clear 'd, and then we will depart: — 
 Good God! that nobles should such stomachs bear ! 
 I myself fight not once in forty year. [£a«i(ii(. 
 
 SCENE IV. — France. Before Orleans. 
 Enter, on the walls, the Master- Gunner and his Son. 
 
 M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is be- 
 And how the English have the suburbs won. [sieg'd ; 
 
 Son. Father, I know; and oft have shot at them, 
 Howe'er, unfortunate, I missed my aim. 
 
 ill. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd by 
 Chief master gunner am I of this town ; [me : 
 
 .Something 1 must do, to procure me grace. 
 The prince's espials have informed me, 
 How the English, in the suburbs close entrench'd, 
 Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars 
 In yonder tower, to overpeer the city ; 
 And thence discover, how, with most advantage, 
 They may vex us, with shot, or with assault. 
 To intercept this inconvenience, 
 A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd ; 
 And fully even these three days have I watch'd. 
 If I could see them. Now, boy, do thou watch. 
 For I can stay no longer. 
 If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ; 
 And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Eiit. 
 
 Son. Father, I warrant you ; take you no care ; 
 I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them. 
 
 Enter, in an upper chamber of a tower, the Lonris 
 Sai-isbiiry and Talbot, Sir William Glaijsdalu, 
 Sir Thomas GAncnAVE, and others. 
 
 Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again returu'd .' 
 
 How wert tliou handled, being prisoner 1 
 Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd? 
 Di-scour.ie, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top. 
 
 Tal. The duke of Bedford had a prisoner. 
 Called — the brave lord Ponlon de .Santrailles ; 
 For him I was exchang'd and ransomed. 
 But witli a baser man of arms by far. 
 Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me . 
 Which I. disdaining, scorn'd ; and craved death 
 Rather than I would be so pil'd esteem'd. 
 In fine, redeem'd I v/as as I desir'd. 
 But, O I the treacherous Fastolfc wounds my heart ! 
 Whom with my bare fists I would e.xecute. 
 If I now had him brought into my power. 
 
 Sal. Yet lell'st thou not, how thou weitentertain'd. 
 
 Till. With scotl's, and scoras, and contumelious 
 In open market-place produc'd they me, [taunts. 
 To be a public spectacle to all : 
 Here, said they, is the terror of the French, 
 1 he scare-crow that afl'rights our children so. 
 Then broke I from the officers that led me ; 
 -•\nd with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground. 
 To hurl at the beholders of my shame. 
 My grisly countenance made others Hy ; 
 None durst corne near, for fear of sudden death. 
 In iron wails they deem'd me not secure; 
 So great fear of niy name 'mongst them was spread. 
 That they suppos'd, I could rend bars of steel. 
 And spurn in pieces posts of adamant : 
 W herefore a guard of chosen shot I had. 
 That walk'd about me every minute-while; 
 And if I did bui stir out of my bed, 
 Ready they were to shoot me to the heart. 
 
 Sal. I grieve to hear what torments you endur'd ; 
 But we will be reveng'd sufKciently. 
 Now it is supper time in Orleans : 
 Here, through this grate, I can count every one, 
 And view the Frenchmen how they foitily ; 
 Let us look in, the sight will much deliglu thee. — 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale, 
 Let me have your express opinions. 
 Where is best place to make our battery next. 
 
 Gur.Ithink, at the north gate; for there stand lords. 
 
 Glan And 1. here, at the bulwark of the bridge. 
 
 Tal. For auglit I see, this city must be famish'd. 
 Or with light skirmishes enfeebled. 
 
 [Shot from the town. SALiSBunv and Sir Tuo. 
 GAticnAVEfalL 
 
 Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners! 
 
 Giir. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man! 
 
 Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly halh cross'd 
 Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst speak ; [us 1 — 
 How i^ar'st ihou, mirror of all martial men ? 
 One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck oil'! — 
 Accursed tov.er ! accursed fatal hand. 
 That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy! 
 In thirteen battles Salisbury o'ercame ; 
 Menry the fifth he first train'd to the wars ; 
 Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up. 
 His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field. — 
 Yet liv'sttliou Salisbury? though thy speech doth fa)l. 
 One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace : 
 The sun with one eye vieweth all the world. — 
 Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive. 
 If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hand! — 
 Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it. — 
 Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ! 
 Speak unto Talbot ; nay, look up to him. 
 Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort ; 
 
 Thou shalt not die, whiles 
 
 He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me ; 
 As who should say, Wlien 1 am dead and goiio. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 455 
 
 Remember to avenge me on the French. — 
 Plantagenet, I will: ami Nero-like, 
 flay ua the lute, beholding the towns burn : 
 Wretched shall France be only in my name. 
 
 l^Thuiuier heard ; ajterivards an dturum. 
 What stir is tiiis? What tumult's in tlie heavens? 
 Wlience coraeth this alarum, and tlie noise } 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord, my lord, the French liave gather'd 
 head : 
 The Daupliin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, — 
 A holy prophetess, new risen up, — 
 Is come with a great power to raise the siege. 
 
 [Salisisi'rv grnnns. 
 
 Tnl. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan ! 
 It irks his heart, he cannot be reveng'd. — 
 Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to \^u : — 
 Pucelle or puzzle, dolphin or dogfish, 
 Vour hearts I '11 stamp out with my horse's heels, 
 And make a quagmire of your mingled brains. — 
 Convey me Salisbury into his tent. 
 And then we'll try what these dastard Frenchmen 
 dare. [^Exeunt, bearing out tlie bodies. 
 
 SCENE V. — The same. Before one of the Gates. 
 
 Al(irumi\ Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the Dau- 
 phin, and driveth liim in ; then enter Joan r,A 
 PucEi.LK, driving Englishmen before her. Then 
 enter Taldot. 
 
 Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my force? 
 Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them T 
 A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them. 
 
 Enter La Pucelle. 
 
 Here, here she comes : 1 *il have a bout with thee ; 
 
 Devil, or devil's dam, I'll conjure thee: 
 Blood will I draw on thee, tliou art a witch, 
 And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st. 
 
 Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace 
 thee. [Theu fight. 
 
 Tal. Heavens, can you suffer hell so to prevail ! 
 My breast 1 'II burst with straining of my courage, 
 And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder. 
 But I will ch.'istise this high minded strumpet. 
 
 Puc, Talbot, farewell ; thv hour is not yet come : 
 I must go victual Orleans forthwith. 
 O'ertake me, if thou canst; I scorn thy strength. 
 Go, go. clieer up thy hunger-starved men ; 
 Help Salisbury to make his testament : 
 This dav is ours, as many more shall be. 
 
 [Pi'CKLLi: enters the T»un, vith Soldiers. 
 
 T<iL My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel ; 
 I know not where f am, nor what I do : 
 A witch, by fear not force, like Hannibal, 
 Drives back our troops, and conquers as she lists; 
 So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stencil, 
 Are from their hives, and houses, driven away. 
 They call'd us, for our fierceness, English dogs ; 
 Now, like to whelps, we crying run away. 
 
 [A short alar-um. 
 Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight, 
 Or tear the lions out of England's coat ; 
 Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead : 
 Sheep run not half so timorous from the wolf, 
 Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard, 
 As you fly from your oft subdued slaves. 
 
 [Alarum Another skirmish. 
 It will not be : — Retire into your trenches : 
 You all consented unto Salisbury's death, 
 For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. — 
 
 Pucelle is enter'd into Orleans, 
 In spite of us, or aught that we could do. 
 O, would I were to die with Salisbury ! 
 The shame hereof will make me hide my head ! 
 [^Alarum, Retreat* EieuntTAh. and his Forces, ^c. 
 
 SCENE VI.— ne same. 
 
 Enter, on the iculls, Pucelle, Chauies, Rkicniek, 
 
 Alcn^on, and Soldiers. 
 
 Pnc. Advance our waving colours on the walls : 
 Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves : — 
 Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word. 
 
 Char. Divinest creature, bright Astraaa's daughter, 
 How shall I honour thee for this success? 
 Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, 
 That onedaybloom'd, and fruitful were the next. — 
 France triumph in thy glorious prophetess! — 
 Recover'd is the town of Orleans ; 
 More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state, [town? 
 
 Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the 
 Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires, 
 And feast and banquet in the open streets. 
 To celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 
 
 Alen. All France will be replete with mirth andjoy. 
 When they shall hear how we have play'd the men. 
 
 Char. 'Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won; 
 For which, 1 will divide my crown with her: 
 And all the priests and friars in my realm 
 Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise. 
 A statelier pyramis to her I'll rear, 
 Than Khodope's, or IMemphis*, ever was: 
 In memory of her, when she is dead, 
 Her ashes, in an urn more precious 
 Than the rich jewel'd coffer of Darius, 
 Transported shall be at high festivals 
 Before the kings and queens of France. 
 No longer on Saint Dennis will we cry. 
 But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint. 
 Come in : and let us banquet royally. 
 After this golden day of victory. [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I —The same. 
 Enter to the gates, a French Sergeant, and Two 
 
 Sentinels. 
 Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant : 
 If any noise, or soldier you perceive, 
 Xear to the walls, by some apparent sign, 
 I.et us have knowledge at the court of guard. 
 
 1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [£ail Sergeant.] Thus 
 are poor servitors 
 ' V.'hen others sleep upon their quiet beds,) 
 Constrain'd to watrh in darkness, rain, and cold. 
 
 Enter Talbot, Bedporo, BrRouNiiv. and Forces, 
 with scaling hidJcrs ; their drnms beating a dead 
 march. 
 
 Tal. Lord regent,— and redoubted Burgundv. — 
 By whose approach, the regions of Artois, 
 Walloon, and Picardy, arefriends to us, — 
 This happy night the Frenchmen are secure. 
 Having all day carous'd and banqueted: 
 Embrace we then this opportunity ; 
 As fitting best to quittance their deceit, 
 Contriv'd by art, and baleful sorcery. 
 
 Bed. Coward of France f — how much he wrongs 
 Despairing of his own men's fortitude, [his fainc. 
 To join with witches, and the help of hell. 
 
456 
 
 KING HENRY VI. -PART I. 
 
 Bur. Traitors have never other company-— 
 But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure T 
 
 Till. A maid, they say. 
 
 Bed. A maid ! and be so martial ! 
 
 Bur. Pray God, she prove not masculine ere lon<:f; 
 If underneath the standard of the French, 
 She carry armour, as she hath begun. [spirits: 
 
 Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with 
 God is our fortress; in whose conquering name, 
 Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks. 
 
 Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will follow thee. 
 
 Tal. Not all together : better far, I guess, 
 That we do make our entrance several waysj 
 That, if it chance the one of us do fail. 
 The other yet may rise against their force. 
 
 Bed. Agreed J I'll to yon corner. 
 
 Bur. And I to this. 
 
 Tal. And here will Talbot mount, or make his 
 Now, Salisbury! for thee, and for the right [grave. — 
 Of English Henry, shall this night appear 
 How much in duty I am bound to both. 
 
 [The English scale the walls, cri/ing St. George ! a 
 Talbot ! and all enter by the Toiru. 
 
 Sent. [Within.1 Arm, arm! the enemy doth make 
 assault ! 
 
 The French leap over the walls in their shirts. Enfer, 
 several tvaiis. Bastard, Alexjon, Reicnier, half 
 ready, and half unready. 
 
 Alen. How now, my lords? what, all unready so? 
 
 Bast. Unready? ay, and glad we 'scaped so well. 
 
 fic/g-.'Twas time, 1 trow, to wake and leave our beds, 
 Hearing alarums at our chamber doors. 
 
 Alen. Of all exploits, since first I follow'd arms. 
 Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprize 
 More venturous, or desperate than this. 
 
 BaU. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell. 
 
 Ueig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him, 
 
 Ale7i. Here cometh Charles ; I marvel, how he sped. 
 
 Enter Charles and La Pucelle. 
 
 Bast. Tut! holy Joan was his defensive guard. 
 
 Cha7\ Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame? 
 Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal, 
 Make us partakers of a little gain. 
 That now our loss might be ten times so much ? 
 
 Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatientwith his friend? 
 At all times will you have my power alike? 
 Sleeping, or waking, must 1 sliil prevail, 
 Or will you blame and lay the fault on me? 
 Improvident soldiers I had your watch been good. 
 This sudden mischief never could have falTn. 
 
 Char. Duke of Alen^on, this was your default ; 
 That, being captain of the watch to-night, 
 Did look no better to that weighty charge. 
 
 Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept, 
 As that whereof 1 had the government. 
 We had not been thus shamefully surpriz'd. 
 
 Bast. Mine was secure. 
 
 Ueig. And so was mine, my lord. 
 
 Chiir. And, for myself, most part of all this night. 
 Within her quarter, and mine own precinct, 
 I was employ'd in passing to and fro, 
 About relieving of the sentinels : 
 Then how, or which way, should they first break ip? 
 
 Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case, 
 How, or which way ; 'tis sure they found some place 
 But weakly guarded, where the breach was made. 
 And now there rests no other shift but this,^ 
 To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd, 
 And lay new platforms to endamage them. 
 
 Alarnm. Eiiter an English soldier, cryingaTsilhot I 
 a Talbot ! Thev Jiv, leaving their clothes behind. 
 
 fiold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left. 
 The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword; 
 For I have loaden me with many spoils, 
 Using no other weapon but his name. [E.ti(, 
 
 SCENE II.— Orleans. Within the Town. 
 
 Enter Talbot, Bedford, Burgundy, a Captain, 
 and others. 
 
 Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled, 
 Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the earth. 
 Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit. 
 
 [Retreat sounded. 
 
 Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury ; 
 And here advance it in the market-place, 
 The middle centre of this cursed town. — 
 Now have I paid my vow unto his soul ; 
 For every drop of blood was drawn from him. 
 There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night. 
 And, that hereafter ages may behold 
 What ruin happen'd in revenge of hira, 
 Within their chiefest temple I'll erect 
 A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd : 
 Upon the which, that every one may read, 
 Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans ; 
 The treacherous manner of his mournful death. 
 And what a terror he had been to France. 
 But, lords, in all our bloody massacre, 
 I muse, we met not with the Dauphin's grace ; 
 His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc ; 
 Nor any of his false confederates. 
 
 Bt'd.'TIsthought.lordTalbot, when the fight began, 
 Bous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds, 
 They did, amongst the troops of armed men, 
 Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field. 
 
 Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern. 
 For smoke, and dusky vapours of the night,) 
 Am sure, 1 scar'd the Dauphin, and his truli ; 
 When arm in arm they both came s\viftly running. 
 Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, 
 That could not live asunder day or night. 
 After that things are set in order here, 
 We'll follow them with all the power we have. 
 
 Enter a IMessenger. 
 
 Mess. All hail, my lords! which of this princely 
 Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts [traio 
 
 So much applauded through the realm of France ? 
 
 Tal. Here is the Talbot ; who would speak with him? 
 
 Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne, 
 With modesty admiring thy renown, 
 By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe 
 To visit her poor castle where she lies ; 
 That she may boast, she hath beheld the man 
 Whose glory fills the world with loud report. 
 
 Bur. Is it even so ? Nay, then, I see, our wars 
 Will turn into a peaceful comic sport, 
 When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. — 
 You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit. 
 
 Tui. Ne'er trust me then ; for, when a world of men 
 Could not prevail with all their oratory. 
 Vet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd : — 
 And therefore tell her, I return great thanks ; 
 And in submission will attend on her. — 
 Will not your honours bear me company? 
 
 Bed. No, truly ; it is more than manners will . 
 And 1 have heard it said. — Unbidden guests 
 Are often welcomest when they are gone. 
 
 Tat. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy, 
 1 mean to prove this lady-'s courtesy. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV. 
 
 457 
 
 Come hither, captain. [Whispers.] — You perceive my 
 mind. 
 Capt. I do, ray lord, and mean accordiiig'y [Ex. 
 
 SCENE III Auvergne. Court of the Castle. 
 
 Enter the Coontess and her Porter. 
 
 t'.)ii7if. Porter, remember what I gave in charge ; 
 And, when vou have done so, bring the keys to me. 
 
 Port. Ma'dam, I will. [Exit. 
 
 Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall out right, 
 I shall as famous be by this exploit. 
 As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death. 
 Great'is the rumour of this dreadful knight, 
 And his achievements of no less account : 
 Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears. 
 To give their censure of these rare reports. 
 
 Enter Messenger and Talbot. 
 
 Mess. Madam, 
 According as your ladyship desir'd, 
 Hy message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. 
 
 Count. And he is welcome. What ! is this the man ? 
 
 Mess. Madam, it is. 
 
 Coutit. Is this the scourge of France ? 
 
 Is this the Talbot, so much feai'd abroad, 
 That with Ins name the mothers still their babes 1 
 I see, report is fabulous and false : 
 I thought, I should have seen some Hercules. 
 A second Hector, for his grim aspect. 
 And large proportion of his strong-knit hmbs. 
 Alas I this is a child, a silly dwarf: 
 It cannot be, this weak and writhled shrimp 
 Should strike such terror to his enemies. 
 
 Tal. Madam. 1 have been too bold to trouble you : 
 But, since your ladyship is not at leisure, 
 I'll sort some other time to visit you. [he goes. 
 
 Count. What means he now? — Go ask him, whither 
 
 iVfess. Stay, my lord Talbot ; for my lady craves 
 To know the cause of your abrupt departure. 
 
 Tal. jMany, for that she's in a wrong belief, 
 I go to certify her, Talbot's here. 
 
 Re-enter Porter, with hei/s. 
 
 Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner. 
 
 Tal. Prisoner ! to whom 1 
 
 Count. To me, blood thirsty lord; 
 
 And for that cause I train'd thee to my house. 
 Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me. 
 For in my gallery thy picture hangs : 
 But now the substance shall endure the like ; 
 And I will chain these legs and arms of thine. 
 That hast bv tvianuy these manv rears, 
 W^asted our country, slain our citizens, 
 And sent our sons and husbands captivate. 
 
 Tal. Ha, ha. ha ! [to moan. 
 
 Count. Laughest thou, wretch ? thy mirth shall turn 
 
 Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond. 
 To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow, 
 Whereon to practise your severity. 
 
 Count. Why, art cot thou the man"! 
 
 Tal. I am indeed. 
 
 Count. Then have I substance too. 
 
 Tol. Xo. no, I am but shadow of myself: 
 "i'ou are deceiv'd, my substance is not here ; 
 For what vou see. is but the smallest part 
 .\nd least proportion of humanity : 
 I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, 
 It is of such a spacious lofty pitch, 
 Vour roof were not sutlicient to contain it. 
 
 Conn. I'his is a riddling merchant for the nonce ; 
 He will be here, and vet he is not here : 
 
 How can these contrarieties agree 1 
 Tal. That will I shew you presently. 
 
 He winds a Horn. Drums heard ; then a Peal of 
 Ordnance. The Gates being forced, enter Soldiers. 
 
 How say you, madam ? are you now persuaded, 
 That Talbot is but shadow of himself? 
 These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength. 
 With which he yoketh your rebellious necks ; 
 Uazeth your cities, and subverts your towns. 
 And in a moment makes them desolate. 
 
 Count. Victorious Talbot ! pardon my abuse : 
 I find Ihou art no less than fame hath bruited, 
 And more than may be gather'd by thy shape. 
 Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath ; 
 For I am sorry, tliat with reverence 
 I did not entertain thee as thou art. 
 
 Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady , nor misconstrue 
 The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake 
 The outward composition of his body. 
 U hat you have done, hath not offended me . 
 Xo other satisfaction do 1 crave, 
 But only (with your patience.) that we may 
 Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have ; 
 For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well. 
 
 Comit. With all my heart; and think me honoured 
 To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— London. Tlie Temple Garden. 
 Enter the Earls of SosiEnsET, Suffolk, and Wmi- 
 wiPK ; Richard Plantacexet, Veunon, and 
 another Lawyer. 
 
 Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this 
 Dare no man answer in a case of truth ? [silence ? 
 
 Snf. Within tlie temple hall we were too loud ; 
 The garden here is more convenient. 
 
 Plan. Then sayatonce. If I maintain'd the truth; 
 Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error ? 
 
 Svf. 'I'aith, 1 have been a truant in the law ; 
 And never yet could frame my will to it ; 
 And, therefore, frame the law unto my will. [us. 
 
 Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then between 
 
 War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher 
 
 ' pitch, 
 
 Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth. 
 Between two blades, which bears the better temper. 
 Between two horses, which doth bear him best, 
 Between two girls, which hath the merriest eve, 
 I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment- 
 But in these nice sharp quillets of the law. 
 Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw. 
 
 Plan. Tut. tut, here is a mannerly forbearance* 
 The truth appears so naked on my side. 
 That any purblind eye may find it out. 
 
 Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd. 
 So clear, so shining, and so evident. 
 That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. 
 
 Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loath to 
 In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts : [speak. 
 Let him, tiiat is a true-born gentleman, 
 --Vnd stands upon the honour of his birth. 
 If he suppose that 1 have pleaded truth. 
 From off this briar pluck a white rose with m.e. 
 
 Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer, 
 But dare maintain the party of the truth. 
 Pluck a red rose from off this thorn w ith me. 
 
 If'ar. I love no colours; and, without all colour 
 Of ba.se insinuating flattery, 
 I pluck this white rose, with Plantagenet, 
 
 Suf. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset; 
 -Vnd say withal, I think he held the right. 
 
458 
 
 KING HENRY VI. -PART I. 
 
 Ver. Stay, lords, and ge;itlemen ; and pluck no more, 
 Till you conclude— that he, upon nhose side 
 The fewe:it roses are cropp'd from the tree. 
 Shall yield'the other in the right opinion. 
 
 .Siwi. Good master Vernon, it is well objected ; 
 ir I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. 
 
 I'lan. And I. 
 
 Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, 
 I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here. 
 Giving my verdict on the white rose side. 
 
 Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; 
 Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, 
 And fall on my side so against your will. 
 
 Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, 
 Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, 
 And keep me on the side where still I am. 
 
 Som. Well, well, come on ; Who else 1 
 
 Ijim. Unless my study and my books be false, 
 The argument you held, was wrong in you ; [To Som. 
 In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. 
 
 I'tan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? 
 
 Sim. Here, in my scabbard ; meditating that. 
 Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. 
 
 ytan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our 
 For pale they look with fear, as witnessing [roses ; 
 'i'he truth on our side. 
 
 Stmt. No, Plantagenet, 
 
 'Tis not for fear ; but anger, — that thy cheeks 
 JJlush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses ; 
 And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. 
 
 i'lim. flath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? 
 
 Sum. Ilalh not thy rose a lliorn, Planlagenetl 
 
 Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth ; 
 Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. 
 
 A'om.VVell,ril find friendslowearmy bleeding-roses, 
 That siiall maintain what I have said is true, 
 Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 
 
 I'lan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, 
 I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. 
 
 kvf. Turn not thy scorns this way, I'lantajrcnet, 
 
 I'tan. Proud Poole, 1 will ; and scorn both him 
 and thee. 
 
 Siif. I'll turn my j)art thereof into thy throat. 
 
 Horn. Away, away, good William De-la Poole ! 
 We grace the yeomun, by conversing with him. 
 
 War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him ; 
 .Somerset ; 
 His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, 
 Third son to the third Kdward king of Kngland ; 
 Spring ciestless jeomen from so deep a r^jot ? 
 
 i'tan. He bears him on the place's privilege. 
 Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus. 
 
 Smi. My him that made me, I'll maintain my words 
 On any plot of ground in fjhristendom : 
 Was not thy father, Hichard, earl of Cambridge, 
 For treason executed in our late king's days ! 
 And, by his treason, stand'st not thou att;iinted, 
 Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry 1 
 His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood ; 
 And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman. 
 
 Piau. !My father was attached, not attainted ; 
 Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor ; 
 And that I'll prove on better men than Somer.seL 
 Were growing time once ripen'd to luy will. 
 For your partaker Poole, and you yourself, 
 I'll note you in my book of memory. 
 To scourge you for this apprehension ; 
 Look to it well ; and say you are well warn'd. 
 
 Som. Ay, thou shalt Hnd us ready for thee still : 
 And know us, by these colours, for thy foes ; 
 For tiiese my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear. 
 
 Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose. 
 
 As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate. 
 Will 1 for ever, ana my faction, wear; 
 Until it wither with me to my grave. 
 Or flourish to the height of my degree. 
 
 Sitf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambitiot ! 
 And so farewell, until I meet thee next. [Eiil. 
 
 Horn. Have with thee, Poole. — Farewell, ambi- 
 tious Richard. [Kiit. 
 
 Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce en-" 
 dure it! 
 
 M'ar. This blot, that theyobject against your house. 
 Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, 
 Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster; 
 And, if thou be not then created York, 
 I v.-ill not live to be accounted War\vick. 
 ^lean time, in signal of my love to thee, 
 Agifinst proud Somerset, and William Poole, 
 Will 1 upon thy party wear this rose : 
 And here I prophesy, — This brawl to-day. 
 Grown to this faction, in the Temple gaiden. 
 Shall send, between the red rose and the white, 
 A thousand souls to death and endless night. 
 
 Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you. 
 That you on my behalf would pluck a flower, 
 
 Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same. 
 
 Law. And so will I. 
 
 Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. 
 Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say, 
 This quarrel will drink blood another day. [t'.iti(ii» 
 
 SCENE v.— The same. A Room in the Tower. 
 Enter Mortisier, brutight in a chair by two Keepers 
 
 Mi>r. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age. 
 Let dying Mortinier here re t himself — 
 Even like a man new haled from the rack, 
 -So fare my limbs with long imprisonment : 
 And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death, 
 Nestor-like aged, in an age of care. 
 Argue the end of I-Mward iMortimer. 
 These eyes, — like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, — 
 Wax dim, as drawing to an exigent : 
 Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief ; 
 And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine 
 That droops his sapless branches to the ground : 
 Yet are tliese feet — whose strengthless slay is numb, 
 Unable to support this lump of clay. — 
 -Swift-winged witii desire to get a grave, 
 As wilting I no other comfort have. — 
 But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come? 
 
 1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come. 
 We sent unto the Temjile, to his chamber ; 
 And answer was return'd, that he will come. 
 
 Mor. Enough ; my soul shall then be satisfied. — 
 Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine. 
 Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, 
 CUefore whose glory I was great in arms,) 
 This loathsome sequestration have I had ; 
 And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, 
 Depriv'd of honour and inheritance ; 
 liut now, the arbitrator of despairs, 
 .lust death, kind uiiij)ire of men's miseries. 
 With sweet enlargenM-nt doth dismiss me hence ; 
 I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd. 
 That so he might recover what was lost. 
 
 Enter RiciiAHn Pi.antacknet. 
 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. 
 Mm: llicbard Plantagenet. my friend ? Is he come! 
 Pltin. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd. 
 Your nephew, lale-despised Richard, comes. 
 Mar. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 4-59 
 
 ;5 cheek 
 
 Aa<l ii. his bown. 
 O. tell me. vrhes 
 
 *^t stem torn York's great stock, 
 ar— of late thou wert despis'd 1 
 J-to. i ii^t, ieaa'thine aged back against mine aim ; 
 And, i3 that ea-e, I'll tell ttee my disease. 
 This ::ient npon a case, 
 
 Son;, jrew 'tviixt Somerset and me : 
 
 Ainot. — ^. l^e ^^ ^^ '^^"^ tongue, 
 
 \nd £a npbraid me with my father's death ; 
 Which obloqur set bars before my tongue, 
 El=e with the I'ike 1 had requited hun : 
 Therefore, good uncle,— for my father s sake. 
 In honour of a true Plantagenet, 
 And f,.r ailiaace' sake,— declare the cause 
 iiv father, earl of Cambridge, lost hl's head. 
 
 Jlor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison d me. 
 And hath detain'd me, all my Bow'ring vouth. 
 Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine. 
 Was cursed instrument of his decease. 
 
 Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was ; 
 For 1 am ignorant, and cannot guess. 
 
 iicr. I «iU ; if that my fading breath permit. 
 And death approach not ere my tale be done. 
 Htnn tiie fourth, grandfather to this king, 
 Depo's'd his nephew Richard ; Edward's son. 
 The fir»t-btgotten, and the lawful heir 
 Of Edward King, the ihL'd of that descent : 
 During whose reign, the Percies of the north. 
 Finding his usurpation most unjust, 
 Endeavourd mv advancement to the throne : 
 The reason mov'd these warlike lords to tins. ^ 
 Was-for that (young king Richard thus lemov d. 
 Leaving no heir begotten of his body,) 
 1 was the next by birth and parentage ; 
 For bv mv mother I derived am 
 From'Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son 
 To kin» Edward the third, whereas he. 
 From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree, 
 Bein" bat fourth of that heroic line. 
 But mark ; as, in this haughty great attempt. 
 They laboured to plant the rightful heir, 
 I lost mv liberty, and they their lives. 
 Lont' after thi5,'when Henrv the fifth, — 
 Succeeding his father Bolingbroke,— did reign, 
 Thy father, earl of Cambridge,— then deriv d 
 From famous Edmund Langley, duke of \o;i,— 
 Marrving my sister, that thy mother was, 
 A<Tun, in pity of my hard distress. 
 Levied an army ; weening to redeem, 
 And have install'd me in the diadem : 
 But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl. 
 And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimei^, 
 In whom the title rested, were suppiess'd. 
 
 Plan. Of which, mv lord, vour honour is the last. 
 3for. True ; and thou see'st, that 1 no issje have ; 
 And that mv fainting words do warrant death : 
 Thou art my heir ; the rest, 1 wish thee gatlier ; 
 And yet be'warv in thv studious care. 
 
 Plan. Thv grave adiionishments prevail with me; 
 But yet, methinks, my father's execution 
 Was nothing less than bloody tjTanny. 
 
 Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou pohUc ; 
 Strong fixed is the house of Lancaster, 
 And. like a mountain, not to be remov d. 
 But now thy uncle is removing hence ; 
 As princes do their courts, when they are cloy a 
 With lou" continuance in a settled place. 
 
 Plan. 6, uncle, wouldsome partof my young veais. 
 
 Slight but redeem the passage of your age . Ldo«. 
 
 Mor. Thou dost then wrong me ; as the slaught rer 
 
 Which Eiveth maiiT wounds, wben «« will bJ- 
 Mc j:n not, except thoa som>w for bit good : 
 Oniv. give order for mv ftioenl : 
 And" so «a.-^ell : . - "-y »«5« ' „._ 
 
 And prosperous be • -ce, airf-w'- [I>t«; 
 
 PL,. And peac. '" P""^ »«^ ' 
 
 In prison hast thc- 
 
 Aad like a hermit c "• 
 
 Well, I will lock his cuuast; in aiy a.-east ; 
 And what I io imarine. let thai rest — 
 Keepers, coz -:e : and I myseU 
 
 WiU see hi. - '-han ^ ^^^'Z. 
 
 TLi- - ..ii,=.-S, baring flit MOBTIXDU 
 
 Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer, 
 
 Chok'd with ambiaon of the meaner sort : — 
 
 And. for those wrongs, those bitter injuries. 
 
 Which Somerset bath offer'd to my house,- 
 
 I doubt not, but with honour to redress : 
 
 And therefore haste I to the parliament ; 
 
 Either to be restored to my blood. 
 
 Or make my iU the advantage of my good. 1 iJt" 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCEXE I The sanu. ITij Parliament-Hcnsc 
 
 FlfKrWi. Enter KiNC Heset, Exrr£R. Glostee. 
 Waewice, Somerset, and Sr.=TOLE ; tne Bukpp 
 
 Cj- WiScaESTEB, BiCHiED Pl-AXIiGE>-EI, Oni 
 
 othen. Gloster o^n to put up o bill; Wis- 
 CBESTEE snatches it, and tears it. 
 iriii. Comst thou with deep piemediuied lines. 
 With written pamphlets studiously devis d, 
 Humphrey of Gloster 1 if thou canst accuse. 
 Or aught 'intend' St to lay unto my charge. 
 Do it without invention suddenly ; 
 \s I with sadden and extemporal speech 
 Purpose to answer what thou canst object. 
 
 Glo. Presumptuous priest ! this place commands 
 mv patience. 
 Or Uion sho'uld'st find thou hast dishonour d me. 
 Think not, although in writing I prelerr d 
 T'oe manner of thv vile outrageous crimes. 
 That therefore I have forg'd. or am not aole 
 Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen : 
 \o prelate ; such is thv audacious mcxedness, 
 Thv lewd, pestiferous, and dissentious pi^s. 
 .\s"very infants prattje of thy pnde. 
 Thou art a most pernicious usurer ; 
 Froward bv nature, enemy to peace : 
 Lasci«ous', wanton, more than well beseems 
 A man of thy profession and degree ; 
 \nd for thv treacherv, What's more manifestl 
 in that thou laid'st a trap to ta'se mv lile, 
 \s well at London bridge, as at the Tower? 
 Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted. 
 The kin", thv sovereign, is not quite exempt 
 From envious malice of thy swelUng hearu 
 
 Kin Gloster, I do defy thee.— Lords, vouchsafe 
 To give me hearing what 1 shall reply. 
 If Were covetous, ambitious, or pcnerse, 
 As he will have me. How am 1 so poor ! 
 Or how haps it, I seek not to advance 
 Or raise m>-self, but keep my wonted callmg ! 
 ■\nd for dissention, W ho preferreth peace 
 More than 1 do.— except 1 be provoked I 
 No, mv good lords, it is not that offends ; 
 t It is not that, that hath incens'd the duke : 
 It is, because no one should sway but he ; 
 No one, but he, should be about the kmg ; 
 
4 GO 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 
 
 And that engenders thunder in his breast, 
 And makes liim roar these accusations fortJi. 
 but he shall know, I am as good 
 
 Glo. As good 1 
 
 Thou bastard of my grandfather ! — 
 
 Win. Ay, lordly sir ; For what are you, I pray, 
 But one imperious in another's throne 1 
 
 Glo. Am 1 not the protector, saucy priest 1 
 
 Win. And am I not a prelate of the churcli ? 
 
 Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps. 
 And usetli it to patronage his theft. 
 
 Win, Uureverent Gloster ! 
 
 Glo. Thou art reverent, 
 
 Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life. 
 
 Win. This Rome shall remedy. 
 
 War. Roam thither then. 
 
 Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear. 
 
 War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne. 
 
 Som. Methinks my lord should be religious, 
 And know the office that belongs to such. 
 
 iVur. Methinks, his lordship should be humbler ; 
 It fitteth not a prelate so to plead. 
 
 Som. Ves, when his holy state is touch'd so near. 
 
 War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that? 
 Is not his grace protector to the king ? 
 
 Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue ; 
 Lest it be said. Speak, sii-ruh, alien turn should ; 
 I^iust u>w bold verdict enter talk with lords ? 
 Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [Aside. 
 
 K. Hell. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester, 
 The special watchmen of our English weal j 
 I would prevail if prayers might prevail, 
 To join your henrts in love and amity. 
 O, what a scandal is it to our crown, 
 That two such noble peers as ye. should jar! 
 Helieve me, lords, my tender years can tell, 
 Civil dissention is a viperous worm. 
 That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealih. — 
 
 [A noise ivithin ; Down with the tawny coats ! 
 "What tumult's this t 
 
 War. An upruoj, I dare warrant, 
 
 Begun through malice of the bishop's men. 
 
 [A noise again ; Stones ! Stones I 
 
 Enter the Mayor of London, attended. 
 May. O, my good lords, — and virtuous Henry, — 
 Pity the city of London, pity us ! 
 The bishop and the duke of Gloster's men, 
 Forbidden late to carry any weapon, 
 Have fiU'd their pockets full of pebble-stones ; 
 And banding themselves in contrary parts. 
 Do pelt so fast at one another's pate, 
 That many have their giddy brains knock'd out: 
 Our windows are broke down in every street, 
 And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops. 
 
 Enter, skirmishing, the Betainers of Gloster and 
 WiNcni.sTER, withbioodii pates. 
 K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself, 
 To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace. 
 Pray, uncle Gloster. mitigate this strife. 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, if we be 
 
 Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth. 
 
 2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute. 
 
 [Skirruish again. 
 
 Glo. You of my household, leave this peevish broil. 
 And set this unaccustomd fight aside. 
 
 1 Serv. My lord we know your grace to be a man 
 Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth. 
 Inferior to none, but his majesty : 
 And, ere that we will suffer such a prince, 
 So kind a father of the commonweal. 
 
 To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate, 
 
 \Ve, and our wives, and children, all will fight, 
 
 And have our bodies slaiighter'd by thy foes. 
 
 2 Serv. Ay. and the very parings of our nails 
 Shall pitch a field, when we are dead [Skirmish again, 
 
 Glo. St^y. stay, I say' 
 
 And, if you love me, as you say you do. 
 Let me persuade you to forbear a while. 
 
 A'. Uen. O, howthisdiscord doth afflict my soul ! — 
 Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold 
 My sighs and tears, and will not once relent? 
 Who should be pitiful, if you be not I 
 Or who should study to prefer a peace, 
 If holy churchmen take delight in broils ? 
 
 War. jMy lord protector, yield ; — yield, Winchcs- 
 Except you mean, with obstinate repulse, [ter j — 
 To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm. 
 You see what mischief, and what murder too, 
 Ilath been enacted through your enmity ; 
 Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood. 
 
 Will. lie shall submit, or I will never yield. 
 
 Glo. Compassion on the king commands me bloop ; 
 Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest 
 Should ever get that privilege of me. 
 
 War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke 
 Hath banish'd moody discontented fury, 
 As by his smoothed brows it doth appear : 
 Why look you still so stern, and tragical ? 
 
 Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand. 
 
 A'. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort! 1 have heard you 
 That malice was a great and grievous sin : [preach. 
 And will not you maintain the thing you teach,. 
 But prove a chief offender in the same l 
 
 War. Sweetking'. — the bishop hath a kindly gird. — 
 For shame my lord of Winchester ! relent ; 
 What, shall a child instruct you what to do? 
 
 Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee ; 
 Love for thy love, and hand for hand 1 give. 
 
 Glo. Aye ; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart.— 
 See here, my friends, and loving countrymen j 
 This token serveth for a flag of truce, 
 I'etwixt ourselves, and all our followers ; 
 So help me God. as I dissemble not! 
 
 Win. So help me God, as 1 intend it not ! [Aside, 
 
 K. Hen. U loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster, 
 How joyful am I made by this contract! — 
 Away, my masters! trouble us no more; 
 But join in friendship, as your lords have done. 
 
 1 Sfi-v. Content; I'll to the surgeon's. 
 
 '2 Si'.rv. And so will T. 
 
 3 Serv. And I will see what physic the tavern af- 
 
 fords. [Exeunt Servants, Mayor, &;c.. 
 
 War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign; 
 W^hich in the right of Richard Plantagenet 
 We do exhibit to your majesty. 
 
 Glo. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick ; — for, sweet 
 An if your grace mark every circumstance, [prince. 
 You have great reason to do Richard right : 
 Especially, for those occasions 
 At Eltham-place I told your majesty. 
 
 A'. Hen. And those occasions, uncle, were of force: 
 Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is. 
 That Richard be restored to his blood. 
 
 War. Let Richard be restored to his blood , 
 So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd. 
 
 Win. As will the rest, so willeth ^Vincheste^. 
 
 A". Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone. 
 But all the whole inheritance I give. 
 That doth belong unto the house of York, 
 From whence you spring by lineal descent. 
 
 Plan Thy humble servant vows obedience, 
 And humble service, till the point of death. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 4GI 
 
 K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against m\f 
 And, in rcguerdon of that duty done, _ [foot ; 
 
 I girt thee with the valiant sword of York 
 Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet ; 
 And rise created princely duke of York. 
 
 PUin. And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall ! 
 And as my duty springs, so perish they 
 That grudge one thought against your majesty ! 
 
 All. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of 
 York ! 
 
 Som. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York ! 
 
 \_Aside. 
 
 Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty. 
 To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France . 
 The presence of a king engenders love 
 Anioncst his subjects, and his loyal friends ; 
 As it disanimates his enemies. 
 
 K. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Henry 
 For friendly counsel cuts oft' many foes. [goes ; 
 
 Gb. Your ships already are in readiness. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Exeter. 
 
 Eie, Aye, we may march in England, or in France, 
 Not seeing what is likely to ensue : 
 This late dissentiun, grown betwixt the peers 
 Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love. 
 And will at last break out into a flame : 
 As fester'd members rot but by degrees, 
 Till bones, and flesh, and sinews, fall away. 
 So will this base and envious discord breed. 
 And now I fear that fatal prophecy. 
 Which, in the time of Henry, nam'd the fifth. 
 Was in the mouth of every sticking babe, — ■ 
 That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all ; 
 And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all : 
 Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish 
 His days may finish ere that hapless time. [Eiif. 
 
 SCENE II.— France. Before Roiien. 
 
 Enter La Pucelle disguised, and Soldiers dressed like 
 Countrymen^ uith sacks upon their backs. 
 
 Ptic. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, 
 Through wliich our policy must make a breach : 
 Take lieed, be wary how you place your words ; 
 Talk like the vulgar sort of market men. 
 That come to gather money for their corn. 
 If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall.) 
 And that we find the slothful watch but weak, 
 I '11 by a sign give notice to our friends. 
 That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them. 
 
 1 .Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city, 
 And we be lords and rulers over Roiien; 
 Therefore we '11 knock. [Knocks. 
 
 Guard. [Within.] Qui est la 1 
 
 PiiC. Paisans, paurres gens de France : 
 Poor market folks, that come to sell their corn. 
 
 Guard. Enter, go in ; the market-bell is rung. 
 
 [Opens the gates. 
 
 Puc. Now, Roiien, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the 
 ground. [Pucellk, ifc. enter the city. 
 
 Enter Ciiari.es, Bastard of Orleans, Alexjon, 
 aiid Forces. 
 
 Char. Saint Dennis bless this happy stratagem ! 
 And once again we'll sleep secure in Ro'uen. 
 
 Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants ; 
 Now she is there, how will she specify 
 Where is the best and safest passage in ? 
 
 Alen. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower ; 
 Which, once discernM, shews, that her meaning is,— 
 Ho way to that, for weakness, which she enter'd. 
 
 Enter La Pccelle on a battlement : holding 
 out a torch hurning. 
 
 Puc. Behold this is the happy wedding torch, 
 That joineth Roiien unto her countrymen ; 
 But burning fatal to the f'albotites. 
 
 Ba>t. See, noble Charles ! thebeaconof our friend, 
 The burning torch in yonder turret stands. 
 
 Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge, 
 A prophet to the fall of all our foes ! 
 
 Ale}i. Defer no time. Delays have dangerous ends ; 
 Enter, and cry — The Dauphin! — presently, 
 And then do execution on the watch. [They enter. 
 
 .•ilarums. Enter Tai.bot and certain English. 
 Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy tears, 
 If Talbot but survive thy treachery. — 
 Pucelle, that witch, that damned sorceress. 
 Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares. 
 That hardly we escap'd the pride of France. 
 
 [Ejcnnt to the town. 
 
 Alarum ; Excursions. Enter, from the town, Bed- 
 ford, brought in sick, in a chair, with Talbot, 
 BiTBGUNDY, and the English Forces. Then, enter 
 on the icalls. La Pucelle, Charies, Bastard, 
 Alen^on, and others. 
 
 Pxr. Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for breads 
 1 think, the duke of Burgundy will fast. 
 Before he '11 buy again at such a rate : 
 'Twas full of darnel ; Do you like the taste ? 
 
 Bur. Scott'on, vile fiend, and shameless courtezan ! 
 I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own. 
 And make thee curse the harvest of that corn. 
 C/fur. Your grace may starve perhaps before that time. 
 Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this treason! 
 Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard"! break a 
 And run a tilt at death within a chair 1 [lance, 
 
 Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite. 
 Encompass 'd with thy lustful paramours ! 
 Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age, 
 .\nd twit with cowardice a man half dead? 
 Damsel. I '11 have a bout with you again. 
 Or else let Talbot perisli with this shame. 
 
 Puc. Are you so liot, sir ? — Yet, Pucelle, hold thy 
 
 If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. — [peace ; 
 
 [Talbot, and the rest, consult together, 
 
 God speed the parliament ! who shall be the speaker 1 
 
 Tal. Dare ye come forth, and meet us in the field ! 
 
 Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools, 
 
 To try if that our own be ours, or no. 
 
 Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate, 
 But unto tliee Aienfon, and the rest ; 
 Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out ? 
 Alen. Signior, no. 
 
 Tul. Signior, hang ! — base muleteers of France ! 
 Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls. 
 And dare not take up arms like gentlemen. 
 
 Puc. Captains, away: let's get us from the walls ; 
 For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks. 
 God be wi'you.my lord! we came, sir, but to tell you 
 That we are here. 
 
 [Eieunt La Pucelle, &^c.from the u-ails. 
 Tul. And there will we be too, ere it be long. 
 Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fanre ! — 
 Vow. Burgundy, by honour of thy house, 
 (Prick'd on by publicwrongs, sustain'd in France,) 
 Either to get the town again, or die : 
 And I, — as sure as English Henry lives. 
 And as his father here was conqueror ; 
 As sure as in this late-betrayed town 
 Great ('oeur-de-lion's heart was buried ; 
 So sure I swear, to get the town, or die. 
 
^ 
 
 4G2 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 
 
 Bur. My vows arc equal partners with thy vows. 
 
 7a/. But, ere we go, regard this dying pnnce, 
 The valiant duke of Bedford : — Come, my lord, 
 \\ e will bestow yoo in some better place. 
 Filter for sickness, and for cruzy age. 
 
 Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me : 
 Here will 1 sit before the walls of Roiien, 
 And will be partner of your weal, or woe. 
 
 Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade you, 
 
 Bed. Xot to be gone from hence ; for once 1 read, 
 That stout Pendragon, in his litter, sick, 
 Came to the field, and vanquished his foes : 
 ]Sl£tbinks, 1 should revive the soldiers' hearts, 
 Because 1 ever found them as myself. 
 
 Ttii. I'adaunted spirit in a d}ing breast ! — 
 Then be it so : — Heavens keep old Bedford safe ! — 
 And now no more ado, brave Burgundy, 
 But gather we our forces out of hand. 
 And set upon our boasting enemy. 
 
 lEjeunt BvBCrNDV, Talbot, and Forces. 
 Uuviiig BuDFono, atid others. 
 
 Alarum ; Excursions. Enter Sir Johx Fastolfe, 
 and a Captain. 
 Cap. Whither away. Sir John Fastolfe, in such 
 
 haste? 
 Fdit. "Whither away ? to save mvself by flight 
 We are like to have the overthrow again. 
 
 Cap. What ! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot ? 
 Fast. Ay, 
 
 All tile Talbots in the world to save my life. [Erit. 
 Cap. Cowanily knifht! ill fortune follow thee! 
 
 [£iil. 
 Retreat: Excursions. Enter, from the town, La Pit- 
 CELLE, Alenjox, Cuakles, Sjc. and exeunt Jiving. 
 Bed. Xow, quiet soul, depart when heaven please j 
 For I have seen our enemies' overthrow, 
 ^Vhat is the trust or strength of foolish man? 
 They, that of late were daring with their scoffs. 
 Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves. 
 
 [i)i>s, and is carried off in his chair. 
 
 Alarum : Enter Talbot, Burgcxdv, and others, 
 
 Tal. Lost, and recover 'd in a day ag^n I 
 This is a double honour. Burgundy : 
 Yet, heavens have glory for this victory I 
 
 Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy 
 Enshrines thee in his heart ; and there erects 
 Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument. [now? 
 
 Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle 
 I think, her old familiar is asleep ; [gleeks ? 
 
 Now where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his 
 What, all a mort ? Roiien hangs her head for grief. 
 That such a valiant company are fled. 
 Kow will we lake some order in the town. 
 Placing therein some expert otficcrs ; 
 And then depart to Paris, to the king ; 
 For there young Harri,', nith his nobles, lies. 
 
 Bur. What wills Lord Talbot, ple.iseth Burgundy. 
 
 Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget 
 The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd. 
 But see bis exeijuies fultiU'd in Roiien ; 
 A braver soldier never couched- lance, 
 A gentler heart did never sw-av in court : 
 But kings, and rai-ihtiest potentates must die ; 
 For that's the end of human misery. \_Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IIL— ITie same. The Plains near the Citi/. 
 Enter Charles, the Bastard, .'Vlen^on, 
 La Pucelle, and Forces. 
 Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident, 
 Nor grieve that Iloiien is so recovered : 
 
 Care is no cure, but rather corrosive, 
 * For things that are not to be remedied. 
 Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while. 
 And like a peacock sweep along his tail ; 
 We'll pull his plumes, and take away his tram. 
 If Dauphin, and the rest, will be but rul'd. 
 
 Char. We ha\e been guided by thee hitherto. 
 And of thy cunning had no dithdonce ; 
 One sudden foil shall never breed distrust. 
 
 Bast. Search out thy wit for sct-iet policies. 
 And we will make thee famous through the world* 
 
 AUu. We'll set thy statue in some holv place. 
 And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint ; 
 Kmploy thee then, sweet virgin, for our good. 
 
 Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth .1 can devise : 
 By fair persuasions, niix'd with sugar'd noids. 
 We will entice the duke of Burgundy 
 To leave the Talbot, and to follow us. 
 
 Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that, 
 France were no place for Henry's warriors ; 
 Nor should that nation boast it so wi;h us. 
 But be extirped from our provinces. 
 
 .iten. Forever >hould they be expals'd from France, 
 And not have title to an earldom here. 
 
 Flic. Your honours shall perceive how I will work. 
 To bring this matter to the wi-hedend. [Urumsheard. 
 Hark ! by the sound of drum, you uiav perceive. 
 Their powers ate marching; unto Paris-ward. 
 
 An English March, Enter and pass over at a 
 distance, Talbot and his Forces. 
 
 There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread ; 
 And all the troops of English after him. 
 
 A French March. Enter the Duke of Burgundy 
 and Forces. 
 
 Now, in the rearward, comes the duke, and hi> ;. 
 Foitune, in favour, makes him lag behind. 
 Summon a parley, we will talk with him. 
 
 [J partcjj sounded. 
 
 Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Bur, Who ciaves a parley with the Burgundy? 
 
 Puc. The princely Charles of France, Uiy coun- 
 tryman, [hence. 
 
 Bur. What say'st.thou, Charles ! fori am marching 
 
 C7iar. Speak, Pucelle ; and enchant him with thy 
 words. 
 
 Puc. Brave Burgundy, undoubted hope of France '. 
 Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee. 
 
 Bur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious. 
 
 Puc, Look on thy country, look on fertile France, 
 .A.nd see the cities and the towns defac'd 
 By wasting ruin of the cruel (ael 
 As looks the motlier on her lowly babe. 
 When death doth close his tender dying eyes. 
 See, see, the pining malady of France ; 
 Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds, 
 W hich thou thyself hast given her w oful breast ! 
 0, turn thy edged sword another way ; 
 Strike those that hurt, and hurt not iliose that help ! 
 One drop of blood, drawn, from thy country's bosom, ■ 
 Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign goie; 
 Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears. 
 And wash away thy country's stained spots ! , 
 
 Bur. Eithershe hath bewitch "d me with her words. 
 Or nature makes me suddenly relent. 
 
 Pmc. Besides, all French and France exclaims Oi 
 Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny. [thee. 
 
 Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation, 
 That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake ! 
 When Talbot hath set fooling once in France, 
 Arid fashiou'd thee that instrument of ill. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I, 
 
 463 
 
 Who then, but English Henry, will be Ioj J, 
 
 And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive ? 
 
 Call we to mind,— and mark but this, for proof; — 
 
 Was not the duke of Orleans thy foel 
 
 And was he not in England prisoner? 
 
 T3ut. when they heard he was thine enemy, 
 
 They set liiin free, without his ransome paid. 
 
 In spie of Burgundy, and all his friends. 
 
 See then! thou "fight"st against thy countrymen. 
 
 And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men. 
 
 Come, come, return; return, thou wand'ring lord; 
 
 Charles, and the rest, will take thee in their anns. 
 
 Biir. I am vanquished ; these haughty wordsof her's 
 Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot, 
 .i\nd made me almost yield upon ray knees. — 
 Foroive me, country, and sweet countrymen ! 
 And, lords, accept this heartv kind embrace : 
 My forces and mv power of men are yours ; — ■ 
 So, farewell. Talbot ; I'll no longer trust thee. 
 
 Puc Done like a Frenchman ; turn, and turn again! 
 
 CUur. Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes 
 us fresh. 
 
 Bust. And doth beget new courage in our breasts. 
 
 Alen. Pucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this. 
 And doth deserve a coronet of gold. 
 
 Char. Xowletuson, my lords, and join our powers ; 
 And seek how we may prejudice the foe. \_Eieutit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Paris. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter King Henry, Gloster, and ot/ier Lords, A'ep- 
 NON-, Basset, ^c. To them Talbot, and wmc of his 
 Officers. 
 
 7a;. My gracious prince, — and honourable peers, — 
 Hearing of your arrival in this realm, 
 I have awhile given truce unto my wars, 
 To do my duty to my sovereign : 
 In sign whereof, this arm, — that hath reclaim'd 
 To your obedience fifty fortresses, 
 Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength. 
 Besides five hundred prisoners of esteem. — 
 Lets fall iiis ^',vord before your highness' feet ; 
 And, with submissive loyalty of heart, 
 Ascribes the glory of his conquest got. 
 First to my God. and next unto your grace. 
 
 K. Hen. Is this the lord Taltjot, uncle Gloster, 
 That hath so long been resident in France ? 
 Gto. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege. 
 A'. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious 
 When I was young, (as yet I am not old,) [lord ! 
 I do rememt)er how my father said, 
 A stouter champion never handled sword. 
 Long since we were resolved of your truth. 
 Your faithful service, and your toil in war; 
 Yet never have you tasted our reward. 
 Or been reguerdon'd with so much as thanks 
 Because till now we never saw your face : 
 Therefore, stand up ; and, for these good deserts, 
 We here create you earl of Shrewsbury ; 
 4nd in our coronation take your place. 
 [Kiennt K. FIlnrv, Gi-Osteu, Talhot, &; Nobles. 
 Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea. 
 Disgracing of these colours that I wear 
 In honour of mv noble lord of Y'ork, — - 
 T)ar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st 1 
 
 liax. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patronage 
 '^he envious barking of vour saucy tongue 
 Against my lord, tiie duke of Somerset. 
 Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is. 
 Bos. Why, what is he 1 as good a man as Y'ork. 
 Ver, Hark ve ; not so : in witness take ye that. 
 
 [Strikes him. 
 Bas. Villain, thou know'st, the law of arms is such. 
 
 That, whoso draws a sword, 'lis present death ; 
 Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood. 
 Bat ril unto his majesty, and crave 
 I may have liberty to vtuge this wrong : 
 When thou shall see. Til meet thee to thy cost, 
 
 Ver. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you ; 
 A nd, after, meetyou sooner than you would. [Eieunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE 1.— The same. A Room of State. 
 Enter King Henry. Gi.oster, Exeter, Y'ork, Str- 
 roi.K, Somerset. Winchester, Warwick, Talbot, 
 the Governor of Paris, and others. 
 Glo. Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head. 
 Win. God save king Henry of that name the sixth ! 
 Gto. Now, gos'eraor of Paris, take your oath, — 
 [Governor kneels. 
 That you elect no other king but him : 
 Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends j 
 And none your foes, but such as shall pretend 
 .Malicious practices against his state : 
 This shall ye do, so help you righteous God ! 
 
 [Eieuiit Gov. and his Train 
 Enter Sir John Fastolfe. 
 Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais, 
 To haste unto your coronation, 
 A letter was deliver'd to my hands. 
 Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Tal. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee ! 
 I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet ihee ne.vt. 
 To tear the garter from thy craven's leg. 
 
 [Plucking it off. 
 (Which I have done) because unworthily 
 I'hou wast installed in that high degree. — 
 Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest: 
 This dastard, at the battle of Paiay, 
 \\ hen but in all I was six liiousand strong, 
 .Viid that the French ".ere almost ten to one, — 
 Before we met, or that a stroke was given, 
 Like to a trusty squire, did run away : 
 In which assault we lost twelve hundred men, 
 ^lyself, and divers gentlemen beside. 
 Were there surpriz'd, and taken prisoners. 
 Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss ; 
 Or whether that such cowards ought to wear 
 I'his ornament of knightliooj, yea, or no 
 
 G(<i. To say the truth, tliis fact was infamous, 
 •■Vnd ill beseeming any common man ; 
 .Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader. 
 
 Till. W'hen first this order was oidain'd, my lords, 
 Knights of the garter were of noble birth ; 
 \'ariant, and virtuous, full of haughty courage, 
 Such as were grown to credit by the wars ; 
 Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress. 
 But always resolute in most extremes. 
 He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort. 
 Doth but usurp the sacred name ofknight, 
 Profaning this most honourable order ; 
 Vnd should (if I were worthy to be judge,) 
 Be quite degraded, like a hedge-born swain 
 That doth presume to boast of gentle blood, [doom. 
 K.Hen. Stain to thy countrymen! thou hear'st thy 
 Be packing therefore, thou that wast a knight; 
 Henceforth we banish thee on pain of death. — 
 
 [£ji( Fastolfe. 
 .And now, my lord protector, view the letter 
 Sent from our uncle duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chang'd 
 his style \ [Vieuing the sn-perscription 
 
 No more but, plain and bluntly, — To the king 1 
 
464 
 
 KING HENRY Vl.-PART I. 
 
 Hath he forgot, lie is his soverelgu 1 
 
 Or doth this churlish superscription 
 
 Pretend some alteration in good will? 
 
 M'hat's hcrel — I have upou especial cause, — [Reads. 
 
 Mov^d with compassion of mu cninitry^s wreck, 
 
 Together with the pitiful complaints 
 
 Of such as your oppression feeds upon, — 
 
 Forsaken your pernicious faction. 
 
 And Join\i ivith Charles, the rightful hiiig of France. 
 
 monstrous treachery ! Can this be so ; 
 That in alliance, amity, and oaths, 
 
 There should be found such false dissembling guile? 
 
 K. Hen. What! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt? 
 
 Olo. He doth, my lord ; and is become your foe. 
 
 A". Hen. Is that the worst, this letter doth contain? 
 
 Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes. 
 
 A. //c;j.\Vhy then, lord Talbot there shall talk with 
 And give him chastisement for this abuse; — [him, 
 My lord, how say you? are you not-content? 
 
 Tal. Content, my liege? Yes ; but that I am pre- 
 vented, 
 
 1 should have begg'd I might have been employ 'd. 
 
 A'. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto him 
 straight : 
 Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason ; 
 And what offence it is, to Hout his friends. 
 
 Tal. 1 go, my lord ; in heart desiring still 
 You may behold confusion of your foes. [E.iu. 
 
 Enter Vehnon a7id Basset. 
 
 Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign' 
 
 Bas. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too ! 
 
 York. This is my servant ; Hear him. noble prince ! 
 
 Soin. And this is mine ; Sweet Henry, favour him ! 
 
 A'. Hen. Be patient, lords; and give them leave to 
 speak. — 
 Say, gentlemen, AVhat makes ygu thus exclaim? 
 And wlierefore crave you combat? or with whom? 
 
 Ver. With him, my lord ; for he hath done me wrong. 
 
 Bas And I with him ; for he hath done me wrong. 
 
 K. Hen. What is that wrong wliereof you both coni- 
 First let me know, and then I '1! answer you. [plain ? 
 
 Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France, 
 This fellow here, with envious carping tongue. 
 Upbraided me about the rose 1 wear ; 
 Saying — the sanguine colour of the leaves 
 Did represent my master's blushing cheeks, 
 ^Vhen stubbornly he did repugn the truth, 
 About a certain question in the law, 
 Argu'd betwixt the duke of York and him; 
 With other vile and ignominious terms : 
 In confutation of which rude reproach, 
 And in defence of my lord's worthiness, 
 I crave the benefit of law of arms. 
 
 Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord : 
 For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit. 
 To set a gloss upon his bold intent, 
 Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him , 
 And he first took exceptions at this badge. 
 Pronouncing — tliat the paleness of this flower 
 Bewray 'd the falntness of ray master's heart. 
 
 York. Will not this malice, Somerset, he left ? 
 
 Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will 
 Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it. [out, 
 
 A'. Hen. Good Lord ! what madness rules in brain- 
 When, for so slight and frivolous a cause, [sick men; 
 Such factious emulations shall arise ! — 
 Good cousins both, of York and Somerset, 
 Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace. 
 
 York. Let thisdis>eniion first be tried by fight. 
 And then your highness shall command a peace. 
 
 Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone; 
 
 Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then, 
 
 York. There is my pledge : accept it, Somerset- 
 
 Ver. 'Say, let it rest where it began at lirst. 
 
 Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord. 
 
 Glo. Confirm it so'' Confounded be your strife! 
 And perish ye, with your audacious prate! 
 Presumptuous vassals! are you not asham'd, 
 With this immodest clamorous outrage 
 To trouble and disturb the king and us ? 
 And you, my lords, — methinks, you do not well. 
 To bear with their perverse objections ; 
 ■Much less, to take occasion from their mouths 
 To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves; 
 Let me persuade you, take a better course. 
 
 Fie. It grieves his highness; — Good my lords; be 
 friends. [tants : 
 
 K. Hen. Come hither, you that would be comba- 
 Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour. 
 Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause. — 
 And you, my lords, —remember where we are ; 
 In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation : 
 If they perceive dissention in our looks, 
 And that within ourselves we disagree. 
 How will their grudging stomachs be provok'd 
 To wilful disobedience, and rebel? 
 Beside, ^^ hat infamy will there arise, 
 VVhen foreign princes shall be certified, 
 That, for a toy, a thing of no regard, 
 King Henry's peers, and chief nobility, 
 Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France? 
 O, think upon the conquest of my father, 
 I\Iy tender years ; and let us not forego 
 That for a trifle, that was bought with blood! 
 Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife. 
 I see no reason, if 1 wear this rose, 
 
 \_Putting on a red rose* 
 That any one should therefore be suspicious 
 I more incUne to Somerset, than York; 
 Both are my kinsmen, and 1 love them both : 
 As well tiiey may Ujibraid me with my crown, 
 Because, forsooth, tlie king of Scots is crown'd. 
 But your discrettous better can persuade, 
 Than I am able to instruct or teach : 
 And therefore, as we hither came in peace. 
 So let us still continue peace and love. — 
 Cousin of York, we institute your grace 
 To be our regent in these parts of France .- — 
 And good my lord of Somerset, unite 
 Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot; — 
 And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors, 
 Go cheerfully together, and digest 
 Your angry choler on your enemies. 
 Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest. 
 After some respite, will return to Calais ; 
 From thence to England, where I hope ere long 
 To be presented, by your victories, 
 With Charles, Alenfon, and that traitorous rout, 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt King Henry, Glo. Som. 
 W^iN. SuF. and Basset. 
 
 JVar. My lord of York, I promise you, the kmg 
 Prettily, metliought, did play the orator. 
 
 York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not. 
 In that he wears the badge of Somerset. 
 
 TI'nr.Tush ! that was but his fancy, blame hira not ; 
 I dare presume, sweet prince, he thougiit no hanri. 
 
 York. And, if I wist, he did, — But let it rest ; 
 Other affairs must now be managed. 
 
 [Eiennt York, Wauwick, and Vernon. 
 
 Eae.Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy voice 
 For had the passions of thy heart burst out, 
 I fear we should have seen decipher'd there 
 More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils, 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE IV. 
 
 465 
 
 Than yet can be imagin'tl or suppos'd. 
 
 But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees 
 
 This jarring discord of nobility, 
 
 This should'ring of each other in the court, 
 
 This factious bandying of their favourites, 
 
 But that it doth presage some ill event. 
 
 'Tis much, when scepters are in children's hands: 
 
 But more, when envy breeds unkind division ; 
 
 There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE n.— France. Before Bourdeaux. 
 
 Enter Talbot, with hisj'ovces. 
 
 Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter. 
 Summon their general unto the wall. 
 
 Trumpet simnds a pnrlev. Enter, on the walls, the 
 General of the French Forces, and others. 
 
 English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth. 
 Servant in arras to Harry king of England; 
 And thus he would, — Open your city gates. 
 Be humble to us ; call my sovereign yours, 
 And do him homage as obedient subjects. 
 And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power; 
 But, if you frown upon this profFer'd peace. 
 You tempt the fury of my three attendants. 
 Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire ; 
 A\ ho, in a moment, even with the earth 
 Shall- lay your stately and air-braving towers. 
 If you forsake the offer of their love. 
 
 Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owd of death, 
 Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge ! 
 The period of thy tyranny approacheth. 
 On us thou canst not enter, but by death : 
 For, I protest, we are well fortifieil. 
 And strong enough to issue out arid 6ght : 
 If thou retire, the Dauphin, well appointed. 
 Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee : 
 On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd. 
 To wall thee from the liberty of flight; 
 And no way canst thou turn thee for redress. 
 But death doth front thee with apparent spoil, 
 And pale destruction meets thee in the face. 
 Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament. 
 To rive their dangerous artillery 
 Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot. 
 Lo ! there thou stand'st. a breathing valiant man, 
 Of an invincible unconquered spirit : 
 This is the latest glory of thy praise. 
 That I, thy enemy, due thee withal ; 
 For ere the glass, that now begins to run, 
 Finish the process of his sandy hour, 
 These eyes, that see thee now well coloured. 
 Shall see thee wither'd, bloody, pale, and dead. 
 
 [Drum iijar off. 
 Hark I hark I the Dauphin's drum, a warning bell, 
 Sings heavy music to thy timorous soul ; 
 And mine shall ring thy dire departure out. 
 
 [^Exeunt General, i^c.Jroni the toalis. 
 
 Till. He fables not, I hear the enemy ; — ■ 
 Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. — 
 O, negligent and heedless discipline ! 
 JIow are we park'd, and bounded in a pale ; 
 A little herd of England's timorous deer, 
 ]Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs ! 
 If we be English deer, be then in blood : 
 Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch ; 
 But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags. 
 Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel, 
 And make the cowards stand aloof at bay : 
 Sell every man his life as dear as mine. 
 And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. — 
 
 God, and Saint George ! Talbot, and England's right ! 
 Prosperour colours in this dangerous fight ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III — Plahis in Gascony. 
 Enter York, with Forces ; to him a Messenger. 
 
 York. Are not the speedy scouts return'd again. 
 That dogo'd the mighty army of the Dauphin '. 
 
 Mess. They are return'd my lord : and give it out. 
 That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power. 
 To fight with Talbot : As he march'd along. 
 By your espials were discovered 
 Tivo mightier troops than that the Dauphin led ; 
 Which join'd with him, and made their inarch for 
 Bourdeaux, 
 
 York. A plague upon that villain Somerset ; 
 That thus delays my promised supply 
 Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege I 
 Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid ; 
 And I am lowted by a traitor villain, 
 And cannot help the noble chevalier : 
 God comfort him in this necessity I 
 If he miscarry, farewell wars in France. 
 
 Ejiter Sir WrLLnai Lucy. 
 
 Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength, 
 Never so needful on the earth of France, 
 Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot ; 
 ^Vho now is girdled with a waist of iron. 
 And hemm'd about with grim destruction : 
 To Bourdeaux, warlike duke ! to Bourdeaux, York ! 
 Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour. 
 
 Koi-Zc. O God ! that Somerset — who in proud heart 
 Doth stop my cornets — were in Talbot's place I 
 So should we save a valiant gentleman. 
 By forfeiting a traitor and a coward. 
 I\Iad ire, and wrathful fury, makes ine weep. 
 That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep. 
 
 Lucii. O.send some succour to the distress 'd lord! 
 
 York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike word : 
 We mourn, France smiles ; we lose, they daily get ; 
 All "long of this vile traitor Somerset. 
 
 -L?/cv- Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's soul ! 
 And on his son, young John ; whom, two hours since, 
 I met in travel toward his warlike father ! 
 This seven years did not Talbot see his son : 
 And now they meet where both their lives are done. 
 
 York. Alas! what joy shall noble Talbot have, 
 To bid his young son welcome to his grave? 
 Aw,ay ! vexation almost stops my breath, 
 That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. — 
 Lucy, farewell ; no more my fortune can, 
 But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. — 
 Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away, 
 'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [£jil. 
 
 Luci/. Thus while the vulture of sedition 
 Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders. 
 Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss 
 The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror, 
 That ever-living man of memory, 
 Henry the fifth : — Whiles they each other cross. 
 Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE lV.~Other Plains of Gascony. 
 
 Enter Somerset, with his Forces ; an Officer of 
 Talbot's with him. 
 
 ■%m. It is too late ; I cannot send them now . 
 This expedition was by York, and Talbot, 
 Too rashly plotted ; all our general force 
 Might with a sally of the very town 
 Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot 
 2 G 
 
466 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 
 
 Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour. 
 By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure: 
 York set hira on to fight, and die in shame, 
 That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name. 
 
 Ojf'. Htre is sir VVilliam Lucy, who with me 
 Set from our o'er-matcli'd forces forth for aid. 
 
 Enter Sir William Lucy. 
 
 5om. How now, sir William 1 whither were you sent ? 
 Luc. Whither, my lord } from bought and sold lord 
 Who, ring'd about with bold adversity, [Talbot ; 
 Cries out for noble York and Somerset, 
 To beat assailing death from his weak legions. 
 And wliiles the honourable captain there 
 Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs. 
 And, in advantage Img'ring, looks for rescue. 
 You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour. 
 Keep off aloof with worthless emulation. 
 Let not your private discord keep away 
 The levied succours that should lend hira aid. 
 Whiles he, renowned noble gentleman, 
 Yields up his life unto a world of odds : 
 Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy, 
 Alenfon, Reignier, compass him about. 
 And Talbot perisheth by your default. [aid. 
 
 Som. York set him on, York should have sent him 
 
 Lucu- And York as fast upon your grace exclaims ; 
 Swearing that you withhold his levied host. 
 Collected for this expedition. 
 
 Som* York lies; he might have sent and had the 
 I 'Owe him little duty, and less love j [horse j 
 
 And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending. 
 
 Luc. The fraud of England, not the force of France, 
 Hath now entrapp'd tlie noble-minded Talbot: 
 Never to England shall he bear his life ; 
 But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife. 
 
 Som, Come, go ; 1 will despatch the horsemen 
 straight : 
 Within six hours they will be at his aid. 
 
 Luci). Too late comes rescue ; he is ta'en, or slain : 
 For fly he could not. if he would have fled ; 
 And fly would Talbot never, though he might. 
 
 Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu ! 
 
 Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in 
 you. lEieiLiit. 
 
 SCENE V. — The English Camp near Bourdeaux. 
 Enter Talbot and John his Son. 
 
 Tal. young John Talbot ! I did send for thee. 
 To tutor tliee in stratagems of war ; 
 That Talbot's name might be in thee revived. 
 When sapless age, and weak unable limbs, 
 Should bring thy father to his drooping chair. 
 But, — malignant and ill-boding stars ! — 
 Now thou art come unto a feast of death, 
 A terrible and unavoidcd danger: 
 Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse; 
 And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape 
 By sudden flight : come, dally not, begone. 
 
 John. Is my name Talbot ? and am I your son ? 
 And shall I flyf O, if you love my mother, 
 Dishonour not her honourable name, 
 To make a bastard, and a slave of me : 
 The world will say, — He is not Talbot's blood, 
 Tiiat basely fled, when noble Talbot stood. 
 
 Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain. 
 
 John. He, that flies so, will ne'er return again, 
 
 Tal. If we both stay, we both arc sure to die. 
 
 John. Then let me stay ; and, father, do you fly : 
 Your loss is great, so your regard should be ; 
 My worth unknown, no loss is known in me. 
 
 [ Upon my death the French can little boast j 
 I In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost. 
 Flight cannot stain the honour you have won; 
 But mine it will, that no exploit have done : 
 I You fled for vantage, every one will swear ; 
 I But, if 1 bow, they'll say — it was for fear. 
 , There is no hope that ever 1 will stay, 
 ' If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away. 
 Here, on my knee, 1 beg mortality, 
 Rather tliaa life preserv'd with infamy. 
 
 Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb ? 
 John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb. 
 Tal. Upon my blessing I command thee go. 
 John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe. 
 Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee. 
 John. No part of him, but will be shame in me. 
 Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it. 
 John. Yes, your renowned name ; Shall flight abuse 
 it? [stain, 
 
 Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that 
 John. You cannot witness for me, being slain. 
 If death be so apparent, then both fly. 
 
 Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight and die? 
 My age was never tainted with such shame. 
 
 John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame 1 
 No more can I be sever'd from your side. 
 Than can yourself yourself in twain divide : 
 Stay, go, do what you will, the like do I ; 
 For live I will not, if my father die, 
 
 Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son^ 
 Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 
 Come, side by side together live and die ; 
 And soul with soul from France to heaven fly. \F.i, 
 
 SCENE VI.— ^ Field of Battle. 
 
 Altirum: Excursiom^ wherein Talbot's Son-is 
 hemmed about, and Talbot rescues him. 
 
 Td/. Saint George and victory ! fight, soldiers, fight* 
 The regent hath with Talbot broke his word. 
 And left us to the rage of France his sword. 
 Where is John Talbot ? — pause, and take thy breath * 
 I gave thee life, and rescu'd thee from deatii. 
 
 John. twice my father ! twice am I thy son : 
 The life, thou gav'st me first, was lost and done , 
 Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate. 
 To my determined time thou gav'st new date. 
 
 TiW.When from theDauphin 's crest thy sword struck 
 It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire [fire. 
 Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age, 
 Quicken'd with youtiiful spleen, and warlike rage. 
 Beat down Alenfon, Orleans, Burgundy, 
 And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee. 
 The ireful bastard Orleans — that drew blood 
 From thee, my boy ; and had the maidenhood 
 Of thy first fight — 1 soon encountered ; 
 And, interchanging blows, 1 quickly shed 
 Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace. 
 Bespoke him thus : Contaminated, base, 
 And misbegotten blood I spill of thine, 
 j\lean and right poor ; for that pure blood of mine. 
 Which thon didst force from Talbot, my brave boy: — 
 Here, purposing tlie Bastard to destroy, 
 Came in strong rescue. Speak, thy father's care ; 
 Art not thou weary, John? How didst thou fare * 
 Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and Hy, 
 Now thou art seal'd the son of chivalry f 
 Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead ; 
 Tlie help of one stands me in little stead. 
 O, too much folly is it, well I wot. 
 To hazard all our lives in one small boat. 
 If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage. 
 
ACT V.-SCENE I. 
 
 To-morrow 1 shall die with mickle age : 
 
 By me they nothing gain, an if I stay, 
 
 'Tis but the shoit'ning of my life one day : 
 
 In thee my mother dies, our household's name, 
 
 SIv death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame : 
 
 All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay ; 
 
 All these are sav'd, if thou ivilt fly away. 
 
 Jo'irj. The sword of Orleans hath not made me smart. 
 These words of yours draw life-blood from ray heart: 
 On that advantage, bought with such a shame, 
 (To save a paltry life, and slay bright fame,) 
 Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly. 
 The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die ! 
 Ami like me to the peasant boys of France ; 
 To he sliame's scorn, and subject of mischance ! 
 Surelv, by all the glory you have won, 
 An if'l fly, I ain not Talbot's son: 
 Then talk no more of fliglit, it is no boot ; 
 If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot. 
 
 Tal. Tlien follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, 
 Thou Icarus •, thy life to me is sweet ; 
 If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side ; 
 And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride. [Exeuut. 
 
 SCENE VII. — Another pan of the same. 
 
 Alai'^ni: Excursions. Enter TxtBOT wounded, 
 suppm-ted bit a Servant. 
 
 Tat. Where is my other life 1 — mine own is gone; — 
 O, Where's youngTaibotl where is valiant John"! — 
 Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity ! 
 Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee :— 
 When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee. 
 His bloody sword he brandish'd over me. 
 And, like a hungry lion, did commence 
 Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience ; 
 hut when my angry guardant stood alone, 
 Tend'rjng my ruin, and assail'd of none, 
 Dizzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart. 
 Suddenly made him fiom my side to start 
 Into tli« clust'ring battle of the French : 
 And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
 His overmounting spirit ; and there died 
 Aly Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 
 
 Enter Soldiers, bearing the body of John Talbot. 
 
 Serv. my dear lord ! lo, where your son is borne ! 
 
 Tal. Thou antick death, which laugh'st us here to 
 Anon, from thy insulting tyianny, [scorn. 
 
 Coupled in bonds of perpetuity. 
 Two Talbots, winged through the lither sky. 
 In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality. — 
 O thou whose wounds become hard-favoured death, 
 Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath : 
 llrave death by speaking, whether he will, or no ; 
 Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe. — 
 Poor boy ! he smiles, metliinks ; as who should say — 
 Had death been French, then death had died to-day. 
 Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms ; 
 My spirit can no longer bear these hanns. 
 Soldiers, adieu ! I have what 1 would have. 
 Now my old aims are young John Talbot's grave. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Alarnms. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the 
 
 two bodies. E/iter Charles, Alen^onsBurgu.n'dy, 
 
 Bastard, La Puce[,le, and Forces. 
 
 Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in. 
 We should have found a bloody day of this. 
 
 Biijt. How the young whelpof'i'albot's, raging wood, 
 Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood ! 
 
 Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said. 
 Thou maiden youth, be vanquish'd btj a maid: 
 
 Hut — with a proud, majestical high scorn, — 
 He answered thus ; Young Talbot was not born 
 To be the pillage of a giglot wench : 
 So rushing in the bowels of the French, 
 He left me proudly, as unworthy figh't. 
 
 Ihir. Doubtless, he would have made a noble knight; 
 See. where he lies inhersed in the arms 
 Of the most bloody nurser of his hanns. 
 
 Bust. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asunder ; 
 Whose life -;^' as England's glory, Gallia's wonder. 
 
 Char. O, no ; tbrbuar : for that which we have fled 
 During the life, let us not wrong it dead. 
 
 Enter Sir Willh.m Lvc\- , attended ; a French 
 Herald preceding. 
 
 Luc\i. Herald, 
 Conduct me to the Dauphin's tent ; to know 
 Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day. 
 
 Char, On what submissive message art thou sent? 
 
 Lnc\i. Submission, Dauphin! 'tis a mere French 
 We English warriors wot not what it means, [word ; 
 I come to know what prisoners thou hast ta'en. 
 And to survey the bodies of the dead. 
 
 Char. For prisoners ask'st thou 1 hell our prison is. 
 But tell me whom thou seek'st. 
 
 Lucy. Where is the great /Vlcides of the field. 
 Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury "! 
 Created, for his rare success of arms, 
 Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence ; 
 Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield, 
 Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton, 
 LordCroinwellof\Vingfield,lordFurnival of Sheffield, 
 The thrice victorious lord of Falconhridge ; 
 Knight of the noble order of Saint George, 
 Worthy Saint Michael, and the golden lleece ; 
 Great mareshal to Henry the sixth. 
 Of all his wars within the realm of France ? 
 
 Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed ! 
 The Turk, that two and fifty kingdoms hath, 
 Writes not so tedious a style as this. — 
 Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles. 
 Stinking, and fly-blown, lies here at our feet. 
 
 Lucy.lsTalbotslain; the Frenchman'sonly scourge, 
 Your kioL'dom's terrour and black Nemesis \ 
 O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turu'd. 
 That 1, in rage, might shoot them at your faces 1 
 O, that I could but call these dead to life ! 
 It were enough to fright the realm of France : 
 Were but his picture left among you here. 
 It would amaze the proudest of you all. 
 Give me thtir bodies ; that I may bear them hence, 
 And give them burial as beseems their worth. 
 
 Pur. I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost, 
 He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit. 
 For God's sake, let him have 'em ; to keep them here. 
 They would but stink, and putrefy the air. 
 
 Char. Go, take their bodies hence. 
 
 ^"<'.''- I'll bear them hence 
 
 But from their ashes shall be rear'd 
 A phoenix that shall make all France afear'd. 
 
 Char. So we be rid of them, do with them what thou 
 .•\nd now to Paris, in this conquering vein ; [wilt. 
 .\11 will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain. [£ai,-iini. 
 
 ^CT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Kino Henry, Gloster, aiitl Exeter. 
 
 A'. lien. Have you perus'd the letters from the pope 
 The emperor, and the earl of Armag^ac 1 
 2G a 
 
468 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART I. 
 
 Gill. I have, my lord, and tlieir intents is this, — 
 They humbly sue unto your excellence. 
 To have a godly peace concluded of, 
 Between the realms of England and of France. 
 
 A'. Ileii. How dotli your grace ad'ecl their motion ? 
 
 Gill. Well, my good lord, and as the only means 
 To stop efl'usion of our Clirislian blood, 
 And 'stablish quietness on every side. 
 
 A'. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle; for I always thought. 
 It was both impious and unnatural, 
 7 hat such immanity and bloody strife 
 Should reign among professors of one faith. 
 
 Gl'i. Beside, my lord, — the sooner to efTect, 
 And surer bind, this knot of amity, — 
 The earl of Armagnac — near knit to Charles, 
 A man of great authority in France, — 
 Proffers his only dauirhter to your grace 
 In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry. 
 
 K.IItn. Marriage, uncle! alas! my years are young; 
 And fitter is my study and my books, 
 I'han wanton dalliance with a paramour. 
 Yet. call the ambassadors ; and. as you please. 
 So let them have tlieir answers every one : 
 I shall be well content with any choice. 
 Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal. 
 
 I^nter a Legate, ami turn .Embassadors, viih Wix- 
 CIJI'STER, in a Cartlinal's hah'it. 
 
 K.te. What! is my lord of Winchester install'd, 
 And call'd unto a cardinal's degree! 
 Then, 1 perceive, that will be verified, 
 Henry the fifth did sometime prophecy, — 
 If once he come to he a cardinal. 
 He'll make his cap co-equal loith the crown, 
 
 K. lien. My lords ambassadors, your several suit; 
 Have been consider'd and debated on. 
 Your )iurpose is both good and reasonable : 
 And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd 
 To draw conditions of a friendly peace ; 
 "Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean 
 Shall be transported presently to France. 
 
 Glo. .And for the profl'er of my lord your master, — 
 I have inform'd his highness so at large. 
 As — liking of the lady's virtuous gifts. 
 Her beauty, and the value of her dower, — 
 He doth intend she shall be England's queen. 
 
 K. Hen. In argument and proof of which contra jt. 
 Bear her this jewel, (Mt/ic Arab.] pledge of my aff'ec- 
 And so, my lord protector, see them guarded, [tion. 
 And safely brought to Dover ; where, inshipp'd. 
 Commit tiiem to the fortune of the sea 
 
 [I'.i. K. Hen. &; Train; Gi.o. Exe. if Ambassadors. 
 
 Win. f^tay, my lord legate ; you shall first receive 
 The sum of money, which 1 promised 
 Should be deliver'd to his holiness 
 For clothing me in these grave ornaments. 
 
 Lejr. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure. 
 
 Will. iS'ow. Winchester will not submit, I trow. 
 Or be inferior to the proudest peer. 
 Humphrey of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive. 
 That, neither in birth, or for authority. 
 'The bishop will be overborne by thee : 
 I'll either make tliee stoop, and bend thy knee. 
 Or sack this country with a mutiny. [^Exeinit. 
 
 SCENE II. — France. Plains in Anjou. 
 
 Enffr Cmahles, Bi'iioundy. Ai.i;n90N, La riiCEi.i,)?, 
 and P''<nces, viarching, 
 
 C//(ir. These news, my lords, may cheer our drooping 
 'Tis said, the stout I'aiisians do revolt. [spirits: 
 And turn again unto tlie warlike French. 
 
 Alen. Then march to I'aris, royal Charles of France, 
 And keep not back your powers in dalliance. 
 
 Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us ; 
 Else, ruin combat with their palaces ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Success unto our valiant general, 
 And happiness to his accomplices ! [speak. 
 
 Char. What tidings send our scouts? I pry'thee. 
 
 Mess. The English army, that divided was 
 Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one : 
 And means to give you battle presently. 
 
 Char. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning Is ; 
 But we will presently provitle for them. 
 
 Bur. I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there , 
 Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear. 
 
 Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd : — 
 Command the conquest, Charles, it shall be thine ; 
 Let Henry fret, and all the world repine. 
 
 Char, Then on, my lords ; And France be fortunate! 
 
 [^Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— r/ie same. Be/ore Ang'iers. 
 Alarums : Eimrsio7is, Enter La Pucelle. 
 Puc. The regent conquers. and the Frenchmen fly. — 
 Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts j 
 And ye choice si>irits that aihnonish me. 
 And give me signs of future accidents ! [^Thunder. 
 Yon speedy helpers, that are substitutes 
 Under the lordly monarch of the north. 
 Appear, and aid me in this enterprize ! 
 
 Enter Fiends. 
 This speedy quick appearance argues proof 
 Of your accustom'd diligence to me. 
 Now, ye familiar spirits, that are cuU'd 
 Out of the powerful regions under earth. 
 Help me this once, that France may get the field. 
 
 [Tlieu walk ahont, and speak not, 
 0, hold me not with silence over- long ! 
 Where I was wont to feed you with my blood, 
 I'll lop a member off, and give it you. 
 In earnest of a further benefit ; 
 So you do condescend to help me now. — 
 
 [Theij hang their heads. 
 No hope to have redress 1— My body shall 
 Pay recompense, if you will grant my suit. 
 
 [Theti shake their heads. 
 Cannot my body, nor blood-sacrifice, 
 I^ntreat you to your fronted furtherance 1 
 Then take my soul ; my body, soul, and all. 
 Before that England give the French the foil. 
 
 [Tlieit depart. 
 See ! they forsake me. Now the time is come, 
 That France must vail her lofty-plumed crest. 
 And let her head fall into England's lap. 
 My ancient incantations are too weak, 
 And hell too strong for me to buckle with : 
 Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust. [Eaii. 
 
 Alarums, Enter French and l'nglish,^'«-/i((H^. La 
 PuCEi.T-Ea/u/ York //'i^/ff hand to hand. La Pi'Cclle 
 is taken. T/ie French y/y. 
 
 York. Damsel of France, I think, I have you fast : 
 Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms. 
 And try if they can gain your li'oerty. — 
 A goodly prize, fit for the devil's grace ! 
 See. how the ugly witch doth benil her brows. 
 As if, with (^irce, she would change my shape. 
 Puc. Chang'd toawoiser shape ihou can'st not be: 
 York. O, Charles the Dauphin is a proper man ; 
 No shape but his can please your dainty eye. 
 

 
 iiasiisimai 
 
 ■l^w,'';i';rhlj«m,',v-n''if': f, ; l^ '^^l,'^ . ':il^<-^ j,^^^/^ ^^^2^^ '-JlUsmi\ i\lll^^'^:^ 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 469 
 
 Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and thee ! 
 
 And may ye both be suddenly surpriz'd 
 
 By bloody hands, in sleeping on j'our beds ! [tongue. 
 
 ' York. Fell, banning hag ! enchantress, hold thy 
 
 Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a while. 
 
 Y'ork. Curse, miicreanl, when thou comest to the 
 
 stake. lEieunt. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Ladti MAncAitiiT. 
 SuJ\ Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner. 
 
 [Gazes on her. 
 
 fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly ; 
 
 For 1 will touch thee but with reverent hands, 
 And lav them gently on thy tender side. 
 
 1 kiss these tiiigers[/cissii(0'/(er/m/H/.] for eternal peace: 
 Who art tliou I say, that 1 may honour thee. 
 
 Mar. Margaret is my name; and daughter to a king. 
 The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art. 
 
 Suf. An earl I am, and Sutt'olk am 1 call'd. 
 Be not offended, nature's miracle, 
 Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me : 
 So doth tiie swan her downy cvgnets save, 
 Keeping them prisoners undernuath her wings. 
 Vet if this servile usage once offend. 
 Go, and be free again, as Suffolk's friend, 
 
 l^She turns away as g'>i)ig. 
 0, stay ! — I have no power to let her pass ; 
 My hand would free her, but my heart says — no. 
 As plays the sun upon the giassy streams, 
 Twinklmg another counterfeited beam. 
 So seems this gorgeous beauty to mme eyes. 
 Fain would I woo her, yet 1 dare not speak : 
 I '11 call for pen and ink, and write my mind : 
 Fye, De la Poole ! disable not thyself; 
 Hast not a tongue"! is she not here thy prisoner? 
 Wilt tliou be daunted at a woman's sight] 
 Ay; beauty's princely majesty is such. 
 Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough. 
 Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk, — if thy name be so, — 
 What ransome must I pay before 1 pass ? 
 For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner. 
 
 Suf. How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit. 
 
 Before thou make a trial of her love 1 [Aside. 
 
 Mar, Why speak'st thou not? what ransome must 
 
 I pay I 
 Suf. She's beautiful ; and therefore to be woo'd : 
 She is a woman ; tlierefore to be won. [.-i>/(/c. 
 
 Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransome, yea, or no ? 
 Suf. Fond man ! remember, that thou hast a wife ; 
 Then how can i\iargaret be thy paramour } [Aside. 
 Ma^. I were best leave him, for he will not hoar. 
 Suf. There all i-N niarr'd ; there lies a cooling card. 
 Mar. He talks at random ; sure the man is mad. 
 SiiJ'. And yet a dispensation may be iiad. 
 Mar, And yet I would that you would answer me. 
 Suf. I'll win this lady Margaret. For whom? 
 Why, for my king: Tush ! that's a wooden thing 
 Mar. He talks of wood : it is some carpenter. 
 SuJ'. Vet so my fancy may be satisfied. 
 And peace e.siabli>hed between these realms. 
 But there remams a :^cruple in that too : 
 For though her father be the king of Naples, 
 Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor, 
 And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside. 
 
 Mar. Hear ye, captain ? Are you not at leisure? 
 Suf. It shall be so, disdain they ne'er so much : 
 Henry is youthful, and will quickly yield. — 
 .Madam, 1 have a secret to reveal. [knight, 
 
 Mar. What though I be enthrall'd 1 he seems a 
 And will not any way dishonour me. [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what X say. 
 Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescu'd by the French ; 
 
 And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause — 
 
 Miir. Tush ! women have been captivate ere now. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Suf. Lady, wherefore talk you so ? 
 
 Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo. 
 
 Stf. Say. gentle princess, would you not suppose 
 Your bondage happy, to be made a queen? 
 
 Mar. To be a queen in bondage, is more vile. 
 Than is a slave in base servility ; 
 For princes should be free. 
 
 Suf. And so shall you, 
 
 If happy England's royal king be free. 
 
 Mar, Why, what concerns his freedom unto me ? 
 
 Suf. I '11 undertake to make thee Henry's queen ; 
 To put a golden scepter in thy hand, 
 And set a precious crown upon thy head, 
 If thou will condescend to be my — 
 
 Mar, What? 
 
 Suf. His love. 
 
 Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife. 
 
 Suf No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am 
 To woo so fair a dame to be his wife, 
 And have no portion in the choice myself. 
 1 low say you, madam ; are you so content ? 
 
 Mar. An if my father please, 1 am content. 
 
 Suf. Then call our captains, and our colours forth : 
 And, ^adam, at your father's castle walls 
 Vv'e^ll crave a parley, to confer with him. 
 
 [Troops come forward, 
 
 A Parletf snuuded. Enter Reignier, on the walls. 
 
 Suf. See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner- 
 
 Reig. To whom ? 
 
 Suf. To me. 
 
 I^eig, Suffolk, what remedy ? 
 
 I am a soldier : and unapt to weep, 
 Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness. 
 
 Suf. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord : 
 Consent, (and, for thy honour give consent,) 
 Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king ; 
 Whom 1 with pain have woo'd and won thereto ; 
 And this lier easy-held imprisonment 
 Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty. 
 
 Peig, Speaks Sufl'olk as he thinks? 
 
 Suf. Fair ^Margaret knows 
 
 That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign. 
 
 Peig. Upon thy princely Avarrant, I descend, 
 To give thee answer to thy just demand. 
 
 [El it , from the walls. 
 
 Suf. And here I will expect thy coming. 
 
 Tnimpets souytded. Enter Reignier, beloio. 
 
 Peig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories ; 
 Command in Anjou what your honour pleases. 
 
 Suf Thanks, ]\eignier, happy for so sweet a child. 
 Fit to be made companion with a king : 
 W hat answer makes your grace unto my suit? 
 
 Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth 
 To be the princely brid? of such a lord ; 
 I'pon condition 1 may quietly 
 Lnjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou, 
 Free from oppression, or the stroke of war. 
 My dau<:hter shall be Henry's, if he please. 
 
 Suf That is her ransome, I deliver her j 
 And those two counties, 1 will undertake. 
 Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy. 
 
 Pf'g. And 1 again, — in Henry's royal name. 
 As deputy unto that gracious king, 
 Give thee her liand, for sign of plighted faith. 
 
 Stf, Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks, 
 Because this is in traffic of a king : 
 
470 
 
 KING HENRY VI. -PART I. 
 
 And yet, methinks, I could be well content 
 
 To be mine own attorney in this case [^Aside, 
 
 I'll over then to England with tliis news, 
 
 And make this marriage to be soleinniz'd ; 
 
 So, farewell, Reignier ! Set this diamond safe 
 
 In golden palaces, as it becomes. 
 
 Ueig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace 
 Tlie Christian prince, king Henry, were he here. 
 
 Mar. Farewell, my lord ! Good wishes, praise, and 
 prayers, 
 Shall Sufiblk ever have of iVIargaret. [Going. 
 
 Siif. Farewell, sweet madani ! But liark you. Mar- 
 No princely commendations to my king ^ [garet; 
 
 Mar. Such commendations as become a maid, 
 A virgin, and his servant, say to him. 
 
 Suf. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly directed- 
 But, madam, I must trouble you again, — 
 IS'o loving token to his majesty ? 
 
 Mar. Yes, my good lord ; a pure unspotted heart. 
 Never yet taint with love, I send the king. 
 
 Suf, And this withal. [/i'js*e.s her. 
 
 Mur. That for thyself; I will not so presume, 
 To send such peevish tokens to a king. 
 
 [Exeunt Reignier tJUf/ Mahgarft. 
 
 Suf, O, wert thou for myself ! — But, Suffolk, stay : 
 Thou may'st not wander in that labyrinth ; 
 There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk. 
 Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise : 
 Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount ; 
 Mad, natural graces that extinguish art ; 
 Repeat tlieir semblance often on tlie seas, 
 That, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet, 
 Thgu may'st bereave him of his wits with wonder. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 SCENE IV.— Cflm;^ of the Duke of York, in Anjou. 
 Enter York, \Var\vick, and others. 
 
 York, Bring forth that sorceress, condemn'd to burn. 
 Enter La Fucelle, guarded, and a Shepherd, 
 
 Shep. Ah, Joan ! this kills thy father's heart out- 
 Have I sought every country far and near, [right ! 
 And, now it is my ciiance to find thee out, 
 Must I behold thy timeless cruel death ? 
 Ah, Joan, sweet daughter Joan, I *1! die with thee ! 
 
 Pnc. Decrepit misur ! base ignoble wretch ! 
 I am descended of a gentler blood ; 
 1 hou art no father, nor no friend, of mine. 
 
 Shep. Out, out !--My lords, an please you, 'tis not 
 I did beget her, all the parish knows : [so ; 
 
 Her mother liveth yet, can testify 
 She was the first fruit of my bachelorship. 
 
 ]Var. Graceless ! wilt thou deny thy parentage? 
 
 York. This argues what her kind of life hath been; 
 Wicked and vile ; and so her death concludes. 
 
 Sbep. Fye, Joan ! that thou wilt be so obstacle ! 
 God knows, thou art a coUop of my flesh ; 
 And for thy sake have I shed many a tear : 
 Deny me not, I pr'ythee, gentle Joan. 
 
 Puc. Peasant, avaunt ! — You have suborn'd this 
 Of purpose to obscure my noble birth. [man, 
 
 Shep, 'Tis true, I gave a noble to the priest, 
 The morn that I was wedded to her mother. — 
 Kneel down and take my blessing, good my girl. 
 Wilt thou not stoop 1 Now cursed be the times 
 Of thy nativity ! 1 would, the milk 
 Thy mother gave thee, when thou suck'dst her breast. 
 Had been a little ratsbane for thy sake ! 
 Or else, when thou didst keep my lambs a-field, 
 1 wish some ravenous wolf had eaten thee ! 
 Dost thou deny thy father, cursed drab 1 
 0. burn her, burn her , hangmg is too good. [Exit, 
 
 York. Take her away; for she bath liv*d too loDg 
 To till the world with vicious qualities. 
 
 Puc. First, let me tell you whom you have con- 
 Not me begotten of a shepherd swain, [denui'd ; 
 But issu'd from the progeny of kings ; 
 Virtuous, and holy ; chosen from above, 
 By inspiration of celestial grace. 
 To work exceeding miracles on earth. 
 I never had to do with wicked spirits : 
 But you,— that are polluted with your lusts, 
 Stain'd with the guiltless blood of innocents. 
 Corrupt and tainted with a thousand vices, — 
 Because you want the grace that others have, 
 You judge it straight a thing impossible 
 To compass wonders, but by help of devils. 
 i\o, misconceiv'd I Joan of Arc hath been 
 A virgin from her tender infancy, 
 Cliaste and immaculate in very thought ; 
 Whose maiden blood, thus rigorously efJus'd, 
 Will cry for vengeance at the gates of heaven. 
 
 York. Ay, ay ; away w'ith her to execution. 
 
 War. And hark ye, sirs ; l)ecause she is a maid, 
 Spare for no fagots, let there be enough ; 
 Place barrels of pitch upon the fatal stake. 
 That so her torture may be shortened. 
 
 Puc. Will nothing turn your unrelenting hearts ?— 
 Then, Joan, discover thine infirmity ; 
 That warranteth by law to be thy privilege. — 
 I am with child, ye bloody homicides : 
 Murder not then the fruit within my womb, 
 Although ye hale me to a violent deatii. 
 
 York. Now heaven forfend! the holy maid with chikf? 
 
 IVar. The greatest miracle that e'er ye wrought: 
 Is all your strict preciseness come to this? 
 
 York. She and the Dauphin have been juggling ; 
 I did imagine what would be her refuge. 
 
 M'ur. Well, go to; we will liave no bastards live; 
 Especially, since Charles must father it. 
 
 Puc. You are deceiv'd ; my child is none of his ; 
 It was Alen^on that enjoyed my love. 
 
 York. Alen9on ! that notorious Machiavel ! 
 It dies, an if it had a thousand lives. 
 
 Puc. O, give me leave, I have deluded you ; 
 'Twas neither Charles, nor yet the duke I nam'd. 
 But Reignier, king of Naples, that prevail'd. 
 
 ]Var, A married man ! that's most intolerable. 
 
 yt)r/f.VVhy, here'sagirl! 1 think.she knows not well. 
 There were so many, wliom she may accuse. 
 
 War. It's sign, slie hath been liberal and free. 
 
 York. And, yet, forsooth, she is a virgin pure.^ 
 Strumpet, thy words condemn thy brat, and thee: 
 Use no entreaty, for it is in vain. 
 
 Puc. Then lead me hence ; — with whom I leave my 
 May never glorious sun reflex his beams [curse: 
 Upon the country where you make abode ! 
 But darkness and the gloomy shade of death 
 Environ you ; till misciiief, and despair. 
 Drive you to break your necks, or hang yourselves ! 
 
 [Eiit, guarded. 
 
 York. Break thou in pieces, and consume lo ashes. 
 Thou foul accursed minister of hell ! 
 
 Enter Cardinal Beaufort, attended. 
 
 Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence 
 With letters of commission from the king. 
 For know, my lords, the states of Christendom, 
 Mov'd with remorse of these outrageous broils. 
 Have earnestly iinplor'd a general peace 
 Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French ; 
 And here at hand the Dauphin, and his train, 
 Approacheth to confer about some matter. 
 
 York. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect i 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 471 
 
 After the sUugliter of so wany peers, 
 So many captiins. gentlemen, and soldiers, 
 That in" this quarrel have been overthrown, 
 And sold tlieir bodies for their country's benefit, 
 Shall we at last conclude efleminate peace 1 
 Have we not lost most part of all the towns, 
 By treason, falsehood, and by treachery, 
 Our great progenitors had conquered 1 — 
 O, Warwick, Warwick! I foresee with grief 
 The utter loss of all the realm of France. 
 
 War. Be patient, York : if we conclude a peace. 
 It shall be with such strict and severe covenants 
 As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby. 
 
 Enter Gh-arles, atteii<ied ; ALEN90N, Bastard, 
 Reignier, and others. 
 
 Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed. 
 That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France, 
 We come to be informed by yourselves 
 W'hat the conditions of that league must be. 
 
 York. Speak, Winchester; for boiUngcholer chokes 
 The hollow passage of my poisou'd voice, 
 By sight of these our baleful enemies. 
 
 Win. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus : 
 That — in regard king Henry gives consent, 
 Of mere compassion, and of lenity, 
 To ease your country of distressful war. 
 And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace,— 
 You shall become true liegemen to his crown : 
 And, Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear 
 To pay him tribute, and submit thyself. 
 Thou shah be plac'd as viceroy under him. 
 And still enjoy thy regal dignity. 
 
 Alen. IMust he be then as shadow of himself? 
 Adorn his temples with a coronet ; 
 And yet, in substance and authority, 
 Retain but privilege of a private manl 
 This proffer is absurd and reasonless. 
 
 Char. Tis known, already that I am possess'd 
 With more than half the Gallian territories, 
 And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king: 
 Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd, 
 Detract so nuich from that prerogative, 
 As to be call'd but viceroy of the whole 1 
 Ko, lord ambassador ; I '11 rather keep 
 That which 1 have, than, coveting for more. 
 Be cast from possibility of all. 
 
 York. Insulting Charles ! hast thou by se'cretmeans 
 Used intercession to obtain a league ; 
 And, now the matter grows to compromise, 
 Stands't thou aloof upon comparison ] 
 Kither accept the title thou usurp'st, 
 Of benefit procteding from our king. 
 And not of any challenge of deisert, 
 Or we will plague thee with incessant wars. 
 
 Reig. Mv lord, you do not well in obstinacy 
 To cavil in the course of this contract: 
 If once it be neglected, ten to one, 
 We shall not find like opportunity. 
 
 Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy, 
 To save your subjects from such massacre. 
 And rutliless slaughters, as are daily seen 
 By our proceeding in hostility : 
 And therefore take this compact of a truce, 
 Although you break it when your pleasure serves, 
 
 \^Aside, to Charles. 
 
 War. How say'stthou, Charles i shall our condition 
 
 Char. It shall; [standi 
 
 Only reserv'd, you claim no interest 
 In any of our towns of garrison. 
 
 York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty ; 
 As thou art knight, never to disobey. 
 
 Nor be rebellious to the crown of England, 
 Thou, nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. — 
 
 [Charles, and the rent, give tokens ofjealty. 
 So, now dismiss your army when ye please ; 
 Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still, 
 For here we entertain a solemn peace. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— London. A Boom in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Henry, in conference with Suffolk ; 
 Gloster and Exeter J'olloiv in g. 
 
 A'. Hcti. Your wond'rous raredescription, noble earl. 
 Of beauteous Margaret hath astonish'd me : 
 Her virtues, graced with external gifts, 
 Do breed love's settled passions in my heart : 
 And like as rigour in tempestuous gusts 
 Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide ; 
 So am I driven, by breath of her renown. 
 Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive 
 Where I may have fruition of her love. 
 
 Sttf. Tush ! my good lord ! this supenicial tale 
 Is but a preface of her worthy praise : 
 The chief perfections of that lovely daine, 
 (Had I sufficient skill to utter them,) 
 Would make a volume of enticing lines, 
 Able to ravish any dull conceit. 
 And, which is more, she is not so divine, 
 So full replete with choice of all delights, 
 But, with as humble lowliness of mind. 
 She is content to be at your command ; 
 Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents, 
 To love and honour Henry as her lord. 
 
 A". Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume. 
 Therefore, my lord protector, give conseat, 
 That jMargaret may be England's royal queen. 
 
 Glot So should 1 give consent to flatter sin. 
 You know, my lord, your highness is betroth 'd 
 Cnto anothei lady of esteem ; 
 How shall we then dispense with that contract, 
 And not deface your honour with reproach ? 
 
 Suf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths ; 
 Or one, that, at a triumph having vow'd 
 To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists 
 By reason of his adversary's odds : 
 A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds, 
 And therefore may be broke without offence. 
 
 Glo. Why,what,l pray, is Margaret more than that? 
 Her father is no better than an earl, 
 Although in glorious titles he excel. 
 
 Suf. Yes, my good lord, her father is a king, 
 The king of Naples, and Jerusalem ; 
 And of such great authoiity in France, 
 As his alliance will confirm our peace, 
 And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance. 
 
 Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do. 
 Because he is near kinsman unto Charles. 
 
 Eie. Beside his wealth doth warrant liberal dower ; 
 While Reignier sooner will receive, than give. 
 
 Snf. A dower, my lords! disgrace not so yourkiuj, 
 That he should be so abject, base, and poor. 
 To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love. 
 Henry is able to enrich his queen, 
 And not to seek a queen to make him rich •. 
 So w^orthless peasants bajgain for their wives. 
 As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse. 
 Marriage is a matter of more worth. 
 Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ; 
 Not wiiom we will, but whom his grace afl'ects. 
 Must be companion of his nuptial bed : 
 And therefore, lords, since he affects her most. 
 It most of all these reasons biodeth us, 
 In our opinions she should be preferr'd. 
 
472 
 
 KING HENRY VI.-PaRT I. 
 
 For what is wedlock forced, but a liell, 
 
 An age of discord and continual strife] 
 
 Whereas the contrary bringeth forth bliss. 
 
 And is a pattern of celestial peace. 
 
 Whom should we match, with tlenry, being a king, 
 
 But Margaret, that is daughter to a king ? 
 
 Her peerless feature, joined with her birth. 
 
 Approves her fit for none, but for a king : 
 
 Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit, 
 
 (More than in women commonly is seen,) 
 
 tVill answer our hope in issue of a king ; 
 
 For Henry, son unto a conqueror, 
 
 "Is likely to beget more conquerors, 
 
 If with a lady of so high resolve. 
 
 As is fair Margaret, he be lihk'd in love. 
 
 Then yield, my lords, and here conclude with me, 
 
 That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she. 
 
 A'. Hen. Whether it be through force of your report, 
 My noble lord of Suffolk ; or for that 
 My tender youth was never yet attaint 
 With any passion of intiaming love, 
 I cannot tell ; but this, I am assur'd, 
 1 feel sucii sharp dissention in my breast, 
 Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear. 
 
 As I am sick with working of my thought.-;. 
 
 Take, therefore, shipping \ post, my lord, to France; 
 
 Agree to any covenants ; and procure 
 
 That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come 
 
 To cross the sens to England, and be crown'd 
 
 King Henry's faithful and anointed queen : 
 
 For your expenses and suthcient charge. 
 
 Among the people gather up a tenth. 
 
 Be gone, I say ; for, till you do return, 
 
 I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. — 
 
 And you, good uncle, banish all offence : 
 
 If you do censure me by what you were, 
 
 Not what you are, 1 know it will excuse 
 
 This sudden execution of my will. 
 
 And so conduct me, where from company, 
 
 I may revolve and ruminate my grief. [Exit. 
 
 GLo, Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last. 
 [Exeunt Glosteb und Exeter. 
 
 Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd : and thus he goes. 
 As did the youthful I'aris once to Greece ; 
 With hope to find the like event in love, 
 Rut prosper better than the Trojan did. 
 Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king ; 
 iiut I will rule both her, the king, and realm. \_Exit, 
 
 Of this play, whoever may have been the author, it is certain i two huodred years in his tomb, he should triumph attain on the 
 that it was once extreint-Iv uopular. It is evidently alhidcd to I stage, and have his bones iiew embaloied with teares of teo 
 bv Nashe, in a tract entitled Pierce P-:n»iU\s>v Ais Si/pp/ic^tiiim. I thousand spectators at k'a::t. at several times, who. in thetraye- 
 &c. ISyC, where he says, " How wnuld it have joyed hruve | dian tliat represenia his person, imagine they behold him fresh 
 lalbot, i/ie tenor of the Fiench, to think that after he had lain I hieediug." 
 
 SECOND PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 THispIar.whichwasfirst printed inits present form in the folio 
 of l62.'i, was founded on ad old play of Marlowe's, called T/ie 
 1-irsi Part of the Conicniiun bet:i'ee)i (he two Jajnous hou^KS of 
 York and Lancaster. In what year lliis meagre oripin;il was 
 produced, is, perhaps, now impossible to be discovered. It 
 was published in 159-1 ; but Shakspeare is supposed to have 
 amplified and improved the rude sketch of his predecessor 
 two or three years earlit-r. 
 
 Mr. iMaloue has been at the trouble of carefully comparing the 
 
 play of Marlowe with the drama wlilch Shahspeare formed ont 
 of it ; and distinguishing by difTerent marks the alterntions 
 Diadf by our g^reat poei. 
 The play opens with Heiirv's ninrriace, which was in the twenty, 
 third year of his reign, A. U. 1445; and closes with the first 
 brifle t'oushiat St. AU>;ni's, and wonhy the \'ork faction, in the 
 thirty-third year of bis reiK'n, \. D. 1455: so that it com- 
 prises the hisiury and transactions of ten years. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henry the Sixth. 
 
 Humphrey, Duke <)/'Gloster, his uncle. 
 
 Cardinal Beaufort, Bhhop of Winchester, great 
 
 uncle to the King 
 Richard Plantaoi'-net, Duke n/' York. 
 Edward and Richard, his sous. 
 Puke of Somerset, 
 Duke of Suffolk, 
 Duke of Buckingham, 
 Loud Clifford, 
 l'()u»^ Clifford, his son^ 
 Earl of Salisbury, 
 Earl of Warwick, 
 Lord Scales, goveimyr of the Tower. 
 LtiRD Say. 
 
 Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his Brother. 
 Sir John Stanley. 
 
 A Sca-captnin, Master, and Master s Mate, and 
 Walter Whitmore. 
 Tuo Gentlemen, jyrisoners with Suffolk. 
 yt Herald* 
 
 (f the King's -parfj. 
 
 of the York faction. 
 
 Vaux, 
 
 Hume and Southwell, two priests, 
 
 Boi.TXGBROKE, « conjurer. 
 
 A Spirit raised bij him. 
 
 Thomas Horneu, an armcHrer* 
 
 Peter, his imui. 
 
 Clerk ()/■ Chatham. 
 
 Manor rt/ Saint Alban's. 
 
 SiMPt^ox, an ijnpostor. 
 
 Tao Marderers. 
 
 Jack Cade, a rehel. 
 
 George, John, Dick ; Smith, the weaver ; 
 
 Michael, ^c. liis followers. 
 Alexander Iden, a Kentish Gentleman. 
 
 i\Iargaret, Queen to King Henry, 
 Et,eanor, Dachess o/'Glostir, 
 Margery .Tf)URDAiN, a nitch. 
 Wife to Simpcox. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, and Attendants ; Petitioners, Alder- 
 men, a Beadle, Sheri^\ and 0(Hccrs ; Citizens, Pren- 
 tices, Falconer's, Guards, Soldiers, Messengei^s, Ac 
 
 SCENE, — dispersedly in various parts orENOLAND, 
 
ACT I. -SCENE I. 
 
 473 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENK I. — London, A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish lyf trumpets: then, haiitboijs. Enter, on om: 
 side. King Henky, DkAc n/GLOSTER, Salisbury, 
 Warwick, and CAnnixAL Beaufort ; on the other. 
 Queen Margaret, ted in hq Suffotk ; York, So- 
 merset, BrcKiSGHAM, and others following, 
 
 Suf. As by yoiT high imperial majesty 
 I had in charge at my depart for France, 
 As procurator to your excellence, 
 To marry princess jMargaret for your grace ; 
 So. in the famous ancient city, 'lours. — 
 In presence of the kings of France and Sicil, [fou. 
 The dukes of Orleans, Calaber, Bretaignc, and Alen- 
 Sevenearls,twelve barons. twenty reverend bishops, — 
 I have perfonn'd my task, and was espous'd : 
 And humbly now upon my bended knee. 
 In sight of F.ngland and lier lordly peers, 
 Deliver up my title in the queen 
 To your most gracious hands, that are the substance 
 Of that great shadow 1 did represent ; 
 The happiest gift that ever king receiv'd. 
 
 K.Hen. Sufibik, arise. — Welcome, queen Margaret: 
 I can express no kinder sign of love. 
 Than this kind kiss. — O Lord, that lends me life, 
 Lend me a heart replete with thankfulness ! 
 For thou hast given me, in this beauteous face, 
 A world of earthly blessings to my soul, 
 If sympathy of love unite our thoughts. [lord ; 
 
 Q. Mar. Great king of England, and mv gracious 
 The mutual conference that my mind hath had — 
 By day, by night ; waking, and in my dreams : 
 In courtly company, or at my beads, — ■ 
 With you mine alder-liefest sovereign, 
 Makes me the bolder to salute my king 
 With ruder terms ; such as my wit affords. 
 And over-joy of heart doth minister. 
 
 K. Hen. Her sight did ravish : but her grace in 
 Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty, [speech. 
 Makes me, from wondering, fall to weeping joys ; 
 Such is the fulness of my heart's content. — ■ 
 Lords, with one cheerful voice welcome my love. 
 All. Longlive queen Margaret, England'shappiness! 
 Q. Mar. We thank you all. [Flomi^h. 
 
 Suf. My lord protector, so it please your grace. 
 Here are the articles of contracted peace, 
 ]5etween our sovereign, and the French king Charles. 
 For eighteen months concluded by consent. 
 
 Gto. [I^eads.] Imprimis, It is agreed between the 
 French king, Charles, and William de la Pnole, mar- 
 quess of Snjj'olk, ambassador for Henrti king of England , 
 ^that the said Henry shall espouse the ladu Margaret, 
 daughter unto Reignier king of Naples, Sicilia, and 
 Jerusalem ; and crown her ([ueen of England, ere the 
 
 thirtieth of Mat) neit ensuing. Item, — That the 
 
 dutchu of Anjoa and the coitnli/ nj' Maine, shall be re- 
 leased ami delivered to the hiug her father-^— 
 K. Hen. Uncle, how now? 
 
 Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord ; 
 
 Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart, 
 And dimra'J mine eyes, that I can read no further. 
 A'. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray, read on. 
 }¥in. Item, — It is further agreed belueen them, — ■ 
 thai the dutchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released 
 and delivered over to the king her father ; and she sent 
 over of the king of England's own proper ciist and 
 ctuirges, without having downi. [kneel down : 
 
 A'. Hen. They please us well. — Lord marquess, 
 We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk, 
 And girt thee with the sword. — 
 
 Cousin of York, we here discharge your grace 
 From being regent in the parts of France, 
 rill term of eighteen months be full expir'd. — 
 i hanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster. York, and Buck- 
 Somerset. Salisbury, and Warwick ; [iugham. 
 We thank you all for this great favour ^ione, 
 In entertainment to my princely queen. 
 ■Come, let us in ; and with all speed provide 
 To see her coronation be perform 'd. 
 
 [Exevut King, Queek, and SifFPOLK. 
 Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state. 
 To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief, 
 ^'our grief, the common grief of all the land. 
 \^'hat ! did my brother Henry spend his youth. 
 His valour, coin, and people, in the wars? 
 Mid he so often lodge in open field. 
 In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat, 
 To conquer France, his true inheritance? 
 And did my brother Bedford toil his wits, 
 In keep by policy what Henry got? 
 Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham, 
 Hrave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick, 
 Beceiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy '! 
 Or hath mine uncle Beaufort and myself, 
 Witli all the learned council of the realm, 
 Studied so long, sat in the council-house. 
 Early and late, debating to and fro 
 IIovv France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe "* 
 -Vnd hath his highness in his infancy 
 I'.een crown'd in Paris, in despite of foes? 
 And shall these labours, and these honours, die? 
 Shall Henry's conquest, Piedford's vigilance. 
 Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die ? 
 O peers of England, shameful is this league I 
 Fatal this marriage ! cancelling your fame : 
 Plotting your names from books of memory . 
 Razing the characters of your renown ; 
 Defacing monuments of conquer'd I'rance ; 
 Undoing all, as all had never been ! 
 
 Car. Nephew.what means this passionate discourse? 
 This peroration with such circumstance 1 
 For France, 'tis ours ; and we will keep it still, 
 
 Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it. if we can ; 
 But now it is impossible we should : 
 Suffolk, the new-made duke that rules the roa?;t, 
 Hath given the dutchies of Anjou and Maine 
 Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style 
 Agrees not with the leanness of his purse. 
 
 iSal. Now, by the death of him that died for all, 
 These counties were the keys of Normandy: — 
 But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son? 
 
 rCar. For grief, that they are past recovery : 
 For were there hope to conquer them again, 
 My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears. 
 Anjou and iMaine ! myself did win them both ; 
 Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer: 
 And are the cities, that I got with wounds, 
 Deliver'd up again with peaceful words? 
 iMort Dieu I 
 
 Y'ork. For Suffolk's duke — may he be suffocate, 
 That dim's the honour of this warlike isle ! 
 France should have torn and rent my very heart. 
 Before I would have yielded to this league. 
 I never read but England's kings have had 
 Large sums of gohl, and dowries, with their wives : 
 And our king Henry gives away his own, 
 To match with her that brings no vantages. 
 
 Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before, 
 That Suffolk should dtmand a whole fifteenth. 
 For costs and charges in transporting her ! 
 She should have staid in France, and starv'd in France, 
 Before 
 
474 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 
 
 Car, My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot ; 
 It was the pleasure of my lord the king. 
 
 Glo. My lord of Winchester, 1 know your mind; 
 'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike, 
 Bui 'tis my presence that doth trouble you. 
 llancaur will put : Proud prelate, in tliy face 
 1 see thy fury ; If I longer stav. 
 We shall begin our ancient bickerings — 
 Lordings, farewell ; and say, when 1 am gone, 
 I prophesied— France will be lost eie long. [£iit. 
 
 Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage. 
 *Tis known to you, he is mine enemy : 
 Isay, more, an enemy unto you all ; 
 And no great friend, I fear me, to the king. 
 Consider, lords, — he is the next of blood, 
 And heir apparent to the English crown ; 
 Had Henry got an emyjire by his marriajje, 
 And all the wealthy kingdoms of the' west. 
 There's reason he should bedispleas'd at it. 
 Look to it, lords ; let not his smoothing words 
 Bewitch your hearts ; be wise, and circumspect. 
 What though the common people favour him. 
 Calling him — Humphreif, the gwd ihike of Gl<'S(er ; 
 Clapping their hands, and crying vvitii loud voice— 
 JesiL niaintciiii your rntial excellence ! 
 With — God preserve the gt>od duke Hum'p}neu ! 
 1 fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss, 
 He will be found a dangerous protector. 
 
 Buck. Why should he then protect our sovereign, 
 He being of age to govern of himself? — • 
 Cousin of Somerset, join you with me, 
 And all together — with the duke of Suffolk. — 
 ^Ve'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat. 
 
 Citr. This weighty business will not brook delay ; 
 I'll to t)ie duke of Suffolk presently. [Eait. 
 
 Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's 
 And greatness of his place be grief to us, [pride. 
 Vet let us watch the haughty cardinal ; 
 His insolence is more intolerable 
 Than all the princes in the land beside ; 
 If Gloster be displac'd, he'll be protector. 
 
 Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protector, 
 Despight duke Humphrey, or the cardinal. 
 
 [^ExeiUlt BuCKlNHTrAM nnd SflMttlSET, 
 
 Sill. Pride went before, ambition follows him. 
 While these do labour for their own preferment. 
 Behoves it us to labour for the realm 
 I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster 
 Did bt-ar him like a noble gentleman. 
 Oft have 1 seen the haughty cardinal- 
 More tike a soldier, than a man o' the church, 
 As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all, — 
 Swear like a ruffian, and demean himself 
 Unlike the ruler of a common-weal. — 
 Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age ! 
 Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy housekeeping, 
 Hath won the greatest favour of the commons, 
 Excepting none but good duke Humphrey. — 
 And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland, 
 In bringing them to civil discipline ; 
 Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France, 
 When thou wert regent for our sovereign. 
 Have made thee fear'd, and honour'd. of the people : — 
 Join we together, for the public good ; 
 In what we can, to bridle, and suppress 
 The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal. 
 With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition ; 
 And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds. 
 While they do tend the profit of the land. 
 
 War. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land. 
 And common profit of his country : 
 
 York. Aadso says York, for he hath greatest cause. 
 
 5a/. Then let's make haste away, and look unto 
 
 the main. 
 War. Unto the main ! O father, Maine is lost ; 
 That Maine, whicli by main force Warwick did win. 
 And would have kept, so long as breath did last: 
 Main chance, father, you meant ; but 1 mean Maine ; 
 W'hich I will win from France, or else be slain. 
 
 [Kifunt Warwick and SAi-isituRY 
 York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French; 
 Paris is lost ; the state of Normandy 
 Stands on a tickle point, now they are gone ; 
 Suffolk concluded on the articles ; 
 The peers agreed ; and Henry was well pleas'd. 
 To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter. 
 I cannot blame thom all ; What is't to them'! 
 'Tis thine they give away, and not their own. 
 Pirates may make cheap pennyworths of their pillage. 
 And purchase friends, and give to courtezans, 
 Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone : 
 While as the silly owner of the goods 
 Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands. 
 And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof, 
 W hile all is shar'd, and all is borae away : 
 Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own. 
 So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue, 
 Wiiile his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold. 
 Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ireland^ 
 Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood. 
 As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd. 
 Unto the prince's heart of Calydon. 
 Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French ! 
 Cold news for me ; for 1 had hope of France, 
 Even as I have of fertile England's soil. 
 A day will come, when York shall claim his own. 
 And therefore I will take the Nevils' parts. 
 And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey, 
 And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown. 
 For that's the golden mark 1 seek to hit : 
 Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right. 
 Nor hold the sceptre in his childish fist. 
 Nor wear the diadem upon his head. 
 Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown. 
 Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve ■ 
 Watch thou, and wake, when others be asleep, 
 To pry into the secrets of the state ; 
 Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love. 
 With his new bride, and England's dear- bought queen. 
 And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars : 
 Then' will 1 raise aloft the milk-white rose, 
 With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed ; 
 And in my standard bear the arms of York, 
 To grapple with the house of Lancaster ; 
 And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown. 
 Whose bookish rule hath puil'd fair England down. 
 
 [Exit* 
 SCENE II. 
 The satne. — A Room in the Duke of Gloster s House, 
 Enter Gi.osTEn arid the Duchess, 
 Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripened com, 
 Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load ? 
 Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows. 
 As frowning at the favours of the world ? 
 Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth, 
 Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight ? 
 \Vhat seest thou there! king Henry's diadem, 
 Enchas'd with all the honours of the world? 
 If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face, 
 Until thv head be circled with the same. 
 Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold : — 
 What, is't too short, then lengthen it with mine : 
 And, having both together, heav'd it up, • 
 
ACT I. -SCENE III. 
 
 475 
 
 We'll both together lift our headb to heaven j 
 
 And never more abase our sight so low, 
 
 As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground. 
 
 Glo. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord, 
 Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts : 
 And may that thought, when I imagine ill 
 Against my king and nephew, virtuous Ilonry, 
 Be my last breathing in this mortal world ! 
 My troublous dream this night doth make me sad. 
 
 DucK What dream'd my lord I tell me, and I'll 
 requite it 
 AVith the sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream. 
 
 Glo. Methought, this staff, mine otKce-badge in 
 court, 
 \A'as broke in twain ; by whom, I have forgot. 
 But, as 1 think, it was by the cardinal ; 
 And, on the pieces of the broken wand 
 Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset, 
 And William de la Poole first duke of Suffolk. 
 This was my dream ; wliat it doth bode, God knows. 
 
 Ouch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument, 
 That lie that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove, 
 Shall lose his head for his presumption. 
 But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke: 
 Metliouglit, I sat in seat of majesty, 
 In tile cathedral church of Westminster, 
 And in that chair where kings and queens arecrown'd ; 
 Where Henry, and dame iMargaret, kneel'd to me, 
 And on my head did set the diadem. 
 
 Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must I chide outright: 
 Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor ! 
 Art t'tou not second woman in the reahii : 
 And the protector's wife, belov'd of hmi ? 
 Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command, 
 Above the reach or compass of thy thought? 
 And wilt thou still be hammering treachery. 
 To tumble down thy husband, and thyself. 
 From top of honour to disgrace's feet ? 
 Away from me, and let me hear no more. 
 
 Duck. What, what, my lord I are you so choleric 
 With Eleanor, for telling but her dream? 
 Kext time, I'll keep my dreams unto myself, 
 And not be check'd. 
 
 Glo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mes- My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure. 
 You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's. 
 Whereas the king and queen do mean to hawk. 
 
 Glo. I go. — Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us? 
 
 Ditch. Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently. 
 \_Kieunt Gr.osTER and iMessenger. 
 Follow I must, I cannot go before, 
 M hile Gloster bears this base and humble mind. 
 Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood, 
 I would remove these tedious stumbling blocks. 
 And smooth my way upon their headless necks : 
 And, being a woman. I will not be slack 
 To play my part in fortune's pageant. 
 Where are you tiiere'' Sir John! nay, fear not, man. 
 We are alone ; here s none but thee, and 1. 
 
 Enter Hume. 
 
 Hume, Jesu preserve your royal majesty ! 
 
 Dtich. What say'st thou, majesty ! 1 am but grace. 
 
 Hume. But. by the grace of God, and Hume'sad- 
 Your grace's title shall be multiplied. [vice, 
 
 Duck. What say'st thou, man \ hast thou as yet 
 conferr'd 
 With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch ; 
 And Roger Bolingbroke, the conjurer ? 
 And will they undertake to do me good? [highness 
 
 Hume. This they have promised, — to shew your 
 
 A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground, 
 That shall make answer to such questions, 
 As by your grace shall be propounded him. 
 
 Ditch, It is enough ; I'll think upon the questions; 
 When from Saint Alban's we do make return, 
 We'll see these things effected to the full. 
 Here, Hume, take this reward; make merry, man, 
 With thy confederates in this weighty cause. 
 
 [Exit Ul'CHKSS. 
 
 Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess' 
 gold ; 
 Marry, and shall. But how now, sir John Hume"? 
 Seal up your lips, and give no words but — mum ! 
 The business asketh silent secrecy. 
 Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch : 
 Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil. 
 Vet have I gold, flies from another coa^t : 
 I dare not say, from the ricli cardinal. 
 And from the great and new-made duke of Suffolk j 
 Vet I do find it so : for, to be plain, 
 They, knowing dame Eleanor's aspiring humour. 
 Have hired me to undermine the duchess, 
 And buz these conjurations in her brain. 
 They say, A crafty knave does need no broker ; 
 Vet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker. 
 Hume, if you take not heed, you sliall go near 
 To call them both — a pair of crafty knaves. 
 Well, so it stands ; And thus, I fear, at last, 
 Hume's knavery will be the duchess' wreck ; 
 And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall : 
 Sort how it will, I shall have gold for all. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE in. — The same. A Room in the Palace, 
 Enter pETtR, and others, with petitions, 
 
 1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close ; my lord 
 protector will come this way by and by, and then 
 we may deliver our supplications in the quill. 
 
 2 Pet. IMarry, the Lord protect him, for he's a 
 good man ! Jesu bless him ! 
 
 Eiiter Suffolk and Queen Margauet. 
 
 1 Pet- Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen 
 with him : I'll be the first, sure. 
 
 2 Pet. Come back fool ; this is the duke of Suf- 
 folk, and not my lord protector. 
 
 ^iif. How now, fellow? would'stany thingwithme? 
 
 1 Pet. 1 pray, my lord, pardon me I 1 took ye for 
 my lord protector. 
 
 Q. Mar. [Reading the superscript ion.~\ To my lord 
 proti:ctor ! are your supplications to his lordship? 
 Let me see them : What is thine ? 
 
 1 Pel. Mine is, an't please your grace, against 
 John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keeping 
 my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me. 
 
 Suf. Tliy wife too? that is some wrong, indeed. — 
 What's yours? — What's here! [K(?«</s J Ag.iiimt 
 the duke of Suffolk, J'or enclosing the commons of Mel- 
 ford, — How now, sir knave ? 
 
 2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our 
 wliole township. 
 
 Peter. [Presenting his petition,'] Against my mas- 
 ter, Thomas Horner, for saying, that the duke of 
 York was rightful heir to the crown. 
 
 Q. Mar. What say'st thou ? Did the duke of Yoik 
 say, he was lightful heir to the crown 1 
 
 Peter. That my master was? No, forsootii : my 
 master said. That he was ; and that llie king uas an 
 usurper. 
 
 Suf. Who is there? [Enter Servants.] — Take this 
 fellow in, and send for his master with a pursuivant 
 presently: — we'll hear more of your matter before 
 the king. [Exeunt Servants, with Peter. 
 
476 
 
 KING HENRY VI. -PART II. 
 
 Q. Mar. And as for you, that love to be protected 
 Under the wings of our protector's grace, 
 
 liegin your suits anew, and sue to him. 
 
 [Tears the petitian. 
 Away, base cullions! — Suffolk, let them go. 
 
 JH. Come, let's be gone. [Exemit Petitioners. 
 Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise, 
 
 Ir this the fashion in the court of England ! 
 
 Is this the government of liritain's isle, 
 
 And this the royalty of Albion's king ! 
 
 What, shall king Henry be a pupil still. 
 
 Under the surly Uloster's governance ! 
 
 Am I a queen in title and in style. 
 
 And must be made a subject to a duke ? 
 
 I tell thee, Poole, ivlien in the city Tours 
 
 Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love. 
 
 And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France ; 
 
 I thought king Henry had resembled tliee. 
 
 Id courage, courtship, and proportion : 
 
 But all his mind is bent to holiness, 
 
 To number Aie-Maries on his beads : 
 
 His champions are— the prophets and apostles ; 
 
 His weapons, holy saws of sacred writ ; 
 
 His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves 
 
 Are brazen images of canoniz'd saints. 
 
 I would, the college of cardinals 
 
 Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome, 
 
 And set the triple crown upon his head ; 
 
 That were a state fit for his holiness. 
 
 Si./. Madam, be patient: as I was cause 
 
 Your highness came to England, so will I 
 
 In England work your grace's full content. [fort, 
 Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we Beau- 
 
 The imperious churchman ; Somerset, Buckingham, 
 
 And grumbling York : and not the least of these. 
 
 But can-do more in England than the king. 
 Siif. And he of these, that can do most of all, 
 
 Cannot do more in England than the Nevils : 
 
 Salisbury, and Warwick, are no simple peers. 
 
 Q. Mar. Not all these lords do ve,\ me half somuch, 
 
 As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife- 
 She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies, 
 iMore like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife ; 
 Strangers in court do take her for the queen : 
 She bears a duke's revenues on her back. 
 And in her heart she scorns our poverty : 
 Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her 7 
 Contemptuous base-born callat as she is. 
 She vaunted 'mongst her minions t' other day. 
 The very train of her worst wearing-gown 
 Was better worth than all my father's lands. 
 Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter. 
 
 Suf. Madam, myself liave lim'd a bush for her ; 
 And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds. 
 That she will light to listen to the lays. 
 And never mount to trouble you again. 
 So, let her rest : And, madam, list to me ; 
 For I am bold to counsel you in this. 
 Although we fancy not the cardinal. 
 Yet must we join with him, and with the lords. 
 Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace. 
 As for the duke of York,— this late complaint 
 Will make but little for his benefit : 
 So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last. 
 And you yourself shall steer the happy helm. 
 
 Enter Kino Henry, Yoiik, and Somerset, con- 
 vers'tTiir with him ; Duke aad Ducftess af Gloster, 
 Caroinal BEAuyoRT, Buckingham, Salisui'RV, 
 and Warwick. 
 K. Hen. Formy part, noble lords, I care not which ; 
 
 Or Someiset, or York, all's one to me. 
 
 YarU. If York have ill dcmean'd himself in Franco, 
 Then let him be denay'd the regentship. 
 
 Som. If Somerset be unworthy of the place, 
 Let York be regent, I will yield to him. 
 
 War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no, 
 Dispute not that: York is the worthier. 
 
 Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak. 
 War. The cardinal's not my better in the field. 
 Buck. All in this presence are thy betters, Warwick. 
 War. Warwick may live to be the best of all. 
 Sal Peace, son ;— and shew some reason, Bucking- 
 Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this. [ham, 
 Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so. 
 Gb. Madam, the king is old enough himself 
 To give his censure ; these are no women's matters. 
 Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your grace 
 To be protector of his excellence ? 
 
 Gla. Madam, I am protector of the realm ; 
 And, at his pleasure, will resign my place. 
 
 Saf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence. 
 Since thou wert king, (as who is king, but thoul) 
 The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck : 
 The Dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas ; 
 .\nd ail the peers and nobles of the realm 
 Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty. 
 
 Car. The commons hast thou rack'd; the clergy's 
 .\re lank and lean with thy extortions. [hags 
 
 5um. Thv sumptuousbuildings, and thy wife's attire, 
 Have cost a mass of public treasury. 
 
 Buck. Thy cruelty in execution, 
 Upon offenders, hath exceeded law, 
 And left thee to the mercy of the law. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thy sale of olfices, and towns in France,— 
 If they were known, as the suspect is great, — 
 Would make thee quickly hop without thy head. _ 
 
 [E,rit Glosteh. The Queen drops her fan. 
 Give me my fan : What, minion ! can you not 1 
 
 [Gires the Duchess a box on the ear, 
 I cry you mercy, madam ; Was it you ? 
 
 i);ic/i. Was 't 1 1 yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman : 
 Cimld I come near your beauty with my nails, 
 
 I 'd set my ten commandments in your face. 
 
 A'. Hen. Sweet aunt, be quiet; 'twas against hei 
 will. [time ; 
 
 Dueh. Against her will ! Good king, look to 't in 
 She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby : 
 I'hough in this place most master wear no breeches, 
 She shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd. 
 
 [Eiif Duchess. 
 
 Back. Lord cardinal, I will follow Eleanor, 
 And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds : 
 She's tickled now : her fume can need no spurs, 
 She'll gallop fast enough to her destruction. 
 
 [Exit BUCKINOHAM. 
 
 Re-enter Gloster. 
 
 Gin. Now, lords, my choler being over blown, 
 With walking once about the quadrangle, 
 I come to talk of commonweallh affairs. 
 .Vs for your spiteful false objecticms. 
 Prove them, and I lie open to the law . 
 But God in mercy so deal with my soul, 
 .As 1 in duty love my king and country ! 
 But, to the matter that we have in hand : — 
 1 sav, my sovereign, York is meetest man 
 To be your regent in the realm of France. 
 
 Siif. Before"we make election, give me leave 
 To shew some reason, of no little force, 
 That York is most unmeet of any man. 
 
 York. I'll tell thee, Suffolk, why 1 am unmeet. 
 First, for 1 cannot flatter thee in pride : 
 Next, if I be appointed for the place, 
 
ACT 1.— SCENE IV. 
 
 477 
 
 My lord of Somerset will ktep me here, 
 Without dischirge, monc;y. or furniture, 
 Till Fia.iue be won into li-.e Dauphin's hands. 
 Last tiiiiu, 1 danc'd attendauce on his will, 
 Till Paris was bosieg'd, famish'd, a»fl lc:>l. 
 
 War. That I can witness ; and a fouler fact 
 Did never traitor in the land commit. 
 ' Suf. Peace, head-strong Warwick ! 
 
 War. Image of pride, why should I hold my peace 1 
 
 Enter Servants <._/Svtfoi k, bringing in llonxEU 
 and Petek. 
 
 Snf. Because here is a man accus'd of trea-.on : 
 Pray God. the duke of York excuse himself! 
 
 York. Uoth any one accuse York for a traitor 1 
 
 K. lien. What mean'st thou, Suffolk ! tell me : 
 What are these t 
 
 Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the man 
 That doth accuse' his master of high treason : 
 His words were those ;— that Richard, duke of York, 
 Was rightful heir unto the English crown ; 
 And that your majesty was an usurper. 
 
 K. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words 1 
 
 Hor. An't shall please your majesty, I never said 
 nor thought any such matter : God is my witness, 1 
 am falsely accused by tlie villain. 
 
 Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, [holding up h 
 hands.] he did speak them to me in the garret one 
 night, as we were scouring my lord of Y'ork's armour. 
 
 "i'ork. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical, 
 I '11 have thy head for this thy traitor's speech :— 
 I do beseech your royal majesty, 
 Let him have'all the rigour of the law. 
 
 Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the 
 words. Wy accuser is my prentice ; and when I did 
 coiTect him for his fault the other day, he did vow 
 upon his knees he would be even with me : I have 
 good witness of this; therefore, 1 beseech your 
 majesty, do not cast away an honest man for a vil 
 Iain's accusation. 
 
 A'. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law? 
 
 Olo. This doom, my lord, if 1 may judge. 
 Let Somerset be regent o'er the French, 
 Because in York lliiis breeds suspicion : 
 And let these have a day appointed tliem 
 For single combat, in convenient place ; 
 For he hath witness of his servant's malice : 
 This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom. 
 
 A'. Hen. Then he it so. My lord of Somerset, 
 We make your grace lord regent o'er the French. 
 
 Som. 1 humbly thank your royal majesty. 
 
 Hor. And I accept tlie combat willingly. 
 
 Pet. Alas, my lord, 1 cannot fight ; for God's sake, 
 pity my case ! tlie spite of man prevailelh against inc. 
 Lord, have mercy upon nie ! I shall never be able 
 to fight a blow : O Lord, my heart ! 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else he hang'd. 
 
 K. Hen. Away with them to prison : and llie day 
 Of combat shall be the last of the next month.— 
 Come, Somenset, we'll see thee sent away. lExeu/:!. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 The same.— The Duke of Glosler's Garden. 
 
 Enter M.ircery Jouhdain, Hume, Southweix, 
 
 and BOUNGDROKE. 
 
 Hume. Come, my masters ; the duchess, I tell you, 
 expects performance of your promises. 
 
 Biilinii. Master Hume, we are therefore provided: 
 Will her ladyship behold and hear our exercisms ? 
 
 Hume. Ay, What else ? fear you not her courage 
 
 master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be 
 busy below ; and so, I pray you, go m God s name, 
 and leave us, [Eiit Hume,] Mother Jourdain, be you 
 prostrate, and grovel on the earth ;— John Southwell, 
 read you ; and let us to our work. 
 
 Enter Duchess, above. 
 Duch. Well said, my masters ; and welcome all. 
 Tothisgeer; the sooner the better. 
 
 Baling. Patience, good lady ; wizards know then 
 Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night, [times- 
 Tlie time of night wlien Troy was set on fire ; 
 The time when screech-owls cry, and ban dogs liowl, 
 And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves, 
 That time best tits the work we have in liand. 
 Jladam, sit you, and fear not ; whom we raise. 
 We will make fast within a hallow'd verge. 
 
 [Here then perform the ceremonies appertaining, and 
 make the circle ; Bolincbuoke, or Sooihwell, 
 reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and lightens 
 terrihlfi ; then the Spirit riset/i.] 
 Spir. Adsum. 
 M. Jourd. Asmath. 
 By the eternal God, whose name and power 
 'I'hou tremblestat, answer that I shall ask ; 
 For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence. 
 A'pir. Ask what thou wilt; That I had said ind donel 
 Bolin", First, (f the king. What shall of him be- 
 come ? [Tieading out of a paper, 
 Spir. The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose; 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 
 [As the Spirit spf.i/cs, Southwell writes iheansuier. 
 Baling ]l'hatfait awaits the duke <i/ Suffolk ■? 
 Spir. By water sliall he die, and take his end. 
 Baling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset 1 
 Spir. Let him shun castles ; 
 Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains. 
 Than where castles mounted stand. 
 Have done, for more I hardly can endure. 
 
 Baling. Descend to darkness, and the burning lake : 
 False fiend, avoid ! 
 
 [Thunder and lightning. Spirit A-sron/s. 
 
 Bulinz. I have heard her reported to be a woman Tell me, what fate aTL'aUs the duke nj bu^aiK! 
 of an invincible soirit : But it shall be conveuienl, By iratcr shall he die, and take his end. — 
 
 Enter Y'oiiK and Buckinoha.m. hastibi, with their 
 Guards, and others. 
 York. Lay hands upon these traitors, and their trash. 
 Beldame, 1 tliink, we watch'd you at an inch.-- 
 What, madam, are you tliere ? the king and common- 
 Are deeply indebted for tliis piece of pains ; [weal 
 Jly lord protector will, I doubt not, 
 See you well guerdon'd for these good deserts. 
 
 Duch. Not lialf sobad asttiineto England 'V king, 
 
 Injurious duke ; that threat'st wliere is no cause. _ 
 
 iiucfc.True,madam,noneatall. What call you this? 
 
 [Shewing her the papers. 
 
 Away with them ; let them be clapp'd up close, 
 
 And kept.asunder :— Y'ou, madam, shall with us :— 
 
 Stafford, take her to thee, 
 
 [Exit Duchess /riim above. 
 We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming ; 
 All. — Away! [£.i. Guards u^il/i South. ,Bolinc.,iSi'c. 
 York. Lord Buckingham, methinks, you watch'd her 
 A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon : [well • 
 Now, pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ. 
 What have we here 1 
 
 The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose ; 
 But him outlive, and die a violent death. 
 AVhy, this is just, 
 
 .•liate, Alacida, Romanos vincere posse. 
 Well, to the rest: 
 
478 
 
 KING HENRY VI.-PART II. 
 
 What shall betide the duke of Somerset ? 
 
 Let him shim castles ; 
 
 SaJ^r shall he he upon the sandy plains, 
 
 Than where castles mounted stand. 
 
 Come, come, my lords ; 
 
 These oracles are hardily attain'd, 
 
 And hardly understood. 
 
 The king is now in progress toward St. Alban's, 
 
 With him the husband of this lovely lady : 
 
 Thither go tliese news, as fast as horse can carry them ; 
 
 A sorry breakfast for my lord protector. 
 
 Buck. Your grace shall give ine leave, my lord of 
 To be the post, in hope of his reward. [York, 
 
 York. At your pleasure, my good lord. — Who's 
 within there, ho ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick, 
 To sup with me to-morrow night. — Away ! [E.vewnt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— Saint Alban's. 
 
 i.'»(er King Henry, Queen AIahcahet, Gloster, 
 
 Cardinal, and Suffolk, ?ri(A Falconers hollaing. 
 
 Q. Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook, 
 I saw not better sport these seven years' day : 
 Y'et, by your leave, the wind was very high : 
 And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out. 
 
 A'. Hen. But what a point, my lord , you r falcon made, 
 And what a pitch she flew above the rest ! — 
 To see how God in all his creatures works! 
 Yea, man and birds, are fain of climbing high, 
 
 Siif. No marvel, an it like your majesty. 
 My lord protector's hawks do tower so well ; 
 They know, their master loves to be aloft, 
 And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch. 
 
 Glo, My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind 
 That mounts no higlier than a bird can soar. 
 
 Car. I thought as much ; he'd be above the clouds. 
 
 Glo. Ay,my lord caulinal; How think you by that"! 
 AV'cre it not good, your grace could fly to heaven? 
 
 K. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy ! 
 
 C(ir. Thy heavenisonearth ; thine eyes and thoughts 
 Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart j 
 Pernicious protector, dangerous peer. 
 That smooth'st it so witli king and commonweal ! 
 
 Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown pe- 
 Tantane anirnis ccelestibus ir<£l [remptory ? 
 
 Churchmen so hot ? good uncle, hide sucli malice j 
 AVith such holiness can yoa do it? 
 
 Sitf. No malice, sir ; no more than well becomes 
 So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer. 
 
 Glo. As who, my lord t 
 
 Suf. Why, as you, my lord ; 
 
 An't like your lordly lord-protectorship. 
 
 Glo. Why, Suffolk, England knows thine insolence. 
 
 Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster. 
 
 A'. Hen, 1 pr'ythee, peace^ 
 
 Good (jueen ; and whet not on these furious peers, 
 For blessed are the peacemakers on earth. 
 
 Car. Eet me be blessed for the peace I make, 
 Agaiusl this proud protector, with my sword! 
 
 Glo. 'Faith, holy uncle, would 'twere come to that! 
 [Aside to Me CakdAjal. 
 
 Car, Marry, when thou dar'st. [^Aside, 
 
 Gto, Make up no factious numbers for the matter. 
 In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside. 
 
 Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep: an if thou dar'st, 
 This evening, on the east side of the grove. [Aside. 
 
 K. Hfn. How now, ny lords? 
 
 Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster, 
 
 Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly, 
 Wii had had more sport. — Come with thy two-hand 
 sword. [A$ide to Glo. 
 
 Glo, True, uncle. 
 
 Cur. Are you advis'd 1 — the east side of the grove t 
 G(o. Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside, 
 
 K. Hen. ^^ 'o'. ^'^^^ now, uncle Giosterl* 
 
 Glo. Talking of hawking ; nothing else, my lord. — 
 Now, by God's mother, priest, I'll shave your crown 
 
 for this 
 Or all my fence shall fail. [Aside, 
 
 Car. Medice teipsum ; ? r -J ' / 
 
 Protector, see to't well, protect yourself. ^ ^ * 
 
 A', ffe/i. The winds grow high; so do your stomachs, 
 How irksome is this music to my heart! [lords. 
 
 When such strings jar, what hope of harmony 1 
 I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife. 
 
 £/ueranInhabitant{^/" St. Alban's, crying, AMiraclel 
 
 Glo. What means this noise ? 
 Fellow 1 what miracle dost thou proclaim? 
 
 Inhab. A miracle ! a miracle ! 
 
 Siif. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle. 
 
 J»/m6. Forsooth, ablind man at Saint Alban'sshrine, 
 Within this half hour, hath receiv'd his sight ; 
 A man, that ne'er saw in his life before. [souls 
 
 A'. Hen. Now, God be prais'd ! that to believing 
 Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair ! 
 
 Enter the Mayor n/" Saint Alban's and his brethren ; 
 
 and SiMPCox, borne between two persons in a chair j 
 
 his loij'e and a great multitude JoUowing, 
 
 Car. Here come the townsmen on procession. 
 To present your highness with the man, 
 
 A. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale. 
 Although by his sight his sin be multiplied. 
 
 Glo. Stand by, my masters, bring him near the king. 
 His highness' pleasure is to talk with him. 
 
 A'. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance. 
 That we for thee may glorify the Lord. 
 What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd? 
 
 Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace. 
 
 IVife, Ay, indeed, was he. 
 
 Sitf. What woman is this? 
 
 Wife. His wife, an't like your worship, 
 
 Glo. Had'st thou been his mother, thou could'st have 
 
 A'. Hen. Where wert thou born ? [better told. 
 
 Simp. At Berwick in the north, an't like your grace. 
 
 K.Hen. Poor soul! God's goodness hath been great 
 Let never day nor night uuhallow'd pass, [to thee : 
 But still remember what the Lord hath done. 
 
 Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here by 
 Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ? [chance. 
 
 Simp. God knows, of pure devotion : being cali'd 
 A hundred limes, and oflener, in my sleep 
 By good Saint Alban ; who said, — Simpcox, come. 
 Come, offer at mii shrine, and 1 will help thee. 
 
 h'ife. Most true, forsooth ; and many time and oft 
 Myself have heard a voice to call him so. 
 
 Car. What, art thou lame ? 
 
 Simp. Ay, God Almighty help me ! 
 
 Suf, How cam'st tliou so 1 
 
 Simp. A fall off of a tree. 
 
 Wife, A plum-tree, master. 
 
 Glo. How long hast thou been blind ? 
 
 Simp, 0, born so, master. 
 
 Glo, What, and would'st climb a tree ? 
 
 Simp. But that in all my life, when 1 was a youth. 
 
 Wife. Tootrue; andboughtiiisclimbingverydear. 
 
 Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouidst 
 venture so. [sons, 
 
 S'imp, Al as, good master, my wife desir'd some dam . 
 
ACT II. -SCENE II. 
 
 479 
 
 And made me climb, with danger of my life. 
 
 Glo. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not serve- ■ 
 Let me see thine eyes : — wink now ; now open them ; — 
 In my opinion, yet thou see'st not well. 
 
 Siinp. Yes, master, clear as day ; I thank God, and 
 Saint Alban. 
 
 Cih. Say'st thou me so? Whatcolouris thiscloakof ? 
 
 Simp. Red, master ; red as blood. [of ? 
 
 G/i). Why, that's well said ; what colour is my gown 
 
 .Simp. Black, forsooth; coal-black, as jet. 
 
 K. Hen. Why then, thou know'st what colour letis 
 
 Snf. .'ind yet, I think, jet did he never see. [of? 
 
 Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, before this day a many. 
 
 Wife. Never, before this day, in all !iis life. 
 
 Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's ray name t 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I know not. 
 
 Glo. What's his name 1 
 
 Simp. I know not. 
 
 Glo. Nor his 1 
 
 Simp, No, indeed, master. 
 
 Glo. What's thine own name? 
 
 Simp. SaunderSimpcox, an if it please you, master. 
 
 Glo. Then, Saunder, sit thou there, the lying'st 
 knave 
 fn Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind. 
 Thou might'st as well have known our names, as thus 
 To name the several colours we do wear. 
 Sight may distinguish of colours ; but suddenly 
 To nominate them all, 's impossible. — 
 -My lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle ; 
 And would ye not think that cunning to be great. 
 That could restore this cripple to his legs again ? 
 
 Simp. O, master, that you could ! 
 
 Glo. My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not 
 beadles in your town, and things called whips'! 
 
 Moil. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace. 
 
 Glo. Then send for one presently. 
 
 May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. 
 [Exit on Attendant 
 
 Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. [.-1 
 stool brou-iht out.'] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save 
 yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and 
 run away. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone ; 
 Y'ou go about to torture me in vain. 
 
 Re-enter Attendant, with tht Beadle. 
 
 Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs. 
 Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same 
 stool. 
 
 Bead. I will, my lord — Come on, sirrah ; off with 
 your doublet quickly. 
 
 Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do H am not able 
 to stand. [After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps 
 vver the stool, and vans atray : and the 
 people follow, and crp, A Miracle ! 
 
 K. Hen. OGod,see'st thou this, and bear'st so long? 
 
 Q. Mar. It made me laugh, to see the villain run. 
 
 Glo. Follow the knave ; and take this drab away. 
 
 Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need. 
 
 Glo. Let them be whipped through every market 
 
 town, till they come to Berwick, whence they came. 
 
 [pAeuut Mayor, Beadle, Wife, *:c. 
 
 Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day. 
 
 Snf. True ; made thelame to leap, and fly away. 
 
 Glo. But you liave done more miracles than 1 ; 
 You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly. 
 Enter Buckixcham. 
 
 K. Hfji.What tidings with our cousin Buckingham? 
 
 Back. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold. 
 .\ sort of naughty persons, lewdly bent, — 
 Lnder the countenance and confederacy 
 
 01 lady Eleanor, the protector's wife. 
 The ringleader and head of all this rout, — 
 Have praclis'd dangerously against your state. 
 Dealing with witches, and with conjurers : 
 Whom we I'.ave apprehended in the fact ; 
 Raising up wicked spirits from under ground, 
 Demanding of king Henry's life and death. 
 And other of your highness' privy council, 
 As more at large your grace shall understand. 
 
 Car. .And so, my lord protector, by this means 
 Your lady is forthcoming yet at London. 
 This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge ; 
 'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour. 
 
 [Aside to GLOSTtit, 
 
 G/c. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my heart ! 
 Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers : 
 And, vanquish'd as I am, 1 yield to thee, 
 Or to the meanest groom. [ones ; 
 
 A'. Hen. O God, what mischiefs work the wicked 
 Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the tainture of thy nest. 
 And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best. 
 
 Glo. I\Iadam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal, 
 How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal : 
 And, for my wife, I know not how it stands ; 
 .Sorry am I to hear what I have heard ; 
 Noble she is ; but if she have forgot 
 Honour, and virtue, and convers'd with such 
 As, like to pitch, defile nobility, 
 1 banish her my bed, and company ; 
 And give her, as a prey, to law, and shame. 
 That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name. 
 
 A*. //tvi.Well, for this night, we will repose us here . 
 To-morrow, toward London, back again, 
 'I'o look into this business thoroughly. 
 And call these foul ofl"enders to their answers ; 
 And poise the cause in justice' equal scales. 
 Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause pre- 
 vails. [Flourish. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— London. The Duke ./Y'ork's Garden. 
 Enter Y'onK, Salisrury, and Warwick. 
 
 York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and War- 
 Our simple supper ended, give me leave, [wick. 
 In this close walk, to satisfy myself, 
 In craving your opinion of my title, 
 Which is infallible, to England's crown. 
 
 Sal. My lord. 1 long to hear it at full. 
 
 War. Sweet York, begin: and if thy claim be good. 
 The Nevils are thy subjects to command. 
 
 York. Then thus — ■ 
 Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons; 
 The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales' 
 The second, William of Hatfield ; and the third, 
 Lionel, duke of Clarence ; next to whom. 
 Was .lohn of Claunt, the duke of Lancaster : 
 The fifth, was Edinond Langley, duke of York : 
 The si,xlh, was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of G loster; 
 William of Windsor was the seventh, and last. 
 Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father; 
 And loft behind him Richard, his only son. 
 Who, after Edward the'l'hird'sdeath,reign'dasking; 
 Till Henry IJolingbroke, duke of Lancaster, 
 The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt, 
 Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth, 
 Seiz'd on the realm ; depos'd the rightful king ; 
 Sent his poor queen to France, from whence shccaine, 
 And him to Pomfret ; where, as all you know, 
 Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously. 
 
 War. Father, the duke hath told the truth; 
 Thus got the house of Lancaster the crown. 
 
4ao 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART IL 
 
 York. Winch now they hold by force, and not by 
 For Richard, the first son's heir being dead, [right; 
 The issue of the next son should have reign'd. 
 
 Sal. But William of Hatfield died witliout an heir. 
 
 York. The third son, duke of Clarence, (from whose 
 line 
 1 claim the crown,) had issue — Philippe, a daughter : 
 Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of Maich, 
 Edmund had issue — Roger, earl of March : 
 Roger had issue — Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor. 
 
 Slit. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbi'oke, 
 As I have read, laid claim unto the crown ; 
 And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king, 
 Who kept him in captivity, till he died. 
 But, to the rest. 
 
 York. His eldest sister, Anne, 
 
 My mother, being heir unto the crown. 
 Married Richard, earl of Cambridge ; who was son 
 To Edmond Langley, Edward the Third's fifth son. 
 By her I claim the kingdom: she was heir 
 To Roger, earl of March ; who was the son 
 Of Edmund Mortimer ; who married Philippe, 
 Sole daugiiter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence: 
 So if the issue of the elder son 
 Succeed before the younger, I am king. [this? 
 
 War. What plain proceedings are more plain than 
 Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt, 
 The fourth son ; York clain-.s it from the third. 
 Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign : 
 It fails not yet; but flouri^nes in thee. 
 And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. — 
 Then, father Salisbury, kneel we both together ; 
 And, in this private plot, be we the first, 
 That shall salute our rightful sovereign 
 With honour of his birthright to the crown, [king! 
 
 Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, England's 
 
 ycirA:.We thank you. lords, 13ut I am not your king 
 Till I be crown'd ; and that my sword be siain'd 
 With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster ; 
 And that's not suddenly to be perform'd ; 
 But with advice, and silent secrecy. 
 Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days, 
 Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence. 
 At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition. 
 At Buckingham, and all the crew of them. 
 Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock. 
 That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey : 
 *Tis that they seek ; and they, in seeking that. 
 Shall find their deaths, if York can prophecy, [full. 
 
 Sill. My lord, break we off; we know your mind at 
 
 War. My heart assures me, that the earl of Warwick 
 Shall one day make the duke of York a king. 
 
 York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, — 
 Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick 
 The greatest man in England, but the king. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IIL— r/ifi same. A Hall of Justice. 
 
 Trjimpets sounded* Enter King Henry, Queen Mar- 
 OAnpT, Gloster, York, Sui folk, and Salisbury ; 
 the ihichess of Gloster, MARcrRY Jourdain, 
 SouTH\VELL,HuME,(i;/(/ Holing BiiOKr.fOirferffuarrf. 
 
 A". Wc'??, Stand forth, dame EleanorCobham,Gloster's 
 Tn sight of God, and us, your guilt is great; [wife : 
 Receive the sentence of the law, for sins 
 Such as by God's book are adjudg'd to death. — 
 You four, from hence to prison back again ; 
 
 [7o JOURDAXN, S(c. 
 
 From thence, nnto the place of execution : 
 The witch in Smithfield shall be burn'd to ashes, 
 And you three shall be strangled on the gallows. — 
 You, madam, for you are more nobly born. 
 
 Despoiled of your honour in your life, 
 
 Shall, after three days' open penance done, 
 
 Live in your country here, in banishment. 
 
 With Sir John Stanley, in the isle of iMan. [death 
 
 Diich. Welcome is banishment, welcome were my 
 
 Glo. Eleiinor, the law, thou scest, hath judged thee ; 
 I cannot justify whom the law condemns. — 
 [ Kxeuut the Duchess, a nrf the other prisoners guarded. 
 Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief. 
 Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age 
 Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground ! — 
 I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go ; 
 Sorrow would solace, and mine age would ease. 
 
 A'. Hen. Stay, Humphreyduke ofGloster: ere thou 
 Give up thy staff; Henry will to himself [go. 
 
 Protector be : and God shall be my hope, 
 My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet; 
 And go in peace, Humphrey ; no less belov'd. 
 Than when thou wert protector to thy king, 
 
 Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years 
 Should be to be protected like a child. — 
 God and king Henry govern England's helm : 
 Give up your staff, sir, and the king his realm. 
 
 Glo. My staff? — here, noble Henry, is my staff: 
 As willingly do 1 the same resign, 
 As ere thy father Henry made it mine ; 
 And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it. 
 As others would ambitiously receive it. 
 Farewell, good king : when I am dead and gone. 
 May honourable peace attend thy throne ! [Krit. 
 
 Q.3iijr.Why now is Henry king, and Margaret queen; 
 And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself. 
 That bears so shrewd a maim ; two pulls at once, — 
 His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off; 
 This staff of honour raught : — There let Jt stand, 
 Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand. 
 
 .Si(/'.Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangshis sprays J 
 Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days. 
 
 York, Lords, lei him go, — Please it your majesty 
 This is the day appointed for the combat ; 
 And ready are the appellant and defendant. 
 The armourer and his man, to enter the lists. 
 So please your highness to behold the fight. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord ; for purposely therefore 
 Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried. 
 
 A'. Hen. O' God's name, see the lists and al! things 
 Here let them end it, and God defend the right I [fit ; 
 
 York. I never saw a fellow worse bested, 
 Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant, 
 The servant of this armourer, my lords. 
 
 Enter, on oneside, Horner and hh neighbours, drink- 
 ing to him so much that he is druiik ; and he enters 
 bearing his stajf' with a sand-bag fastened to it ; a 
 drum before him : at the other side, Peter, icilh a 
 drum and a similar staj^'; accompanied hu prentices 
 drinking to him, 
 1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to you 
 
 in a cup of sack ; And fear not, neighbour, you shall 
 
 do well enough. 
 
 y Neigh. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of 
 
 charneco. 
 
 3 Neigh, And here's a pot of good double beer 
 
 neighbour : drink, and fear not your man. 
 
 Hor. Let it come, i'faith, and I'll pledge you all * 
 
 And a fig for Peter ! 
 
 1 Preu, Here, Peter, I drink to thee ; and be not 
 afraid. 
 
 2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy master, 
 fight for credit of the prentices. 
 
 Peter. I thank you all : drink, and pray for me, I 
 pray you ; for, 1 think, I have taken my last draught 
 
ACT II. -SCENE IV. 
 
 in this world.— Here, Robin, an if I die, I give thee 
 my apron ; and, Will, tliou shall have my hammer: 
 — and here, Tom, take all the money that I have. — 
 O Lord, bless nie, I pray God ! for I am never able 
 to deal with my master, he hath learnt so much fence 
 already. 
 
 Arti.Come, leave yotir drinking, and fall to blows. 
 — Sirrah, what's thy name 1 
 
 Peter. Peler, forsooth. 
 
 Sal. Peter I what more t 
 
 Peter. Thump. 
 
 &/. Thump! then see thou thump thy master well. 
 
 llor. Masters, 1 am come hither, as it were, upon 
 my man's instigation, to prove him a knave, and my- 
 self an honest man ; and touching the duke of York, 
 — will take my death, I never meant him any ill, nor 
 the king, nor the queen : And therefore, Peter, have 
 at thee with a downright blow, as Bevis of South- 
 ampton, fell upon Ascapart. 
 
 York. Despatch ; — this knave's tongue begins to 
 Sound trumpets, alarum to the combatants, [double. 
 l^Alannn. Tfietijight, and Petei* st'-U<es down 
 his master. 
 
 lior. Hold, Peter, hold ! I confess, I confess 
 treason. [Dies. 
 
 York. Take away his weapon : Fellow, thank God, 
 and the good wine in thy master's way. 
 
 Peter. God ! have 1 overcome mine enemies in 
 this presence? O Peter, thou hast prevailed in right ! 
 
 A'. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight ; 
 For. by his death, we do perceive his guilt : 
 And God, in justice, hath reveal'd to us 
 The truth and innocence of this poor fellow. 
 Which he had thought to have murder'd wrongfully. — 
 Come, fellow, fjUow us for thy reward. [Eiennt. 
 • 
 SCENE IV.— The same. A Street. 
 
 ^.^Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning cloaks. 
 
 Glo, Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a 
 And, after sumnrer, evermore succeeds [cloud ; 
 
 Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold : 
 So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. 
 Sirs, what's o'clock ! 
 
 Serv. Ten, my lord. 
 
 Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me. 
 To watch tlie coming of my punish'd duciiess ; 
 ITneath may she endure the flinty streets. 
 To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. 
 Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook 
 The abject people, gazing on thy face, 
 With envious looks still laughing at thy shame ; 
 That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels, 
 '\\'hen thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. 
 But, soft! 1 think, she comes ; and I'll prepare 
 Bly tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries. 
 
 llnler the Duchess o/" Gloster, in a tehite sheet, with 
 
 papers pinned upon her back, her feet bare, and a 
 
 taper burning in her hand; Sir John Stanley, a 
 
 Sneriff, and Oflicers. 
 
 Serv. So please your grace,-we'll take her from the 
 sherift". 
 
 Glo. No, stir not, for your lives ; let her pass by. 
 
 J^iicJi. Come you. my lord, to see my open shame? 
 Now thou dost 'penance too. Look, how they gaze ! 
 See, how the giddy multitude do point, 
 And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee! 
 Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks ; 
 And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame. 
 And ban thine enemies, both mine and thine. 
 
 Glo. Be patient geuUe NelJ ; forget this grief. 
 
 Dach. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forgeTniJ 
 For, whilst I think I am thy married wife, 
 And thou a prince, protector of this land, 
 Wethinks, I should not thus be led along, 
 Mail'd up in shame, with papers on my back : 
 And foUow'd with a rabble, that rejoice 
 To see my tears, and !?ear my deep-fet groans 
 The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet ; 
 And, when I start, the envious people laugh. 
 And bid me be advised how I tread. 
 Ah, Humphrey, can 1 bear this shameful yoke? 
 Trovv'st thou that e'er I'll look upon the world ; 
 Or count lliem happy, that enjoy the sun? 
 No ; dark shall be my light, and night rny day , 
 To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell. 
 Sometime I'll say, J am duke Humphrey's wife , 
 And he a prince, and ruler of the land : 
 Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was. 
 .•Vs he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess. 
 Was made a wonder, and a pointing stock, 
 To every idle rascal follower. 
 But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame ; 
 Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death 
 Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will. 
 For Suffolk, — he that can do all in all 
 With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all,— 
 And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest. 
 Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings, 
 And, Hy thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee : 
 But fear not thou, until thy foot be snar'd, 
 Nor never seek prevention of thy foes. 
 
 Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear ; thou aimest all awry ; 
 I must ofi'end, before I be attainted : 
 And had 1 twenty times so many foes. 
 And each of them had twenty times their power. 
 All these could not procure me any scathe, 
 So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless. 
 Would'st have me rescue thee from this reproach 
 Why, yet thy scandal were not wlp'd away, 
 But I in danger for the breach of law. 
 Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell : 
 I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience ; 
 These few days' ivonder will be quickly worn. 
 
 Enter a Herald. 
 
 Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's parlia- 
 ment, holden at Bury the first of this next month. 
 
 Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before ! 
 This is close dealing. — Well, I will be there. 
 
 [Exit Herald. 
 Mv Nell, I take my leave : — and, master sheriff'. 
 Let not her penance exceed the king's commission. 
 
 Sher. An't please your grace, here my commission 
 And sir John Stanley is appointed now [stays ; 
 
 To take her with him to the isle of Man. 
 
 Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here? 
 
 Stan. So am I given in charge, may't jjlease your 
 
 G/tJ. Entreat her not the worse, in thati pray [grace. 
 You use her well : the world may laugh again; 
 .\nd I may live to do you kindness, if 
 You do it her. And so, sir John, farewell. 
 
 iJuc/i. What gone, my lord ; and bid me notfarewelP 
 
 Glo. Witness my tears, 1 cannot stay to speak. 
 
 [Exmint Gloster and Servants, 
 
 Duck. Art thou gone too ? All comfort go with thee' 
 For none abides with me: my joy is — death ; 
 Death, at whose name 1 oft have been afeard. 
 Because I wish'd this world's eternity. — 
 Stanley, I pr'vthee, go, and take me hence ; 
 I care not whither, for 1 beg no favour. 
 Only convey me where thou art commanded. 
 
 iSlB7i. Why, madam, that is to the isle of Mau ; 
 2 H 
 
482 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 
 
 There to be used according to your state. 
 
 Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach : 
 And shall I then be us'd reproachfully"? 
 
 Start. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's 
 According to that state you shall be used. [lady, 
 
 Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better than I fare ; 
 Although thou hast been conduct of my shame ! 
 
 Slier. It is my office ; and, madam, pardon me. 
 
 Djtch. Ay, ay, farewell ; thy office is discharg'd — 
 Come, Stanley, shall we go ! 
 
 Stun, Madam, your penance done, throw off this 
 And go we to attire you for our journey. [sheet, 
 
 Duch. I\Iy shame will not be shifted with ray sheet: 
 Wo, it will hang upon my richest robes, 
 And shew itself, attire me how I can. 
 Co, lead the way j 1 long to see my prison. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE l.—The Abbey at Bury. 
 
 Enter tothe ParCia.Tient, King Henry, Queen Mar- 
 caret, Cardinai. Beaufort, Suffolk, York, 
 Buckingham, and ntheis. 
 
 K. Hen. I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come : 
 'Tis not Iiis wont to be the hindmost man, 
 Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now. 
 
 Q. Mar. Can you not see? or will you not observe 
 The strangeness of his alter'd countenance'? 
 With what a majesty he bears himself; 
 How insolent of late he is become, 
 How proud, peremptory, and unlike himself? 
 We know the time, since he was mild and affable ; 
 And, if we did but glance a far-off look. 
 Immediately he was upon his knee, 
 That all tlie court admir'd him for submission ; 
 But meet him now, and, be it in the morn. 
 When every one will give the time of day, 
 He knits his brow, and shews an angry eye, 
 And passes by with stiff unbowed knee. 
 Disdaining duty that to us belongs. 
 Small curs are not regarded, when they grin ; 
 But great men tremble, when the lion roars ; 
 And Humphrey is no little man in Engla.nd. 
 First, note, that he is near you in descent •, 
 And should you fall, he is the next will mount. 
 ]\Ie seemeth then, it is no policy, — 
 Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears. 
 And his advantage following your decease, — 
 That he should come about your royal person, 
 Or be admitted to your highne&s' council. 
 Bv flattery hath he won tht commons' hearts ; 
 And, when he please to make commotion, 
 'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him. 
 Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted ; 
 Suffer them now. and they'll o'ergrow the garden, 
 And choke the herbs for want of husbandry. 
 The reverend care, I bear unto my lord. 
 Blade me collect these dangers in the duke. 
 If it be fond, call it a woman's fear •, 
 Which fear if better reasons can supplant, 
 I will subscrilie and say — 1 wrong'd the duke. 
 My lord of Suffolk, — Buckingham,— and York, — 
 Reprove my allegation, if you can ; 
 Or else conclude my words effectual. 
 
 Suf. Well hath your highness seen into this duke ; 
 And, had I first been put to speak my mind, 
 I think, I should have told your grace's tale. 
 The duchess, by his subornation. 
 Upon my life, began her devilish practices • 
 
 Or if he were not privy to those faults, 
 
 Yet. by reputing of his higli descent, 
 
 (As next the king, he was successive heir,) 
 
 And such high vaunts of his nobility, 
 
 Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess. 
 
 By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall. 
 
 Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep ; 
 
 And in his simple show he harbours treason 
 
 The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb. 
 
 No, no, my sovereign ; Gloster is a man 
 
 Unsounded yet. and full of deep deceit. 
 
 Cur. Did he not, contrary to form of law, 
 Devise strange deaths for small offences done ? 
 
 York. And did he not, in his protectorship, 
 Levy great sums of money through the realm, 
 For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it ? 
 By means whereof, the towns each day revolted. 
 
 Buck.Tntl Thesearepetty faults to tan Its unknown. 
 Which time will bring to light in smootli duke Hum- 
 phrey. 
 
 A'. Hen. My lords, at once: Thecarcyouhaveof us. 
 To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot, 
 Is worthy praise : But shall I speak my conscience? 
 Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent 
 From meaning treason to our royal person. 
 As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove : 
 The duke is virtuous, mild ; and too well given. 
 To dream on evil, or to work my downfall. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond 
 affiance ! 
 Seems he a dove ? his feathers are but borrow'd. 
 For he's disposed as the hateful raven. 
 Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him, 
 For he's inclin'd as are the ravenous wolves. 
 Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit ? 
 Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all 
 Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man. 
 
 Enter Somerset, 
 
 Snm. All health unto my gracious sovereign \ 
 
 A". Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. Wiial news from 
 France 1 
 
 Som. That all your interest in those territories 
 Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost. 
 
 K.Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset: But God*s will 
 be done ! 
 
 York. Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France, 
 As firmly as I hope for fertile England. 
 Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud, 
 And caterpillars eat my leaves away : 
 iUit I will remedy this gear ere long, 
 Ur sell my title for a glorious grave. | Aside. 
 
 Enter Gi-OSTER. 
 
 Gin. All happiness unto my lord the king! 
 Pardon, my liege, that I have staid so long. 
 
 Siif. Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art come too soon. 
 Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art : 
 I do arrest thee of high treason here. 
 
 Glo. Well, Suffolk.yet thoushalt notseeme'i>lush^ 
 Nor change my countenance for this arrest ; 
 A heart unspotted is not easily daunted. 
 The purest spring is not so free from mud. 
 As 1 am clear from treason to my sovereign : 
 Who can accuse mel wherein am I guilty? 
 
 York. 'Tis thought, my lord, that you took bribes 
 of France, 
 And, being protector, stay'd the soldiers' pay; 
 By means whereof, his highness hath lost France. 
 
 Glo. Isitbutthouglitso? What are they, that think 
 I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay, [it? 
 
 Nor ever had one penny bribe from France, 
 So help me God, as I have watch'd the uight, — 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 483 
 
 Ay, night ty night, — iu studying good for England ! 
 
 '1 hat doit that e'er I wrested from the king, 
 
 Or any groat I hoarded to my use, 
 
 lie brought against me at my trial day ! 
 
 No ! many a pound of mine own proper store, 
 
 Because I would not tax the needy commons, 
 
 Have 1 dispursed to the garrisons. 
 
 And never ask'd for restitution. 
 
 Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much. 
 
 VU. 1 say no more tUan truth, so help me God ! 
 
 York. In your protectorship, you did devise 
 Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of. 
 That England was defam'd by tyranny. 
 
 Gio, Why, 'tis well known, that whiles I was pro- 
 Pity was all the fault that was in nie \ [tector. 
 For I should melt at an offender's tears, 
 And lowly words were ransorae for their fault. 
 Unless it were a bloody murderer, 
 <.)r foul felonious tliief, that fleech'd poor passengers, 
 I never gave them condign punishment : 
 iMurder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd 
 Above the felon, or what trespass else. 
 
 Suf. I\Iy lord, these faults are easy, quickly answer'd: 
 But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge, 
 U hereof you cannot easily purge yourself. 
 I do arrest you in his highness' name ; 
 And here commit you to ray lord cardinal 
 'i'o keep, until your further time of trial. 
 
 K.Ben, lly lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope. 
 That you will clear yourself from all suspects ; 
 ftly conscience tells me, you are innocent. 
 
 Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous ! 
 Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition. 
 And charity clias'd hence by rancour's handj 
 Foul subornation is predominant. 
 And equity exil'd your highness' land. 
 I know, their complot is to have my life ; 
 •■Vnd, if my death might make this island happy, 
 -And prove the period of tiieir tyranny, 
 I would expend a with all willingness : 
 !)ut mine is made the prologue to their play; 
 For thousands more that yet suspect no peril, 
 U'ili not conclude their plotted tragedy. 
 Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, 
 .■Vnd Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate; 
 Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue 
 'Ihe envious load that lies upon his heart ; 
 jVnd dogged York, that reaches at the moon, 
 U hose overweening arm 1 have pluck'd back. 
 By false accuse doth level at my life : — 
 And you my sovereign lady, with the rest. 
 Causeless have laid disgraces on my head ; 
 And, with your best endeavour, have stirr'd up 
 My liefest liege to be mine enemy : — 
 Ay, all of you have laid your heads together. 
 Myself had notice of your conventicles. 
 And all to make a^^ay my guiltless life : 
 I shall not want false witness to condemn me. 
 Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt ; 
 'I'he ancient proverb will be well affected, — 
 A staff is quickly found to beat a dog. 
 
 Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable: 
 If those, that care to keep your royal person 
 ¥rom treason's secret knife, and traitors' rage. 
 Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, 
 -ind the offenaer granted scope of speech, 
 'Twill make them cooi in zeal unto your grace. 
 
 Suf. Hath he not twit out sovereign lady here. 
 With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd. 
 As if she had suborned some to swear 
 False allegations to o'erthrow his state ? 
 
 Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide. 
 
 Gto. Far truer spoke than meant: 1 lose, indeed ; — 
 Beshrew the winners, for they played me false ! 
 And well such losers may have leave to speak. 
 
 Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day; 
 Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner. 
 
 Cur. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure. 
 
 Ci'/c. .\h, thus king Henry throws away his crutch. 
 Before his legs be Hrm to bear his body : 
 Thus is tlie shepherd beaten from thy side, 
 [ And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first. 
 Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were '. 
 I For, good king Henry, thy decay I feai. 
 
 [£jf»»f Attendaiits, with Glosteh. 
 
 K. Heit. MyIords,what to your wisdoms seemeth best, 
 
 I Do, or undo, as if ourself were here. [liamentl 
 
 Q. Miir. What, will your highness leave the par- 
 
 A'. Hfii. Ay, Margaret; my heart is drown'd with 
 Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes; [grief, 
 ^ly body round engirt with misery ; 
 For what's more miserable than discontent 1 — 
 Ah, uncle Humphrey ! in thy tace I see 
 'Mie map of iionour, truth, and loyalty ; 
 AskI yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come, 
 'I'liat e'er 1 prov'd thee false, or fear'd thy faith. 
 What low'ring star now envies thy estate. 
 That these great lords, and Margaret our queen. 
 Do seek subversion of thy harmless life ? 
 Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong : 
 -Vnd as the butcher takes away the calf. 
 And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays. 
 Bearing it to tlie bloody slaughter-house ; 
 Even so, remorseless, have they borne him hence. 
 And as the dam runs lowing up and down, 
 Looking the way her harmless young one want. 
 And can do nought but wail her darling's loss ; 
 Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case, 
 With sad unitelpful tears ; and with dimm'd eyes 
 Look after him, and cannot do hiin good ; 
 So mighty aw his vowed enemies. 
 His fortunes I will weep; and 'twixt each groan, 
 Say — JVlio^s ii truitor, Gloster }ie is itmie. [isn't. 
 
 Q. Mitr. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's 
 Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, [hot beams. 
 Too full of foolish pity: and Gloster's show 
 Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile 
 "With sorrow snares relenting passengers ; 
 Or as tlie snake, roU'd in a flowering bank. 
 With shining checker'd slough, doth sting a child, 
 Tiiat. for the beauty, thinks it excellent. 
 Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I, 
 '\ And yet, licrein, I judge mine own wit good,) 
 'lliis Gloster should be quickly rid the world, 
 'I'o rid us from the fear we have of him. 
 
 Cur. That lie sho.ild die, is worthy policy: 
 But }X't we want a colour for his death : 
 'I'is meet he be condemn'd by course of law. 
 
 6'»/'. But, in my mind, that were no policy : 
 The king will labour still to save his life ; 
 The commons haply rise to save his life ; 
 Ami we yet have but trivial argument, 
 ^lore than mistrust, that shews him worthy death. 
 
 York. So that by this, you would not have hira die. 
 
 Suf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I. 
 
 Korfc.'TisYork that hath more reason for his death. — 
 But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suffolk, — 
 Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, — 
 Wer't not all one, an empty eagle were set 
 To guard the chicken from a hungry kite. 
 As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector? 
 
 Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death. 
 
 Suf. Madam, 'tis true: And wer't not madness then. 
 To make the fox sun'eyor of the fold ? 
 '2 H 2 
 
484 
 
 KING HENRY VI.- PART II. 
 
 Who being accus'd a crafty raurJeier, 
 His guilt should be but idly posted over. 
 Because liis purpose is not executed. 
 No ; let him die, in that he is a fox, 
 By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock, 
 Befoie his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood j 
 As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege. 
 And do not stand on (juillets, how to slay liim : 
 Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty. 
 Sleeping or waking, 'lis no matter how, 
 So he be dead ; for that is good deceit 
 Wiiich mates him first, that first intends deceit. 
 
 Q, Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke. 
 
 Suf. Not resolute, except so much were done ; 
 For things are often spoke, and seldom meant : 
 But, tliat my heart accordeth with my tongue, — 
 Seeing tlie deed is meritorious, 
 And to preserve my sovereign, from his foe, — 
 Say but the word, and I will be his priest. 
 
 Ciir. But I would liave him dead, my lord of Suffolk, 
 Ere you can take due orders for a priest : 
 Sav, you consent, and censure well the deed. 
 And I'll provide his executioner, 
 I tender so the safety of my liege. 
 
 Huf. Here is my hand, tlie deed is worthy doing. 
 
 Q. Mar, And so say I. 
 
 York. And I ; and now we three have spoke it, 
 It skills not greatly who impugns our doom. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I coraeamam. 
 To signify — that reljels there are up. 
 And put the Englishmen unto the sword: 
 Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime, 
 Before the wound do grow incurable ; 
 For, being green, there is great hope of help. 
 
 Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient stop! 
 What counsel give you in this weighty cause ! 
 
 York. That Somerset be sent as legeut thither ; 
 'Tis meet, that lacky ruler be employ'd ; 
 Witness the fortune he hath had in Fiance. 
 
 Som. If York, with all his far-fet policy, 
 Had been the regent there instead of me. 
 He never would have staid in France so long. 
 
 York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done : 
 I rather would have lost my life betimes. 
 Than bring a burden of dishonour home, 
 By staying there so long, till all were lost. 
 Shew me one scar character'd on thy skin : 
 Men's flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win. 
 
 Q.Mrir. Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire, 
 If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : — 
 l\o more, good York ; — sweet Somerset, be still ; — 
 Ihy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there. 
 Might hap|;ily have prov'd far worse than his. 
 
 York. W hat, worse than naught? nay, then a shame 
 take all ! 
 
 Swn. And in the number, thee, that wishest shame ! 
 
 Car. IVIv lord of Yoik, try what your fortune is. 
 The uncivil Kernes of Ireland are in arms. 
 And temper clay with blood of Englishmen : 
 To Ireland will you lead a band of men. 
 Collected choicely, from each county some. 
 And try your hap against the Irishmen 1 
 
 York. 1 will, my lord, so please his majesty. 
 
 Suf. Why, our authority is his consent ; 
 And, wliat we do esta'olish, he confirms ; 
 Then, noble Y'ork. take thou this task in hand. 
 
 Y'ork. I am content ■ Provide me soldiers, lords. 
 Whiles I take order for mine own affairs. 
 
 Suf. A charge, lord York, that ] will see perform'd. 
 But now return we to the false duke Humphrey, 
 
 Car, No more of him , for I will deal with him. 
 That henceforth, he shall trouble us no more. 
 And so break oft'; the day is almost spent : 
 Lord Suffolk, you and 1 must talk of that event. 
 
 York. My lord of Suffolk, within fourteen days 
 At Bristol I expect my soldiers ; 
 For there I'll ship them all for Ireland. 
 
 Suf. I '11 see it truly done, my lord of York. 
 
 [Exeunt alt but Y'oiiK, 
 
 Fiirfc. Now, York, ornever.steel thy fearfulthoughls. 
 And change misdoubt to resolution : 
 Be that thou hop'st to be ; or what thou art 
 Resign to death, it is not wortli the enjoying ; 
 Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man. 
 And find no harbour in a royal heart. 
 Faster than spring-time showers, comes thought en 
 And not a thought, but thinks on dignity, [thought. 
 My brain, more busy than the labouring sjiidcr. 
 Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies. 
 Well, nobles, well, 'tis politicly done. 
 To send me packing with an host of men . 
 I fear me, you but warm the starved snake. 
 Who, cherish 'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts 
 'Twas men 1 lack'd, and you will give them me : 
 I take it kindly ; yet, be well assur'd 
 You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands. 
 Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band, 
 I will stir up in England some black storm. 
 Shall blow ten thousand souls to heaven, or hell : 
 And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage 
 Until the golden circuit on my head. 
 Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams. 
 Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. 
 And, for a minister of my intent, 
 I have seduced a head-strong Kentishman, 
 .Tohn Cade of Ashford, 
 To make commotion, as full well he can. 
 Under tjie title of John ■Mortimer. 
 In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade 
 Oppose himself against a troop of Kernes ; 
 And fought so long, till that his thighs with dart? 
 Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine : 
 And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him 
 Caper upright like a wild i\I6risco, 
 Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells. 
 Full often like a shag-hair'd crafty Kerne, 
 Hath he conversed with the enemy; 
 And undiscover'd come to me again. 
 And given me notice of their villanies. 
 I'his devil here shall be my substitute ; 
 For that .Tohn Mortimer, which now is dead. 
 In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble : 
 By this I shall perceive the commons' mind, 
 How they affect the house and claim of York. 
 Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortured ; 
 I know, no pain, they can inflict upon him. 
 Will make him say — I mov'd him to those arms. 
 Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,) 
 Why, then from Ireland come I with my strength, 
 vVnd reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd : 
 For, Humphrey being dead, as he shall be, 
 And Henry put apart, the ne.xt for me. [Exit . 
 
 SCENE II.— Bury. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter certain Murderers, hastilif. 
 I Mur. Bun to my lord of Suffolk ; let him know. 
 We have despatch'd the duke, as he commanded. 
 2Mur. O, thatitwere to do!^Whatliave wedone^ 
 I Didst ever hear a man so penitent ? 
 
 Enter Suffolk. 
 I 1 Mur. Here comes my lord. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 485 
 
 §„**_ Now, sirs, have you 
 
 DespatchM this thing ! 
 
 1 ,^j„,-. Av, niy ^ood lord, he's dead. 
 
 Sill. W hy, that's well said. Go.getyoutomyhouse; 
 I will reward you for this venturous deed. 
 The kin? and all the peers are here at hand :— 
 Have vou :aid fair the bed '. are all things well, 
 According a I gave directions ! 
 
 1 Mur. "I'is, my good lord. 
 
 Siif. Away, begone! [Er^iiHt Murderers. 
 
 Eii(ei- K:ng Hevky, Qcef.n JIargaret, C.^^.DINAL 
 liF.AUFOur, Somerset, Lords, and others, 
 
 K.llen. Go, call our uncleto our presence straight : 
 Say, we intend to try his grace to-day. 
 If he be guilty, as 'tis published. 
 
 Suf. I'll call him presently, my noble lord. [F.iit. 
 
 K.Hen. Lords, take your places ; — And, Ipray you 
 Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster, [all. 
 Than from true evidence, of good esteem. 
 He be approv'd in practice culpable. 
 
 Q. Mar. God forbid any malice should prevail. 
 That faultless may condemn a nobleman ! 
 Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion'. 
 
 A'. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret ; these words con- 
 tent me much. — . 
 
 Reenter Suffolk. 
 How now ; why look'st ihou pale ? why tremblest thou? 
 Where is our uncle? what is the matter, Suffolk • 
 
 Siif. Dead in his bed, my lord ; Gloster is dead. 
 
 Q. Mar. aiarry, God forel'endl 
 
 Car. God's secret judgment: — 1 diddream to-night, 
 The duke was dumb, and could not speak a word, 
 [r/i? King sutnins. 
 
 Q. Mnr. How fares ray lord ! — Help, lords ! the 
 king is dead. 
 
 Som. Rear up his body ; wring him by the nose. 
 
 Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help '. — O, Henry, ope 
 thine eyes ! 
 
 Snf. He doth revive again ; — Madam, be patient 
 
 K.Hen, heavenly God! 
 
 Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord ? [fort ! 
 
 .S«/'. Comfort, my sovereign ! Gracious Henry, com- 
 
 K.Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort me ! 
 Came he right now to sing a raven's note, 
 Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers; 
 .\nd thinks he, that the chirping of a wren. 
 By crying comfort from a hollow breast. 
 Can chase awav the first conceived sound ? 
 Hide not thy prison with such sugar'd words. 
 Lay not thy" hands on me; forbear, I say ; 
 Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting. 
 Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight! 
 Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny 
 Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world. 
 Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding : — 
 Vet do not go away; — Come, basilisk,^ 
 ■■Vnd kill the innocent gazer with thy sight : 
 for in the shade of death I shall find joy ; 
 In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead. 
 
 Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus? 
 Although the duke was enemy to him, 
 Yet lie. most Christian-like, laments his death.- 
 'Vnd for myself,— foe as he was to me. 
 Might liquid tears, or heart-ofl'ending groans. 
 Or blood-consuming sighs recall his lite, 
 I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans. 
 Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs, 
 And all to have the noble duke alive. ■ 
 What know I how the world may deem of me ? 
 
 For it is known, we were but hollow friends ; 
 
 It may be judg'd, I made the duke away : 
 
 So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded, 
 
 And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach. 
 
 This get I by his death : Ah me, unhappy : 
 
 To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy ! 
 
 K. Hen. .\h, woe is me for Gloster, wretched man ! 
 
 Q. Mnr. Be woe for me, more wretched than he is. 
 What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face? 
 I am no loathsome leper, look on me. 
 What, art thou like the adder, waxen deaf? 
 Be poisonous too, and kill thy forlorn queen. 
 Is all thy comfort shut in Glo.'ter's tomb? 
 Why. then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy: 
 Erect his statue then, and worship it, 
 .-Vnd make my image but an alehouse sign. 
 Was I, for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea ; 
 .\nd twice by awkward wind from England's bank 
 Drove back again unto my native clime ? 
 What boded this, but well-forewarning wind 
 Did seem to say, — Seek not a scorpion's nest. 
 Xor set no footing on this unkind shore ? 
 What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts, 
 And he that loos'd them from their biazen caves ; 
 And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore, 
 Or turn our stern upon a dreadful rock ! 
 Vet .T^olus would not be a murderer. 
 But left that hateful ofHce unto thee: 
 The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me ; [shore. 
 Knowing, that thou would'st have me drown'd on 
 With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness • 
 The splitting rocks cow'rd in the sinking sands. 
 And would not dash me with their ragged sides ; 
 Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they. 
 Might in thy palace perish Margaret. 
 .As far as I could ken thy chalky cliffs. 
 When from the shore the tempest beat us back, 
 I stood upon the hatches in the storm : 
 And when the dusky sky began to rob 
 ^ly earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view, 
 I took a costly jewel from my neck, — ■ 
 A heart it was, bound in with diamonds, — 
 And threw it towards thy land ; — the sea receiv'd it j 
 And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart : 
 And even with this, I lost fair England's view, 
 And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart ; 
 -■Vnd call'd them blind and dusky spectacles, 
 For losing ken of Albion's wished coast. 
 How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue 
 (The agent of thy fojl inconstancy,) 
 To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did, 
 \\'hen he to madding Dido would unfold 
 liis father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy? 
 Ami notwitch'd like her? or thou not false like him! 
 Ah me, 1 can no more! Die, Margaret! 
 For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long 
 
 Noise within, Ejiter Warwick mid Salisbury. 
 The Commons press to the door. 
 
 War, It is reported, mighty sovereign. 
 That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd 
 By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means. 
 The commons, like an angry hive of bees. 
 That want their leader, scatter up and down. 
 And care not who they sting in his revenge. 
 Slyself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny. 
 Until they hear the order of his death. 
 
 A'.Hen. That he isdead, good Warwick, 'tis too tiue, 
 Hut how he died, God knows, not Henry : 
 Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse, 
 .\nd comment then upon his sudden death. 
 
 If'ar. That I shall do, n(iy liege :— Stay, Salisbury, 
 
486 
 
 KING HENRY VI.-PART II. 
 
 With the rude multitude, till I retiiin. 
 
 [Wakwick goes into an inner room, and 
 Samsiiury retires. 
 K. Hen, O thou that judgest all things, stay my 
 thoughts ; 
 }\Iy thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul. 
 Some violent hands were laid on llumplirey's life ! 
 ]f my suspect be false, forgive me, God ; 
 For judgment only doth belong to thee ! 
 Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips 
 With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain 
 L^pon his face an ocean of salt tears ; 
 To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk. 
 And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling; 
 But all in vain are these mean obsequies ; 
 And, to survey his dead and earthy image, 
 AVhat were it but to make my sorrow greater 1 
 
 The folding doors of an inner chamber are thrown open, 
 and Glopter is discovered dead in his bed: War- 
 wick and othei'S standing by it. 
 
 TT'ar. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this 
 body, 
 
 K. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is made : 
 For, with his soul, fled all my worldly solace : 
 For seeing him, I see my life in death. 
 
 Jl'ar. As surely as my soul intends to live 
 ^Vith that dread King, that took our state upon him 
 To free us from his father's wrathful curse, 
 I do believe that violent hands were laid 
 Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke. 
 
 Suf* A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue ! 
 AVhat instance gives lord Warwick for his vow? 
 
 IVar, See how the blood is settled in his face ! 
 Oft have I seen a timely- parted ghost. 
 Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless. 
 Being all descended to the labouring heart ; 
 Who, in the conflict that it holds with death, 
 Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy ; 
 Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er leturneth 
 To blush and beautify the cheek again- 
 But, see, his face is black, and full of blood ; 
 His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd, 
 Staring full ghastly like a strangled man: [gling ; 
 His hair uprear'd, his nostrils strelch'd with strug- 
 His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd 
 And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd. 
 Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking ; 
 His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged, 
 Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd. 
 It cannot be, but he was murder'd here ; 
 The least of all these signs were probable. 
 
 Suf\ Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to 
 Myself and Beaufort, had him in protection; [death? 
 And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers. 
 
 War. But both of you were vow'd duke Humphrey's 
 And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep : [foes ; 
 'Tis tike, you would not feast him like a friend ; 
 And 'tis well seen, he found an enemy. 
 
 Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen 
 As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death. 
 
 rr'ur. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding fresh, 
 And sees fast by a butcher with an axe. 
 But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter? 
 Who finds the partridge in the putlock's nest, 
 But may imagine how the bird was dead. 
 Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak? 
 Even so suspicious is this tragedy. [knife? 
 
 Q. Mar. Are you the butcher. Suffolk; where'syour 
 Is Beaufort term'd a kite ? where are his talons ? 
 
 Suf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men 
 But here's a vengeful sword rusted with ease, 
 
 That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart, 
 That slanders me with murder's crimson badge: — 
 Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshirn, 
 That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death. 
 
 [Kjtcunt Cahdinai,, Som. and others 
 
 War. What dares not Warwick, if false Sutfolkdare 
 huu? 
 
 Q. Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious spirii. 
 Nor cease to be an arrogant controller, 
 Though Sufiblk dare him twenty thousand times. 
 
 War. Madam, be still ; with reverence may I say ; 
 For every word, you speak in his behalf, 
 Is slander to your royal dignity. 
 
 Suf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour! 
 If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much, 
 Thy mother took into her blameful bed 
 Some stern untutor'd churl, and noble stock 
 Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit thou art. 
 And never of the Nevil's noble race. 
 
 War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee, 
 And I should rob the deathsman of his fee, 
 Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames, 
 And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild, 
 I would, false murderous coward, on thy knee 
 IMake thee beg pardon for thy pass'd speech. 
 And say — It was thy mother that thou raean'st, 
 That thou thyself wast born in bastardy : 
 And after all this fearful homage done. 
 Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell. 
 Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men ! 
 
 Suf. Thou shalt be waking, while 1 shed thy blood, 
 If from this presence thou dar'st go with me. 
 
 [['(!('. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence. 
 Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope with thee, 
 And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost. 
 
 \^Ejeunt SuFFor,K oud W ,\nwii-v.. 
 
 K. //e». What stronger breast-plate than a heart uii- 
 Thrice is heann'd.that liath Ins ipiarrel just; [tainted.' 
 And he but naked, tiiough lock'd up in steel, 
 Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 
 
 \^A noise witkm. 
 
 Q. Mar. What noise is this ? 
 
 lie-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their 
 weapons drawn. 
 K. Hen* Why, how now, lords? your wrathful wea- 
 pons drawn 
 Here in our presence ? dare you be so bold ? — 
 Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here ? 
 
 Suf. Thetraitorous Warwick, with the menof Bury, 
 Set all upon me, mighty sovereign. 
 
 Noise of a croud wiilnn. Be-enter Sausbury. 
 
 Sal, Sirs, stand apart ; the king shall know youi 
 mind. — [Sjieahing to those uithin. 
 
 Dread lord, the commons send you word by me. 
 Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death, 
 Or banished fair England's territories. 
 They will by violence tear him from vour palace, 
 And torture him with grievous ling'ring death. 
 They say, by him the good duke Humphrey died 
 They say, in him they fear your highness' death ; 
 And mere instinct of love, and loyalty, — 
 Free from a stubborn opposite intent. 
 As being thought to contradict your liking, — 
 Makes them thus forward in his banislimynt 
 They say, in care of your most royal person. 
 That, if your highness should intend to sleep. 
 And charge — that no man should disturb your rest. 
 In pain of your dislike, or pain of death ; 
 Vet notwithstanding such a strait edict, 
 Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue. 
 That slily glided towards your majesty. 
 
ACT III. -SCENE II. 
 
 407 
 
 Tt were but necessai-y you were wak'd ; 
 Les!, being suffer'd in that harmful slumbtr, 
 The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal : 
 And therefore do they cry, though you forbid, 
 That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no, 
 From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is ; 
 With whose envenomed and fatal sting. 
 Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth, 
 They say, is shamefully bereft of life. 
 
 Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king, my 
 lord of Salisbury. 
 
 Suf. *Tis like, the commons, rude unpolish'd hinds, 
 Cou'id send such [nessage to their sovereign ; 
 But you, my lord, were glad to be employ'd, 
 To shew how quaint an orator you are : 
 But ail the honour Salisbury hath won, 
 Is — that he was the lord ambassador, 
 Sent from a sort of tinkers to the king. 
 
 Commons. [Wtliiin.'] An answer from the king, or 
 we '11 all break in. 
 
 jr. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me, 
 I thank them for their tender loving care ; 
 And had I not been 'cited so by them, 
 Yet did I purpose as they do entreat; 
 For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy 
 Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means. 
 And therefore — by His majesty I swear, 
 ^^'hose far unworthy deputy I am, — 
 He shall not breathe infection in this air 
 But three days longer, on the pain of death. [Ex. Sal, 
 
 Q.Mai\ O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk! 
 
 K. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call himgentleSuffolk. 
 No more, I say ; if thou dost plead for him. 
 Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath. 
 Flad I but said, T would have kept my word ; 
 But, when I swear, it is irrevocable; — 
 If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found 
 On any ground that 1 am ruler of, 
 The world shall not be ransome tor thy life. — 
 Come, Warwick, come, good Warwick, go with me : 
 I have great matters to impart to thee. 
 
 [Kieiint K. Henhv, Warwick, Lords, &"c 
 
 Q. Mar. ftlischance, and sorrow, go along with you! 
 Heart's discontent, and sour affliction, 
 Be playfellows to keep you company ! 
 There's two of you ; the devil make a third ! 
 And threefold vengeance tend upon your steps 1 
 
 Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations, 
 And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave- 
 
 (-^Mfir.Fye, coward woman, and soft-hearted wretch! 
 Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies 'i [tliem 1 
 
 Suf. A plague upon them ! wherefore should I curse 
 Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan, 
 I would invent as bitter-searching terms, 
 As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear, 
 Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth, 
 With full as many signs of deadly hate. 
 As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave : 
 ]\Iv tongue should stumble in mine earnest words: 
 Wine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint ; 
 My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract ; 
 Ay. every joint should seem to curse and ban : 
 And even now my burden'd heart would break, 
 Sliould I not curse them. Poison be tlieir drink ! 
 Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste I 
 Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees ! 
 Their ciuefest prospect, murdering basilisks ! 
 Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings ! 
 Their music, frightful as the serpent's hiss ; 
 And boding screech-owls make the concert full! 
 All the foul terrors in dark-seated hell— [thyself; 
 
 Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk ; thou torment'st 
 
 And these dread curses — like the sun 'gainst glass, 
 Or like an overcharged gun, recoil, 
 And turn the force of them upon thyself. 
 
 Suf. Your bade me ban, and will you bid me leavel 
 Now, by the ground that I am banish'd from, 
 Well could I curse away a winter's night, 
 Though standing naked on a mountain top. 
 Where biting cold would never let grass grow, 
 And think it but a minute spent in sport. 
 
 Q. Mar, O, let me entreat thee, cease ! Give me thy 
 That I may dew it with my mournful tears ; [hand, 
 Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, 
 To wash away my woeful monuments. 
 O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand ; 
 
 [A'issgs his hawi. 
 That thou might'st think upon these by the seal. 
 Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for thee! 
 So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief: 
 'Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by, 
 As one that surfeits thinking on a want. 
 I will repeal thee, or, be well assured, 
 Adventure to be banished myself: 
 And banished I am, if but from thee. 
 Go, speak not to me ; even now be gone. — 
 O, go not yet ! — Even thus two friends condemn'd 
 Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, 
 Leather a hundred times to part than die. 
 Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee ! 
 
 Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished. 
 Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee. 
 'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence ; 
 A wilderness is populous enough, 
 So Suffolk had thy heavenly company : .^ 
 For where thou art, there is the world itself, 
 With every several pleasure in the world ; 
 And where thou art not, desolation. 
 I can no more : — Live thou to joy thy life ; 
 Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st 
 
 Enter Vaux. 
 
 Q. Mar. Whither goes Vans so fast? what news. I 
 
 Vaux. To signify unto his majesty, [pr'ythee ? 
 That Cardinal Beaufort is at point of death : 
 For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, 
 That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air. 
 Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. 
 Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost 
 Were by his side ; sometime, he calls the king. 
 And whispers to his pillow, as to him. 
 The secrets of his overcharged soul : 
 And I am sent to tell his majesty, 
 That even now he cries aloud for him. 
 
 Q. Mur, Go tell this heavy message to the king. 
 
 [Exit Vaux. 
 Ah me I what is this world ? what news are these i 
 But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss, 
 Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure? 
 Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee, 
 And with the southern clouds contend in tears ; 
 Their's for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows? 
 Now, get thee hence ; The king thou know'st, is com- 
 If timu be found by me, thou art but dead. [i"g^ 
 
 6'((/. Jf 1 depart from thee, I cannot live : 
 And in thy sight to die, what were it else, 
 But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ? 
 Here could I breathe my soul into the air, 
 As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe, 
 Dying with mother's dug between its lips : 
 Where, from thy sight, I should be raging mad, 
 And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes 
 To have thee with thy lips to stop n)y mouth ; 
 So should'st thou either turn my flying soul, 
 
4C8 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 
 
 Or I should breathe it so into thy body, 
 And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium. 
 To die by thee, were but to die in jest; 
 Fiom thee to die, were torture more tlian death : 
 O, let me stay, befall what may befali. 
 
 Q.Mar. Away! thaui^h parting be a iVetful corrosive, 
 It is applied to a deathful wound. 
 Vo France, sweet Suffolk : Let me hear from thee ; 
 For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe, 
 I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out. 
 
 Suf. I go. 
 
 Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee. 
 
 Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask 
 That ever did contain a thing of worth. 
 Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we ; 
 This way fall I to death. 
 
 Q. Mar. 'J'his way for me. [Exeunt, severally, 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 London. — Cardinal Beaufort's Bed-Chamber. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Salisbury, Warwick, S^' others* 
 
 The Cahdinal in bed ; Attendants with him. 
 
 K. Hen. How fares my lord ! speak, Beaufort, to 
 thy sovereign. [treasure, 
 
 Car. If thou be'st death, I 'II give thee England's 
 Enough to purchase such another island, 
 So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain. 
 
 A. Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life, 
 Wiien death's approach ts seen so terrible! 
 
 IVar. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee. 
 
 Car. Bring me unto my trial, when you will. 
 Died he not in his bed ? where should he die l 
 Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no? — 
 ! torture me no more, I will confess. — 
 Alive again 1 then shew me where he is; 
 I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. — 
 He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. — ■ 
 Comb down his hair ; look! look! it stands upright, 
 Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul ! — 
 Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary 
 Bring the strong ])oison that 1 bought of him. 
 
 A'. Hen. O thou eternal JMover of the heavens. 
 Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch ! 
 O, beat away the busy meddling fiend. 
 That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul, 
 And from his bosom purge this black despair I 
 
 War, See how the pangs of death do make him grin. 
 
 5^/. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably. 
 
 K.Hen. Peace tu hissoul. if God's good pleasure be! 
 Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
 Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — 
 He dies, and makes no sign ; O God. forgive him ! 
 
 War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. 
 
 K. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. — 
 Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close ; 
 And let us all to meditation. \_Exennt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — Kent, The sea-shore near Dover, 
 Firing heard at sea. Then enter from a boat, a Cap- 
 tain, a Master, a Master's-Mate. Walter Wifit- 
 MORE, and others; trith them Suffolk, and other 
 Gentlemen, prisoners. 
 
 Cap. The gaudy, blabbing, and remorseful day 
 Is crept into the bosom of the sea ; 
 And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades 
 That drag the tragic melancholy night ; 
 Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings 
 
 Clip dead men's graves, and from their raisty jawa 
 Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air. 
 Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize j 
 For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs, 
 Here shall they make their ransome on the sand. 
 Or with tlieir blood stain this discolour'd shore. — 
 Master, this prisoner freely give I thee ; — ■ 
 And thou that art his mate, make boot of this ; — 
 The other Ipointing to Suffolk,] Walter Whitraore, 
 is thy share. 
 
 iGent. What is my ransome, master? letmeknow. 
 
 Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your 
 head. 
 
 Mate. Andsomuchshallyougive, oroffgoesyours. 
 
 Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousand 
 crowns, 
 And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? — 
 Cut both the villains' throats ; — for die you shall ; 
 The lives of those which we have lost in fight, 
 Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum. 
 
 1 Gent. I'll give it, sir ; and therefore spare my life. 
 
 y Gent. And so will l,and write home for it straight. 
 
 Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard, 
 And therefore, to revenue it, shall thou die; [To Suf. 
 And so should these, if I might have my will. 
 
 Cap. Be not so rash ; lake ransome, let him live. 
 
 Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman ; 
 Rate me at what thou wilt, thou shalt be paid. 
 
 Whit. And so am I ; my name is — Walter Whit- 
 more, [fright? 
 How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death af- 
 
 5u/!.Thy namealVfi^hlsme.in whosesoundisdeath, 
 A cunning man did calculate my birth, 
 And told me — that by M'ater I should die : 
 Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded ; 
 Thy name is — Guattier, being rightly sounded. 
 
 ]'/hit. Gnaltier, or Waller, which it is, I care not; 
 Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name, 
 But with our sword we \^ ip'd away the blot ; 
 Therefore, when meroiiant-like I sell revenge. 
 Broke be my sword, my arms lorn and defac'd, 
 And I proclaim "d a coward through the world 
 
 [La lis hold on Suffolk 
 
 Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a prince. 
 The duko of Suffolk, William de la Pole. 
 
 Whit. The duke of Sufiblk, muffled up in rags ! 
 
 Suf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke ; 
 Jove sometime went disguis'd, and why not I ? 
 
 Cap. But Jove was nt:ver slain, as thou shalt be. 
 
 Suf. Obscure and lowlyswain, king Henry's blood. 
 The honourable blood of Lancaster, 
 Must not be shed by such a jaded groom. 
 Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup! 
 Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule. 
 And thought thee hapjiy wlien I shook my head? 
 How often hast thou waited at my cup, 
 Fed from my trencher, knuel'd down at the board, 
 Vi hen 1 have feasted with (jueen Margaret? 
 Remember it. and let it make thee crest-faU'n ; 
 Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride : 
 How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood, 
 And duly waited for my coming forth ? 
 This hand of mine halh writ in thy behalf, 
 And therefore shall it charm tliy riotous tongue. 
 j IK/j((. Speak, captain, shall 1 stab the forlorn swaint 
 
 Cup. First let my words stab him, as he hath me. 
 
 Suf. ]5ase slave! thy words are blunt, and so art thou. 
 
 Cup. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's sido 
 Strike off his head. 
 
 Suf* Thou dar'st not for thy own. 
 
 Cap, Yes, Poole. 
 
 SuJ\ Poole } 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 489 
 
 Cup. Poole? Sir Poole? lord? 
 
 Ay, kennel, puddle, sink ; whose filth and dirt 
 Troubles the silver spring where Kngland drinks. 
 Now will 1 dam up this thy yawning mouth. 
 For swallowing the treasure of the realm : 
 Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground : 
 And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's 
 Against the senseless winds shall grin in vain, [death, 
 W ho, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again : 
 And wedded be thou to the hags of hell, 
 For daring to affy a mighty lord 
 Unto the daughter of a worthless king. 
 Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem. 
 By devili^h policy art thou grown great, 
 And. like ambitious Sylla, oveigovg'd 
 With gobbets of thy mother's bleeding heart. 
 By thee, Anjou and Maine were sold to France : 
 rhe false revolting Normans, thorough thee, 
 Di^dain to call us lord ; and Picardy 
 Hatb slain their governors, surpriz'd our forts, 
 A.nd sent the ragged soldiers wounded home, 
 rhe princely War\vick, and the Nevils all, — 
 U'liose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain, — 
 \s hating thee, are rising up in arms : 
 \nd now the house of York — thrust from the crown, 
 Sy shameful murder of a guiltless king, 
 ind lofty proud encroaching tyranny, — 
 3urns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful colours 
 Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine, 
 jnder the which is writ — Invitis nubibus. 
 t'he commons here in Kent are up in arras : 
 Vnd, to conclude, reproach, and beggary, 
 .s crept into the palace of our king, 
 \.nd all by thee : — Away ! convey him hence. 
 
 Suf. O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder 
 Jpon these paltry, servile, abject drudges ! 
 small things make base men proud; this villain here, 
 3eing captain of a pinnace, threatens more 
 fhan Bargulus the strong lUyrian pirate. 
 3rones suck not eagles' blood, but rob bee-hives. 
 t is impossible, that I should die 
 3y such a luwly vassal as thyself, 
 rhy words move rage, and not remorse in me : 
 . go of message from the queen to France ; 
 '- charge thee, waft rae safely cross the channel. 
 
 Cap. Walter, 
 
 Whit. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death. 
 
 Siif» Gelidus timor occtipat artus : — 'tis thee I fear. 
 
 Whit. Thou shah have cause to fear, before I 
 leave thee. 
 Yhat, are ve daunted now ■* now will ye stoop ? 
 
 I Gent, My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him 
 fair. 
 
 Suf. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stem and rough, 
 Js'd to command, untaught to plead for favour, 
 ^ar be it, we should honour such as these 
 'Vith humble suit : no, rather let my head 
 Itoop to the block, than these knees bow to any, 
 save to the God of heaven, and to my king ; 
 ind sooner dance upon a bloody pole, 
 ."ban stand uncovered to the vulgar groom, 
 .'rue nobility is exempt from fear : — 
 Jore can I bear, than you dare execute. 
 
 Cap. Hale him away, and let him talk no more. 
 
 Suf. Come, soldiers, shew what cruelty ye can, 
 "hat this my death may never be forgot ! — 
 jreat men oft die by vile bezonians : 
 I Roman sworder and banditto slave, 
 klurdered sweet TuUy; lirutus' bastard hand 
 »tabb'd Julius Cresar ; savage islanders, 
 ^ompey the great : and Suffolk dies by pirates. 
 
 [Exit Suf. v:itk Wijix. and others. 
 
 Cup. And as for these whose ransome we have set. 
 It is our pleasure, one of them depart : — 
 Therefore come you with us, and let him go. 
 
 [Exeunt all but thejirst Gentleman. 
 
 He-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's body. 
 
 Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie. 
 Until the queeu his mistress bury it. \_Kiitm 
 
 1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle ! 
 His body will I bear unto the king : 
 If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ; 
 So will the queen, that living held him dear. 
 
 [Exit, with the body, 
 
 SCENE II.— Blackheath. 
 Enter George Bevis and John Holland. 
 
 Ceo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made of 
 a lath ; they have betn up these two days. 
 
 John. They have the more need to sleep now then. 
 
 Geo. I tell thee. Jack Cade the clothier means to 
 dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new 
 nap upon it. 
 
 John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well, 
 I say, it was never merry world in England, since 
 gentlemen came up. 
 
 Geo. O miserable age ! Virtue is not regaided in 
 handycrafts-men. 
 
 Jti/iri. The nobility think scorn to go in leather 
 aprons. 
 
 Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good 
 workmen. 
 
 John. True ; and yet it is said, — Labour in thy 
 vocation : which Is as much to say, as,^let the ma- 
 gistrates be labouring men ; and therefore sliould we 
 be magistrates. 
 
 Geo. Thou hast hit it : for there's no better sign 
 of a brave mind, than a hard hand. 
 
 John. I see them! I see them I There's Best's son, 
 the tanner of Wingham ; 
 
 Geo, He shall have the skins of our enemies, to 
 make dog's leather of. 
 
 John. And Ulck the butcher, — 
 
 Geo, Then is sin struck down like an ox. and ini- 
 quity's thioat cut like a call. 
 
 John* And Smith the weaver. 
 
 Geo. Argo, tlieir thread of life is spun. 
 
 John. Come, come, let's fall in with them. 
 
 Drum, Enter Cade, Dick the butcher, Smith the 
 u-eaver, and others in grent number. 
 
 Cade. We John Cade, so termed of our supposed 
 father, 
 
 Dick, Or rather, of stealing a cade of herrings. 
 
 lA:,ide. 
 
 Cade. — r- for our enemies shall fall before us, in- 
 spired with the spirit of putting down kings and 
 princes, — Command silence. 
 
 Dick. Silence ! 
 
 Cade. i\I_v father was a Mortimer, — 
 
 Dit'k. He was an houest man, and d good brick- 
 I'lyer. _ [A^ide, 
 
 Cade, My mother a Plantagenet, — 
 
 Dick. I knew her well, she was a midwife. [Aside, 
 
 Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies. — 
 
 Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and 
 sold many laces. [Aside. 
 
 Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with 
 her furred pack, sne washes bucks here at home. 
 
 [Aside, 
 
 Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house. 
 
 Dick. Ay, by my faith, the rield is honourable ; and 
 
490 
 
 KING HENRY VI. -PART II. 
 
 there was he born, under a hedge ; for his father had 
 never a house, but the cage. [A.ude. 
 
 Cade. Valiaut I am. 
 
 Smith, 'A must ueeds; for beggary is valiant. 
 
 [J^idc. 
 
 Cade, I am able to endure much. 
 
 Dick* No question of that; for I have seen him 
 whipped three market days together. [/hiiie. 
 
 Cade. I fear neither sword nor tire. 
 
 Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat is 
 of proof. [rhide. 
 
 Vick. But, methinks, he should stand in fear of fire, 
 being burnt i' the hand for stealing of sheep. [Ai-ide. 
 
 Cade. He brave then ; for your captain is brave, 
 and vows reformation. There shall be, in England, 
 seven half-penny loaves sold for a penny: the three- 
 hooped pot shall have ten hoops ; and 1 will make it 
 felony, to drink small beer: all the realm sliall be in 
 common, and in Cheapside shall my palfry go to 
 grass. And, when I am king, (as king I will be) — 
 
 All. God save your majesty ! 
 
 Cade. I thank you, good people: — -there shall be 
 no money ; all shall eat and drink on my score ; and 
 I will apparel them all in one livery, that they may 
 agree like brothers, and worship me their lord. 
 
 JJick. The first thing we do, let'skill all the lawyers. 
 
 Cade. Nay, that 1 mean to do. Is not this a la- 
 mentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent lamb 
 should be made parchment ] that parchment, being 
 scribbled o'er, should undo a manl Some say, the 
 beestings: but I say, 'tis the bee's wax, for I did 
 but seal once to a thing, and I was never mine own 
 man since. How now ! who 's there ? 
 
 Enter some, bringing in the Clerk it/' Chatham. 
 
 Smith. The clerk of Chatham: he can write and 
 read, and cast accompt. 
 
 Cade. O monstrous ! 
 
 Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies. 
 
 Cade. Here's a villain ! 
 
 Smith. H'as a book in his pocket, with red letters 
 in't. 
 
 Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer. 
 
 Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write 
 court-hand. 
 
 Cade. I am sorry for't : the man is a proper man, 
 on mine honour ; unless I find him guilty, he shall 
 not die, — Come hither, sirrah, I must examine thee : 
 "NVhat is thy name ! 
 
 Clerk. Emmanuel. 
 
 Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters j — 
 'Twill go hard with you. 
 
 Cade. Let me alone: — Dost thou use to write thy 
 name ? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an honest 
 plain-dealing man 1 
 
 Clerk. Sir, I thank God, I have been so well 
 brought up, that 1 can write my name. 
 
 All. He hath confessed; away with him; he's a 
 villain, and a traitor. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, I say : hang him with his 
 pen and inkhorn about his neck. 
 
 l^Exeuitt some with the Clerk. 
 
 Ejiter Michael, 
 
 Mich. Where's our general ? 
 
 Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow. 
 
 Mich, Fly, fly, tly ! sir Humplney StaHbrd and his 
 brollier are hard by, with the king's forces. 
 
 Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down: 
 He shall be encountered with a man as good as him- 
 fceU : He is but a knight, is 'a 1 
 
 Mich. No. 
 
 Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight 
 presently ; Rise up sir John JMortimer. Now have 
 at him. 
 
 Enter Sir Husiphrey Stafford, and William his , 
 brother, with drum and Foi'ces. 
 
 Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent, 
 !\Iark*d for the gallows, — lay your weapons down, 
 Home to your cottages, forsake this groom ; — 
 The king is merciful, if you revolt. 
 
 ]V. Staf, But angry, wrathful, and inclin'd to blood. 
 If you go forward : Therefore yield, or die. 
 
 Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not ; 
 It is to you, good people, that 1 speak, 
 O'er whom, in time to come. I hope to reign 
 Fori am rightful heir unto the crown. 
 
 Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer ; 
 And thou thyself, a shearman, Art thou not 1 
 
 Cade. And Adam was a gardener. 
 
 W. Staf, And what of that? 
 
 Cade, Marry this : EdmundJMortimer, earl of March, 
 Married the duke of Clarence' daughter j — Did he not ? 
 
 Staf. Ay, sir. 
 
 Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth 
 
 W.Staf. Tiiat's false. 
 
 Cade. Ay, there 's the question ; but, I say, 'tis true 
 The elder of them, being put to nurse, 
 Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away; 
 And, ignorant of his birth and parentage, 
 Became a bricklayer, when he came to age : 
 His son am I ; deny it, if you can. 
 
 Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall be king 
 
 Smith. Sir. he made a chimney in my fatlier's house, 
 and the bricks are alive at this day to testify it ; there- 
 fore, deny it not. 
 
 Staf. And will you credit this base drudge's words. 
 That speaks he knows not what 1 
 
 All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye gone. 
 
 W, Staf. Jack Cade, the duke of York hath tau'dit 
 you this. 
 
 Cade. He lies, for I invented it myself. [Aside. — 
 Go to, sirrah, Tell the king from me, that — for his 
 father's sake, Henry the Fifth, in whose time boys 
 went to span-counter for French crowns. — I am con- 
 tent he shall reign ; but I '11 be protector over him. 
 
 Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord Say's 
 head, for selling the dukedom of Maine. 
 
 Cade. And good reason, for thereby is England 
 maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my 
 puissance liolds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you, that 
 that lord Say hath gelded the commonwealth, and 
 made it an eunuch: and more than that, he can 
 speak French, and therefore he is a traitor. 
 
 Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance ! 
 
 Code, Nay, answer, if you can: The Frenchmen 
 are our enemies : go to then, I ask but this ; Can he, 
 that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a good 
 counsellor, or no ? 
 
 Ail. No, no ; and therefore we'll have his head. 
 
 W.Siaf. Well, seeing gentle words will not pre- 
 Assail them with the army of the king. [^^'U 
 
 Staf, Herald, away : and, throughout every town, 
 Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade ; 
 That thoise, which fly before the battle ends, 
 May, even in their wives' and children's siglit. 
 Be hang'd up for example at their doors : — 
 And you, that be the king's friends, follow me. 
 
 [Eieuht the t ivn St AFFCRGS, mid Porccs. 
 
 Carf^.Andyou,that love the commons, follow me. — 
 Now shew yourselves men, 'tis for libertv. 
 We will not leave one lord, one gentleman • 
 Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon ; 
 
ACT IV._SCENE VI. 
 
 491 
 
 For they are thrifty honest men, and such 
 
 As would (but that they dave not,) take our parts, 
 
 Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us. 
 
 Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most 
 out of order. Come, march forward, lExeunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— Another Part o/Blackheath. 
 
 Alaruvu The two parties enter andjight, and both 
 the Staffoiids are slain. 
 
 Cade, Where's Dick, the butcher, of Ashford 1 
 
 Dick. Here, sir. 
 
 Cade, They fell before thee like sheep and oxen, 
 and thou behavedst thyself as if thou liadst been in 
 Lliine own slaughter-house : therefore thus will 1 re- 
 ward thee ; — The Lent shall be as long again as it is ; 
 and thou shalt have a license to kill for a hundred 
 lacking one. 
 
 Dick. I desire no more. 
 
 Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less. 
 This monument of the victory will I bear; and the 
 bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I do 
 :ome to London, where we will have the mayor's 
 iword borne before us, 
 
 Dick. If we mean to thrive and do good, break 
 )pen the gaols, and let out the prisoners. 
 
 Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's 
 narch towards London. [K.ieunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King HE^'HY, reading a supplication; the 
 Di'KE OF Buckingham, and Loud Say, with him; 
 at a distance, Quhen jVIaugaret, 7nourning over 
 Suffolk's head. 
 
 Q. Mar. Oft have I heard — that grief softens the 
 4nd malies it fearful and degenerate ; [mindj 
 
 rhink therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. 
 But who can cease to weep, and look on this i 
 H[ere may his head lie on my throbbing breast : 
 But where 's the body that I should embrace ? 
 
 Buck. What answer makesyour grace to the rebels' 
 iupplicatioa 2 
 
 A. Han. I "il send some holy bishop to entreat : 
 For God forbid, so many simple souls 
 >hould perish by the sword ! And I myself, 
 Rather than bitwdy war should cut tiiem short, 
 kVill parley with Jack Cade their general. — 
 But stay, I'll read it over once again. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this lovely 
 Rul'd, like a wandering planet, over me : [face 
 
 4nd could it not enforce them to relent, 
 I'hat were unworthy to behold the same ] 
 
 K.Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have 
 thy head. 
 
 Say. Ay, but 1 hope, your highness shall have his, 
 
 A. Urn. How now. madam? Still 
 Lamenting, and mourning for SuHblk's death 1 
 [ fear, my love, if that 1 had been dead, 
 rhou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me. 
 
 Q. Mar. No, my love, 1 should not mourn, but die 
 for thee. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 K. Hen. How now ! what news 1 why com st thou 
 in such haste ? 
 
 Mess. The rebels are m Southwark ; Fly, my lord ! 
 Fick Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer, 
 Descended from the duke of Clarence' house ; 
 A.nd calls your grace usurper, openly. 
 And vows to crown himself in Westminster. 
 His army is a ragged multitude 
 
 Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless : 
 Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death 
 Hath given them heart and courage to proceed j 
 All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen 
 They call — false caterpillars, and intend their death, 
 
 K.Hen. O graceless men! they know not what 
 they do. 
 
 Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth, 
 Until a power be rais'd to put them down. 
 
 Q. Mar. Ah ! were the duke of Suffolk now alive, 
 These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd. 
 
 A'. Hen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee, 
 Therefore away with us to Kenelworth. 
 
 Sail- So might your grace's person be in danger ; 
 The sight of me is odious in their eyes ; 
 And therefore in this city will 1 stay, 
 And live alone as secret as I may. 
 
 Enter another jNTessenger. 
 
 2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge ; the 
 Fiy and forsake their houses ; [citizens 
 
 The rascal people, thirsting after prey, 
 Join with the traitor ; and they jointly swear, 
 To spoil the city, and your royal court. 
 
 Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take horse. 
 
 A'. Hen. Come, Margaret ; God, our hope, will 
 succour us. 
 
 Q. Alar, My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd. 
 
 A'. Hen. Farewell, my lord; [to Lord Say.] trual 
 not the Kentish rebels. 
 
 Buck. Trust no body, for fear you be betray'd. 
 
 Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence. 
 And therefore am 1 bold and resolute. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE v.— T/ie same. The Tower. 
 
 Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the wulU. 
 Then enter certain Citizens, below. 
 
 Scales, How now? is Jack Cade slain 1 
 1 Cii. No, ray lord, nor likely to be slain ; for they 
 have won the bridge, killing all those that withstand 
 them : The lord mayor craves aid of your honour 
 from the Tower, to defend the city from the rebels. 
 Scales. Such aid as lean spare, you shall command ^ 
 But 1 am troubled here with them myself, 
 The rebels have assay 'd to win the Tower. 
 But get you to Smithfield, and gather head. 
 And thither I will send you Matthew Gough . 
 Fight for your king, your country, and your lives ; 
 And so farewell, for 1 must hence again. l_Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE VI. — The same. Cannon-street. 
 
 Enter Jack Cadf, and his Followers, He strikes his 
 sta_ff on London-sto7te. 
 Cade. Now is IMortimer lord of tliis city. And 
 here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and com- 
 mand, that, of the city's cost, the pissing conduit ran 
 nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign. 
 And now, henceforward, it shall be treason for auy 
 that calls me other than — lord xMoriimer. 
 
 Enter a Soldier, running. 
 
 Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade ! 
 
 Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill him- 
 
 Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call you 
 Jack Cade more ; I think, he hath a very fair warning 
 
 Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered togeliier 
 in Smithfield. 
 
 Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them : But, 
 first, go and set London-bridge on fire ; and, if you 
 can, bum down the Tower too. Come, let's away. [£x. 
 
492 
 
 KING HENRY VI.-PART II. 
 
 SCENE VII—Tlic same. Smithfield. 
 
 Alarum. Bitter, on one side, Cade and bis company ; 
 on the other, Citizens, and the King's Forces, 
 headed bif Matthew Goucm. They Jight ; tlie 
 Citizens are routed, and IMattiiew Gough is slain. 
 
 Cade. So, sirs : Now go some and pull down theSa- 
 voy ; others to the inns of court ; down with them all. 
 
 Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship. 
 
 Cade, Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that 
 word. 
 
 Dich. Only, that the laws of England may come 
 out of your mouth. 
 
 John. Jlass, 'twill be sore law then ; for he was 
 thrust in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole 
 yet. [Aside. 
 
 Smith. Nay, John, it will be stinking law ; for his 
 breath stinks with eating toasted cheese. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. I have thought upon it, it shall be so. Away, 
 burn all the records of the realm ; my mouth shall 
 be the pailiament of England. 
 
 .lohn. Then we are like to have biting statutes, 
 unless his teeth be pulled out. [Aside. 
 
 Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in 
 common. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess, My lord, a prize, a prize ! here's the lord 
 Say, which sold the towns in France ; he that made 
 us pay one and twenty fifteens, and one shilling to 
 the pound, the last subsidy. 
 
 Enter George Bevis, with the Lord Say. 
 
 Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times, 
 — Ah, thou say, thou serge, nay, thou buckram lord! 
 now art thou within point blank of our jurisdiction 
 regal. What canst thou answer to my majesty, for 
 giving up of Normandy unto monsieur Basiraecu, the 
 dauphin of France? Be it known unto thee, by these 
 presence, even the presence of lord Jlortimer, that I 
 am the besom that must sweep the court clean of 
 such filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously 
 corrupted the youth of the realm, in erecting a gram- 
 mar-school : and whereas, before, our fore-fathers 
 had no other books but the score and the tally, thou 
 hast caused printing to be used ; and, contrary to 
 the king, his crown and dignity, thou hast built a 
 paper-mill. It will be proved to thy face, that thou 
 hast men about thee, that usually talk of a noun, and 
 a verb ; and such abominable words, as no Christian 
 ear can endure to hear. Thou hast appointed justices 
 of peace, to call poor men before them about matters 
 they were not able to answer. Moreover, thou hast 
 put them in prison ; and because they could not read, 
 thou nast hanged them ; when. Indeed, only for that 
 cause they have been most worthy to live. T'hou dost 
 ride on a foot-cloth, dost thou not! 
 
 A'uv- What of that 1 
 
 Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse 
 wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in 
 their hose and doublets. 
 
 Dick. And work in their shirt too; as myself, for 
 example, that am a butcher. 
 
 Say. You men of Kent, — 
 
 Dick, What say you of Kent ? 
 
 Say. Nothing but this : 'Tis hona terra, mala gens. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, away with him! he speaks 
 Latin. 
 
 Say. Hear ine but speak, and bear me where you 
 Kent", in the commentaries C.-esar writ. [will. 
 
 Is term'd the civil'st place of all this i>le : 
 Sweet is the country, because full of riches ; 
 The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy , 
 
 Which makes me hope you are not void of pity. 
 I sold not Maine, 1 lost not Normandy ; 
 Yet, to recover them, would lose my life. 
 .Justice with favour have 1 always done ; 
 Prayers and tears have mov'd me, gifts could never. 
 Wlien have I aught exacted at your hands? 
 Bent to maintain the kmg, the realm, and you, 
 Lar"e gifis have 1 bestow'd on learned clerks. 
 Because my book preferr'd me to the king: 
 And — seeing ignorance is the curse of God, 
 Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven, — 
 Unless you be possess'd with devilisli spirits. 
 You cannot but forbear to murder me. 
 This tongue hath parley 'd unto foreign kings 
 For your behoof, — 
 
 C'ai/e.Tnt ! when struck'st thou one blow in the field 1 
 
 Say. Great men have reaching hands : oft have I 
 struck 
 Those that I never saw, and struck them dead, [folks ? 
 
 Geo. O monstrous coward ! what, to come behind 
 
 Sau. These cheeks are pale for watching for your 
 good. 
 
 Cade. Give him a box o'thc ear, and that will make 
 'em red again. 
 
 Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes 
 Hath made me full of sickness and diseases. 
 
 Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and 
 the pap of a hatcliet. 
 
 Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man 1 
 
 Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me. 
 
 Cade. Nay. he nods at us ; as who should say, I'll 
 be even with you. I'll see if his head will stand 
 steadier on a pole, or no : Take him away, and be- . 
 head him. 1 
 
 Say. Tell me, wherein I have offended most"! ' 
 
 Have I affected wealth, or honour ; speak ? 
 Are my chests fiU'd up with extorted gold ? 
 Is my apparel sumptuous to behold 1 
 Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my death ! 
 These hands are free from guiltless blood-shedding. 
 This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts. 
 O, let me live I 
 
 Cade. I feel remorse in myself with his words: but 
 I'll bridle it ; he shall die, an it be but for pleading 
 so well for his life. Away with him ! he has a fami- 
 liar under his tongue ; he speaks not o'God's name. 
 Go, take him away, I say, and strike off his head pre- 
 sently ; and then break into his son-in-law's house, 
 sir .lauies Cromer, and strike oft' his head, and bring 
 them both upon two poles hither. 
 
 AH. It shall be done. 
 
 Sfiii. Ah, countrymen ! if when you make your 
 God should be so obdurate as yourselves, [prayers. 
 How would it fare with your departed souls? 
 And therefore yet relent, and save my life. 
 
 Cade. Away with him, and do as I command ye. 
 [Eieunt some, with Loud Say. 
 The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a head 
 on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute ; there 
 shall not a maid be married, but she shall pay to me 
 her maidenhead ere they have it : Men shall hold of 
 me in cnpite ; and w-e charge and command, that their 
 wives be as free as heart can wish, or tongue can tell. 
 
 Uick. Bly lord, when shall we go to Cheapside, 
 and take up commodities upon our bills 1 
 
 Cade. Marry, presently. 
 
 All. brave ! 
 
 lie-enter Rebels, ivith the heads ofLov.rt Say 
 and his Son-in-taw. 
 
 Cade. But is not this braver ? — Let them kiss one 
 another, for they loved well, when they were alive. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE IX. 
 
 493 
 
 ow part them again, lest they consult about the 
 ving up of some more towns iaFrance. Soldiers, 
 ;fer the spoil of the city until night : for with tliese 
 )ine before us, instead of maces, will we ride 
 irougli the streets ; and, at every corner, have them 
 ss,— Away ! [Kieuiit. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— Southwark. 
 
 Alarum, Enter Cade, and all his Rabhlemeiit. 
 
 Cade. Up Fish-street ! down Saint Magnus' corner ! 
 11 and knock down! throw them into the Thames! 
 -[A parleu sounded, then a retrent.] What noise is 
 is I hear? Dare any be so bold to sound retreat or 
 irley, wlien I command them kill 1 
 
 fitter BvcKiNGHAM, and Old Clifford, with Forces. 
 Buck, Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb 
 
 thee : 
 now. Cade, we come ambassadors from the king 
 nto the commons, wtiom thou hast misled ; 
 nd here pronounce free pardon to them all, 
 liat will forsake thee, and go home in peace. 
 Clif. Wliat say ye, countiymen ! will ye relent, 
 nd yield to mercy, whilst 'tis ofter'd you ; 
 r let a rabble lead you to your deaths ? 
 'iio luves the king, and will embrace his pardon, 
 ling- up his cap, and say — God save his majesty ! 
 'ho hateth hiui, and honours not his father, 
 eory the fifth, that made all France to quake, 
 lake he his weapon at us, and pass by. 
 AH, God save the king ! God save the king I 
 
 Cade. What, Buckingham, and Clifibrd, are ye so 
 ■ave"! — And you base peasants, do ye believe him? 
 ill vou ntL-d-s be hanged with your pardons about 
 )ur necks] Hath my sword therefore broke through 
 ondon Gates, that you should leave me at the White 
 art in Souvhwark] I thought, ye would never have 
 ven out these arms, till you had recovered your an- 
 ent freedom: but you are all recreants, and das- 
 .rds : and delight to live in slavery to the nobility, 
 et them break your backs with burdens, take your 
 3uses over your heads, ravish your wives and daugh- 
 TS before your faces : For me, — I will make shift 
 ir one ; and so — fjod's curse light upon you all ! 
 
 AH. We'll follow C^M-, we'll follow Cade. 
 
 Clif. Is Cade the son uf Henry the fifth, 
 hat thas you do exclaim — you'll go with him? 
 I'ill he conduct you through the heart of France, 
 nd make the meanest of you earls and dukes? 
 las. he iialh no home, no place to fly to ; 
 or knows he how to live, but by the spoil, 
 'niess by robbing of your friends, and us. 
 i'er't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar. 
 he fearful French, whom you late vanquishL-d. 
 hould make a start o'er seas, and vanquish yoa } 
 lethinks already, in this civil broil, 
 see them lording it in London streets, 
 Tying — I'illageois ! unto all they meet, 
 •etter. ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry, 
 hen vou should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy, 
 'o France, to France, and get what you have lost ; 
 pare England, for it is your native coast : 
 lenry hath money, you are strong and manly ; 
 iod on our side, doubt not of victory. 
 
 AIL A CliflTord ! a Clitlbrdi we'll follow the king, 
 nd Clifford. 
 
 Cade, Was ever feather so lightly blown to and 
 0, as this multitude'! the name of Henry the fifth 
 ales ihem to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them 
 iave nie desolate. I see them lay their heads toge- 
 her, to surprize me : my sword make way for me, for 
 
 here is no staying- — In despight of the devils and hell, 
 have through the very midst of you ! and heavenr. 
 and honour be witness, that no want of resolution in 
 me, but only my followers" base and ignominious 
 treasons, makes me betake me to my heels [Eiii. 
 Biick. What, is he fled? go, some, and follow him ; 
 And he, that brin^^'S his head unto the king. 
 Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.— 
 
 [Exeunt Sitme of them. 
 Follow me, soldiers ; we'll devise a mean ; 
 To reconcile you all unto the king. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IX.~Kenelworth Castle. 
 
 Eitter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and 
 Somerset, on the terrace of the Cattle. 
 K. Hn;. Was ever king, that j oy 'dan earthly throne. 
 And could command no more content than I ? 
 iSo sooner was 1 crept out of my cradle, 
 But 1 was made a king, at nine months old : 
 Was never subject long'd to be a king. 
 As I do long and wish to be a subject. 
 
 E;tter BrcKiNGHAM and Clifford. 
 Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your majesty ! 
 A'. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitorCade sur- 
 Or is he but retir'd to make him strong I [priz'd ? 
 
 Enter, below, a great number of Cade's FoUotce}&, 
 with halters about their necks. 
 
 Clif. He's fled, my lord, and all his powers do yield; 
 And humbly thus, with halters on their necks. 
 Expect your highness' doom, of life, or death. 
 
 A'. Hen. Then,heaven.set ope thy everlasting gates. 
 To entertain my vows of thanks and praise ! — 
 Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives, 
 And shew'd how well you love your prince and coun- 
 Continue still in this so good a mind, [try . 
 
 And Henry, though he be infortunate. 
 Assure yourselves, will never be unkind ; 
 And so, with thanks, and pardon to you all, 
 I do dismiss you to your several countries. 
 
 All. God save the king! God save the kin-; ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Please it your grace to be advi-rtised, 
 The duke of York is newly come from Ireland : 
 And with a puissant and a mighty power. 
 Of Gallowglasses, and stout Kernes, 
 Is marching hitherward in proud array ; 
 And still proclairaeth, as he comes along, 
 His arms are only to remove ftom thee 
 The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor. 
 
 A'. Hen. Thus stands my slate, 'twixtCadeand York 
 distress'd ; 
 Like to a ship, that having 'scap'd a tempest. 
 Is straitway calm'd and boarded with a pirate : 
 But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed ; 
 And now is York in arms to second him. — 
 I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him : 
 And ask him, what's the reason of these arms. 
 Tel! him, I'll send duke Edmund to the Tower? — 
 And. Somerset, we will commit thee thither. 
 Until his army be disiniss'd from him. 
 
 Som. My lord, 
 I'll yield myself to prison willingly. 
 Or unto death, to do my country good. 
 
 A'. Hen. In any case, be not too rouf^h in terms ; 
 For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language. 
 
 Buck. 1 will, my lord ; and doubt not so to deal, 
 As all things shall redound unto your good, [ter ; 
 
 A . Hen. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern bet- 
 For yet may England curse my wretched reign. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
494 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 
 
 SCENE X.— Kent. Idea's Garden, 
 Enter Cade. 
 Cade. Fye on ambition ! fye on myself ; that have 
 a swctd, and yet am ready to famish ! These five days 
 have I hid me in these vi'oods ; and durst not peep 
 out, for all the country is lay'd for me ; but now 1 
 am so hungry, that if 1 might have a lease of my life 
 for a thousand years, I could stay no longer. Where- 
 fore, on a brick-wall have I climbed into this garden ; 
 fo see if I can eat grass, or pick a sallet another while, 
 which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot 
 weather. And, I think, this word sallet was born to 
 do me good : for, many a time, but for a sallet, my 
 brain-pan had been cleft with a bruwn bill ; and, 
 many a time, when I have been dry, and bravely 
 marching, it hath serv'd me instead of a quart-pot to 
 drink in; And now the word sallet must serve me 
 to feed on. 
 
 Enter Iden, vntk Servants. 
 
 Iden. Lord, who would live tormoiled in the court, 
 And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? 
 This small inheritance, my father left me, 
 Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy. 
 I seek not to wax great by others' waning; 
 Or gather wealth, I care not vvith what envy ; 
 Sufhceth, that 1 have maintains my state, 
 And sends the poor well pleased iiom my gate. 
 
 Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to sicze me 
 for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without leave. 
 Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand 
 crowns of the king for carrying my iiead to him ; but 
 I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow 
 my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part. 
 
 Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou .be, 
 I know thee not ; Why then should I betray thee t 
 Is 't not enough to break into my garden, 
 And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds, 
 Climbing my walls in spite of me the owner, 
 But thou wilt brave me with these ^aucy terms ? 
 
 Cade. Brave thee t ay. by the best blood that ever 
 was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well : 
 I have eat no meat these live days : yet, come thou and 
 thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as 
 as a door nail, I pray God. I may never eat grass more. 
 
 Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said while England 
 That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent, [stands, 
 '1 ook odds to combat a poor famish'd man. 
 Oppose thy stedfast gazing eyes to mine. 
 See if thou canst outface me with thy looks. 
 Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser ; 
 Thy hand is but a finger to my fist ; 
 Thy leg a stick, compared with this truncheon ; 
 My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast : 
 And if mine arm be heaved in the air, 
 Tliy grave is digged already in the earth. 
 As for more words, whose greatness answers words, 
 Let this my sword report what speech forbears. 
 
 Cade By my valour, the most complete champion 
 that ever 1 heard. — Steel, if thou turn the edge, or 
 cut not out the burlcy-boned clown in chines of beef 
 ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I beseech God on my 
 knL'es, thou mayest be turned to hobnails. [Tbeii fight. 
 Cade falls.] O, 1 am slain! famine, and no other, 
 hath slain me: let ten thousand devils come against 
 me, and give me but the ten meals I have lost, and 
 I'd defy tlieni all. Witlier, garden ; and be henceforth 
 a buiyiug place to all that do dwell in this house, be- 
 cause the unconquered soul of Cade is fled. 
 
 Idea. Is'tCade that I have slain, thatmonstrous trai- 
 Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed, [lor? 
 And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead : 
 
 Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point ; 
 But thou shall wear it as a herald's coat, 
 To emblaze the honour that thy master got. 
 
 Cade. Iden, farewell ; and be proud of thy victory. 
 Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best man, and 
 exhort all the world to be cowards ; for I, that never 
 feared any, am vanquished by famine, not by valour. 
 
 Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven, be my 
 judge. 
 Die, damned wretch, the curse of her that bare thee I 
 And as I thrust thy body in with my sword, 
 So wish I, I might thrust thy soul to hell. 
 Hence will I drag tiiee headlong by the heels 
 Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave, 
 And there cut off tliy most ungracious head ; 
 W hich I will bear in triumph to the king. 
 Leaving thy trunk forcro\is to feed upcn. 
 
 [^EjLit, dragging out the bod^* 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — The same. Fields between Dartford 
 and Blackheath. 
 
 Tlie Kixr.'s Ctimp 071 one side. On the other, enter 
 York attended, with drum atid cotouri : his Forca 
 at some distance, 
 
 York, From Ireland thus comes York to claim his 
 right, 
 And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head : 
 Ring, btills, aloud ; burn, bonfires, clear and bright ; 
 To entertain great England's lawful king. 
 Ah, sancta majestas ! who would not buy thee dcail 
 Let them obey, that know not how to rule ; 
 This hand was made to handle nought but gold : 
 I cannot give due action to my words, 
 Except a sword, or scepter, balance it. 
 A scepter shall it have, have I a soul ; 
 On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France. 
 
 Enter Buckingham. 
 Whom have we here ? Buckingham, to disturb me? 
 The king liath sent him sure : I must dissemble. 
 
 Buck. York, if thou meanest well, 1 greet thee well. 
 
 York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept thy 
 Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure"! [greeting. 
 
 Buck. A messenger fiom Henry, our dread liegej 
 To know the reason of these arms in peace ; 
 Or why, thou — being a subject as I am, — 
 Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn, 
 Should'st raise so great a power without his leave. 
 Or dare to bring thy force so near the court. 
 
 York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is so") 
 great. 
 0, 1 could hew up rocks, and fight with flint, 
 I am so angry at these aViject terms; j 
 
 And now, like Ajax Telamonius^ I 
 
 On sheep and oxen could I spend my fury ! f-Asidc 
 I am far better born than is tlie king; 
 More like a king, more kingly in my thoughts : 
 But I must make fair weather yet a while. 
 Till Henry be more weak, and 1 more 
 
 strong. — 
 O Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me. 
 That 1 have given no answer all this while. 
 My mind was troubled with deep melancholy. 
 The cause why I have brought this army hither, 
 Is — to remove proud Somerset from the king. 
 Seditious to his grace, and to the state. 
 
ACT V.-SCENE I. 
 
 495 
 
 Buffc. That is loo much presumption on thy part: 
 iut if Ihy arms be to no otiier end, 
 :"he king hath yielded unto thy demand ; 
 ?he duke of Somerset is in the Tower. 
 
 York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner? 
 
 Buck, Upon mine honour, he is prisoner. 
 York. Then, Buckingham, Idodismiss my powers.— 
 ioldiers, I thank you ail ; disperse yourselves ; 
 deet me to-morrow in Saint George's field, 
 fou shall have pay, and every thing you wish, 
 i^nd let my sovereign, virtuous Henry, 
 yommand my eldest son,— nay, all my sons, 
 U pledges of my fealty and love, 
 '11 send them all as willing as T live ; 
 ^ands, goods, horse, armour, any thing I have 
 s his to use, so Somerset may die. 
 
 Buck. York, I commend tliis kind submission: 
 Ve twain will go into his highness' tent. 
 
 E>iter King Henuy, attended, 
 K. Hen. Buckinc;ham,doth York intend no harm to 
 
 'hat thus he marchelh with thee arm in arm? [us, 
 York. In all submission and humility, 
 
 fork doth presenthimselfuntoyour highness, [bring? 
 A'. Hen. Then what intend these forces thou dost 
 York. To heave the traitor Somerset fioni hence ; 
 
 ind fight against the monstrous rebel, Cade, 
 
 Vho since I heard to be discomfited. 
 
 Enter Iden, with Cade's head* 
 
 Iden, If one so rude, and of so mean condition, 
 lay pass into the presence of a king, 
 ^0, 1 present your grace a traitor's head, 
 "he head of Cade, whom I in combat slew. 
 
 A'. Hen. The head of Cade ? — Great God, how just 
 ), let me view his visage being dead, [art thou ! — 
 'hat living wrought me such exceeding trouble, 
 'ell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him ? 
 
 Iden. I was, an't like your majesty. 
 
 A'. Heu. How art thou call'd land what is thy degree? 
 
 Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name ; 
 i poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king. 
 
 Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss 
 le were created knight for his good service. 
 
 K. Heu. Iden, kneel down ; [^He kneels.} Rise up a 
 Ve give thee for reward a thousand marks ; [knight. 
 ind will, that thou henceforth attend on us. 
 
 Iden. iMay Iden live to merit such a bounty, 
 Ind never live but true unto his liege ! 
 
 K.Hen. See, Buckingham! Somerset comes with the 
 jo, bid her hide him quickly from the duke, [queen; 
 
 Enter Queen Margahet mid Somerset, 
 Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide his 
 3ut boldly stand, and front him to his face. [head. 
 
 York. How now ! Is Somerset at liberty ? 
 rhen. York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts, 
 Vnd let thy tongue be equal with thy heart, 
 >haU 1 endure the sight of Somerset ? — 
 ^alse king ! why hast thou broken faith with me, 
 vnowing how hardly I can brook abuse ? 
 \ing did I cull thee ? no, thou art not king ; 
 S^ot fit to govern and rule multitudes, 
 t\ hich dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor, 
 fhat head of thine doth not become a crown ; 
 rhy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff, 
 \nd not to grace an awful princely scepter, 
 rhat gold must round engirt these brows of mine ; 
 iVhose smile and frown, like to Achilles* speai', 
 [s able with the change to kill and cure. 
 Here is a hand to hold a scepter up, 
 ^.nd with the same to act controlling laws. 
 Ciive place ; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more 
 
 O'er him whom heaven created for thj ru er, 
 .Vm. O monstrous traitor! — I arrest thee, York, 
 
 Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown : 
 
 Obey, audacious traitor; kneel for grace. 
 
 York. Would'st have me kneel? first let me ask of 
 
 If thfy can brook I bow a knee to man. — ■ [these, 
 
 Siirah, call in my sons to be my bail ; 
 
 [Eiit AH Attendant. 
 
 I know, ere they w-ill have me go to ward, 
 
 riujy'Il pawn their swords for my enfrancldsement. 
 Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford; bid him come amain, 
 
 [E.tit BUCKINCHA3U 
 
 'I'o say, if that the bastard boys of York 
 Shall be the surety for their traitor father. 
 
 York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan, 
 Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge ! 
 1 h(; sons of York, thy betters in their birth. 
 Shall be their father's bail ; and bane to those 
 That for my surety will refuse the bpys. 
 
 Enter Edward aiid Richard Plantacenet, with 
 Forces, at one side; at the other, with Forces also^ 
 Old Clifford and his Son. 
 
 See, where they come; I'll warrant they'll make it good. 
 
 Q.Mar. And here comes Clifford, to deny their bail. 
 
 Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the king ! 
 
 [Kueeh. 
 
 York. I thank thee, ClifTord: Say, what news with 
 Nay, do not fright us with an angry look : [thee \ 
 W'e are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again ; 
 For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee. 
 
 ('///'. This is my king, York, 1 do not mistake ; 
 But ihou mistak'st me much, to think 1 do: — 
 To Bedlam witU him ! is the man grown mad ? 
 
 A'. Hen. Ay, Clifford; a bedlam and ambitious hu- 
 Makes him oppose himself against his king. [mour 
 
 Clif. He is a traitor ; let him to the Tower, 
 And chop away that factious pate of his. 
 
 Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey ; 
 His sons, he says, shall give their words for hira. 
 
 Y-'rk. Will you not, sons? 
 
 Ktlw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve. 
 
 Hich. Andif words will not, then our weapons shall. 
 
 Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here ! 
 
 York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so ; 
 I am thy king, and thou a false-heart tiiiUor. — 
 Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, 
 I'iiat, with the very shaking of their chains, 
 I'hey may astonish these fell lurking curs ; 
 Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me. 
 
 Drvr.is. Enter Warwick and Salisbury, with Forces, 
 
 Clif. Are these thy bears? we'll bait thy bears to 
 And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, [death. 
 If thou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place. 
 
 Rich. Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur 
 Run back and bite, because he was withheld ; 
 v\ ho, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw. 
 Math clapp'd his tail between his legs, and cry'd : 
 And such a piece of service will you do, 
 It you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick. 
 
 (If. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump, 
 As Clocked in thy manners as thy shape! 
 
 1 ^'rk. Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon. 
 
 CiiJ. Take need, lest by your heat you burn your- 
 selves. 
 
 K. Hen. Why, \\'arwick, hath thy knee forgot to 
 Old Salisbury, — shame to thy silver hair, [bow? 
 riiou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son ! — 
 U hat, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian, 
 And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles ? 
 0, where is faith ? O, where is loyalty ? 
 
49« 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART II. 
 
 If it be banish d from the frosty head, 
 Where shall it find a liarbour in the earth? — 
 Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war. 
 And shame thine honourable age witli blood 1 
 Why art thou old, and want'st experience? 
 Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it 1 
 For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me, 
 That bows unto the grave with mickle age. 
 
 Sut. My lord, I have consider'd with myself 
 The title of this most renowned duke ; 
 And in my conscience do repute his grace 
 The rightful heir to England's royal seat. 
 
 A". Hen. Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto me ? 
 
 Sal. 1 have. 
 
 K. Hen. Canst thou dispense with heaven for such an 
 
 6'(i/. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin ; [oath ? 
 But greater sin. to keep a sinful oath. 
 Who can be bound by any solemn vow 
 To do a murderous deed, to rob a man. 
 To force a spotless virgin's chastity. 
 To reave the orphan of his patrimony. 
 To wring the widow from her custom 'd right ; 
 And have no other reason for this wrono-. 
 But that he was bound by a solemn oath ? 
 
 Q. Mar. A suble traitor needs no sophister. 
 
 A'. Hen. Call Buckingham, and bid him arm himself. 
 
 York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou 
 I am resolv'd for death, or dignity. [hast, 
 
 Cl'if. 'i'he first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true. 
 
 War. Vou were best to go to bed, and dream again, 
 To keep thee from the tempest of the field. 
 
 Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater stonn, 
 Than any thou canst conjure up to-day ; 
 And that I'll write upon thy burgonet. 
 Blight 1 but know thee by thy household badge. 
 
 War. Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest, 
 The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staiT, 
 This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet, 
 (As on a mountain-top the cedar shews. 
 That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm, ^ 
 Even to affright thee with the view thereof. 
 
 Clif. And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear, 
 And tread it under foot with all contempt, 
 Despight the bearward that protects the bear. 
 
 y. Ciif. And so to aims, victorious father. 
 To quell the rebels, and their 'complices. 
 
 liich. Fye ! charity, for shame! speak not in spite, 
 For you shall sup with Jem Christ to-night. [tell. 
 
 Y, Clif. Foul stigniatic, that's more than thou canst 
 
 Ricli. If not in heaven, you'll surely sup in hell. 
 [^K.ieunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II.— Saint Alban's. 
 
 Alarums: Excursions, Enter Warwick. 
 
 War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls ! 
 And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear. 
 Now, — when the angry trumpet sounds alarm, 
 And dead men's cries do fill the empty air, — 
 Clifford, ] say, come forth and tight witli me ! 
 Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland, 
 Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms. 
 
 Enter York. 
 
 How now. my noble lord? what all a-foot? 
 
 i'uWc. The deadly-handed CUHbrd slew my steed ; 
 But match to match 1 have encounter'd him. 
 And made a prey for carrion kites and crows 
 Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well. 
 
 ,E7iter Clifford. 
 
 War, Of one or both of us the time is come. 
 
 York. Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some oiher 
 For I myself mubt hunt this deer to death. [chaste 
 
 War. Then, nobly, York; 'tis for a crown thou 
 As I intend. Clifford, to thrive to-day, [fight'st. — 
 It grieves my soul to leave thee unassail'd. 
 
 f Fzit Wabwicf, 
 
 Clif, What seest thou in me, York? why dost thou 
 pause ] 
 
 York. Witli thy brave bearing should I be in love, 
 But that thou art so fast mine enemy. 
 
 Clif. Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem. 
 But that 'tis shewn ignobly, and in treason. 
 
 York. So let it help me now against thy sword, 
 As I injustice and true right express it! 
 
 C/j/'. My soul and body on the action both ! — 
 
 York* A dreadful lay! — address thee instantly. 
 
 [Theij Jight, and Clifford /(///s, 
 
 Clif. La Jin cnuronnc les tfuvrc.s. [Dins. 
 
 York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou 
 art still. 
 Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will ! [En't. 
 Enter Yonng Clifford. 
 
 Y. Chf. Shame and confusion ! all is on the rout ; 
 Fear frames di-^order, and disorder wounds 
 Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell, 
 Whom angry heavens do make their minister. 
 Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part 
 Hot coals of vengeance ! — Let no soldier fly • 
 He that is truly dedicate to war, 
 Hath no self love ; nor he, that loves himself. 
 Hath not essentially, but by circumstance, 
 The name of valour. — O, let the vile world end, 
 
 ['"feeing Itis deadjuther 
 And the premised flames of the last day 
 Knit earth and heaven together ! 
 Now let the general trumpet blow his blast. 
 Particularities and petty sounds 
 To cease ! Wast thou ordained, dear father. 
 To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve 
 The silver livery of advised age j 
 And, in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus 
 To die in ruffian battle? — Even at this sight, 
 My heart is turn'd to stone : and, while 'tis mins 
 It shall be stony. York not our old men spares ; 
 No more will 1 their babes : tears virginal 
 Shall be to me even as the dew to fire ; 
 And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims. 
 Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax. 
 Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity : 
 Meet I an infant of the house of York, 
 Into as many gobbets will I cut it, 
 As wild Medea young Absyrtus did : 
 In cruelty will 1 seek out my fame. 
 Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house ; 
 
 [Taking up the bod^. 
 As did J£ned.s old Anchises bear, 
 So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ; 
 But then ^^-^neas bare a living load, 
 Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Erif. 
 
 Enter Richard Plantacenf.t and Somerset, 
 Jigfiting, and Somerset is killed. 
 
 Rich. So, lie thou there ; — 
 For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign. 
 The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset 
 Hath made the wizard famous in his death. — 
 Sword, hold thy temper : heart, be wrathful still : 
 Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit 
 Alarums: Exclusions, £?i(er King Henry, Queen 
 ]\].4RCARET, and othe's, retreating. 
 
 Q. Mar. Away, my lord ! you are slow ; for shame, 
 away f 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 497 
 
 K. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens ? good 
 Margaret, stay. [nor fly : 
 
 Q. Mar. What are you made of ? you'll not fight. 
 Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence, 
 To give the enemy way; and to secure us 
 By what we can, which can no more but fly. 
 
 l.!}l<irum afar off. 
 [f you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom 
 Of all our fortunes : but if we haply scape, 
 (As well we maj', if not through your neelect,) 
 We shall to London get ; where you are lov'd ; 
 And where this breach, now in our fortunes made, 
 May readily be stopp'd. 
 
 Enter Young Clifford. 
 ¥. Clif. But that my heart's on future mischief 
 [ would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly ; _ [set, 
 But tly you must ; uncurable discomfit 
 I{eigns in the hearts of all our present parts. 
 (Vway, fiir your relief! and we will live 
 To see their day, and them our fortune give ; 
 Iway, my lord, away ! lExeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Fields Mar Saint Alban's. 
 ilarum : Retreat. Flourish ; then enter York, 
 Richard Plantagenet, Wakwick, and Sol- 
 diers, with drtun and colours. 
 York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him ; 
 rhat winter lion, who, in rage, forgets 
 \ged contusions and all brush of time; 
 ind, like a gallant in the brow of youth, 
 Repairs him with occasion ? this happy day 
 
 Is not itself, nor have we won one foot, 
 If .Salisbury be lost. 
 
 Rich. My noble father, 
 
 Three times to-day I holp him to his horse, 
 Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off, 
 Persuaded him from any further act: 
 But still, where danger was, still there I met him ; 
 And like rich hangings in a homely house, 
 So was his will in his old feeble body. 
 But, noble as he is, look where he comes. 
 Enter Salisbury. 
 
 Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought 
 to-day ; 
 By the mass, so did we all. — I thank you, Richard : 
 God knows, how long it is I have to live; 
 And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day 
 You have defended me from imminent death. — 
 "Well, lords, we have not got that which we have ; 
 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled. 
 Being opposites of such repairing nature. 
 
 York. I know, our safety is to follow them; 
 For, as I hear, the king is fled to London, 
 To call a present court of parliament. 
 Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth : — 
 What says lord Warwick ? shall we after them? 
 
 War. After them ! nay, before them, if we can. 
 Now, by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day : 
 Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York, 
 Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. — 
 Sound, drums and trumpets : — and to London all : 
 And more such days as these to us befall ! ^Exeunt. 
 
 THIRD PART OF 
 
 KING HENRY VI. 
 
 This histf^rical drama, like the prpcedinsi otip. was not printed ' 
 in its prv^ent lorni lill it tippeared m ihi? Kili-i eilition t)t our I 
 author's works, in 10'13. It was formeiluii a play by Marlowe, I 
 orby Marlowe. Teele, and Greene. calUd J /le itur lTage<iy\ 
 of Richard Duke of York, and the good km^ Heniy the ii^/A y 
 or. The Second Fart of the Conientton of \ <nk and Lancasrer, 
 Shakspeare'salteroiionofthisoriKiual play was made, accord- 
 ing to M alone, in 1591. , ^ , , _ , , .,,,,,, 
 
 rhe play opens just after the first battle of Saint Alban s, [May I 
 
 £3, 1455.1 wherein the York faction carried the day; and 
 closes with the murder of Kiii,^ Henry \l. and ihe birih u! 
 prince Ldward. afterwards Edward V. tNovember 4, 1471.J 
 So that this history takes in the space of full sixteen years. 
 This play is onlv divided from the former for the convenience 
 of exhibition ; lor the series of action is continued without in- 
 terruption, nor are any two scenes of aay play more closely 
 connected than the first scene of this play with the last of the 
 former.— Johnson. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henrv the Sixth. 
 
 EnwARD, Pri>iff of Wales, his son. 
 
 Lewis XI. King ,f France. 
 
 Duke op Somerset, '^ 
 
 Duke of Exeter, / 
 
 Earl of Oxford, \ L.Ws on King 
 
 Earl of Nortiiumdekland, j' Henry's side. . 
 
 Earl of Westmoreland, \ 
 
 Lord Clifford, J 
 
 Richard Plantacexet, Diilen/Vork. 
 Edward, Eart of March, ifterwards 
 King Edward IV. 
 
 Edmund, Eari 0/ Rutland, > /lis sons. 
 
 Georoe, afterwards Duke iif Clarence, 
 
 Richard, afterwards Duke o/'Glocesler 
 
 Duke of Norfolk, 
 
 Marquis of Montague, 
 
 Earl of Warwick, V "/'''« ^"''^ "f York's 
 
 Earl of Pembroke, £ party 
 
 Lord Hastings, 
 
 Lord Stafford, 
 
 
 Sir John Mortimer, ) j . .t n j r v«j, 
 r,. ,T Tvr ] micles to the Uiike of i ork, 
 
 sir Hugh Mortimer, S "^ 
 
 Henry Eavt of Richmond, a youth. 
 
 Lord Rivers, brother to Lady Grey. 
 
 Sir WiLEiAM Stanley. 
 
 Sir John Montgomery. 
 
 Sir John Somerville. 
 
 Tutor to Rutland, 
 
 Mayor of York, 
 
 Lieutenant of the Tower. A Nobleman* 
 
 Tivo Keepers. A Huntsman, 
 
 A Son that has killed his Father* 
 
 A Father that has killed his Son. 
 
 Queen Margaret. 
 
 I Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward IV. 
 ' Bona, sister to the French Queen* 
 
 Soldiers, aiid other Attendants on King Henry ana 
 King Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, Sic. 
 
 I SCENE,— During part of the third Act, in France 
 I during all the rest of the Play, in England. 
 SI 
 
/ 
 
 498 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. Tlie Parliament-House. 
 Dnims. Some Soldiers nf York's Piirtii break in. 
 Then, enterthe Dttkenf \'oHti, EmvAKn, Richard, 
 Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and others, with 
 white roses in their hats. 
 
 War. I wonder, how the king escap'd our hands. 
 York. While we pursu'd the horsemen of the north, 
 He slily stole away, and left his men : 
 Whereat the great lord of Northumberland, 
 Whose warlilce ears could never brook retreat, 
 Cheer'd up the drooping army ; and himself, 
 Lord Clifford, and lord Stafford, all a-breast, 
 Charg'd our main battle's front, and, breaking in, 
 Were by the swoids of common soldiers slain. 
 
 Edu: Lord Stafford's fatlier, duke of Buckingham, 
 [s either slain, or wounded dangerous ; 
 I cleft his beaver with a downright blow ; 
 1'hat this is true, father, behold his blood. 
 
 [Shewing his bloodij sword. 
 Mout. And, brother, here's the earl of Wiltshire's 
 blood, [To York, shewing his. 
 
 Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd. 
 
 Rich. Speak thou for me, and tell them whati did. 
 [Throwing down the Duke of Somfrse'^'s head. 
 York. Richard hath best deserv'd of all my sons. — 
 What, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset ? 
 Noif. Such hope have all the line of John of Gaunt ! 
 Rich. Thus do I hope to shake King Henry's head. 
 War. And so do I. — Victorious prince of York, 
 Before I see thee seated on that throne 
 Which now the house of Lancaster usurps, 
 I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close. 
 'i'his is the palace of the fearful king. 
 And this the regal seat : posses?, it, York ; 
 For it is thine, and not king Heuiy's heirs'. 
 
 York. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will ; 
 For hither we have broken in by force. 
 
 Norf. We'll all assist you ; he, that flies, shall die. 
 York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk, — Stay by me, my 
 lords ; — 
 And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night. 
 
 War. And, when tlie king comes, oflTer him no vio- 
 Unless he seek to thrust you out by force, [lence, 
 
 [Theij retire. 
 York. The queen, this day, here holds lier parlia- 
 But little thinks, we sliall be of her council : [ment. 
 By words, or blows, lieie let us win our right. 
 Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house. 
 War. The bloody parliament shall tliis be call'd, 
 Unless Plantagenet, duke of Y'ork, be king ; 
 And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice 
 Hath made us by-words to our enemies. 
 
 York. Then leave me not, my lords ; be resolute ; 
 [ mean to take possession of my right. 
 
 War, Neither the king, nor he that loves him best. 
 The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, 
 Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. 
 I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares : — 
 Resolve thee, Richard ; claim the English crown. 
 [War. leads York to the tltrone, wito seats himself. 
 
 Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, Nortiium- 
 ueuland, Westmoreland, Exeter, aiid others, 
 with red roses in their hats. 
 K.Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel sits, 
 Even in the chair of state ! belike, he means, 
 ( Liack'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,) 
 To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king, — 
 Earl of Northumberland, he slew thy father ; — 
 
 And thine, lord Clifford ; and you both have vow'd 
 
 revenge 
 On him. Ins sons, his favourites, and his friends. 
 
 North. If I be not, heavens be reveng'd on ine ! 
 
 Clif. The hope thereof makes Clifford mourn ir 
 steel. 
 
 West. What, shall we suffer thisl Let's pluck him 
 My heart for anger burns, I cannot brook it. [down: 
 
 K. lien. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland. 
 
 Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he; 
 He durst not sit there, had your father liv'd. 
 My gracious lord, here in the parliament 
 Let us assail the family of York. 
 
 North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin; be it so. 
 
 A'. Hen. Ah, know you not, the city favours them, 
 And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? 
 
 En: But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly fly. 
 
 A'. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henry's 
 To make a shambles of the parliament-house ! [heart, 
 Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats, 
 Shall be the war that Henry means to use. — 
 
 [They advance to the Dukk. 
 Thou factious duke of Y^ork, descend my throne. 
 And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet ; 
 I am thy sovereign. 
 
 York. Thou art deceiv'd, I am thine. [of York. 
 
 Exe. For shame, come down ; he made thee duke 
 
 York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was, 
 
 Eie. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. 
 
 War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown, 
 In ti/llowing this usurping Henry. 
 
 Cl:f. Whom should he follow, but his natural king'' 
 
 War. True, Clifford ; and that's Richard, duke of 
 York. 
 K. Hen, A nd shall I stand, and thou sit in my throne t 
 
 York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself. 
 
 War. Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king. 
 
 West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster ; 
 jVnd that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain. 
 
 War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget, 
 That we are those, which chas'd you from the field, 
 And slew your fathers, and with colours spread 
 March'd through the city to the palace gates. 
 
 North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief, 
 And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it. 
 
 West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these ■ thy sons, 
 Thy kinsmen and thy friends, I'll have more lives, 
 Than drops of blood were in my father's veins. 
 
 Clif. Urge it no more : lest that, instead of words, 
 I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger, 
 As sUaU revenge his death, before I stir. 
 
 War. Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worthless 
 threats. 
 
 York. Will you, we shew our title to the crown? 
 If not, our swords shall plead it in the field. 
 
 K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the crown ? 
 Thy father wast, as thou art, duke of York ; 
 Thy grandfather Roger Mortimer, earl of March: 
 I am the son of Henry the Fifth, 
 Who made the Dauphin and the French to stoop. 
 And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces. 
 
 IVar. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all. 
 
 K. Hen, The lord protector lost it, and not I ; 
 When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old. 
 
 Rich. You are old enough now, and yet, metliiuks 
 you lose : — 
 Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head. 
 
 Edio. Sweet father, do so ; set it on your head. 
 
 Monl. Oood brother, [to York,] as thou lov'st and 
 honour'st arms, 
 Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. 
 
 Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king 
 wiU fly. 
 
 York. Sous, peace ! / 
 
ACT I.- SCENE I. 
 
 iD9 
 
 R Hen. Peace thou ! and give King Henry leave 
 to speak. 
 
 War. Plantageuet shall speak first : — hear him 
 And be you silent and attentive too, [lords ; 
 
 Kor he, that interrupts him. shall not live. 
 
 K. Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leave my kingly 
 Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat ? [throne. 
 No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ; 
 Av, and their colours — often borne in France ; 
 And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow, — 
 Shall be my winding-sheet.- — Why faint you, lords? 
 My title's good, and better far than his. 
 
 War. But prove it, Henry, and thou shaltbeking. 
 
 A'. Heu. Henry the Fourth by conquest got the 
 
 York. 'Twas by rebellion against his king, [crown. 
 
 K.Ueit. I know not what to*ay; my title's weak. 
 Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir ! 
 
 York. What then t 
 
 K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king : 
 For Richard, in the view of many lords. 
 Resigned the crown to Henry the Fourth ; 
 Whose heir njy father was, and 1 am his. 
 
 York. He rose against him, being his sovereign. 
 And made him to resign his crown perforce. 
 
 IVar. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd. 
 Think you, 'twere prejudicial to his crown ; 
 
 E.IC. No; for he could not so resign his crown. 
 But that the next heir should succeed and reign. 
 
 A'. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of E.xeter ? 
 
 Eie. His is the right, and therefore pardon me. 
 
 York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer noti 
 
 Exe. My conscience tells me, he is lawful king. 
 
 A'. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to him. 
 
 North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st, 
 rhink not, that Henry shall be so deposed. 
 
 War. Deposd he shall be, in despite of all. 
 
 Korth. Thou art deceiv'd : 'tis not thy southern 
 Of Essex, Norfolk, Sufiblk, nor of Kent. — [power 
 Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, — 
 Can set the duke up, in despite of me. 
 
 Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong, 
 t/yrd Clifford vows to fight in thy defence : 
 May that ground gape, and swallow me alive, 
 Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father I 
 
 K.Hen. O CliflTord, how thy words revive my heart! 
 
 York. Heniy of Lancaster, resign thy crown : — 
 What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords? 
 
 War. Do right unto this princely duke of York ; 
 Or I will fill the house with arm'd men. 
 And o'er the chair of state, where now he sits. 
 Write up his title with usurping blood. 
 
 [He stamps, and the Soldiers shew themselves. 
 
 K.Hen- My lord of Warwick, hear me but one word; 
 Let me, for this mv life-time, reign as king, 
 
 York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine heirs, 
 .\nd thou shall rei^n in quiet while thou iiv'st. 
 
 A'. Hen. I am content ; Richard Plantagenet, 
 Enjoy the kingdom after my decease. 
 
 Ciif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son? 
 
 War. What good is this to England, and himself? 
 
 West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry! 
 
 Cl'if'. How hast thou injur'd both thvself and us ? 
 
 West. I cannot stay to hear these articles. 
 
 North, Nor I. 
 
 C/i/". Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these news. 
 
 West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king, 
 [n whose cold blood no spark of honour bides. 
 
 Nartlt. Be thou a prey unto the house of York, 
 And die in bands for tbis unmanly deed ! 
 
 Clif. In dreadful war rnay'st thou be overcome ! 
 Or live in peace, abandon'd and despis'd! 
 
 lEieunt North., Clif., and West. 
 
 War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not. 
 
 Eie. They seek revenge, and therefore will not yield. 
 
 A'. Hen. Ah, Exeterl 
 
 Il'nr. Why should you sigh, my lord ? 
 
 A'. Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my son, 
 Whom 1 unnaturally shall disi:iherit. 
 But, be it as it mav : — 1 here entail 
 The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever ; 
 Conditionally, that here thou take an oath 
 To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live. 
 To honour me as thy king and sovereign ; 
 And neither by treason, nor hostility. 
 To seek to put me down, and reign thyself. 
 
 York. This oath I willingly take, and will perform. 
 [Coming from the throne. 
 
 War. Long live king Henry ! — Plantagenet em- 
 brace him. [sous ! 
 
 K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy forward 
 
 York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd. 
 
 Exe. Accurs'd be he that seeks to make them foes ! 
 [Senet. The Lords come forward. 
 
 York. Farewell, my gracious lord ; I'll to my castle. 
 
 War. And I'll keep London, with my soldiers. 
 
 Nnrf. And I to Norfolk, with my followers. 
 
 Mont. .Ind I unto the sea, from whence I came. 
 [E.ieunt Y'oRK, and his Sons, Warwick, Nor- 
 TOiK, MoNT.tuuE, Soldiers, t"!; Attendants. 
 
 K.Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the court. 
 
 Enter Qi'EEN Margaret and the Prince or Wales 
 
 Ere. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray 
 I'll steal away. [her anger : 
 
 K. Hen. Exeter, so will I. [Going. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee. 
 
 A'. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay. 
 
 Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes ? 
 Ah, wretched man! 'would I had died a maid. 
 And never seen thee, never born thee son. 
 Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father! 
 Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright thus? 
 Had'st thou but lov'd him half .so well as I ; 
 Or felt that pain which I did for him once ; 
 Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood ; 
 Thou wouldst have left thydearest heart-blood there, 
 Rather than made that savage duke thine heir. 
 And disinherited thine only son. 
 
 Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me : 
 If you be king, why should not I succeed? [son ; — 
 ^ K.Hen. Pardon me, Jlargaret ; — pardon nie, sweet 
 The earl of U'arwick, and the duke, enforced me. 
 
 Q. Mnr. Enforc'd thee! art thou king, and wilt be 
 forc'd ! 
 I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch 
 Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me ; 
 And given unto the h'ouse of York such head. 
 As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance. 
 To entail him and his heirs unto the crown. 
 What is it, but to make thy sepulchre, 
 And creep into it far before thy lime ? 
 Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais ; 
 Stern Faulconbridge commands the narrow seas , 
 The duke is made protector of the realm ; 
 And yet shall thou be safe ? such safety finds 
 Tlie trembling lamb, environed with wolves. 
 Had I been there, which am a silly woman. 
 The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes. 
 Before I would have granted to that act. 
 But thou preferr'st thy life before thine honour . 
 And, seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself. 
 Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed. 
 Until that act of parliament be repealed. 
 Whereby my son is disinherited. 
 !2IS! 
 
500 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 
 
 The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours. 
 Will follow mine, if once they see them spread : 
 And spread they shall be ; to thy foul disgrace. 
 And utter ruin of the house of Yorl<. 
 Thus do 1 leave thee : — Come, son, let's away ; 
 Our army's ready ; come, we'll after them. 
 
 K. lien. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me speak. 
 
 Q. Afar. Tliouhastspoketoomuch already; getthee 
 gone. 
 
 K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with me? 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by ins enemies. 
 
 Frincf. When 1 return with victory from the field, 
 I'll see your grace : till then, I'll follow her. 
 
 Q. Mar. Come, son, away ; we may not linger thus. 
 [Eieunt QuFEN IMahgauet (ind the Piunce. 
 
 K. Hen. Poor queen! how love to me, and to her son, 
 Hath made her break out into terms of rage ! 
 Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke ; 
 Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire. 
 Will coast my crown, and, like an empty eagle, 
 Tire on the flesh of me, and of my son! 
 The loss of tiiose three lords torments my heart ; 
 I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair ; — 
 Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger. 
 
 Eie. And I, 1 hope, shall reconcile them all. 
 
 [£.vea?il. 
 
 SCENE II<t-.4 Room in Sandal Castle, itear 
 Wakefield, in Yorkshire. 
 
 Enter Edward, Ricuard, and Montague. 
 Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give m.e leave. 
 Edw. No, 1 can better play the orator. 
 Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible. 
 
 Enter York. 
 
 York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a strife! 
 What is your quarrel t how began it first ? 
 
 Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention. 
 
 York. About what 1 
 
 Bich. About that which concerns your grace, and 
 The crown of England, father, ivhich is yours, [us ; 
 
 yii)7i. Mine, boy? not till king Henry be dead. 
 
 Jitch. Y'our right depends not on his life, or death. 
 
 Edm. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now : 
 By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe, 
 It will outrun you, father, in the end. 
 
 York. I took an oath, that he should quietly reign. 
 
 Edw. But, for a kingdom, any oath may be broken; 
 I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year. 
 
 Itich. No ; God forbid, your grace should be for- 
 
 York. I shall be, if I claim by open war. [sworn. 
 
 liich. I'll prove the contrary , if you'll hear me speak. 
 
 York. Thou canst not, son ; it is impossible. 
 
 Vich. An oath is of no moment, being not took 
 Before a true and lawful uiagistiate. 
 That hath authority over him that swears : 
 Henry hath none, but did usurp ^e place ; 
 Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose, 
 Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous. 
 Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think, 
 How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ; 
 Within whose circuit is Elysium, 
 And all that poets feign of bliss and joy. 
 Why do we hnger thus ? I cannot rest. 
 Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed 
 Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart. 
 
 York. Richard, enough ; I will be king, or die. — 
 Brother, thou shalt to London presently. 
 And whet on Warwick to this enterprise. — 
 Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk, 
 And tell him privily of our intent. 
 Y'ou, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham, 
 
 With whom the Kentish men will willingly rise ; 
 In them I trust : for they are soldiers. 
 Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit. — 
 While you are thus employ 'd, what resteth more 
 But that I seek occasion how to rise ; 
 .\nd yet the king not privy to my drift. 
 Nor any of the house of Lancaster ? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 But, stay; What news? why com'st thou in such post? 
 
 Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and 
 Intend here to besiege you in your castle : [lords, 
 She is hard by with twenty thousand men ; 
 And therefore fortify your hold, my lord. 
 
 York. Ay, with my sword. What! think'st thou, 
 that we fear them ? — 
 Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ; — 
 My brother Montague shall post to London ; 
 Let noble Warwick, Cobliaiu, and the lest. 
 Whom we have left protectors of the king. 
 With powerful policy strengthen themselves, 
 .'Vnd trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths. 
 
 Mont. Brother, I go ; I'll win them, fear it not : 
 And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [Eiit, 
 
 Enter Sir John ayid Sir Hugh Mortimer. 
 
 York. Sir John, and sir Hugh lMortimer,mine uncles! 
 Y'ou are come to Sandal in a happy hour ; 
 The army of the queen mean to besiege us. 
 
 Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the 
 
 York. What, with five thousand men ? [field. 
 
 Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need. 
 A woman's general ; what should we fear ? 
 
 [A march far off. 
 
 Edw. I hear their drums ; let's set our men in order; 
 .\nd issue forth, and bid them battle straight. 
 
 York. Five men to twenty ! — though the odds be 
 I doubt not, uncle, of our victory. [great, 
 
 Many a battle have I won in France, 
 When as the enemy hath been ten to one ; 
 Why should I not now have the like success? 
 
 [^Alarum. Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III — Plains near Sandal Castle. 
 Alarums: Excursions. Enter Rutland, &■ /lis Tutoi 
 Rat. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their liands 
 Ah, tutor! look, where' bloody Clifford comes! 
 
 Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 
 
 Clif. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves thy life. 
 As for the brat of tliis accursed duke. 
 Whose father slew my father, — he shall die. 
 
 Tnt. And I, my lord, will bear him company. 
 
 Clif. Soldiers, away with him. 
 
 Tnt. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child. 
 Lest thou be hated both of God and man. 
 
 [E.vit, /'oiTpd off hii Soldiers. 
 
 Clif. How now! is he dead already ? Or, is it fear, 
 That makes him close his eyes ?— I '11 open them. 
 
 Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
 That trembles under his devouring paws : 
 .-\nd so he walks, insulting o'er his prey ; 
 .\nd so he comes, to rend his limbs asunder, — 
 Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword, 
 .'Vnd not with such a cruel threat'ning look. 
 Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ;^ 
 1 am too mean a subject for thy wrath. 
 Be thou reveng'd on men, an^ let me live. 
 
 Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy ; my father's 
 
 blood [enter. 
 
 Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words should 
 
ACT I.— SCENE IV. 
 
 501 
 
 f?,.l. Then let my father's blood open it again ; 
 He is a man, an.l, Clifford, cope with h.m. . 
 
 Oif. Had i thv bretluen here, their lives, and thine 
 Were not revenge sufficient for me ; 
 No if I digg'd up thy forefathers graves, 
 Za hun. their ritten coffins up in chains^, 
 It could So, slake mine ire, nor ease my heart. 
 The sight of any of the house of \ ork 
 Is as a fury to torment my soul ■ 
 And till 1 root out their accursed line. 
 And leave not one alive, 1 live in liell. 
 
 hTo Itt me pray before I take my death :- 
 To thee I rray : Sweet Clifford pity me ! 
 Clif Such pity as my rapier s point affords. 
 It';'; I neverdid thee ham,; Why v^•llt thou slay me1 
 cm'. Thy father hath. 
 X:J ' But 'twas ere I was born. 
 
 Thou liast one son, for his sake pity me ; 
 
 Lest in revenge thereof,-sitli God is just,- 
 
 He be as miserably slam as I. 
 
 \h, let me live in prison all my days ; 
 
 And when I give occasion of offence, 
 
 Tlien let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 
 
 Chf. No caused 
 Thv father slew ray father ; therefore, die. 
 ^"J ■" [Cl.lFFOuD slots ;iim. 
 
 R„l Dli faci.mt, laudh snmma sit islu Um ! \_Uiei. 
 
 Clif. Plantagenet! I come, Plantagenet 
 And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, 
 Stiall msUM'on my weapon, till thy blood 
 Congeal'd with this, do make mewipeoffboth. [Lr.t. 
 
 SCENE IV.— 'i''ic snme. 
 Alarum. 'Enter York. 
 York The' army of the queen hath got tlie field : 
 My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ; 
 And all my followers to tlie eager foe , 
 Turn back, and fiy, like ships before the wind, 
 Or lambs pursu'dby hungry starved wolves. 
 ]\Iv sons-God knows, what hath bechanced them : 
 But this I know.-ttiey have demean d themselves 
 Like men born to renown, by life or death. 
 Three times did Richard make a lane to me ; 
 And thrice cx\^i,-Coarage,jatherl fi^ht H nut . 
 And full as oft came Edward to my side. 
 With purple faulchion, painted to tlie ult 
 In blood of those that had encounter d him : 
 And when the hardiest warriors did retire, 
 Richard cried.-C/mrge .' and giie nojoot i~f ground ! 
 And cried,— .4 crou'-,, or else a gUn-ious tomb . 
 A sceptre, or an eartldy sepulchre .' 
 With this we charg'd again : but, out, alas ! 
 We bodg'd again ; as 1 have seen a swan 
 With booties^ labour swim against tfie tide. 
 And spend her strength with over-matching waves. 
 nun ^fo o [,4 s/„,rtii/jrum tt'it/iin. 
 
 .\h hark ! the fatal followers do pursue ; 
 \rd I am faint, and cannot fly their fury : 
 -Vnd, were 1 strong. 1 would not shun their fury : 
 The sands are number-d, that make up my life ; 
 Here must I stay, and here my life must end. 
 
 Enter Queev MAnOAiiET, Cuffoud, Kobthi'm- 
 BERLAND and Soldiers. 
 Come, bloodv Clifford,-rough Northumbetland,- 
 1 dare your Quenchless fury to more rage ; 
 [ am your butt, and I abide your shot. 
 
 Kokh. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet. 
 Cl,f. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless am, 
 With downright payment, shew'd unto my father. 
 
 Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car. 
 And made an evening at the noontide prick. 
 
 York. My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth 
 A bird that will revenge upon you all : 
 And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven. 
 Scorning whate'er you can afflict me with. 
 Why come you not ! what ! multitudes and fear? 
 
 Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further; 
 So dives do peck tlie falcon's piercing talons ; 
 So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives, 
 Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers. 
 
 York. Cliflotd, but bethink thee once again, 
 And in thy thought o'er-run my former time ; 
 And if thou canst for blushing, view this face ; 
 And bite thytongucthatslandershim with cowardice 
 Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this. 
 Clif I will not bandy with thee word for word ; 
 But bucklewith thee blows,twice two for one. [Draius. 
 Q.M„r.Hold,valiant Clifford! for a thousand causes, 
 I would prolong awhile the traitor's life : — 
 Wiath makes him deaf : speak thou, Northumberland. 
 North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honour him so much. 
 To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart : 
 What valour were it, when a cur doth grin 
 For one to thrust his hand between his teeth. 
 When he might spurn him with Ins foot away 1 
 It is war's prize to take all vantages ; 
 And ten to one is no impeach of valour. 
 
 [Thei^ lay hands on \oiiK, ti/io struggles. 
 Clif Ay ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin. 
 North. So doth the coney struggle in the net. 
 
 [York is taken prisoner. 
 York. So triumph thieves upon their conqucr'd 
 
 booty ; . . i ■ j 
 
 So true men yield, with robbers so o er-match d. 
 Korth. What would your grace have done unto liim 
 
 Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumbei- 
 Come, make him stand upon this molehill here ; 
 That rauTht at mountains with outstretched arms. 
 Yet parted but the shadow with his 'land.— 
 What ! was it you that would be England s king . 
 Was't you, that revell'd in our parliament. 
 And mkde a preachment of your high descent . 
 Where are your mess of sons, to back you now 1 
 Tlie wanton Edward, and the lusty George 1 
 And Where's that valiant crook-back prodigy, 
 Dicky your boy, that with his grumbling voice. 
 Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies 1 
 Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland 
 Look, York ; I staln'd this napkin with the blood 
 'I'liat valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point. 
 Made issue from the bosom of the boy : 
 And, if thine eyes can water for his death, 
 I <rive thee this to dry thy cheeks withal. 
 AUs., poor Y'ork ! but that I hate thee deadly, 
 I should lament thy miserable state. 
 I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York ; 
 1 Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may smg and dance. 
 I W liat hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails, 
 Ihat not a tear can fall for Rutland's deaths 
 Wlivart thou patient, man ^ thou should'st be mad; 
 And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus. 
 Thou would'st be fee'd, I see, to make me sport ; 
 York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown.— 
 A crown for York ;- and, lords, bow low to hin.— 
 Hold you his hands, whilst I do set it on.— 
 
 [Flitting a paper croum on his head. 
 Ay mairy, sir, now looks he like a king ! 
 Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair; 
 I And this is he was his adopted heir.— 
 But how IS it, that great Plantagenet 
 
502 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 
 
 Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath t 
 
 As I bethink me. you should not be king. 
 
 Till our king Henry had shook hands with death. 
 
 And will you pale your head in Henry's glory, 
 
 And rob his temples of the diadem. 
 
 Now in his life, against your holy oath l 
 
 O, "tis a fault too, too unpardonable '. — • 
 
 Off with the crown ; and, with the crown, his head ; 
 
 And, whilst we breath,, take time to do him dead. 
 
 Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake. 
 
 <J. Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he makes. 
 
 York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves 
 of France, 
 Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth ! 
 How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex. 
 To triumph like an Amazonian trull, 
 Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates? 
 But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging, 
 I\Iade impudent with use of evil deeds, 
 I would assav, proud queen, to make thee blush ; 
 To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd, 
 Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not 
 
 snameless. 
 Thy father bears the type of king of Naples, 
 Of both the Sicils, and .lerusalem ; 
 ■i'et not so wealthy as an English yeoman. 
 Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult? 
 It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen ^ 
 Unless the adage must be verified, — 
 That beggars, mounted, run their horse lo death. 
 Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud ; 
 But God, he knows, thy share thereof is small ; 
 'Tis virtue that doth mike them most admir'd ; 
 The contrary doih make thee wonder'd at ; 
 *Tis government that makes them seem divine j 
 The want thereof makes thee abominable.- 
 Thou art as opposite to eveiy good. 
 As the Antipodes are unto us. 
 Or as the south to the septentrion. 
 O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a w^oman's hide ! 
 How could'st thou drain the life-blood of the child. 
 To bid the father wipe his eyes withal. 
 And yet be seen to bear a woman's face? 
 Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible ; 
 Thou, stern, obdurate, flmty, rough, remorseless. 
 Bid'st thou me rage ? why now thou hast thy wish ; 
 Would'st have me weep 1 why , now thou hast thy will : 
 For raging wind blows up incessant showers, 
 Ajid, when the rage allays, the rain begins. 
 These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ; 
 And every drop cries .vengeance for his death, — 
 'Gdnst thee, fell Clifford,— and thee, false French, 
 woman. 
 
 North. Beshrew me, but his passions move me so, 
 That hardly can I check my eyes from tears. 
 
 York, That face of his the hungry cannibals 
 Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'dwith 
 
 blood : 
 But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, — 
 O, ten times more, — than tigers of Hyrcania.— 
 See, ruthless queen, a hapless f.alier's tears : 
 This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy. 
 And I with tears do wash the blood away. 
 Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this : 
 
 [He gives thick the handkerchief. 
 And, if thou tell'st the heavy story right. 
 Upon my soul, the hearers will slied tears ; 
 Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears. 
 And say, — Alas, it was a piteous deed ! — 
 There, take the crown, and, with the crown, my curse ; 
 And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee. 
 As now I reap at thy too cruel hand I — 
 
 Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world ; 
 Jly soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads! 
 
 North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin, 
 I should not for my life but weep with him, 
 To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul. 
 
 Q.Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northura- 
 Think but upon the wrong he did us all, [berland? 
 And that will quickly dry thy melting tears. 
 
 Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's 
 death. [Stabhiiig him. 
 
 Q. Mar. And here 's to right our gentle-hearted 
 king. [Stabbing him. 
 
 York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God ! 
 Jly soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee. 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates ; 
 So York may overlook the town of York. [£aeuiii. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A Plain near Mortimer's Cross in Herefordshire. 
 
 Drums. Enter Eoward, and Richard, with their 
 Forces^ marching, 
 
 Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scap'd ; 
 Or whether he be 'scap'd away, or no. 
 From Clifford's and Nortliumberland's pursuit ; 
 Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the nev\-s ; 
 Had he been slain, we should have heard the news ; 
 Or, had he 'scap'd, melhinks, we should have heard 
 The happy tidings of his good escape.^ 
 How fares mv brother ? why is he so sad ? 
 
 Bich. I cannot joy, until ] be resolv'd 
 Where our right valiant father is become. 
 I saw him in the battle range about ; 
 And watch'd him, how he singled Clifford forth. 
 Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop. 
 As doth a lion in a herd of neat : 
 Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs ; 
 Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry. 
 The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. 
 So far'd our father with his enemies ; 
 So fled his enemies my warlike father ; 
 Methinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son. 
 See how the morning opes her golden gates. 
 And takes her farewell of the glorious sun ! 
 How well resembles it the prime of youth, 
 Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love ! 
 
 £du-. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns ? 
 
 Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sua ; 
 Not separated with the racking clouds. 
 But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky. 
 See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss. 
 As if they vow'd some league inviolable : 
 Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun. 
 In tliis the heaven figures some event. 
 
 Edic, 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never 
 I think, it cites us, brotlier, to the field ; [beard of. 
 That we, the sons of brave Plantagenet, 
 Each one already blazing by our meeds. 
 Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together. 
 And over-shine the earth, as tliis the world. 
 Whate'er it bodes, hencefor«ard will 1 bear 
 Upon my target three fair shining suns. 
 
 Rich. Nav, bear three daughters ;— by your leave I 
 You love the breeder better than the male, [speak it^ 
 
 Enter a Messenger, 
 But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretel 
 Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ! 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 503 
 
 Mess. Ah, one that was a woeful looker on, 
 When as the noble duke of York was slain, 
 Your princely father, and my loving lord. 
 
 Kiiw. 0, sjwak no more ! for I have heard too much. 
 Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all. 
 
 Mess. Environed he was with many foes ; 
 And stood ac^ainst them, as the hope of Troy 
 Against the Greeks, that would have enter'd Troy. 
 But Hercules himself must yield to odds ; 
 And many strokes, though wiih a little axe. 
 Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak. 
 By many hands your father was subdu'd ; 
 But only slaughtered by the ireful arm 
 Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen : 
 AVho crown "d the gracious duke, in high despite ; 
 Laugh'd in his face ; and, when with grief he wept, 
 Tiie ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks, 
 A napkin steeped in the harmless blood 
 Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain : 
 And, after many scorns, many foul taunts, 
 They took his head, and on the gates of York 
 They set the same ; and there it doth remain. 
 The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd. 
 
 Edw. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon ; 
 Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay ! — 
 O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou hast slain 
 The flower of Europe for his chivalry ; 
 And treaclierouslv hast thou vanquish'd him, 
 For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee ! — 
 Now my soul's palace is become a prison : 
 Ah, would she break from hence ! that this my body 
 Might in the ground be closed up in rest : 
 For never henceforth shall I joy again. 
 Never, O never, shall 1 see more joy. 
 
 Ridu I cannot weep ; for all ray body's moisture 
 Scarce serves to quench my furnace»burning heart: 
 Nor can. my tongue unload ray heart's great burden; 
 For self-same wind, that I should speak withal. 
 Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast, 
 And burn me up uath flames, that tears would quench. 
 To weep, is to make less the depth of grief: 
 Tears, then, for babes; blows, and revenge forme' — 
 Richard, I bear thy name, I '11 venge thy death, 
 Or die renowned by attempting it. 
 
 Edu. His name that valiant duke hath left with thee ; 
 His dukedom and his chair with me is left. 
 
 Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, 
 Shew thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun : 
 For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say; 
 Either that is thine, or else tiiou wert not his. 
 
 March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with Forces. 
 War. How now, fair lords ? What fare 1 what news 
 
 abroad ? 
 Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount 
 Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance, 
 Stab poniards in our flesh, till all were told. 
 The words would add more anguish than the wounds. 
 
 valiant lord, the duke of York is slain. 
 
 Edw. O Warwick! Warwick! that Plantagenet 
 Which held thee dearly, as his soul's redemption. 
 Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death. 
 
 War. Ten days ago 1 drown'd theSe news in tears : 
 And now, to add more measure to your woes, 
 
 1 come to tell you things since then befall'n. 
 After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought. 
 Where your brave father breath'd his latest gasp, 
 Tidings, as swiftly as the post could nm, 
 Were brought me of your loss, and his depart. 
 
 I then in London, keeper of the king. 
 Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends. 
 And very well appointed, as I thought, 
 
 ! jNIarch'd towards Saint A Iban's to intercept the queen. 
 Bearing the king in my behalf along : 
 For by my scout I was advertised, 
 That she vvas coming with a full intent 
 To dash our late* decree in parliament, 
 Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession. 
 Short tale to make, — we at Saint Alban's met. 
 Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought: 
 But. whether 'twas the coldness of the king, 
 Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen, 
 That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen ; 
 Or whetlier 'twas report of her success ; 
 Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour. 
 Who thunders to his captives — blood and death, 
 I cannot judge : but, to conclude with truth, 
 Their weapons like to lightning came and went; 
 Our soldiers — like the night-owl's lazy flight. 
 Or like a lazy thrasher wiUi a flail, — 
 Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends. 
 I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause. 
 With promise of high pay, and great rewards : 
 But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight. 
 And we, in them, no hope to win the day, 
 So that we fled : the king, unto the queen ; 
 Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself. 
 In haste, poste-haste, are come to join with you ; 
 For in the marches here, we heard, you were. 
 Making another head to fight again. 
 
 £(iuj.Whereis the duke of Norfolk, gentle Warwick"! 
 And when came George from Burgundy to Englan4' 
 
 War. Some six miles ofi'the duke is with the sol- 
 And for your brother, he was lately sent [diers : 
 From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy, 
 With aid of soldiers to this needful war. 
 
 Rich. Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick 
 Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit, [fled : 
 
 But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire. 
 
 Tl'flr. Nornowmy^candal. Richard, dost thou hear ; 
 For thou shalt know, this strong right hand of mine 
 Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head, 
 And wring the awful scepter from his fist ; 
 Were he as famous and as bold in war. 
 As he is fam'd for mildness, peace, and praver. 
 
 Rich. Iknowit well, lord Warwick : blame me not 
 'Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak. 
 But, in this troublous time, what's to be done ? 
 Shall we go throw awav our coats of steel. 
 And wrap our bodies in black mourning gowns, 
 Numb'ring our Ave-Maries with our beads ? 
 Or shall we on the helmets of our foes 
 Tell our devotion with revengeful arms 1 
 U for the last, say, — Ay, and to it, lords. 
 
 U'«j'.\\ hy,thereforeWarwick came to seek you out; 
 And therefore comes my brother Montague. 
 Attend me, lords. The proud insulting (]ueen. 
 With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland, 
 And of iheir feather, many more proud birds. 
 Have wrought the easy melting king like wax. 
 He swore consent to your succession, 
 His oath enrolled in the parliament ; 
 And now to London all the crew are gone. 
 To frustrate both his oath, and what beside 
 May make against the house of Lancaster. 
 Their power, 1 think, is thirty thousand strong : 
 Now, if llie help of Norfolk, and myself. 
 With all the friends that thou, brave earl of ^larch. 
 Amongst the loving Welshmen can'st procure. 
 Will but amount to five and twenty thousand, 
 Why, Via ! to London will we march amain ; 
 And once again bestride our foaming steeds, 
 And once again en,- — Charge upon our foes ! 
 But never once again turn back, and fly. 
 
.'504 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 
 
 Rich. Ay, now, methinks, 1 hear great Warwick 
 Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day, [speak 
 That cries — Retire, if Warwick bid him stay. 
 
 Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean; 
 And when thou fall'st (as God forbid the hour !) 
 Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend ! 
 
 War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York ; 
 The next degree is, England's royal throne : 
 For king of England shalt thou be proclaim 'd 
 In every borough as we pass along ; 
 And he that throws not up his cap for joy. 
 Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head. 
 King Edward, — valiant Richard, — Montague, — 
 Stay we no longer dreaming of renown, 
 But sound the trumpets, and about our task. 
 
 Wtch. Then, Clifford, were thy heart as hard as steel, 
 (As ihou hast shewn it flinty by thy deeds,) 
 1 come to pierce it, — or to give thee mine, 
 
 Edw. Then strike up, drums ; — God, and Saint 
 George, for us ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 War. How now? what news? 
 
 Mess. Tlie duke of Norfolk sends you word by me, 
 The queen is coming with a puissant host ; 
 And craves your company for speedy counsel. 
 
 War. Why, then it sorts, brave warriors : Let's 
 away. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Ih—Before York. 
 
 Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince 
 OF Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland, 
 with Forces. 
 
 Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town of 
 Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy, [York. 
 
 That sought to be encompass'd with your crown : 
 Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord? 
 
 A'. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear their 
 To see this sight, it irks my very soul. — [wreck j — 
 Withhold revenge, dear God ! 'tis not my fault, 
 Not wittingly have I inl'ring'd my vow. 
 
 CliJ'. My gracious ViQ^^e, this too much lenity 
 And harmful pity must be laid aside. 
 To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ? 
 Not to the beast that would usurp their den. 
 Whose hand is that, the forest bear doth lick ? 
 Not his, that spoils her young before her face. 
 Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting? 
 Not he that sets his foot upon her back. 
 The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on ; 
 And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood. 
 Ambitious York did level at ihy crown, 
 Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows : 
 He, but a duke, would have his son a king, 
 And raise his issue, like a loving sire ; 
 Thou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son. 
 Didst yield consent to disinherit him, 
 Which argued thee a most unloving father. 
 Unreasonable creatures feed their young : 
 And though man's face be fearful to their eyes, 
 Yet, in protection of their tender ones. 
 Who hath not seen them, (^even with those wings 
 Which sometime they have used with fearful Hight,) 
 Make war with him that climb'd unto tlieir nest, 
 Offering their own lives in their youngs' defence? 
 For shame, my liege, make them your precedent ' 
 Were it not pity, that this goodly boy 
 Should lose his birthright by his father's fault ; 
 And long hereafter say unto his child, — 
 What viif great-grandjather and graiidsire got^ 
 JMy careless faiher Jondlyi gave away 1 
 
 Ah, what a shame were this ! Look on the boy , 
 And let his manly face, which promiseth 
 Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart, 
 To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him. 
 
 A'. Jleiu Full well hath Clifford play'd the orator. 
 Inferring: arguments of mighty force- 
 But, Clillbrd, tell me, didst thou never hear, — 
 That things ill got had ever bad success? 
 And happy always was it for that son, 
 Whose father for his hoarding went to hell ? 
 I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ; 
 And 'would, my father had left me no more ! 
 For all the rest is held at such a rate. 
 As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep, 
 'i'han in possession any jot of pleasure. 
 Ah, cousin York ! 'would thy best friends did know. 
 How it doth grieve me that thy head is here I [nigh, 
 
 Q.Mar. My lord, cheerupyour spirits ; our foes are 
 And this soft courage makes your followers faint. 
 You promis'd knighthood to our forward son ; 
 Unsheatii your swoid, and dub him presently. — 
 Edward, kneel down. 
 
 A. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight ; 
 And learn this lesson, — Draw thy swovd in right. 
 
 Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave, 
 I'll draw it as apparent to the crown, 
 And in that quarrel use it to the death. 
 
 Clif, Why, that is spoken like a toward prince. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mei,s. Royal commanders, be in readiness: 
 For, with a band of thirty thousand men. 
 Comes Warwick backing of the duke of Yoik ; 
 And, in the towns, as they do uiaich along. 
 Proclaims him king, and many fly to him : 
 Darraign your battle, for they are at hand. 
 
 Clif. I would, your highness would depart the field; 
 The queen hath best success when you are absent. 
 
 Q.Mar. Ay , good ray lord, and leave us to our fortune. 
 
 A. Hen. \\ hy, that's my fortune too ; therefore I'll 
 
 North. ^Be it with resolution then to fight, [stay. 
 
 Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords. 
 And hearten those who fight in your defence : 
 Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George f 
 
 March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, War- 
 wick, Norfolk, Montague, and Soldiers. 
 
 Edu\ Now, perjur'd Henry ! wilt thou kneel for 
 And set thy diadem upon my head ; [grace» 
 
 Or bide the mortal fortune of the field ? 
 
 Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insulting boy ! 
 Becomes it thee to be thus bold in terms, 
 Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king? 
 
 Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee; 
 I was adopted lieir by his consent : 
 Since when, his oath is broke ; for, as I hear, 
 Vou — that are king, though he do v/ear the crown,— 
 Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament. 
 To blot out me, and put his own son in. 
 
 Clif. And reason too ; 
 Who should succeed the father but the son ? 
 
 Rich. Are you there, butcher? — 0, 1 cannot speak! 
 
 Clif. Ay, crook-back; here I stand, to answer thee, 
 Or any he the proudest of Ihy sort. [not? 
 
 Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was it 
 
 Clif, Ay, and old York, and yet not saiisfy'd. 
 
 Rich. For God's sake, lords, give signal to the fight. 
 
 Ifar. What say'st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield the 
 crown ? [dare you speak ? 
 
 Q. Ma?-. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick 1 
 When you and 1 met at Saint Albans last, 
 Your legs did better service tlian youi hands. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III 
 
 505 
 
 Way. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and aow 'tis thine. 
 
 Ciif'. You said so much before, and yet you fled. 
 
 War. 'Twas not your valour, Cliflord, drove me 
 thence. [slay. 
 
 Korth, No, nor your manhood that durst make you 
 
 Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently; — 
 Break off the parle ; for scarce 1 can refrain 
 The execution of my big-swoln heart 
 Upon that Cliffoid, that cruel child-killer. 
 
 Clif. I slew thy father: Call'st thou him a child? 
 
 Rich. Ay, like a dastard, and a treacherous coward, 
 As thou didst kill our tender brother Kutland ; 
 but, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed, 
 
 A'. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and hear 
 me speak. 
 
 Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips. 
 
 A'. Hen. I pr'ythee. give no limits to my tongue; 
 1 am a king, and privileg'd to speak. 
 
 Clif. My liege, the wound that bred this meeting 
 Cannot be cur'd by word ; therefore be still. [here. 
 
 Rich. Then, executioner, unslieath thy sword : 
 By him that made us all, I am resolv'd, 
 That Cliftbrd's manhood lies upon his tongue. 
 
 Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right or no ? 
 A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day, 
 That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown. 
 
 \i at: 1[ thou deny, their blood upon thy head; 
 For York in justice puts his armour on. 
 
 Prince. If that be right, whichWarwick says is right. 
 There is no wrong, but every thing is right. 
 
 Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands ; 
 For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue. 
 
 Q. Mur. But thou art neither like thy sire, nor dam ; 
 But like a foul misshapen stigmatic, 
 Mark'd by the destmies to be avoided, 
 As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings. 
 
 Rich. Iron of Ka;)les, hid with English gilt, 
 Who>e father bears the title of a king, 
 (As if a channel should be call'd the sea,) 
 Sham'st thou not, knowina" whence thou art extraught, 
 To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ? 
 
 Edw. A wisp of straw were worth a thousand crowns. 
 To make this shameless callet know herself. — 
 Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou, 
 Although thy husbaud may be Menelaus ; 
 And ne'er ^vas Agamemnon's brother wrong'd 
 By that false woman, as this king by thee. 
 ilis father revell'd in the heart of France, 
 And tara'd the king, and made the dauphin stoop ; 
 And had he match'd according to his state. 
 He might have kept that glory to this day e 
 But when he took a beggar to his bed. 
 And grac'd thy poor sire^'with his bridal day ; 
 Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, 
 That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, 
 And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. 
 For what hath broacli'd this tumult, but thy pride 1 
 Had>t thou been meek, our title still had slept : 
 And we, in pity of a gentle king. 
 Had slipp'd our claim until another age. 
 
 Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy 
 And that thy summer bred us no increase, [spring, 
 We set the axe to thy usurping root : 
 And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, 
 ^ t;t, know thou, since we have begun to strike, 
 \\ e '11 never leave, till we have hewn thee down, 
 Or bath d thy growing with our healed bloods. 
 
 Edw. And, in tiiis resolution, I defy thee; 
 Not willing any longer conference, 
 Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak. — 
 Sound trumpets ! — let our bloody colours wave ! — 
 And either victory, or else a grave. 
 
 Q. Mar. Stay, Edward. 
 
 Edw. No, wrangling woman ; we'll nc longer stay : 
 These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ Field of Battle between Towton 
 and Saxton in Yorkshire. 
 
 Alarums ; Eicursio7ts. Enter Warwick. 
 
 War. Forspent with toil, as runners witli a race, 
 I lay me down a little while to breathe : 
 For sti'okes receiv'd. and many blows repaid. 
 Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, 
 And, spite of spite, needs must I rest awhile. 
 
 Enter Edward, running. 
 
 Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle 
 death ! 
 For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. 
 War. How now, my lord? what hap? what hope of 
 good ? 
 
 Enter George. 
 
 Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair ; 
 Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us ; 
 What counsel give you, whither shall we fly? 
 
 Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings: 
 And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit. 
 
 Enter Richard. 
 
 Rich. Ah, Warwick, whyhast thou withdrawn thy- 
 Tliybrother'sbloodthethirslyearthliath drunk, [self? 
 Jjioach'd with the steely point of ('litford's lance : 
 And. in the very pangs of death, he cry'd, — 
 Like to a dismal clangour heard from far, — 
 U'lirwick, revenge! brother, revenge inu death I 
 So underneath the belly of their steeds, 
 That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, 
 'I'iie noble gentleman gave up the ghost. 
 
 liar. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood; 
 I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly. 
 Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, 
 Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ; 
 And look upon, as if the tragedy 
 Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors? 
 Here on my knee I vow to God above, 
 I'll never pause again, never stand still, 
 I'ill either death hath clos'd these eves of mine. 
 Or fortune given me measure of revenge. 
 
 Zdw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine ; 
 And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine. — 
 And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face, 
 I thiow my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee. 
 Thou setter up and plucker down of kings 1 
 Heseeching thee, — if with thy will it stands. 
 That to my foes this body must be prey, — 
 Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, 
 And give sweet passage to my sinful soul! — 
 Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, 
 Wheie-e'er it be, in heaven, or on earth. 
 
 Hichn Brother, give me thy hand ; — and, irentle 
 Let me enibrace thee in my weary arras : [Warwick, 
 I, that did never weep, now melt with woe. 
 That winter should cut olf our spring-time so. 
 
 War. Away, away ! Once moie, sweet lords, fare- 
 
 Geo. Let us all together to our troops, [well. 
 
 And give them leave to fly that will not stay ; 
 And call them pillars, that will stand to us ; 
 And, if we thrive, promise them such rewards 
 As victors wear at the Olympian games : 
 This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ; 
 For yet is hope of life and victory. — 
 Fore-slow no longer, make we hence amain. [Exeunt, 
 
506 
 
 KING HENRY VI.-PART III. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. Another Fart of the Field.: 
 Excursicns. Enter RicHAno on>i CLirronD. 
 
 Rich. Now, Clifford, I have slnglea thee alone : 
 Suppose this arm is for the duke of York, 
 And this for Rutland , both bound to revenge, 
 Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. 
 
 Cl'tJ'. Now, Richard, 1 am with thee here alone : 
 This is the hand, that stabb'd thy fallier York ; 
 And this the hand, that slew thy brotlier Rutland ; 
 And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, 
 And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and bro- 
 To execute the like upon thyself ; [ther. 
 
 And so, have at thee. 
 
 [Theu ^figlit. Warwick enters ; C'LirronD Ji'es. 
 
 Ricit. Nav, Warwick, single out some other chase ; 
 For 1 myself will hunt this wolf to death, [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE V.—Ajiother Part of the Field. 
 
 Alarum. Enter King Hknuv. 
 
 A'. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war, 
 When dying clouds contend with growing light; 
 What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails. 
 Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. 
 Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, 
 Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind : 
 Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea 
 Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind : 
 Sometime, the flood prevails ; and, then, the wind : 
 Now, one the better ; then, another best ; 
 Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 
 Y'et neither conqueror, nor conquered : 
 So is the equal poise of this fell war. 
 Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 
 To whom God will, there be the victory ! 
 For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, 
 Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both, 
 They prosper best of all when I am thence. 
 'Would 1 weie dead! if God's good will were so: 
 For what is in this world but grief and woe I 
 O God! methinks it were a hap)»v life, 
 To be no better than a homely swain ; 
 To sit upon a hill, as 1 do now, 
 To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, 
 Thereby to see the minutes liow they run : 
 How many make the hour full complete, 
 How many hours bring about the day, 
 How many days will Hnish up the year, 
 How many years a mortal man may live. 
 When this is known, then to divide tiie times : 
 So many hours must 1 tend my Hock ; 
 So many hours must I take my rest ; 
 So many hours must I contemplate ; 
 So many hours must I sport myself; 
 So many days my ewes have been with young ; 
 So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; 
 So many years ere I shall sheer the fleece ; 
 So minutes^ hours, days, weeks, months, and years, 
 Pass'd over to the end they were created, 
 Would bring white hairs unto a quiet giave. 
 Ah, what a life were this 1 how sweet! how lovely! 
 Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade 
 To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep. 
 Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy 
 To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ? 
 O, yes it doth ; a thousand iold it doth. 
 And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds. 
 His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle, 
 His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade 
 All which secure and sweetly he enjoys 
 Is far beyond a prince's delicates, 
 
 His viands sparkling in a golden cup, 
 
 His body couched in a curious bed, 
 
 Whou care, mistrust, and treason weut on him. 
 
 Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father^ 
 dragging in the dead body. 
 
 Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits no-body. — 
 This man, whom hand to hand 1 slew in fight, 
 May be possessed with some store of crowns ; 
 And I, that haply take them from him now, 
 l\Iav yet ere night yield both my life and them 
 To some man else, as this dead man doth me. — 
 Who's this 1 — O God ! it is my father's face, 
 Whom in this conflict I unwares have kill'd. 
 O heavy times, begetting such events ! 
 From London by the king was I press'd forth , 
 My father, being the earl of Warwick's man. 
 Came on the part of York, press'd by his master. 
 And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life, 
 Have by my hands of life bereaved Ihju. — 
 Pardon me, God, 1 knew not what 1 did ! — 
 And pardon, father, for I knew not thet: ! — 
 My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks , 
 And no more words, till they have How'd their liil. 
 
 A'. Hen. piteous spectacle ! bloody times ' 
 Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens. 
 Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. — 
 Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee, tear for tear, 
 And let our hearts, and eyes, like civil war. 
 Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief. 
 
 Etiter a Father, ivho has hilled his Son, bearing the 
 body in his arjns. 
 
 Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me. 
 Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold ; 
 For I have bought it with an hundred blows. — 
 But let me see : — is this our foeman's face ! 
 Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! — ■ 
 Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee, 
 Throw up thine eye ; see, see, what showers arise. 
 Blown with the windy tempest of my heart. 
 Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart ! — 
 O, pity. God, this miserable age ! — 
 What stratagems, how fell, how butcherly. 
 Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural. 
 This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! — 
 boy. thy father gave thee life too soo^, 
 And hath bereft thee of thy life too late. fi^'i'^'f 
 
 K Ht'ft. Woe above woe ! grief more than coimnon 
 O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds ! — 
 O pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity I — ■ 
 The red rose and the \vhite are on his face. 
 The fatal colours of our striving houses : 
 The one, his purple blood right well resembles; 
 The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present ■ 
 Wither one rose, and let the other flourish ! 
 If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. 
 
 Son, How will my mother, for a father's death. 
 Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied ? 
 
 Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, 
 Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisHed ? 
 
 A', Hen How will the countiy, for these woeful 
 Misthink the king, and not be satisfied ? [chances, 
 
 Snti. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death 1 
 
 Fath. W^as ever father, so bemoaned a son 1 
 
 K. Hen. Wasever king, so griev'd for subjects' woe'* 
 Much is your sorrow ; mine, ten times so much. 
 
 Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my 
 fill, [Exit, uiith the hodi^. 
 
 Fa(fi.These arms ofmine shall be thy winding-sheet; 
 My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ; 
 For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE VI. 
 
 ,007 
 
 My sigliing bieast shall be thy funeral bell ; 
 And so obsequious will thy father be, 
 Sad for tlie loss of thee, having no more, 
 As Priam was for all his valiant sons. 
 I'll bear thee hence ; and let them fight that will, 
 [ For I have murUer'd where I should not kill. 
 
 [Eiit, u'ith the bodii 
 K. Hen. Sad-hearted men , much overgone with care, 
 Here sits a king more woeful tlian you are. 
 
 Alarums: Eanifsiuiis. fn((?r Queen Margaret, 
 Pkince of Wales, and Exeter. 
 Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends are fled, 
 And Warwick rages like a cliafed bull : 
 Away ! for death dotli hold us in pursuit. 
 
 Q. Mar. jMount you, my lord ; towards Berwick 
 post amain : 
 Kdward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds 
 Having the fearful flying hare in sight. 
 With fiery eyes, sparkling for veiy wrath. 
 And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands. 
 Are at our backs ; and therefore hence amain. 
 
 Eie. Away! for vengeance comes along witli them: 
 Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; 
 Or else come after, I'll away before. 
 
 A'. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet Exeter; 
 Not that I fear to stay, but love to go 
 Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away ! 
 
 {Eieunt, 
 
 SCENE VI The same. 
 
 A toud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded. 
 
 Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies. 
 Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light, 
 
 0, Lancaster ! I fear thy overthrow. 
 More than my body's parting with my soul. 
 
 My love, and fear, glew'd many friends to thee ; 
 .\nd, now 1 fall, thy tough commixtures melt. 
 Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York, 
 The common people swarm like summer flies ; 
 And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun 1 
 .\nd who shines now but Henry's enemies ? 
 
 Phoebus ! hadst thou never given consent 
 That Phat?ton should clieck thy fiery steeds, 
 Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth : 
 And Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do. 
 Or as thy father, and his father, did, 
 
 Giving no ground unto the house of York, 
 They never tlien had sprung like summer flies ; 
 
 1, and ten thousand in this luckless realm, 
 Had left no mourning widows for our deatii. 
 And tliou tliis day liadst kept thy chair in peace. 
 For what doth cherish weeds, but gentle air '*. 
 
 And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity 1 
 Bootless are plaints, and cureless are mv wounds : 
 No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight ; 
 Tile foe is merciless, and will not pitv ; 
 For, at their hands, I have deserved no pity. 
 The air hath got into my deadly wounds. 
 And much eftiise of blood doth make me faint : — 
 Come. York, and Richard. Warwick, and the rest ; 
 
 1 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast. 
 
 [He faints. 
 
 Alarum and -letreat. Enter Edward, Gkorge, 
 Richard, Montague, Warwick, ^' Soldiers. 
 
 Edw. Now breathe we, lords ; good fortune bids 
 us pause. 
 And sinootii the frowns of war with peaceful looks. — 
 Stime troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ; — 
 1'ha.t \ed calm Henry, though he were a king, 
 
 As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust, 
 
 Command an argosy to stem tlie waves. 
 
 But think you, lords, that Cliff'ord fled with them ? 
 
 U'rtr. No, 'tis impossible he should escape : 
 For, though before liis face I speak the words. 
 Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave ; 
 And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead. 
 
 [Clifford groans, and dies 
 
 Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy 
 leave ? ^ [ing. 
 
 Uich, A deadly groan, like life and death's depart- 
 
 Edw. See who it is : and, now the battle's ended. 
 If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd. 
 
 Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; 
 Wlio, not contented that he lopp'd the brancli 
 In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, 
 But set liis murdering knife unto the root 
 From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, 
 I mean, our princely father, duke of York, [liead. 
 
 War. From off the gates of York fetch down the 
 Your father's head, wliich Cliff'ord placed there : 
 Instead whereof, let this supply the room ; 
 Measure for measure must be answered. 
 
 Edw. Bi'ing forth that fatal screech-owl to our house. 
 That nothing sung but death to us and ours : 
 Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound. 
 And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 
 
 [Attendants bring the hodil forward. 
 
 War. I think his understanding is bereft: — 
 Speak. Clifford, dost thou know who speaks to thee 1 — 
 Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life. 
 And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say. 
 
 Rich. O, would he did 1 and so, perliaps, he doth; 
 'Tis but his policy to counterfeit. 
 Because he would avoid such bitter taunts 
 Which in the time of death he ffave our father. 
 
 Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eagti' words. 
 
 Jiirh. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. 
 
 Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. 
 
 U'tir. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. 
 
 Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. 
 
 Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to Voik. 
 
 Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. 
 
 Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now? 
 
 War. They mock thee. Clifford ! swear as thou wast 
 wont. fhard, 
 
 Rich. Wliat, not an oathl nay, then the world goes 
 When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath : — 
 I know by that, he's dead ; And, by my spul. 
 If this right hand would buy two hours' life, 
 That I in all despite might rail at him, [blood 
 
 This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing 
 Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst 
 York and young Rutland could not satisfy. 
 
 Il'ar. A.y, but he's dead: Off'withthe traitor'shead, 
 And rear it in the place your father's stands. — 
 And now to London with triumphant march. 
 There to be crowned England's royal kin"-. 
 From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France 
 And ask the lady Bona for thy queen : 
 So shall thou sinew both these lands together ; 
 And, having France tliy friend thou shalt not dread 
 'I'he scatter 'd foe, that hopes to rise again ; 
 For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt. 
 Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears. 
 F'irst, will I see the coronation ; 
 And then to Britany I'll cross the sea. 
 To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. 
 
 Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be 
 For on thy shoulder do I build my seat ; 
 And never will 1 undertake the thing. 
 Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting.— 
 
508 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 
 
 Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster ; — 
 And Georee, of Clarence ; — Wam-ict, as ouTself, 
 Shall do. and uodo, as him pleaselh best. 
 
 Eirh. Let me be duke of Clarence ; George, of 
 For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous. [Gloster j 
 
 Tlor. Tut, that's a foolish observation ; 
 Richard, be duke of Gloster ; Xow to London, 
 To see these honours in possession. [£i»u>il. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE 1.—A Chan m the Xerth of England. 
 InJCT- two Keepers, trith cross-bmrs in their handi. 
 
 1 Keep. I'nder this thick-grown brake we'll shrond 
 ourselves ; 
 For through this laund anon the deer will come ; 
 And in lliis covert will we make our stand. 
 Culling tlie principal of all the deer. 
 
 a Affii. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot. 
 
 1 Keep. That cannot be ; the i>oise of Ihv cross-bow 
 Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. 
 
 Here stand we both, and aim we at the best: 
 And. for the time shall not seem tedious, 
 111 tell thee what befell me on a day. 
 In tills self-place where now we mean to stand. 
 
 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be past. 
 
 Knter King Hxntiy, rfii^wiserf, vith a prayer-hook^ 
 
 K. Hen, From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure 
 To greet mine own land with my wishful sight [love. 
 No, Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine ; 
 Thy place is fiU'i, thy sceptre wrung from thee. 
 Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith tliou wast anointed : 
 Xo bending knee will call thee CiEsar now, 
 Xo humble suitors press to speak for right, 
 Xo. not a man comes for redress of thee ; 
 For how can 1 help them, and not myself. [fee : 
 
 1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer, whose skin's a keeper's 
 This is the quondam king : let's seize upon him. 
 
 A". Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities . 
 For wise men say, it is the wisest course. 
 
 "i Keep. Whylingerwe? letuslavhandsuponhim. 
 
 1 Keep. Forbear a while ; we'll hear a little more. 
 
 A'. Hen. Mv queen, and son, are gone to France 
 for aid ; 
 .\nd, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick 
 Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister 
 To wife for Edward : If this news be true. 
 Poor queen and son, your labour is but lost ; 
 For Warwick is a subtle orator. 
 And Lewis a prince soon won with mo\nng words. 
 By this account, then, Margaret may win nim : 
 For she's a woman to be pitied much : 
 Her sitrhs will make a batten." in his breast ; 
 Her tears will pierce into a marble heart ; 
 The liiier will be mild, wliile she doth mourti ; 
 And Xero will be tainted with remorse. 
 To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears. 
 Av, but she's come to beg ; Warwick, to give : 
 She, on his leftside, cravmg aid for Henry; 
 He, on his right, asking a wife for Etiward. 
 She weeps, and savs — her Henn," is depos'd ; 
 He smiles and savs — his Edwani is install'd ; 
 That she poor wretch, for gr'el can spe.ik no more : 
 Whiles Warwick tells his title, smooths the wrong, 
 Tnferreth arguments of mighty strength ; 
 -\nd. in conclusion, witjs the king from her. 
 With promise of his sister, and what else. 
 
 To strengthen and snpport king Edward's place. 
 
 MaT^ret, thus 'twill be; and thou, (>oor soul. 
 An then forsaken, as thou weni'st forlorn. 
 
 2 Keep. Say. what art then, that talk'st of kings 
 and queens ? [born to : 
 
 K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I n-3< 
 A man at least, for less 1 should not !>« • 
 And men may talk of kings, and why not I ? 
 
 2 Keep. .\y. but thou talk'st as if thou wcrt a king. 
 
 K. Hen, Why, so I am, in mind : and that's enongn. 
 
 2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown ? 
 
 K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head ; 
 i X'ot dcck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, 
 Xor to be seen ; my crown is call'd. content ; 
 A cro«-n il is, that seldom kings enjoy. [tent, 
 
 2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with eon- 
 Yonr crown content, and yon. must be contented 
 To go along with us : for. as we think, 
 You are the king, king Fxlward halh depos'd ; 
 .\n(i we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance. 
 Will apprehend you as his enemy. [oath? 
 
 A'. Hni. lint Sid you never swear, and break an 
 
 2 Keep. No. never such an oath ; nor will not now. 
 
 K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when 1 was king 
 of England ! 
 
 2 Keep. Here in this country.where we now remain. 
 
 A'. Hen. I was anointed kmg at nine months old ; 
 My fatlier, and my grandfather, were kings ; 
 And you were sworn true subjects unto me : 
 I And tell me then, have you not broke your oaths ! 
 [ 1 Keep. Xo : 
 
 ■ For we were subjects, but while you were king. 
 ! A'. Hen. Why, am I dead? del notbreatlieaman' 
 Ah. simple men, you know not what you swear. 
 Look, as I blow this feather from my face, 
 .\ud as the air blows it to me again. 
 Obeying with my wind when 1 do blow, 
 .\nd yielding to another when it blows. 
 Commanded alvrays by the greater gust ; 
 Such is the lightness of you common men. 
 Put do not break your oaths ; for, of that sin 
 My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. 
 Cio where you will, the king shall be commanded ; 
 .\nd be you kings ; command, suid I'll oljgj". 
 
 ] Keep, \^'e are true subjects to the king, king Ed- 
 
 A'. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, [waivl. 
 If he were seated as king Edward is. 
 
 1 A'f<7>. We charge you, in God's name, and in the 
 king's. 
 To go with us unto the officers. 
 
 A. Hen. In God's name, lead ; your king's aasnc 
 be obey'd: 
 .And what God xvill, then let your king perform ; 
 .'Vnd what he will, I humbly \aeld unTo. [£Am»(. 
 
 SCEXE II.— London. A R^vm in the Palace. 
 
 Enter King Edward, Gloster, Curenci, and 
 Lady Grey. 
 
 K. Erfm. Brother of Gloster, at SMnt Alban'sSeld 
 This lady's husband, sir .lohn Grey, was slain. 
 His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror : 
 Her suit 'is now, to repossess those lands; 
 Which we injustice cannot well deny. 
 Because in quarrel of the house of ^'ork 
 The worthy gentleman did lose his lite. 
 
 Glo. Your highness shall do well, to grant her suit ; 
 It were dishonour, to deny il her. 
 
 A', E<iif. Itwereno less; but yet I'll make a pause. 
 
 Glo. Yea ! is it so 1 
 
 1 see, the lady hath a thing to grant. 
 Before the kirg will grant her humble suit. 
 
J^; ^T^^-.X-~^-^ *!^- --^* -^v 
 
 .^^ A_^^v^*X-^ 
 
 ^% 
 
 
 ;l3< 
 
 
 
 -'^^ \*"? 
 
 
 ^-^tr 
 
 ^" 
 
 4^ 
 
 
 .-*--,-? >--,vS: 
 
 \ 
 
 
 ..<■-■"' V 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
 
 ^fM>»«^ii fci * ' " ^ '" ' ' * ^ ■"***" > 
 
 Wi nwBi^"V*T M'*^ 
 
ACT IM.-SCENK H. 
 
 60,9 
 
 CluT. Il« t flown (lid (;»m«j How liiifi li« kti-w 
 
 lllB Wliwl I |/)l"/f. 
 
 Olii. HilKoa!! (/<«'<;«. 
 
 /f. /■.</«i. Willow, wo will Kimt'uUir of jruur »ijil ; 
 Anil i:ijiriM Willie <»ili»^f tiiim, (') know urn ii/lwl. 
 /.. <hrg. Ili([lil ijiiiciniiK Icinl, I Ciiunol linmk (l«- 
 
 M ]i|.-.w- ydui iii;;lihi!/.e l'>r';«)lvi" III"; liiiw ;|la/; 
 
 <>Mf |/lMi',iiri' 1), liliitti kutt%ly fill;. 
 '. I I 'J Ay, willow t then I'll warratit you 
 
 nil viiur lanila, 
 An if wlial jiMtiis** liim, ali«ll |il|!a«ur<! voil. 
 !■ i)(Ii( I Ui'.f.r, or, tjoofi f;iitti, yo'i'll I'litiTi a blow, 
 f 7<,t. I lif;t/lii:r tioi, iinliianiliiTrhaiiccliifiill, [Aii<h. 
 f;(./. (joil((ifl)iiltli:il! fiif lii:'lltak<:vanl:igi;>i, (/l.ii/«, 
 A'. l.ilw. How many cliililrvn liiut tliou, widmfl 
 
 Uill in», 
 Clar I lliiiik, III: iii>!iiiiiilolii!KsicliiMof lii;r. [Atlde, 
 (ilu. N»y, wliiii iiii; lliiiii ; Iib'II lalhfti j/ivi; her two, 
 
 [Aitde. 
 I„ firry, 'I'liiw, my iiiott fi;i'a<:ioii« lord. 
 (itii. lOii kliall Imvc four, if you'll In: iiil'd by 
 
 liini. l/ltiile. 
 
 K. I'.ilui. "I'wcr* iilty.llK'.y flioulii low tlicir fatl>c'f'« 
 
 luml. 
 /.. (trr(i. Ill] iiitifiil.driiiul l«id,iifif| grant it llii;n. 
 K. Eilui. I.ordu, give u» leave ; I'll try tliin widow's 
 
 wit, fli;avc, 
 
 (ilii. Ay, L'ood leave have yoii ; for you will have 
 
 I ill yoiilli ijku leave, and leave you to the crut<;li, 
 
 [(il.oniKR und (Jl.Alii.M:!'. retire tit the itlhrr liih.. 
 
 K, I'.dw. Now tell me, mailaui, do you love your 
 
 ehildrcn 1 
 /,. f.'riti/. Ay, full a« dearly an I love my«clf. 
 K, h<lw. A nil would yuu not do much, to do them 
 
 good 1 [harm, 
 
 /., Orfi/. 'I'o do tlieiii good, I would nunlain some 
 K, I'ldw, 'I'lifii |.;el your liii»lwnd'ii landi, to do 
 
 tlioin gnoil. 
 L. (irrii. I lieiffonr I e;ime unto your majcity. 
 K. yjw. I'll li'll you how theke lands are to he got. 
 I., (irei). Ko hliall you hind tne to your liigbiuim' 
 
 nervice. 
 K. F.dw. What nervice wilt thou do me, if I give 
 
 tliein ? (do. 
 
 /„ Crei/. What you rommand, that restB in me to 
 /{. i'.dw, lint you will take exceiitionn to my hoon. 
 /.. (imi, \o, grarioiin lord, exeeiit I eannot do it. 
 A', i.ttw. Ay, liul thou ean'it do \vh;it I mean to a\k, 
 L, Grty. Why, then 1 will do what your grace 
 
 eoinmatids. 
 (Ho. lie j,lii-K her hard ; and mueh rain wearH the 
 
 inarliie. [.'I»/i/c. 
 
 Clar. As red an fiio ! nay, then her wax must 
 
 melt. [AMe. 
 
 L.Grtij. Why Htopi my lordl lliall I nut hear 
 
 my tank 1 
 K, F.dw. An eu«y tai.k ; 'tin but to love a king. 
 /.. Ortff, Tliat'h Hoon |jerform'd, hecauHe I am a 
 
 •uhjeet. I^ivelhee. 
 
 K, I'.dw. Wliy then, thy huitband'': laiid-v I freely 
 /..f'/ri/.I take my leave with many tliouHund thanks. 
 (ito.'l'\u: tiialeh IS made ; ftheKeaiK it with aeurt'sy. 
 A'. Kdw. I'.ut May thee, 'listlie fruitnof love I mean, 
 I,, (/rey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. 
 A'. Kilw. Ay, but I fear me, in another sense. 
 What love, Ihink'ht Ihoii. I hoc so much to get! 
 />. fi'iYi/. My love llll death, my humble thankn, 
 
 my jirayeiH ; 
 That love, which virtuejiegs, and virtue ^;ranlH. 
 K. K.iio. No, liymytrolh, I did nolmeari such love. 
 L. C/Dj/. Why, llicii you mean, not as 1 thought 
 
 you dill. 
 
 K l'.dw. Uutnowyou Mrlly may (wreeivemymind. 
 
 /.. Omi. .My miml will never irrant what J j*i(*ivc 
 Your liiglin«» aimii at, if I aim aright. 
 
 A'. Hdu. 1 1, U:ll tlKO |,lain, I aim Ut \i*, with thee. 
 
 li.Cirtii. In t<;ll you {'lain, 1 hail ratliei lie in 
 julxm, [baiul'ii landk. 
 
 K, I'jiw, Why, then thou >halt rir<t have lliy bu». 
 
 ?,. Ortif. W hy, then mine horiotv nhall o« my 
 For by thai los;ii I will nol |,iireha» thero. fdowir ■, 
 
 A, /J/u.Thcri;inll>OHwronj;'».lthy':hildrefinii ' I 
 
 I.. Oriiif. Ileiein your hi^^hnef-.^ wrongft l>i,ti ^■ 
 Hut, mi;rlily lotd, ihi< rnuiry ineliniUion [aiio lu'.. 
 Accords nol with the «adne» of my «uit ; 
 I'leax! you di*mi>ii tne, either with ay, or no, 
 
 K, hlw. Av ; if thou wilt kay ay, Ui rny i(!(|iu»t; 
 No J if lliou (I'nt nay no, to rny demand. 
 
 /.# Orri/. 'Mien, no, my lord. My nuit ik at an end* 
 
 Oto, The widow liken liiin not, iihc knitt her biow». 
 
 I Aiid€. 
 
 Ctar. lie is the bluotent wooer in Chriitendom. 
 
 [AiiiJe, 
 
 K. Kdw. ^Atide.'] Her Iook» do argue her rc(,leie 
 with miMjesty ; 
 Her words do shew her wit incofn[,arable. 
 All her |.«ri(eeiionR challenge noveieignty ; 
 (^ne way, oi other, fche in for a kin;,, ; 
 And ulie »hall he my love, or cUe my <|uecn. — 
 •Say, that king I'^lward take thee forliiji (|Uf:en I 
 
 /,. fyrey. 'lis heller naid than done, my gracloui 
 1 am a nubjeel fit to jett withal, [lord : 
 
 Uut far unlit to be a sovereign. 
 
 K. I'Uiw. Sweet widow, by my nlate I swear to thee, 
 I Njieak no moie than what my soul intendu ; 
 And that in, to enjoy thee fur my love. 
 
 L. (/reij. And that is iiujre than 1 will yield unto : 
 I know, 1 am too meati to be your ijueen: 
 And yet too good to be your concubine, 
 
 A'. l'.dw. You cavil, widow ; I did mtin, my ijiieen. 
 
 L. Grtif. 'Twill grieve yourgracc, rny too khould 
 call you — father. 
 
 K. Edw. No more, than when thy daughtcri call 
 thee mother. 
 'I'hou art a widow, and thou hast some children : 
 And, hy God's mother, I, being but a bachelor, 
 Have other some ; why, 'tis a lia[ipy thing 
 To be the father unto many sons. 
 Answer no more, for thou shall be my f|ueen. 
 
 Via. The ghostly father now hath done his shrift. 
 
 [Aiiilr. 
 
 Clar, When he was made a shriver, 'twas for shift. 
 
 [/I.oit. 
 
 K, Edw, Ilrothers, you muse what chat we two 
 
 have had. 
 Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad, 
 A'. F.dw, You'd think it strange, if 1 should marry 
 tlfir. To whom, my lord ? [her. 
 
 A. i:dw. Why, Clarence, to to; -elf. 
 
 Glu. 'I'hat would be ten days' wonder, at the least. 
 Clar. Thai's a day longer than a wonder la.ts. 
 f^fc. liy so mueh is the wonder in extremes. 
 K. Kdw. Well, jest on, brothers : I can tell you 
 Iler suit is granted for her husband's lands, [both, 
 
 Enter a Nobleman. 
 
 Null. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken, 
 And brought your prisoner to your palace gale. 
 
 A. Kdw. See, that he be convey'd unto the Tower: — 
 And go we, brolhers, to the man that took him, 
 To <[ueslion of his ajiprehenvion. — 
 Widow, go you along j — Lords, use her honourable 
 lEieunt Kino Euwsiio, L'ldn (iiiey 
 
 ClARtKCK, U'll^ Luid. 
 
olO 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 
 
 G/o. Ay, Edward will use women honourably, 
 'Would he were wasted, marrow, bones, and all, 
 That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring, 
 To cross me from the golden time I look for! 
 And yet, between my soul's detiire, and me, 
 (The lustful Edward's title buried,) 
 Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Kdward, 
 And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies, 
 To take their rooms, ere I can place myself: 
 A cold premeditation for my purpose 1 
 Why, tlieu 1 do but dream on sovereignty ; 
 Like one that stands upon a promontory. 
 And spies a far-offshore wliere he would tread, 
 Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; 
 And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, 
 Saying — he'll lade it dry to have his way : 
 So do I wish the crown, being so far off; 
 And so 1 elude the means that keep me from it ; 
 And so 1 say — I'll cut the causes off, 
 Flattering me with impossibilities. — 
 My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much, 
 Unless my hand and strengtli could equal them. 
 \Vell, say there is no kingdom then for Richard ; 
 What other pleasure can the world afford ! 
 I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, 
 And deck my body in gay ornaments, 
 And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks, 
 O miserable thought! and more unlikely, 
 Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns ! 
 Why, love forswore me in ray mother's womb ; 
 And, for I should not deal in her soft laws. 
 She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe 
 To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub ; 
 To make an envious mountain on my back, 
 "Where sits deformity to mock my body ; 
 To shape my legs of an unequal size ; 
 To disproportion me in every part, 
 Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp. 
 That carries no impression like the dam. 
 And am 1 then a man to be belov'd I 
 O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought! 
 Then, since this earth affords no joy to me, 
 But to command, to check, to o'erbear such 
 As are of better person than myself, 
 I'll make my heaven — to dream upon the crown ; 
 And, whiles I live, to account this world but hell, 
 Until my mis-shap'd trunk that bears this head, 
 Be round impaled with a glorious crown. 
 And yet I know not how to get the crown. 
 For many lives stand between me and home ; 
 And I, — like one lost in a thorny wood, 
 That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns j 
 Seeking a way, and straying from the way . 
 Not knowing how to find the open air, 
 But toiling desperately to find it out, — 
 Torment myself to catch the English crown : 
 And from that tomientl will free myself, 
 Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. 
 Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile: 
 And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart ; 
 And wet my cheeks with artificial tears. 
 And frame my face to all occasions. 
 I'll drown more sailors than the merraaid shall; 
 I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk ; 
 I'll play the orator as well as I^estor, 
 Deceive morcsliiy than Ulysses could, 
 And, like a Smun, take another Troy : 
 I can add colours to the cameleon ; 
 Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantacjcs. 
 And set the raurd'rous Machiavel to school. 
 Can I do this, and cannot get a crown 1 
 Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down. [^Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— France. A Ttoom in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish. Enter Lewis ihe French A'/;i^, and Lady 
 Bona, attended; the King takes his state. Then 
 enter Qukkv jMahgahet, Puince Edward, ker 
 son, and the Earl of Uxfoud. 
 
 K. Lew. Fair queen of Engiand, worthy Margaret, 
 
 \_Ris'mg, 
 
 Sit down with us ; it ill befits thy state, [sit. 
 
 [ And birth, that thou should'st stand, while Lewis doth 
 
 Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France ; now Margaret 
 Must strike her sail, and learn awhile to serve, 
 AVhere kings command. I was, I must confess, 
 Great Albion's queen in former golden days : 
 But now mischance hath trod my title down, 
 And with dishonour laid me on the ground ; 
 Where I must take like seat unto my fortune. 
 And to my humble seat conform myself. 
 
 K. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs this 
 deep despair] [tears, 
 
 Q. May. From such a cause as fills mine eyes with 
 And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in cares, 
 
 K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself, 
 And sit thee by our side : yield not thy neck 
 
 [Sfdts her by him. 
 To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind 
 Still ride in triumph over all mischance. 
 Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief j 
 It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief. 
 
 Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my drooping 
 thoughts, 
 And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak. 
 Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, — 
 That Henry, sole possessor of my love, 
 Is, of a king, become a banish'd man. 
 And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn ; 
 While proud ambitious Edward, duke of York, 
 Usurps the regal title, and the seat 
 Of England's true-anointed lawful king. 
 This is the cause, that I, poor JMargaret,— ^ 
 With this my son, prince Edward, Henry's heir,^ 
 Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid j 
 And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done : 
 Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help ; 
 Our people and our peers are both misled. 
 Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to tlight. 
 And, as thou see'st, ourselves in heavy plight. 
 
 K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm the 
 While we bethink a means to break it off. [storm, 
 
 Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows 
 
 our foe. 
 K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I '11 succour thee. 
 
 Q. Mar. 0, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow : 
 And see, where comes the breeder of my sorrow. 
 
 Enter Warwick, attended, 
 K. Lew, What's he, approacheth boldly to our pre- 
 sence t [friend. 
 Q. Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest 
 K.Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick! What brings 
 
 thee to France t 
 [Descendinr^from his state. Queen Margaret rises, 
 Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to risej 
 For this is he, that moves both wind and tide. 
 ]Var. From worthy Edward, king of Albion, 
 My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend, 
 I come, — in kindness and unfeigned love, — ■ 
 First, to do greetings to thy royal person ; 
 And, then, to crave a league of amity : 
 And, lastly, to confirm that* amity 
 With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant 
 That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister, 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 511 
 
 To England's king, in lawful marriaje. | 
 
 Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done. 
 
 IVar. And, gracious madam, [lo Bona.] in our 
 king's behalf, i 
 
 I am commanded, with your leave and favour, ■ 
 
 Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue 
 To tell the passion of my sovereign'.^ lit;art ; 
 Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears, 
 Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue. 
 
 Q, Mar. King Lewis, — and lady Bona, hear me 
 Before you answer Warwick. His demand [speak, 
 Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love. 
 But from deceit, bred by necessity ; 
 For how can tyrants safely govern home, 
 Unless abroad they purchase great alliance 1 
 To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice, — 
 Tliat Henry liveth still : but were he dead. 
 Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son. 
 Look therefore.Lewis, that by this league and marriage 
 Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour : 
 For though usurpers sway the rule a while. 
 Vet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs. 
 
 War. Injurious Margaret! 
 
 Prince. And why not queen? 
 
 War. Because thy father Henry did usurp ; 
 And thou no more art prince, than she is queen. 
 
 0\f. Then Warwick (disannuls great John of Gaunt, 
 W'hich did subdue the greatest part of Spain ; 
 And, after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth, 
 Whose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ; 
 And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth, 
 Who by his prowess conquered all France : 
 From these our Henry lineally descends. 
 
 War. Oxfoi\l, how haps it, in this smooth discourse, 
 You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath lost 
 All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten ? 
 TMethink, these peers of France should smile at that.— 
 But for the rest, — You tell a pedigree 
 Of threescore and two years ; a silly time 
 To make prescription for a kingdoia's worth. 
 
 O.if. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against thy 
 Whom thou obey'dst thirty and six years, [liege. 
 And not bewrav thy treason with a blush ] 
 
 IF<7r. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right. 
 Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree? 
 For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward king. 
 
 0\f. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom 
 My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere, 
 W'as done to death ? and more than so, my father. 
 Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years, 
 When nature brought him to the door of death I 
 No, Warwick, no , while life upholds this arm. 
 This arm upholds the house of Lancaster. 
 
 Wnr. And I the house of Y'ork. 
 
 A'. Lev. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and Ox- 
 Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside, [ford, 
 Wiule I use further conference with Warwick. 
 
 Q. Mar. Heaven gr^nt, that Warwick's words be- 
 witch him not ! 
 
 [Retiring uith the PniNCE and Oxford. 
 
 K. Lew. Now, Wanvick, tell me, even upon thy 
 conscience. 
 Is Edward your true king 1 for I were loath. 
 To link with him that were not lawful chosen. 
 
 War. Thereon I pawn ray credit and mine honour. 
 
 K.Leiv. But is he gracious in the people's eye? 
 
 War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate. 
 
 K. Lew. Thtn further. — all dissembling set aside. 
 Tell me for truth the measure of his love 
 Unto our sister Bona. 
 
 War. Such it seems, 
 
 As may beseeiti a monarch liVe himself. 
 
 Myself have often heard him say, tLud swear,— 
 That tliis his love was an eternal plant; 
 Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground. 
 The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun ; 
 Exempt from envy, but not from disdain. 
 Unless the lady Bona quit his pain. 
 
 K. Leu. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve. 
 
 Bona, Your grant, or your denial shall be mine : — 
 Y'et I confess, [fo War.] that often ere this day. 
 When 1 have heard your king's desert recounted, 
 Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire. 
 
 K.Leiv. Then, Warwick, thus, — Our sister shall 
 be Edward's ; 
 And now forthwith shall articles be drawn 
 Touching the jointure that your king must make, 
 Which with her dowiy shall be counterpois'd :— 
 Draw near, queen Margaret, and be a witness. 
 That Bona shall be wife to the English king. 
 
 Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king, 
 
 Q. l\lar. Deceitful Warwick' it was thy device 
 By this alliance to make void my suit ; 
 Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend. 
 
 K. Lew. And still is friend to him and Margaret: 
 But if your title to the crown be weak, — 
 As may appear by Edward's good success, — 
 Then 'tis but reason, that I be releas'd 
 From giving aid, which late I promised. 
 Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand. 
 That your estate requires, and mine can yield. 
 
 War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his case , 
 Where having nothing, nothing he can lose. 
 And as for you yourself, omi qaondam queen, — 
 You have a father able to maintain you ; 
 And better 'twere, you troubled him than France. 
 
 Q. Mav. Peace, impudent and shameless Warwick, 
 Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings! [peace; 
 I will not hence, till with my talk and tears, 
 Both full of truth, 1 make king Lewis behold 
 Thy sly conveyance, and thy lord's false love ; 
 For both of you are birds of self-same feather. 
 
 [A horn sounded within, 
 
 K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you ; 
 Sent from your brother, marquis Montague. 
 These from our king unto your majesty. — ■ 
 And, madam, these for you ; from whom, I know not. 
 [To MARCAitET. They alt read their letters. 
 
 Oif. I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress 
 Smiles at her news, while Wanvick frowns at his. 
 
 Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were 
 I hope, all's for the best. [nettled: 
 
 A'. Lew. W^arwick, what are thy news ? and yours, 
 fair queen ? [joys. 
 
 Q. Mar, Mine, such as fill my heart with unhop'd 
 
 War. Mine, full of sorrow and heart's discontent, 
 
 A'. Lew. What ! has your king married the lady 
 And now, to sooth your forgery and his, [Grey ? 
 Sends me a paper to persuade me patience? 
 Is this the alliance that he seeks with France ? 
 Dare he presume to scorn us in this manner? 
 
 Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before : 
 This proveth Edward's love, and Warwick's honesty. 
 
 War. KingLewir^, I here protest, — in sight of hea- 
 And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, — [ven. 
 That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's ; 
 No more my king, for he dishonours me ; 
 But most himself, if he could see his shame. — 
 Did I forget, that by tiie house of York 
 My father came untimely to his death? 
 Did I let pass the abuse done to my niece ? 
 
•512 
 
 KING HEXilY VI.— PART III. 
 
 DJdlp V.^-in^f ^ 
 
 A»i »s-. . 
 
 I S«» KnoOBCs'loBi, utl Rtuni 10 Henrr : 
 My Qohie qneen. W« ftmaer gni^w. w«ssl 
 And beacefenli I jua riiy trae sen .: •: . 
 I will reirw^ his wr:>r j K> !x.?y «. ■■ , 
 Aad rejJiat HeaTx • 
 
 <J. ll«r. Wnnrjck. •. raeJm»li*Se 
 
 Ar" ^-,- ; ■Ta<ju;.f :, ' ■•■'•^-- 
 
 Ar .-"a beccai > 
 
 ^, ,-_.->. his frieo.. ,- • '■■ 
 
 That. It iin; Letris Toachsue to lEmisn us 
 With sc-nw Stir b^ads of thaata soWiers, 
 I "!! o!>.'.ert«i* to iiad thetn on ear coisl, 
 Aad few* ;h< trtaat frosa hjs sf »t by xrar. 
 *ns i»t kb sexr-cuiie bnde shall succour him: 
 And «s foi CUreoce,— «s my letters tell lae. 
 He's verv Twi'It now to &lf (roa him : 
 For mat. '.~r wanton lust than honour. 
 
 Or tiniT • .-.rK". ssfcrr of oKt couatij. 
 
 - -i be rereng'd. 
 
 B;.: . , ,, ,! 
 
 ^^ 1 poor Henre 
 
 laK-y. . .:r> [live. 
 
 i? ;... - _ tea's areoae. 
 
 n'tr. Ami mine, tair i*viv Inina, iouis with vwurs. 
 
 /T, T-^v. And min« with Vts, aad thine, and Mar- 
 TheTetoni, at last. 1 finaly ain resolv'd. [garet's. 
 Vou shall hare aid. 
 
 ,1 !• ... 1 ... ..... .:,.j hnmble thanks for all at once, 
 
 i.vJ's niessenger. return in post; 
 Ar .7.;. thy supposed kiag. — 
 
 TVat Lewis ot" 'triace is sending over luislers. 
 To t«:«l it with him and his new bride: 
 Thou seest what's pa-sl. go fear thy king withal. 
 
 B.'M. Teil hiia. la hope he'll prove a widower, 
 ri! wear the willow garland for his sake, [shortly. 
 
 l\«:t I t«:am his swwti and mortal ft* : 
 Matw o'" ;'^»r-i«i* was the chatw ho sa*» ■€, 
 
 k:: . ■ '• ■ ■'• ■ ■■■■■■>l. 
 
 Hi.. »' = 
 
 X>,i . . .-.:row. 
 
 I » . « crowa. 
 
 As.. -a again ; 
 
 No: that 1 ;-Jiy "ilcaivs U4i!.«i\, 
 
 But s««k re»xuje oa ^vratvi's mockeiy. [Erii. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 j<^F.XK I — Loadoa. A R.v>» .-^ i,r ,' . ...y. 
 £at«r Gt-ostEs, CijiitKscj;, So!««»s«, Moxtaoiib. 
 
 CM. Xow.tcll a«.bn>therC!ane»c«,wh4tth»uk vou 
 
 Of ■- ■" v-v? 
 
 I \ ■. -f to Kraitce; 
 
 How couiti tie stay uii \\ atwicK luaae return ! 
 Ci^>». ilyljnls,h.vrbear this talk; here coa>es the king. 
 
 f (.wriA. Enter Kt«! Kpw aro, osttviM ; l.»av 
 Gket, «s <Jni«« ; I'sssRoxs, SrirroKn Uist- 
 
 IN-CS, «»!< rt4<TS. 
 
 Ol\ -Vad his w«ll.chosen bride. 
 CUr. 1 iniud to tell him pl.iinly what 1 ihiak. 
 A". EfSff. Xow, toother of CJareoc«, how liLe vrxi 
 our choice. 
 That you stand pensive, as kil? malcontent ? 
 
 Ciar. As wtll as Lewis of France, or the earl of 
 Warwick ; 
 Which »ie so vrcak of coaTai."*. and in judgment, 
 ' That they'll take ac o " abuse. 
 
 A'.ioir. Suppose t: I .v without acaus«, 
 
 They are but Lewis .i... .. .. i. ; 1 am Kdwaivl, 
 
 Your kins and Warwick's, and must have luy will. 
 Gio. .\nd vou shall hax-e wur will, because our 
 
 O. .V.r. TeU himrMv mou.Tiins weeds ai« laid Yet hasty marria^-e seldom p;v«|h well. (kin- : 
 And 1 am readT to put armour on. [aside, , K- t^'f- Yea. ftrollicx Ktchatd, ane jou oflendeJ 
 
 ircj-.Tell lum uom me,in»« he hath donemel G'""- ^"'>tI• ,.,,., v ^V" " 
 
 ^^Q„ . I Xo ; God forbid that I should wish them se*er d 
 
 And theiefore I'll uncrown him, ere't be long. 
 
 There's thv reward ; be swne. [f'ji't „„ , . - -, ... 
 
 K Lfjr " Bat. Warwick, thou, | ff- Erf'"- i^ett^ng your scorns, and \-our misiike 
 
 ADdOxfoid. with five thousand men, , Tell me some reason why the lady tJrey [aside, 
 
 Shall crois the seas, and bid false Kdward battle : | Should not become my wife, and Knglaud s queen 
 
 j Whom God hath ioin'd together ; ay. and 'twere pity, 
 r f'^'J Mess. , To sunder tliem that \Mkc so well U>g«ther. 
 
 And, as occasion serves, this noble queen 
 And prince shall follow with a fresh supply. 
 Yet. ere thou go, but answer nie one doubt :— 
 What ple-ige have ^ve of thy ana loyalty ! 
 
 ir.ir. This shall assure my constmt loyalty: 
 That if our queen and this young prince agreo, 
 I'll join mine eldest daughter and my joy. 
 To him forthwith in holv we^ilock Ixina; 
 
 iVnd you too. Somerset, aad Montague, 
 
 Speik fnecly what you think. 
 ; Clur. Then this is my opinion, — that king Lewis 
 
 Becomes your eaea-.y for mocking hiiu 
 i .\bout the laarriafi* of the lady L>ona. 
 j G/.>. ,\nd Warwick, doing what you gave jti charge, 
 I Is now dishonourcvi by this new marriage. 
 
 K. £<<!.-. What, if both Lewis :\ad Warwick be ap- 
 
 Q. .If jr. Yes, 1 a^ree.' and thank vou for>-our mo- , By such invention as 1 c;ui devise ! [peiis'd. 
 
 MoKt. Yet to have joined with France in such al- 
 liance, [wealth 
 Would more have strengthen'd this onr couuuon- 
 'Gainst foreign stonns, tliaa any home-bred marria^ 
 
 Hast. Why knows net Montague, that of itself, 
 Etigland is safe, if true within itself ! [ France 
 
 ■ " [Hf <iivs »!.■.< 'i.ind to W.»R»ici;. 1 -Vl>"il- Yes ; but the safer, when it is b,ickd with 
 JT.J.cjr.Whvstay we now! These soldiers shall be Hast. 'Tis Iwtter using France, than trusung 
 And thou, lori Bourbon, onr high admiral, [levied, ] France: 
 
 Shall »-.ilt them over with our roval tleet.- 
 
 Son Fdward. she is fair and virtuous. [tion:— 
 
 Therefore delav not, give thy h.\nd to Warwick ; 
 And, with thy^aad. thy faith itrcvocalile, 
 Tnat only Warwick's daughter shall be thine. 
 
 PrtKC*. Yes. I accept her. for she well desen-es it ; 
 And here, to pledge my vow, 1 give my hand 
 
 I Ions, till Edward fall by war's mischance. 
 For tnockino* marriage with a dame of France. 
 
 [Ei«mt all hut Warwick, 
 War. I came from Edward as embassador. 
 
 Let us be backd with God, and with the seas, 
 
 j Which he hath given for fence impregnable. 
 And with their helps only defend ourselves : 
 1 In them, and in ourselves, our safety lies, [scn-ei 
 Cltr. For this one speech, lord Hastings, well de- 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 513 
 
 To have the heir of the lord llungcrforcl. i 
 
 K.hlti'. Ay.whatof lhal'itwa«mywill,anil grant; ! 
 And, for thin onoc, my will nliall «tand for law, i 
 
 (till. And yet, melliink*, your i{ra<.c lialh not dono ] 
 To (pvB (lie heir and daughter of lord Scales [well, I 
 TInto the hrother of your lovin).' bride ; 
 She better would have fitted me, or Clarence ; 
 Ji'it in your bride you bury brotherhood. 
 
 CUir. Or else you would not have bcktow'd the heir 
 Of the lord Uonvillc on your new wife's son, 
 And leave your brolherif to ^o speed eUewhcre- 
 
 K. Kilm. Alai, iH)or fjlarencc ! i« it for a wife, 
 That thou art malcontent 1 I will provide thee. 
 
 C'/or. In choosing for yournelf, you shcw'd your 
 judf^ment ; 
 Which being shallow, you shall give me leave 
 To play the broker in mine own behalf; 
 And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you. 
 
 K.Kdw. Leave ine, or tarry, Kdward will bcking. 
 And not he tied unto his brother's will. 
 
 Q, V.lh. My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty 
 To raise my state to title of a queen, 
 i)o me but right, ancl you must all confess 
 'J'hat I was not ignoi>le of descent. 
 And meaner than myself have haii like fortune. 
 But as this title honours me and mine. 
 So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing. 
 Do cloud my joys, with danger and with sorrow. 
 
 K. Kilrv. Aly love, forbear to fawn upon their frowns : 
 What danger, or what sorrow can befall thee, 
 80 long as Edward is thy constant friend. 
 And their true sovereign, whom they must obey ? 
 Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too, 
 Unless they seek for hatred at my hands : 
 Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe. 
 And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath. 
 
 do. i hear, yet say not much, but think the more. 
 
 \^A»ide. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 K. FAw. Now, messenger, what letters, or what 
 From France T [news, 
 
 Mns, i\Iy sovereign liege, no letters ; and few 
 IJut such as I, without your special pardon, [words, 
 Dare not relate. 
 
 A'. Ktlw. Goto we pardon thee : therefore, in brief. 
 Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them. 
 What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters ? 
 
 JVfcss. At my depart, tlicse were his very words ; 
 Go teiljalip. Edward, thif supposed lunfr, — 
 llial Lewis nf' France is sending over maskers, 
 To revet it with liim and liis new Inide. 
 
 K. Kdiv, Is Lewis so brave ; belike, he thinks me 
 But what said lady Bona to my marriage! [Henry, 
 
 Mess. These were her words, utter'd with mild dis- 
 Tett tiirn, in liope heUl prove a widower sliortly, [dain; 
 rtt wear the wiitow garland Jar his sake. 
 
 K. Edw. I blame not her, she could say little less; i 
 She had the wrong. Hut what said Henry's queen 1 
 For I have heard that she was there in place. 
 
 Mess. Tell him, quoth she. my mour?tin<^ weeds are 
 And [ am readq to pat armour on, [^done, 
 
 K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon. I 
 But wliat said Warwick to these injuries? I 
 
 Mess. He, more inccns'd against your majesty j 
 Than all the rest, discharg'd me with these words ; 
 Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong, j 
 
 And therefore Vlt uurrown him, ereU tte long. 
 
 K. Edw. Ha! durst the traitor breathe out so proud 
 Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd ; [words? 
 They shall have wars, ancl pay for their presumption. 
 But say, is Warwick friends witli .Margaret' 
 
 Meu, Ay, gracious lovereigo ; they are so link'd 
 in friendship, [daughter 
 
 'i'hat young prince J/lward marries Warwick's 
 
 Ctar. Belike, the elder ; Clarence will have the 
 younger. 
 Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast, 
 For I will henee to Warwick's other daughter; 
 'J'hat, though 1 want a kingdom, yet in marriage 
 I may not prove inferior to yourself.— 
 You, that love me and Warwick, follow me. 
 
 [i'li! Claiiknce, and SoxzRtur faUova. 
 
 Gh. Not 1. 
 My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I 
 Stay not for love of IMward, but the crown. [Aside. 
 
 Kw Edw, Clarence and Somerset both gone to War- 
 ^'et am I arm 'd against the worst can happen; [wick! 
 And haste is needful in this desperate case. — 
 Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf 
 Go levy men, and make prepare for war. 
 They are already, or quickly will be landed : 
 Myself in person will straight follow you. 
 
 [Ereujtt Pemiikoke and .Stafford. 
 But, ere I go, Hastings, — and Montague, — 
 Itesolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest, 
 .Are near to Wanvick, by blood, and by alliance : 
 I'ell me, if you love Warwick more than me ? 
 If it be so, then both depart to him ; 
 I rather wish you foes, than hollow friends ; 
 But if you mind to hold your time obedience. 
 Give me assurance with some friendly vow, 
 'I'hat I may never have you in suspect. 
 
 Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves true ! 
 
 Jiast. And Hastings, as he favours Edward's cause ! 
 
 K, Edw. Now, brother llichard, will you stand 
 by us? 
 
 Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you, 
 
 K. Edw, Why so ; then I am sure of victory. 
 Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour. 
 Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE U.—A Plain in Warwickshire, 
 
 Enter Warwick and Oxpoud, with French and 
 
 other Forces. 
 War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well ; 
 The common people by numbers swarm to us. 
 
 Eater Clap.emce and Somer5p.t, 
 Rut, sec, where Somerset and Clarence come ; — 
 Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends' 
 
 C/fir, Fear not that, my lord. [wick ; 
 
 War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War- 
 And welcome, Somerset : — I hold it cowardice, 
 'f'o rest mistrustful where a noble heart 
 Hath pawn'd an open hand in sign of love ; 
 Else might I think, that Clarence, Edward's brother, 
 Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings : 
 But welcome, Clarence ; my daughter shall be thine. 
 And now what rests, but. in night's coverture, 
 Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd, 
 His soldiers lurking in the towns about, 
 And but attended by a single guard, 
 We may surprize and take him at our pleasure ■? 
 Our scouts have found the adventure very easy : 
 That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede, 
 With slight and manhood stole to Rhesus' tents. 
 And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds ; 
 So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle, 
 At unawares may beat down Edward's guard, 
 And seize himself; 1 say not — slaughter him. 
 For J intend but only to surprize him. — 
 You, that will follow me to this attempt, 
 S K 
 
-j^ SIXG HBSRT TL— PART III- 
 
 ._ ^, --^^ A.«i4« =«*««■***= ****** 
 
 
 '■• lit "3r»- TWnUBSs »5 l™^ 
 
 Y«*. 
 
 
 ;««kmw4»; 
 
 
 »•«■. 1^ is in? «iS; «»£ sse. - 
 
 f ..-tcaas- atT tobsbs : imw "^- -^^ ^=>^ — - 
 
 1 Wasi^ Wi^' ?**» aes» ■ 
 • i r^g»*- Sbbt. nr aum Sea. 
 
 Tu 
 
 1.^- s/ii.T(;..;7 ' 
 
 Sir- TteB 55 JUT swesPBro sJ^eb' ^^ 
 
 ~ -:.- Thee M«re- 1 awst«Bfes„ "« TO" ** S'*' - 
 ^; TOW lass, Art WW lai »« ^i^- 
 
 i or -•. .-- .-. i*rarf"s •&»«»« ■ "J ^ 
 1 nas is s ^ns aafas — ». , 
 
 At. »t, itc 5! ?'^*** '? .. 
 
 Sir- Bctnn*».»*««^^»?™***""'-"T[L 
 
 
 WltEE -BOB fegrac-fi ne »» aw'i.mhi'''** 
 Jkai c«M w« » esBBB ^« **« «»?«- 
 
 y« iM»r K «e jot Mi»kMM9; 
 Vor iiwr » ssn*r «» » ?M9*E * "^^ 
 
 ^li^^^U. «^ «a loA Vn*<* fxA.) 
 . _ :rfaeei»*«iA»»»Ae5mcB«T.^ 
 
 » T« saw » la« Ae »» •'B*^^ "^~1, 
 I Itee AUl I rea 98c«» ««■««««, »a tea. 
 
 5CKXX V. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE VII. 
 
 515 
 
 Vnder the colo'ir of his usual gume, 
 
 He shall here find his friends, with horse and men. 
 
 To set him free from bis captivity. 
 
 Eater King Edward, and a Huntsman. 
 Hunt. This way, ray lord ; for this way lies the game. 
 A'. Kdu\ Nay, this way, man ; see, where the hunts- 
 men staod. — 
 \ow, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest, 
 Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer ? 
 
 Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste j 
 Your horse stands ready at the park comer. 
 K. Edw. But whither shall we then? 
 Hast, To Lynn, my lord ; and ship from thence to 
 Flanders. [meaning. 
 
 Gh. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that was my 
 A'. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy fonvardness. 
 Glo, But wherefore stay we ? 'lis no time to talk. 
 K.Edw, Huntsman, what say'st thou ? wilt ihou 
 
 go along] 
 Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be hanfj'd. 
 0U>. Come then, away ; let's have no more ado. 
 K,Edw, Bishop, farewell: shield thee from War- 
 wick's frown ; 
 And pray that I may repossess the crown. [^Eieitnt. 
 
 SCENE VI.— ^ Room in the Tower, 
 
 Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, Someh* 
 SET, ifouug Richmond, Oxford, Montague, Lieu- 
 tenant (Tf the Tower, and Attendants. 
 
 K.Hen. Master lieutenant, now thatGodandfriends 
 Have shaken Edwaid from the regal seat ; 
 And turn'd my captive state to liberty. 
 My fear to hope, ray sorrows unto joys ; 
 At our enlargement what are thy due fees'! 
 
 Liett. Subjects may challenge nothing of their sove- 
 Bul, if an humble prayer may prevail, [reigns; 
 
 I then crave pardon of your majesty. 
 
 K. Hen, For what, lieutenant! for well using me? 
 Nay, be thou sure, I '11 well requite thy kindness, 
 For liiat it made my imprisonment a pleasure : 
 Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds 
 Conceive, wlien, after many moody thoughts. 
 At last, by notes of household harmony, 
 They quite forget their loss of liberty. — 
 But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free. 
 And chiefly therefore, I thank God, and thee ; 
 He was the author, thou the instrument. 
 'I'herefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite. 
 By living low, where fortune cannot hurt me ; 
 And that the people of this blessed land 
 jVIay not be punish'd with my thwarting stars ; 
 Warwick, although my head still v/car the crown, 
 I here resign my government to thee. 
 For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds. 
 
 War. Your grace hath still been fam'd for virtuous; 
 And now may seem as wise as virtuous, 
 By spying, and avoiding, fortune's malice, 
 For few men rightly temper with the stars : 
 Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace. 
 For choosing me, when Clarence is in place. 
 
 Clar. Xo, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway. 
 To wltom the heavens, in thy nativitj', 
 Adjuds'd an olive branch, and laurel crown, 
 As likely to be blest in peace, and war ; 
 And therefore I yield thee my-free consent. 
 
 War, And I choose Clarence only for protector. 
 
 K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both your 
 hands ; 
 Now join your hands, and, with your hands, your 
 That no dissention hinder government: [hearts, 
 
 ' T make you both protectors of this land ; 
 ' While I myself will lead a private life, 
 j And in devotion spend my latter days, 
 1 To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise. 
 j War. WhatanswersClarencetohissovereign'swilP 
 I CUtr, That he consents, if Warwick yield consent ; 
 For on thv fortune I repose myself. 
 
 War, Why then, though loath, yet must I be con- 
 W'e 'I! yoke together, like a double shadow [tent : 
 To Henrj-'s body, and supply his place ; 
 I mean, in bearing weight of government. 
 While he enjoys the honour, and his ease. 
 And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful. 
 Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor. 
 And all his lands and goods be confiscate. 
 
 Clar.W hat else? and that succession be determin'd. 
 War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his part. 
 A'. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief affairs. 
 Let me entreat, (for I command no more, ) 
 That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward, 
 lie sent for, to return from France with speed : 
 For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear 
 My joy of liberty is half eclips'd. 
 
 CUir. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all speed. 
 K. Hen. ]My lord of Somerset, what youth is that. 
 Of whom you seem to have so tender care ? 
 
 Som. My liege. itis young Henry,earl of Richmond. 
 K, Hen. Come hither, England's hope : If secret 
 powers \^LaifS his hand on his head. 
 
 Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts. 
 This pretty lad will prove our country's bUss. 
 His looks are full of peaceful majesty ; 
 His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown. 
 His hand to wield a scepter ; and himself 
 Likely, in time, to bless a resal throne. 
 Make much of him, my lords ; for this is he 
 INIust help you more than you are hurt by me. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 War. What news, my friend ! 
 
 ilfess. That Edward is escaped from your brother. 
 And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy. 
 
 War. Unsavoury news : but how made he escape! 
 
 Mess. He was convey 'd by Richard duke of Gloster, 
 And the lord Hastings, who attended him 
 III secret ambush on the forest side. 
 And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him: 
 For hunting was his daily exercise. 
 
 W(ir. My brother was too careless of his charge. — 
 But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide 
 A salve for any sore that may betide. 
 
 lEieunt King Henry, Warwick, Clarence, 
 Lieutenant, and Attendants. 
 
 Som. My lord, I like notof this flight of Edward's; 
 For, doubtless. Burgundy will yield him help ; 
 And we shall have more wars, before't be lon^. 
 As Henry's late pre5a;4^ing prophecy 
 Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Richmond; 
 So doth my heart misgive me, in these conSicts 
 What may befall him, to his harm, and ours : 
 Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst. 
 Forthwith we'll send him hence to Britany, 
 Till storms be past of civil enmity. 
 
 Oif. Ay ; for, if Edward repossess the crowTi, 
 'Tis like, that Richmond with the rest shall down. 
 
 Som, It shall be so ; he shall to Britany. 
 Come, therefore, let's about it speedily. [Ezeunt 
 
 SCENE Yll.— Before York, 
 Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hastings, Si Forces 
 K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings, and 
 Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends, [the rest ; 
 2 Kt 
 
516 
 
 ILiSG HENRY VI.-PART III 
 
 
 
 Fat 
 
 A 
 Fir 
 
 
 
 At 
 
 Fc 
 
 A^ t^inc «v 
 
 lie 
 
 O 
 
 
 r :.f a t« <t »' «« will : >br "lis MT tigkl. 
 
 ^,w »« «.w*«« s?wk*A »**'"!• 
 , I b* E«i««r4"* ck»»J«», ^ . I*" • 
 
 Rt tkislck«M«ce •>>■«* ^'^ ^^ •- .,^ 
 
 By WIS 1 CMttott. fTi,»v«« *««»«»«*<*• 
 
 tU Ta- - ,57ath<Fo<iiitl>! 
 
 . own',; 
 
 I tb,- tiW 
 
 Al.ir 
 
 At, saj TO« so! **« S**** ~ 
 
 For FJwMd will ^^f*^"* «*« *»'™- 'i^. **"**' 
 A^"rS«e friends «!.»« deign to fo»lo«- me. 
 
 XV«-. SmSfT MovtcojiFEV, W F..r«s, «««*ii«. 
 
 CU Brother, thi* is «r .'«>h» '^f *°'f"'^;,^<, , 
 Ou, tmstv .n«i. «ol*ss 1 be oeceiv d. [^* - 
 
 As e--: 
 
 N r^ •" s7»rKH,r he« i« Vo.-k 
 
 ■ , ; > -" ''^^ ^"''^ ^^ ^">'^4^: »d kis mates ; 
 
 > Dosoldiei. — 
 » e>il it b<B«*m» 'Iwe. 
 
 X inj l^rsiW thv brplher ', 
 ««»svi«t\v-sh thef *nd\\ »n»wk — 
 
 . ao«of: I Come on. w*>e soWVeis; doubt nvn of ^da> ; 
 
 1 And, thit OB« jottea. doubt not of Urje V^£^_^j 
 
 SCENE Ylll—Londou. .*««•»«** P"*** 
 
 So ■tv>-on. =;: "^ ' ' "; "e ■ I K-*r. What counsel. lorfs'F.-.' ■'Pelji*. 
 
 I a.v-:M -'-•! .jOU. 1 With h»s;v Gen«»ns. MhJ blwn5 
 
 ^«.!::«':;;M^:--«^Aiaennen.^.W iH^J--;^JV '^ "^ ' ...nto U«:do. ; 
 
 pat. la uie u., _ . ,j _^ „„ ^^ j^^.^ , ^^^ ^ j.^^^ j.^ j^ quicklv tixxUen oat . 
 
 4, !r ,.;. .., -:„fl\,a. Jiortolk. and m Kent 
 ", ,,i ivutlemen to come with Wiee :— 
 
 Moutasrue. in B«ckingh»tn. 
 but whv con»e you >n ^ 1 iaUicestershiw. shill hnd 
 
 . ,. h.s time of ..onn, n^j-^^^f; ;\i„*^\:b^.«hat thou co»m..^;s. .- 
 .. . . ._ .. J do. ■w.?^«, brave 0?;fci\l, wonJncus «-»\l Mo> d. 
 
 ^ ,. j.>c^ Mont^vu^^nr : But ^ now jW^^-^^^-t^,!, „„,^, up thy friends.- 
 
 Our dui«om. u.. Ood pkase w setul '^e r^'v^ . ; i^-^^; ^, hi,'is.l.W. girt in ^ith the ocean 
 .«.«.!- Then fare you wll. tori will hence again.. utio«. .,. ,.,...:.,,,„, „v-,«,A 
 
 M«Mt:. 1 lieu t*ic »v« "- - 
 
 Icaree to sene a tin?. ai«i not a duSe.— 
 Drummer, strike up. and le, us mat^h aw.^ ^^ 
 
 K FJt. Xav, stav. sit .lohn. axvhile ; and «e 11 de- 
 Bv whatsalemeans the crxnvnmay berecover d.JUte, 
 Nl." i. « hat t.Uk Nxu of debating ! u, hew words. 
 If ^„.-ii not here nroclaim yoursell our king, 
 i-.j fortune ; and be gi>ne. 
 
 t.^ _^ .: come to succour wu : 
 
 .y/ ;i vou pretend no title ? 
 
 (iU "why. broker, wWeW stand you on nice 
 
 K. FJ^rw^en we grow stronger, then weU make 
 our claim 
 
 Like to nis isuimi. s;"> •" ...,..--- 
 Or modest IMan. circled with her nymphs.- 
 Sh^ai «s, in London, till ^ve -««« «^^'- ^ _ 
 Fair lords, t^^o le^ve. and stand m^t to rei^y. 
 Faren-ell. n>v sovereign. _ V, ' 
 
 Th«. K.tr*x«ll. my Hector, and mv Trov s uus 
 iL" In sin of truth. 1 kiss your h.gWss hand 
 X Hc» We'll-mind.Hl Clatt^nce.be thou lortunate. 
 Vo«, Comfort. ™v loni :-aud so 1 take my lea« 
 0^. AnTthus [;i.-.-...-Hvs«vs U.d-] 1 s.-alm.> 
 
 truth and bid adieu. 
 K Jfc. "wl;-* Ox.oul. and my losing Montague 
 »na a 1 at onv^. once more a ha^>V> fa^ewe". 
 • H-. laro^-1 . ^^vee. K-»xU-. let^n^etat Corent_^ 
 rKr«mt W «K. C..«K. Oxr. .»J Mo". 
 K He Here at the (vUaoe xviU 1 <**'». -^''*- 
 
 our claim : . r i r H*» Mere a» i"^ ,sii„, v - - . 
 
 Till then tis «ii.»lom to conceal our meaning, [rule. ^-."'Jp^,^. ,vhal ihi-.ks your loidsh.p 
 
 ^ H,« A«^v».th scrupulous w.t! now ^smust ^"-^J^/^^';:,;.^ uuu ra«».l hath m held 
 
 " .. And tearless minds cUmb soonest ^tocro«n^. >l«'^'»^-^ J^^ „ encvnvn.cr mine. 
 
 Brother. ■.« will P««l»'»>»" ""'"', 1, " " ' -'—'-"■"" 
 ne b™\t thereof «^U bring you many fronds. 
 
 k.ii nni be able to encounter mine. 
 iV Th^douM is. that he will s«l«ce the rest. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 517 
 
 K, Hen. Thai's not my fear, my meed Imlh ^ot me 
 T have not slopp'd mine ears to their demands, [fame. 
 \or posted offtheir suits with slow delays ^ 
 .My pity hath been bahn to heal their wounds. 
 My ifiilaoess hath allay'd their swelling griefs. 
 My men-y dry'd llieir water-flowing tears : 
 1 have not been desirous of their w»;alth, 
 Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, 
 Nor forward of revenge, though lliey much err'd ; 
 Then why should they love Kdward more than me? 
 No, Kxeter, these graces challeni^e grace : 
 And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb, 
 The lamb will never cease to follow him. 
 
 [Shnut ivithin. A Lancaster! A Lancaster! 
 
 Exe. Hark, hark, my lord ! what shouts are these ? 
 
 Enter Kino Euwauo, Glostf.r, and Soldiers. 
 
 Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear him 
 hence, 
 And once again proclaim us king of Engbnd. — 
 Vou are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow. 
 Now stops thy spring , my sea siial! suck them dry. 
 And swell so much the higher by their ebb. — 
 Hence with him to the Tower; let him not speak. 
 
 IKieinit some trith Ki\c. IIksry. 
 And, lords, towards Coventry bend we out course. 
 Where peremptory Warwick now remains: 
 The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay^ 
 Cold-biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay. 
 
 Gin. Away betimes, before his forces join, 
 And take the great-grown traitor unawares : 
 Drave warriors march amain towards Coventry. 
 
 lExeant. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. -Coventry. 
 
 Eii»«r, upon the walls, Warwick, the Mayor of 
 Coventry, two Messengers, aud others. 
 
 War. Where is the post, that came from vstliant 
 Oxford 1 
 How far hence is tliy lord, mine honest fellow ? 
 
 1 M<!!. By this at Dunsmore, marching hitherward. 
 
 War. Mow far off is our brollier ^Montague? — 
 Where is the post that came from Montague 1 
 
 ^ Mess, By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop. 
 
 Enter Sir JnriN Somf.rvtlle. 
 War. Say, Somcrville. what says my loving son t 
 And, by thy guess, how nigh is Clarence now? 
 
 Sim. At Southam I did leave him with his forces, 
 .\nd do expect him here some two hours hence. 
 
 [Dnim heard. 
 War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum. 
 Slim. It is not his, my lord ; here Southam lies ; 
 The drum your honour hears, marcheth from War- 
 wick, [friends. 
 War. AVho should that be? belike, unlook'd-for 
 Som. They are at hand, and you shall quickly know. 
 
 Drums. Enter Kixc Edward, Giosriiu, 
 and Forces, marching. 
 
 K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a parle. 
 
 Glo. See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall. 
 
 Tl^ir. O, unbid spite ! is sportful F.dward come? 
 Where slept our scouts, or how are thev seduc'd. 
 That we could hear no news of his repair ! 
 
 K.Edu: Now, Warwick, wiltthouopethecity gates, 
 Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee? — 
 Call Edward — king, and at his Lands beg mercy. 
 And he shall pardon thee these outrages. 
 
 War. Nay, rather, wilt thou draw thy forces hence. 
 Confess who set thee up and piuck'd thee down ? — 
 Call Warwick — patron, and be penitent. 
 And thou shalt still remain the duke of York. 
 
 Gla. I thought, at least, he would have said--the 
 Or did he make the jest against his will ? [king ; 
 
 War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift? 
 
 Glo. Ay, by ray faith, for a poor earl to give ; 
 I'll do thee service for so good a gift. [ther. 
 
 War. 'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy bro- 
 
 K. Edw. Why, then 'tis mine, if but by U^arwick's 
 gift. 
 
 Il'ur. 'I !iou art no .Atlas for so great a weight: 
 And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again ; 
 And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject. 
 
 A*. Edtiu But Warwick's king is Edward's prisoner* 
 And, gallant Warwick, do but answer this, — 
 AVhat is the body when the head is off? 
 
 Gh. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast. 
 But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten, 
 The king was slily finger'd from the deck ! 
 You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace. 
 And, ten to one, you'll meet him in the Tower. 
 
 K. Edw. *Tis even so ; yet you are Warwick still. 
 
 Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down, 
 kneel down : 
 Nay, when ? stnke now, or else the iron cools. 
 
 War. \ had rather chop this hand off at a blow. 
 And with the other fling it at thy face. 
 Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee. 
 
 K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide 
 thy friend ; 
 This hand fast wound about thy coal-black hair. 
 Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off. 
 Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, — 
 \\' iiul-changing Warwick now can change no more. 
 
 Enter Oxford, with drum and colours. 
 
 War. O cheerful colours! see, where Oxford comes! 
 
 Oif. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [Oxford and his Forces enter the City, 
 
 Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too. 
 
 A'. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs. 
 Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt. 
 Will issue out again, and bid us battle ; 
 Jf not, the city, being but of small defence. 
 We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same. 
 
 Wa^. O, welcome Oxford! for we want thy help. 
 
 Enter Montague, with drum and caburs. 
 Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [He and his Forces enter the City. 
 
 Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this trea- 
 
 Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear [son 
 
 K. Eilw. The harder match'd, the greater victory 
 My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest. 
 
 Eyiter So.merset, with drum and colours, 
 Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster ! 
 
 [He and his Forces enter the City 
 Glo. Two of thy name, both dukes of Somerset, 
 Have sold their lives unto the house of York ; 
 .\nd thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold. 
 
 Enter Clari nce, with drum and colours. 
 War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps 
 Of force enough to bid his brother battle ; [along 
 With whom an upright zeal to right prevails. 
 More than the nature of a brother's love : 
 Come, Clarence, come ; thou wilt, if Warivick calls. 
 Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what thi.'i 
 means ? [Taking the red rose out of his cap 
 
613 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 
 
 Loot hens, I Arow ciy inCuDT »t lJ»e« : [ 
 
 1 ir — - : — : -y father's hoose, ' 
 
 ^^ ;.> linw the Mviaes iv^Jhei, 
 
 A ..>;:. Why, trow'stihou, Wirwick, 
 
 Tfcst C .»r«K« is so IwLrsh. so biant, uoaatunl, 
 TV S^ad (he f*tti instraments of vr»r I 
 
 -\, - -.-theT »ad his Uxrfal kitvg! j 
 
 r "■;;• object t:;_v holy »»th: 1 
 
 1 . .-.tK werie mt>re inspierv ' 
 
 1 *. xrhea he sicrinoedlits daisg^ier. 
 
 1 :. ■ - ■ ; cr mv tf«spass iii»d«. 
 
 Tiii, w liesei-ve we^! »t my Un>Jher"s hands, 
 I here proctaini mvxlf thy niomi foe : 
 AViih re^ltttion. wheresoe'er I nwet iliee, I 
 
 ( As I toll meet thee, if thou stir abt(«tl,) ] 
 
 T„ -1- -.., -v.^ f^^j jljy j;j,jj joJsle»: ■• - — ~ 
 
 A . heanei Warwic's. 
 
 A - :her tijra HIT blc! -. — 
 
 PiASOo me. EJirard, I wift male imxiuas ; 
 Aad, R>cha-\1, i^o tiot frovra njwn my fi»<ilts. 
 For I » ' ::. be nc> men 
 
 A". £ c'liie mon\ . < more 
 
 Thia i:' ; >. ...-.o.st iieser>-"J , .>eloT"d. ' 
 
 G;,<. Welcome, good Clarence : this is brv^ther-like. 
 
 TTjr. O passing traitor. perjur"d, ar.d uiiiast! 
 
 jr. EAk. what, Wantick, wilt diou leav« lite town, 
 and figiit ♦ 
 Or shall Tre beat the stones about thine ears ! 
 
 n'or. Alas, I am not Cvvv>\i here for defence : 
 I will away towa--ds I^araet jinesently. 
 AnJ bid thee battle, E<lwanl, if thou dar'st. 
 
 A". 2."<iir. Ves. Wa.-wick, Kd« arxi dares, and leads 
 the way: — 
 Lotds, to the field ; Saint Geoips, and vjctorr. 
 
 [.U<2reA. txtnKt. 
 
 SCEXE II A Tiiii if Bittk K«j- Barnet. 
 
 Alsrttmi, mmi EnmnsVss. £«(«■ Kiso Edward, 
 irinfiKj m Warwicx trvHKdtd. 
 
 K. F<Jb\. So, lie thou there : die thou, and die our 
 For Warwick was a hng, that fear'd «s all. — [fear ; 
 J>"ow, McataiTKe, sit fast ; I seek for thee. 
 That Warwick's boaes may keep thine company. 
 
 [■"Fjif, 
 
 War. Xh, who is nigh ! come to me, friend or foe, 
 And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick! 
 Why ask I that • my mangled body she«-s. 
 My blood, my want of sirei^th, my «ck heart shews. 
 That I mast yield my body "so the ea:th. 
 And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe. 
 Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge. 
 Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle. 
 Under whose shade the ramping lioa slept: 
 ^\ hcsc top-branch o^-erfieer'd Jove's spreading lj«e, 
 .\nd kept low shrubs ftxim winter's poweri'ul wind. 
 These eyes, that now aiv dimm'd with death's black 
 Have been as piercing as llie mid-day sun, [\-eil. 
 To search the secret ti«asnns of the world : 
 The wrinkles in my bi«ws, now fiU'd with blood, 
 \\ ere liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ; 
 For who liv'd kiag. but! could dig his grave ? 
 And who durst smile, whea Warwick bent his biowT 
 Lo, now my glorv' smear'd in dusl and blood .' 
 My parks, my walks, my manors that 1 had. 
 Even now forsake me ; and of all my lands. 
 Is nothing left me, but my Ixuly's leui^th ! 
 Why, what is pomp, rule, reiga, but earth and dust ' 
 And, live we how we can, yet die we must. 
 
 Enter OxrttRD attd SoMi'Ksrr. 
 Sen. .•Vh,Warwick,Warwick I wert thou as we are, 
 
 Ws might tworer all our Kxss ^uttia ; 
 
 !>;• France hath hmught a p;:-'- — — 
 
 K- aMdie news: .\h. cm;' 
 
 , ihenlxrouM not tiy, — .A ^ 
 If thou be there, sweet brother, take my band. 
 .And with thy lips keep in my SvMil awhile ! 
 Thou lov'st me not ; for. brother, if thou didst. 
 Thy tears would wash this ^\^K^ oeapfalej blood. 
 That gK-ws my li;^s, and "iil not let me speak. 
 Ooiae >;<;ickK-. Montagise, or 1 am dead. [last ; 
 
 :sMD. Ah. \Varwick, Montag\ie bath breath 'd his 
 .And K> the latest gasn, ctioil out for Warwick, 
 .\nJ said. — t^onimeiM tne to my valiant brother. 
 .\nd mone he would have said ; and more he spoke. 
 Which souni'.ed like a cannon in a vault, 
 Ths; r.-.ight not be distinguish 'd ; but, at last, 
 I "i'i ;-,r.cht hear delivered with a gtiMn, — 
 (.1. lATifn-ell. Warwick! 
 
 liar. Sweet rest to his soul ! 
 
 Fly. lords, and save yourselves ; for Warwick bids 
 You all fare\«iell. to meet again in heaven. [(>»«. 
 
 OiJ. .\way. aw^y, to meet the queen's great jyxver '. 
 [Ei<«)«, Swarioj .^' WaKWtca's ^\*y. 
 
 SCENE in.— -luetier P«rt fftkt F«\W. 
 
 FlMimi. ISttr Kiso Edward. i» tt-'mmfh ; vith 
 CtJiRissci, OiosTFR, a*i i\e nst. 
 
 fC, Eo'tr. Thus hi our fortune keeps an up«rai\) 
 -And w\e are grac'd with wreaths of vietorc [cmirse. 
 But, in the midst of this bright shining day, 
 I spy a black, sasfwious, thi*at'ning cloud. 
 That will encx^uater with our glorious sun. 
 Ere he attain his easeful western bed : 
 I mean, mv lords. — those jKiwers, that th4j[|ueen 
 Hath rais'J in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast, 
 .\nd, as we hear, march ou to tijht with us. 
 
 Ci.ir. A little gale will soon <lis(>erse that cloud, 
 -■Vnd blow it to the source from wheiiee it caiue : 
 Thy very beams will dry those vaptiuts up ; 
 For every cloud engemiers not a storm, 
 
 G(.v The queen is valu'd thirty thousand strong, 
 .tnd Somerset, w ith tlxforxl. tleJ to her ; 
 If she have time to brvathe, be well assur'd. 
 Her faction will be full as strong as ours, 
 
 A". Fjh'. We at* advertis'd by our loving friends. 
 That they do hold their course toward Tewksbttiy ; 
 We having now the best at Barnet field. 
 Will thither straight. For willingness rids way : 
 .\nd, as we matvli. our strength will be augmented 
 In every county as we go along. — 
 Strike tip the drum j cry — Courage! and awav. 
 
 [£nuNt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Pldiw <!««r Tewksbnij- 
 
 Sftrrek. Fnler Qi-fxs M.iroabkt, Prixcb £dwari>, 
 SoMrasvT, OxroRP, ,ind Soldiers. 
 
 Q. Afar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and w«ti 
 their loss. 
 But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 
 What though the mast be now blown over-boar\l. 
 The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, 
 .■Vnd half our sailors swalUnv'd in the Hood ; 
 Yet lives our pilot still ; Is't meet, that he 
 Should leave the helm, and like a fearful lad, 
 With tearful e\-es add water to the sea. 
 And give more strength to that which hath too much ; 
 WMles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rivk, 
 Which industr}- and coura^ might have sav'd ! 
 .\h, what a shame ! all, wliat a fault were this ; 
 Say, Warwick was out anchor; What of that! 
 
ACT V.-SCENE V. 
 
 r>]9 
 
 And Montngiie, our top-ma»t ; What of him ? 
 
 Our slai]),'htcrr'(i friends the tackles ; Wljal of these 1 
 
 Why, IS not Oxford here another anchor! 
 
 And Somerset another goodly mast! 
 
 The fi lends of France our shrouds and tackliags ? 
 
 And, thoujfli unskilful, why not Ned and I 
 
 For once allow'd the skilful pilots charge? 
 
 NVc will not from the helm, to sit and weep ; 
 
 liut keep our course, ihoiigh the rough wind say — no, 
 
 I'rom shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck. 
 
 As good to chide the waves, as speak them lair. 
 
 Aim what is Kdward, but a ruthless sea ? 
 
 What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit! 
 
 Anil Richard, but a ragged fatal rock! 
 
 All these the enemies to our poor bark. 
 
 Say, you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while : 
 
 'I'rcrid on the sand ; why there you (pii<:kly sink : 
 
 J ''-■stride the rock ; tile tide will wasli you off, 
 
 Or else you famish, that's a threefold death. 
 
 'i'liis speak 1, lords, to let you understand. 
 
 In ease some one of you would fly from us, 
 
 'J'hat there's no hop'u-for mercy with the brothers, 
 
 Wore than with ruthless waves, with sands and rocks. 
 
 Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided, 
 
 ''I'were childish weakness to lament, or fear. 
 
 I'rince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit 
 Should, if a coward heard her speak these words, 
 ]nfuse his breast with magnanimity. 
 And make him, naked, foil a man at arms, 
 1 speak not this, as doubting any here : 
 lor, did 1 but suspect a fearful man, 
 i le sliould have leave to go away betimes ; 
 J-e:.t, in our need, he might infect another. 
 And make him of like spirit to himself. 
 ]f anyJhch be here, as God forbid ! 
 I.el hii^depait before we need his help. 
 
 Oif, Women and children of so liigh a courage ! 
 And warriors faint' why, 'twere perpetual shame I — 
 i) brave young prince I thy famous grandfather 
 Doth live again in thee ; Long may'st thou live, 
 To bear liis imago ana renew his glories ! 
 
 Sitm. And he that will not fight for such a hope. 
 Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day, 
 If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at. [thanks. 
 
 Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle .Somerset; — sweet Oxford, 
 
 I'rince. And take his thanks, that yet hath no- 
 thing else. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mens. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand. 
 Heady to figlit ; therefore be resolute. 
 
 Oif. I thought no less t it is his jiolicy, 
 I'o ha&tc thus fast, to find us unprovided. 
 
 Slim. IJut he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness, [ness. 
 
 Q. Mur. This clieers my heart, to see your forward- 
 
 UxJ'. Here pilch ourbaltle J hence wewillnol budge. 
 
 Murcli. Kilter, at a dhtnnrc, Kino Edward, 
 Ci.AUENX'K, Gi.oSTKU, and Forces, 
 
 K, l'du\ Brave followers, yonder stands the thorny 
 wood, 
 
 tVhich, by the heavens' assistance, and your strength, 
 
 Must by the roots be liewn vij) yet ere night. 
 
 I need not add more fuel to your hie, 
 
 For, well I wot, ye bla/e to burn them out : 
 
 Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords. 
 
 Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I 
 should say. 
 My tears gainsay; for every word 1 speak. 
 Ye see, 1 drink the water of mine eyes. 
 Therefore, no more but this: — Henry, your sovereign. 
 Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurp'd. 
 
 His realm a slaughterhouse, hi« subjects slain, 
 His statutes canoell'd, and his treasure spent; 
 And yonder is the wolf, that makes this spoil. 
 You fi^ht in justice ; then, in God's name, lords, 
 Be valiant, and give signal to the fight. 
 
 [Exeunt both armiei. 
 
 SCENE v.— Another Part of the same. 
 
 Alarums: Eicursions: and afterwards a retreat. Then, 
 enter Kisc Edwaiid, (^i.auf.nck, GLOsrtn, and 
 Forces: with Queen MAnCARiiT, Oxkobd, and 
 SoMhUSET, prisoners. 
 
 K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils. 
 Away with Oxford to Hamrnes' castle straight: 
 For Somerset, off with his guilty head. 
 Go, bear them hence ; I will not hear them speak. 
 
 Or/'. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words. 
 
 Snm. Nor I, but stoop with patience to my fortune. 
 [Eieiint OxFoitD and Somehsi-T, ^narded. 
 
 Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world, 
 To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem. 
 
 K. Edw. Is proclamation made, — that, who finds 
 Shall have a high reward, and he his life' [Edward, 
 
 Gto. It is : and lo, where youthful Edward comes. 
 
 Enter Soldiers, vith Prince Edwaud. 
 
 K. Edw, I'ring forth the gallant, let us hear him 
 What! can so younga thorn begin to prick? [speak. 
 Edward, what satisfaction canst ihou make. 
 For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects. 
 Anil all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to? 
 
 Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitiousYork . 
 Supjjose that 1 am now my fatner's mouth ; 
 Resign thy chair, and, where I stand, kneel thou, 
 Whilst 1 propose the self-same words to thee, 
 Whicli, traitor, ihou would'st have me answer to. 
 
 (■i. Dlur. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd! 
 
 (■lo. That you might still have worn the petticoat, 
 And ne'er have stol'n the breech from Lancaster. 
 
 Prince. Let yEsop fable in a winter's night ; 
 His currish riddles sort not with this place. 
 
 Glo. By heaven, brat, I'll plague you for that word 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, thou wast liorn to be a [ilague lo men. 
 
 Glo. For God's sake, take away this captive scold. 
 
 Prince. Nay. take away this scolding crook-back 
 rather. [tongue. 
 
 A''. Edv\ Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your 
 
 Clar, Lntulor'd lad, thou art too malajrert. 
 
 Prince. I know my duty, you are all unduliful : 
 Lascivious Edward, — and thou perjur'd George, — 
 And thou misshapen Uick, — 1 tell ye all, 
 I am your better, traitors as ye are ; — 
 And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine. 
 
 K. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer here. 
 
 f6ta//5 hirn, 
 
 Glo. Sprawl'st thou ? take that, to end thy agony. 
 [Glo. stahn htm. 
 
 Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjury. 
 [Clak. stabs him, 
 
 Q. Mar. O, kill me too ! 
 
 Gto, Marry, and shall. [Offers to hill her. 
 
 A'. Edw, Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done 
 too much. [words I 
 
 Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with 
 
 K. Edw. What! doth she swoon? use means for 
 her recovery. 
 
 Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother ; 
 I'll hence to London on a serious matter ; 
 Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news ! 
 
 Clar, What? what? 
 
 Glo, The Tower ! the Tower! [Ijri(. 
 
520 
 
 KING HENRY VI.— PART III. 
 
 Q. Mar. 0, Ned, sweet Ned! speak to thy mother, 
 
 boy! 
 Canst thou not speak 1 — traitors ! murderers ! — 
 Tliey, that stabb'd Ciesar, shed no blood at all, 
 Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, 
 If this foul deed were by, to equal it. 
 He was a man : this, in respect, a child ; 
 And men ne'er spend their fury on a child. 
 H hat's worse than murderer, that I may name it? 
 No, no ; my heart will burst, an if I speaK ; — 
 And I will speak, that so my heart may burst — 
 Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals ! 
 How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd ! 
 You have no children, butchers! if you had, 
 The tiiought of them would have stirr'd up remorse: 
 But, if you ever chance to have a child, 
 Look in his youth to have him so cut off. 
 As. deathsmen! you have rid this sweetyoungprince! 
 
 A', Erfu;. Away witii her;go, hear herhence perforce. 
 
 Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me lience, despatch me here; 
 Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death : 
 What! wilt thou not? — then, Ciarence, do it thou. 
 
 Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease. 
 
 Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do; sweet Clarence, do 
 thou do it. [do it? 
 
 Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not 
 
 Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself: 
 Twas sin before, but now 'tis charity. 
 What! wilt thou not? where is that devil's butcher, 
 Hard-favour'd Richard? Richard, where art thou? 
 Thou art not here : Wurder is thy ahns-deed ; 
 Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back. 
 
 A'. Edw. Away, I say ; I charge ye, bear her hence. 
 
 Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this 
 prince ! [A'i(7, led outforciblij. 
 
 K. Edw. Where's Richard gone ! 
 
 Cltw. To London, all in post ; and, as I guess, 
 To make a bloody supper in the Tower. 
 
 K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head. 
 Now march we hence : discharge the common sort 
 With pay and thanks, and let's away to London, 
 And see our gentle queen how well she fares ; 
 By this, 1 hope, she hath a son for me. [Exeuiit. 
 
 SCENE VI. — London. A Room in the Tower. 
 
 King Henry is discovered sitting with a book ni his 
 hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter Gloster. 
 
 Gi(\Goodday,my lord ! What, at your book so hard! 
 
 A'. Hen. Ay, my good lord: My lord, I should say 
 'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better: [rather: 
 Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike. 
 And both preposterous ; therefore, not good lord. 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves : we must confer. 
 [Exit Lieutenant. 
 
 K.Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from thewolf : 
 So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece, 
 And next his throat unto tlie butcher's knife. — 
 What scene of death hath Roscius now to act? 
 
 Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind ; 
 The thief doth fear each bush an officer. 
 
 K. Hen. The bird that liath been limed in a bush. 
 With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush : 
 And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird, 
 Have now the fatal object in my eye, - [kill'd. 
 
 Where my poor young was lira'd, was caught, and 
 
 Glo. Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, 
 That taught his son the office of a fowl ? 
 And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd. 
 
 A'. Hen. I, Dffidalus ; my poor boy. Icarus ; 
 Thy father, Minos, that denied our course ; 
 The sua, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boyj 
 
 Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea. 
 Whose envious giilf did swallow up his life. 
 Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words ! 
 i\Iy breast can better brook thy dagger's point, 
 Than caj:i my ears that tragic history. — 
 But wlierefore dost thou come ? is't for my life 1 
 
 Glo. Think'st thou, 1 am an executioner? 
 
 A'. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art ; 
 K murdering innocents be executing. 
 Why, then thou art an executioner. 
 
 Glo. Thy son I kill'd for his presumption. 
 
 K.Hen. Hadst thou been kill 'd, when first thou didst 
 Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of n^ine. [presume. 
 And thus I prophecy, — that many a thousand. 
 Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear ; 
 And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's, 
 And many an orphan's water-standing eye, — 
 Men for their sons, wives for their husbands' fate. 
 And orphans for their parents' timeless death, — 
 Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born. 
 The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign ; 
 The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time ; 
 Dogs howl'd, and hideous tempests shook down tre^ , 
 The raven rook'd her on the cliimney's top, 
 And chattering pies in dismal discords sung. 
 Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain, 
 And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope ; 
 To wit, — an indigest deformed lump, 
 Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree. 
 Teeth hadst thou in thy head, when thou wast born. 
 To signify, thou cam'st to bite the world: 
 And, if the rest be true which I have heard. 
 Thou cam st — 
 
 Glo. I'll hear no more; — Die, prophet, in thy 
 
 speech: ^'^^itf^ '''"'* 
 
 For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain'd. ™ 
 K.Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter afterthis. 
 
 God ! forgive my sins, and pardon thee ! [Dies* 
 Glo, What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster 
 
 Sink in the ground ? 1 thought it would have mounted. 
 See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death! 
 
 0, may such purple tears be always shed 
 
 From those that wish the downfal of our house * — 
 If any spark of life be yet remaininj. 
 Down, down to hell ; and say — I sent thee thither, 
 
 [.S((i6s him agiitiu 
 
 1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. — 
 Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of; 
 For I have often heard my mother say, 
 
 1 came into the world with my legs forward : 
 Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste, 
 And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right ? 
 The midwife wonder'd : and the women cried, 
 0, Jesus bless us, he is horn with teeth ! 
 
 And so I was ; which plainly signified — 
 
 That I should snarl, and bite, and play t!ie dog. 
 
 Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so. 
 
 Let hell make crook'd my mind to answer it. 
 
 I have no brother, I am like no brother : 
 
 And this word — love, which greybeards call divine. 
 
 Be resident in men like one another. 
 
 And not in me ; 1 am myself alone. 
 
 Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me from the light; 
 
 But I will sort a pitchy day for thee : 
 
 For I will buz abroad suih prophecies, 
 
 That Kdward shall be fearful of his life ; 
 
 And, then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. 
 
 King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone : 
 
 Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest ; 
 
 Counting myself but bad, till 1 be best. — 
 
 I '11 throw thy body in another room, 
 
 And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. lExU. 
 
ACT V.-SCENE VII. 
 
 521 
 
 SCENE Xlh—The same A Room in the Palace, 
 
 King Edward is discovered sitting on his throne; 
 Queen Elizabeth with the infant Prince, Cla- 
 rence, Gloster, Hastings, and others, near him. 
 
 K. Edio. Oncemore we sitinEngland'sroyal throne, 
 Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies. 
 What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's corn, 
 Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride 1 
 Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown'd 
 For hardy and undoubted champions : 
 Two Cliffords, as the father and the son. 
 And two Northumberlands : two braver men 
 Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound : 
 With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and IMon- 
 That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion, [tague, 
 And made the forest tremble when they roar'd. 
 Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat, 
 And made our footstool of security. — 
 Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy : — 
 Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself, 
 Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night ; 
 Went all a foot in summer's scalding heat, 
 That thou might'st repossess the crown in peace ; 
 And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain. 
 
 Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laidj 
 For yet t am not look'd on in the world. 
 
 This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave ; 
 And heave it shall some weight, or break my back :— 
 Work tliou the way, — -and thou shalt execute. [Aside, 
 
 K. Ediv. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely 
 queen. 
 And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both. 
 
 Clar. The duty, that I owe unto your majesty, 
 I seal upon the lips of this sweet babe. 
 
 A. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence ; worthybiother, 
 thanks. [sprang'st, 
 
 Gh. And, that I love the tree from whence thou 
 Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit : 
 To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master ; 1 
 And died— all hail! when as he meant — ^A. 
 all harm. 3 
 
 A'. Edw. Now am I seated as mv soul delights, 
 Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves. 
 
 Clar. What will your grace have done with Mar- 
 Reignier, her father, to the king of Fnmce [garet ? 
 Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem 
 And hither have they sent it for her ransome. 
 
 K. Edic. Away with her, and waft her hence to 
 France. 
 And now what rests, but that we spend the time 
 With stately triumphs, mirthful comic shows, 
 Such as befit the pleasures of the court* — 
 Sound, drums and trumpets! — farewell, sour annoy ! 
 For here, X hope, begins our lasting joy. lEicuni, 
 
 Aside. 
 
 O F the three parts of King Henry the Sixth, it is now agreed 
 that ihejirst part is entirely spurious, or at most does not cod- 
 taiii above ten or twelve lines from the hand of Shakspeare : and 
 that of ihe tr^o iast parts he was not the author, but merely the 
 improver at^hciilargtr. The total number of lines contained in 
 thesetwo pl^Bis, according to Malooe, six thousand and forty- 
 three ; of thlR, one thousand seven hundred find seventy-one 
 were written by MarJnwe, or bv Marlowe and his as-^ociates; 
 two thousand three hundred and seventy-three were framed by 
 Shakspeaxe. ou the fouadatiou l&id by hu> predecessors : one 
 
 thooEind eight hundred and ninety-nine were entirely his ovra 
 composition. 
 Of the three plays, the first is indeed, as Mr. Morgan has 
 
 ' justly descril)ed it, " a drum-and-truiiipet thing;" the si^coud 
 
 i and third have some very beautiful pa^sanes. " Ihey have not." 
 says Ur.John'ion, "sufficient variety of aciinn.for the incidents 
 are too often of the saine kind ; yet many of the character* are 
 well discpiniinated. King Henry and his qut-en, king Edward, 
 
 I the duke of Ulosier.aud ihe earlui' \Varwiek,are very strongly 
 
 I cjld duitinntly I'UOleci." 
 
LIFE AND DEATH OF 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Tris play was entered at Stationers' Hall by Andrew Wise, 
 Oct. 20, lo97, and published id quarto the same year. It 
 appears to have Leen a popular tragedy so early ns 1595, 
 as we iearn from a small volume of epigrams by John 
 Weever, in the collection of Mr. (-'omb, of Henley. Of 
 this volume, which was written in the year 1595. the twenty- 
 second epigram is addressed to William Shakspeare, and in 
 
 the poetical catalogue of his works enumerates Romeo and 
 K 1 c H A It ». 
 The spnce of time comprised in this drama, is about fourteen 
 years; the second sfcne cnmmences with the funeral of King 
 Henry VI., who, according to the received account, was mui^ 
 derod on the Gist of May, 1471, and closes with the death of 
 Richard at Bosworth-field, 22d of August, 14ti6. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Edward the Fourth. 
 Edward, Prince o/' Wales, after- "i 
 wants King Edward V. V 
 
 soils to the King, 
 
 (brothers to the 
 King. 
 
 Richard, Duke <>/' York. 
 George, Duke o/' Clarence, 
 Richard, Duke of Glosttr, after- 
 
 ■wards King Richard III. ) 
 
 A youiig Son o/' Clarence. 
 Henry, i-'trr/ ti/" Richmond, afterwards King 
 
 Henry VII. 
 Cardinei. Bourciiier, Archbishop o/" Canterbui'y. 
 Thomas Rotheram, Archbishop of York. 
 John Morton. Bishop o/'Ely. 
 Duke of Buckingham, 
 Duke of Norfolk. 
 Earl of Surrey, his son* 
 
 Earl Rivers, brother to King Edward's Queen, 
 Marquis of Dorset aud Lord Grey, her sons. 
 Earl of Oxford, 
 Lord Hastings. 
 Lord Stanley. 
 Lord Lovel. 
 Sir Thomas Vaughan, 
 Sir Richard Ratcliff. 
 Sir William Catesby. 
 Sir James Tyrrll. 
 ISir James Blount. 
 Sir Walter Heurlrt. 
 
 Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of the Tower. 
 Christoi'Her Urswick, a Piiest, 
 Another Priest. 
 Lord Mayor of London. 
 Sheriff of W'ilt&hire. 
 
 Elizabeth, Queen of King Edward IV. 
 Margaret, u-idoiv of King Henry VL 
 Duchess of York, mother to King Edward IV., 
 
 Clarence, and Gloster. 
 Lady Anne, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, 
 
 son to King Henry VI. ; afterwards married to the 
 
 Duke of Gloster. 
 A young Daughter o/' Clarence.- 
 
 Lords, ajid other Attendants ; two Gentlemen, a Pur- 
 suivant, Scrivener, Citizens ^Murderers, iflessengers. 
 Ghosts, Soldiers, ^c. 
 
 SCENE,— England. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— London. A Street, 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent^ 
 Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; 
 
 And all the clouds, that lowr'd upon our house. 
 
 In the deep bosom of the ocean bury'd. 
 
 Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; 
 
 Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; 
 
 Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings, 
 
 Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
 
 Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front ; 
 
 And now — instead of mounting barbed steeds, 
 
 To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — ■ 
 
 He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, 
 
 To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
 
 But I, — that am not shap'd for sportive tricks, 
 
 Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass : 
 
 I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty ; 
 
 To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
 
 I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion. 
 
 Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, 
 
 Deforni'd, unfinish'd. sent before my time 
 
 Into this breathing world, scarce half made up. 
 
 And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
 
 The dogs bark at me, as I halt by them A 
 
 Why I, in this weak piping time of peac^^ 
 
 Have no delight to pass away the time ; 
 
 Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, 
 
 And descant on mine own deformity ; 
 
 And therefore, — since I cannot prove a lover. 
 
 To entertain these fair well-spoken days, — 
 
 I am determined to prove a villain. 
 
 And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
 
 Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous. 
 
 By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams. 
 
 To set my brotlier Clarence, and the king, 
 
 In deadly hate the one against the other 
 
 And, if king Edward be as true and just. 
 
 As I am subtle, false, and treacherous. 
 
 This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up ; 
 
 About a prophecy, which says — that G 
 
 Of Edward's heirs, the murderer shall be. 
 
 Dive, thoughts, down to my soul ! hereClarence comes. 
 
 Enter Clarence, guarded, and Brakenbury. 
 Brother, good day : What means this armed guard. 
 That waits upon your grace ? 
 
 Clar. His majesty. 
 
 Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed 
 This conduct to convey me to the Tower. 
 
 Glo. Upon what cause ? 
 
 Clar. Because my name is — George. 
 
 Glo. Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours ; 
 
 He should, for that, commit your godfathers: 
 
 O, belike, his majesty hath some intent. 
 
 That you should be new christen'd in the Tower. 
 
 But what's the matter, Clarence 1 may I know t 
 
 Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know ; for, I protest. 
 As yet I do not : But, as I can learn. 
 He hearkens after prophecies, and dreams ; 
 And from the cross-row plucks the letter G, 
 And says — a wizard told him, that by G 
 
ACT I.- SCENE II. 
 
 523 
 
 His issue disinherited should be ; 
 And. lor my name of George begins with G, 
 It follows in his thought, that I am he : 
 These, as I learn, and such like toys as these, 
 Have mov'd his highness to commit me now. 
 
 Gi(». Why, this it is.when men are rul'd by women: — 
 *Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower ; 
 BIy lady Giey, liis wife, Clarence, 'tis she. 
 That tempers him to this exlieraity. 
 Was it not she, and that good man of worship, 
 Antony \\ oodevilie, hev brother there, 
 That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower; 
 From whence this present day he is deliver'd ! 
 We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe. 
 
 Clar, By heaven, I tliiuk, there is no man secure. 
 But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds 
 Thai trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore. 
 Heard you not, what an humble suppliant 
 Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery t 
 
 Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity 
 Got my lord chamberlain his liberty. 
 I'll tell you what, — 1 think, it is our way, 
 If we will keep in favour with the kiug, 
 To be her men, and wear her Uvery : 
 The jealous o'er-worn widow, and herself, 
 Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen, 
 Aie mighty gossips in this monarchy. 
 
 Brak. 1 beseech your graces both to pardon me ; 
 His majesty hath straitly given in charge, 
 I'hat no man shall have private conference, 
 Of what degree soever, with his* brother. 
 
 Glo. Even so! an please yourworship.Brakenburj*, 
 You may partake of any thing we say : 
 We sptflik no treason, man : — We say, the king 
 Is wisejPnd virtuous ; and his noble queen 
 Well struck in years ; fair, and not jealous : — 
 We say, that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, 
 A cheny lip, 
 
 A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue : 
 And the queen's kindred ai'e made gentlefolks : 
 How say you, sir \ can you deny all this ? 
 
 liiak. With this, mylord, myself have nought to do. 
 
 Gio. Nought to do with mistress Shore ! 1 tell thee, 
 He that doth nought with her, excepting one, [fellow. 
 Were best to do it secretly, alone. 
 
 Brak. What one, my lord? [mel 
 
 Glo Her husband, knave : — Would'st thou betray 
 
 -BraA:.! beseech your grace to pardon me; and, withal, 
 Forbear your conference with the noble duke. [obey. 
 
 Clar. We know tliy charge, Brakenbury, and will 
 
 Glo. We are the queen's abjecls, and must obey. 
 Brother, farewell: 1 will unto the king; 
 And whatsoe'er you will employ me in, — 
 Were it, to call king Edward's widow, — sister, — 
 I will perform it, to enfmnchise you. 
 Mean time, tliis deep disgrace in brotherhood, 
 Touches rae deeper than you can imagine. 
 
 Clay. I know, it pleaseth neither of us well. ' 
 
 Gl'j. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long; 
 I will delivei' you, or else lie for you : 
 Mean time, have patience. 
 
 Clar. I must perforce ; farewell. 
 
 lEieunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and Guard. 
 
 Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return. 
 Simple, plain Clarence! — 1 do love thee so. 
 That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven, 
 If heaven will take the present at our hands. 
 But who comes here ] the new-deiiver'd Hastings 1 
 
 Enter Hastings. 
 
 Hast. Good time of day unto my gracious lord! 
 Gla. As much unto my good lord chamberlain ! 
 
 ^^'ell are you welcome to this open air. 
 
 How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment? 
 
 Hiist. Wilh patience, noble lord, as prisoners must : 
 But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks. 
 That were the cause of my .imprisonment. 
 
 Glo. No doubt, no doubt ; and so shall Clarence too ; 
 For they, that were your enemies, are his. 
 And have pievail'd as much on him, as you. 
 
 Hast. More pity, that the eagle should be mew'd. 
 While kites and buzzards piey at liberty. 
 
 Glo. What news abroad ? 
 
 Hiist. No news so bad abroad, as this at home ; — 
 The king is sickly, weak, and melancholy. 
 And his physicians fear him mightily. 
 
 Glo. Now, by Saint Paul, this news is bad indeed. 
 0, he hath kept an evil diet long. 
 And over-much consumed his royal person; 
 *Tis very grievous to be thought upon. 
 What, is he in his bed ? 
 
 Hist. He is. 
 
 Glo. Go you before, -and I will follow you. 
 
 [EtU Hastings. 
 He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die. 
 Till George be pack'tl with posthorse up to heaven. 
 I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence, 
 With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments ; 
 And, if I fail not in my deep intent, 
 Clarence hath not another day to live.: 
 Wiiich done, God take king Edward to his mercy. 
 And leave the world for me to bustle in ! 
 For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter: 
 What, though 1 kill'd her husband, and her father ! 
 The readiest way to make the wench amends, 
 Is — to become her husband, and her father : 
 The which will 1 ; not all so much for love, 
 As for anotlier secret close intent, 
 By marrying her, which I must reach unto. 
 But yet 1 run before my horse to market : 
 Clarence still breathes ; Edward still lives, andreigns ; 
 W hen they are gone, then must I count my gains. [£i. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. Another Street. 
 
 Enter the corpse o/'King Henry the Sixth, barne tn 
 an open coffin, Gentlemen bearing halbertls, to guard 
 it ; and Lady Anne as mourner, 
 
 AnnC' Setdown, set down your honourable load, — 
 If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, — 
 Whilst 1 a while obsequiously lament 
 The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. — 
 Poor key-cold figure of a holy king ! 
 Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster ! 
 Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood ' 
 Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost, 
 To hear tiie lamentations of poor Anne, 
 W^ife to thy I-^dward, to thy slaughter'd son, 
 Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these woundst 
 Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life, 
 I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes : — 
 0, cursed be the hand that made these holes ! 
 Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it ! 
 Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence ! 
 More direful hap betide that hated wretch, 
 That makes us wretched, by the death of thee. 
 Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads. 
 Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives ! 
 If ever he have child, abortive be it. 
 Prodigious, and untimely brought to light. 
 Whose ugly and unnatural aspect 
 May fright the hopeful mother at the view; 
 And that be heir to his unhappiness ! 
 If ever he have wife, let her be made 
 
524 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 More miserable by the death of him. 
 
 Than I am made by my young lord, and thee — 
 
 Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load. 
 
 Taken from Paul's to be interred there ; 
 
 •Vnd still as vou are weary of the weight. 
 
 Rest vou, whiles I lament king Henry's corse. 
 
 ' [The bearers lake up the corpse, and advance. 
 
 Enter Glosteh. 
 Glo. Slav you, that bear the corse, and set it down. 
 Aune. What black magician conjures up this fiend. 
 To stop devoted cliaritable deeds ! , „ . ^ , 
 Gio. Villains, setdown the corse ; or, by Saint i-aul, 
 I'll make a corse of him that disobeys. , 
 
 1 Gent. Jly lord, stand back, and let the coffin pass. 
 Glo Unmanner'd dog ! stand thou when I command: 
 Advance thy halberd higher tlian my breast. 
 Or bv Saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my toot. 
 And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. 
 
 [The bearers set down the copn- 
 Anne. What, do you tremble! are you all afraid ! 
 Alas, 1 blame you not ; for you aie mortal. 
 And mortal eves cannot endure the devil.— 
 ■Vvaunt. thou'dreadful minister of hell . 
 i'hou hadst but power over his mortal body, 
 Hi» soul thou canst not have; theretore, be gone. 
 Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst. 
 Anne Foul devil, for God's sake, hence, and trouble 
 For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, [us not ; 
 Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims. 
 If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds. 
 Behold this pattern of thy butcheries : 
 O, gentlemen, see, see ! dead Henj s wounds 
 Open their congeal'd mouths and bleed afresh ! 
 Blush blush, thou lump of foul deformity ; . 
 
 For 'tis thy presence that exhales this b ood 
 From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells, 
 Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural. 
 
 Provokes this deluge most unnatural. 
 
 O God, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death 
 earth which this blood drink'st, revenge his death ! 
 ■ Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer 
 Or earth trape open wide, and eat him quick : [dead, 
 As' thou dost swallow up this good king's blood. 
 Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered ! 
 
 Glo Lady, you know no rules of chanty, 
 Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses. 
 
 yiiiiic.ViUain, thou know'st no law of God nor man , 
 No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity. 
 Glo But I know none, and therefore am no beast. 
 Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth ! 
 Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry.— 
 ■\'ouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman, 
 Of these supposed evils, to give me leave. 
 By circumstance, but to acquit myself. 
 
 Anne. Vouchsafe, diflfus'd infection of a man, 
 For these known evils, but to give me leave, 
 Bv circumstance, to curse thy cursed self. 
 
 Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me have 
 Some patient leisure to excuse myself. 
 
 inne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst 
 No excuse current, but to hang thyself. [make. 
 
 Glo By such despair. I should accuse mysell. 
 Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus d ; 
 For doing worthy vengeance on thyself. 
 That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. 
 Glo. Say, that 1 slew them not t 
 ^„„j Why then, they are not dead : 
 
 But dead they are. and, devilish slave, by thee. 
 Glo. 1 did'not kill your husband. , , . ,. 
 ^;"^^ Why, then he is alive. 
 
 Gl'o".^Nay, he is dead ; and slain by Edward's hand. 
 
 Amu. In thy soul's throat thou Uest ; queen Mai- 
 garet saw . , . , , . 
 
 Thy murderous faulchion smoking in Ins blood ; 
 The which thou once didst bend against her breast. 
 But that thv brothers beat aside the point. 
 
 Glo. I was provoked bv her sland'rous tongue, 
 That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders. 
 
 Anne. Thou wast provoked by thy bloody mind, 
 That never dreamt on aught but butcheries: 
 Didst thou not kill this king ! 
 
 Glo. I grant ye. , i^^ t""; 
 
 Anne. Dost grant me, hedge-hog'! then, God grant 
 Thou may'st be damned for that wicked deed . 
 O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. 
 
 Glo The fitter for the Kingof heaven that hath him. 
 Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never conie. 
 Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him th>- 
 For he was fitter for that place, than earth, [ther; 
 Anne. \nd thou unfit for any place, but hell. 
 Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me nanie 
 Anne. Some dungeon. L''- 
 
 (;/„_ Your bed-chamber. 
 
 Aniie. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest.' 
 Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you. 
 Anne. I hope so. 
 
 Glo. I know so.— But, gentle lady Anne,— 
 To leave this keen encounter of ouv wits, 
 And fall somewhat into a slower method;— 
 Is not the causer of the timeless deaths 
 Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward. 
 As blameful as the executioner ! 
 
 Anne. Thou wast the cause .and most accurs d oUect. 
 Glo. Your beautv was the cause of that effect; 
 Your beauty, which did haunt me in my sleep. 
 To undertake the death of all the world ^ 
 So I raio-ht live one hour in your sweet bosoTn. 
 
 Anne° If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide, 
 These nails should reud tlml beauty from my cheeks. 
 Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty s 
 You should not blemish it, if I stood by: [wreck. 
 As all the world is cheered by the sun, 
 So I by that ; it is my day. my life. [thy lite . 
 
 An,ie. Black night o'ershade thy day, and death 
 Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art both. 
 Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee. 
 Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural. 
 To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee. 
 I Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable. 
 To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. 
 1 Glo. He that bereft thee. lady, of thy husband. 
 Did it to help thee to a better husband. 
 ' Anne. His better doth not breathe upon the earth. 
 Glo. He lives, that loves you better than he could. 
 Anne. Name him. 
 Glo. Plantagenet. 
 
 Anne. Why, that was he. 
 
 Glo The self-same name, but one of better nature. 
 .•ln»f. Whereishc! [at me ? 
 
 Glo. Here : [She spits at him.'i Why dost thou spit 
 Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake ! 
 Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place. 
 Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad. 
 Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes. 
 ' Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, haveinlected mine. 
 1 Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee 
 dead! 
 Glo. Iwould they were, that I might die at once; 
 
 For now they kill me with a living death. 
 Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, 
 Sham'd'their ispects with store of childish drops : 
 These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear,— 
 I Not, when my father York and Edward wept. 
 
ACT I.-SCENE III. 
 
 525 
 
 To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made, 
 When blaek-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him : 
 Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, 
 Told the sad story of my father's death ; 
 And twenty times made pause, to sob, and weep, 
 That all the standers-by had wet their cheeks, 
 Like trees bedash'd with rain : in that sad time, 
 Wy manly eyes did scorn an humble tear ; 
 And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, 
 Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. 
 I never su'd to friend, nor enemy ; 
 My tongue could never learn sweet soothing wordj 
 But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee. 
 My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to 
 speak. [S/ie looks scor7iJ'utL!j on him. 
 
 Teach not thy lips such scorn ; for it was made 
 Fcr kissing, lady, not for such contempt. 
 If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, 
 Lo ! here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword ; 
 Which if thou please to hide in this true breast, 
 And let the soul forth that adoreth thee, 
 I lay it naked to the deadly stroke. 
 And humbly beg the death upon my knee. 
 
 [//e lays his breast open ; she aff'ers at it with 
 his sword. 
 Nay, do not pause: for I did kill king Henry; — 
 But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me. 
 Nay, now despatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Ed- 
 ward : — [She o^ers again at his breast. 
 But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on. 
 
 {_She lets fait the sward. 
 Take up the sword again, or take up me. 
 
 Aline. .-Vrise, dissembler : though I wish thy death, 
 I will not be thy executioner. 
 
 Gia. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. 
 
 Anne, I have already. 
 
 Glo. That was in thy rage 
 
 Speak it again, and even with the word, 
 liiis hand, which, for thy love, did kill thy love, 
 Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ; 
 lo both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. 
 
 Anne. I would, 1 knew thy heart. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis figur'd in 
 
 Rly tongue. 
 
 Anne. I fear me, both are false. 
 
 Glo, Then man 
 
 Was never true. 
 
 Anne. Well, well, put up your sword. 
 
 Glo. Say then, my peace is made. 
 
 Aime. That shall you know 
 
 Hereafte;. 
 
 Gin. But shall I live in hope 1 
 
 Anne- AU men, 
 
 I hope, live so. 
 
 Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring. 
 
 Anne. To take, is not to give. [She pttts on the ring, 
 
 Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy hnger, 
 Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart ; 
 Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. 
 .■Vnd if thy poor devoted servant may 
 But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, 
 Thou do it confirm his happiness for ever. 
 
 Antie, What is it } 
 
 Glo. That it may please you leave these sad designs 
 To him that hath more cause to be a mourner. 
 And presently repair to Crosby-place: 
 Where — after I have solemnly interr'd. 
 At Che:tsey raonast'ry, this noble king, 
 And we' his grave with my repentant tears, — 
 I will with all expedient duty see you : 
 ("or divf,rs unknown reasons, I beseech you 
 Urant r.e this boon. 
 
 Anne, With all my heart ; and much it joys me too. 
 To sea you are become so penitent. — 
 Tressel, and Berkley, go along with me. 
 
 Glo, Bid me farewell. 
 
 Anne, 'Tis more than you deserve: 
 
 But, since you teach me how to flatter you, 
 Imagine I have said farewell already. 
 
 [EieuJit Lady Anne, 'J'ressel, and Berkley. 
 
 Glo, Take up the corse, sirs. 
 
 Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord. 
 
 Glo. No, to White-Friars; there attend my coming. 
 [Eieunt the rest, uith the corse. 
 Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ! 
 Was ever woman in this humour woni 
 I'll have her, — but I will not keep her long. 
 What ! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father. 
 To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; 
 With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes. 
 The bleeding witness of her hatred by ; 
 With God, her conscience, and these bars against me. 
 And I no friends to back my suit withal. 
 But the plain devil, and dissembling looks. 
 And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing 1 
 Ha! 
 
 Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 
 Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since, 
 Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury 1 
 A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, — 
 Fram'd in the prodigality of nature. 
 Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right roya], — 
 The spacious world cannot again afford : 
 And will she yet abase her eyes on me. 
 That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince. 
 And made her widow to a woeful bed? 
 On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety? 
 On me, that halt, and am mis-shapen thus? 
 flly dukedom to a beggarly denier, 
 I do mistake my person all this while : 
 Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot. 
 Myself to be a marvellous proper man, 
 I'll be at charges for a looking-glass ; 
 And entertain a score or two of tailors. 
 To study fashions to adorn my body : 
 Since 1 am crept in favour with myself, 
 I will maintain it with some little cost. 
 But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave ; 
 And then return lamenting to my love. — 
 Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass. 
 That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Ejit. 
 
 SCENE III. — The same, A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and 
 Lord Grey. 
 
 Riv. Have patience, madam ; there's no doubt his 
 majesty 
 Will soon recover his accustom'd health. 
 
 Grey, In that you brook it ill, it makes him worse : 
 Therefore, for God's sake, entertain good comfort. 
 And cheer his grace with quick and merry words. 
 
 Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of me? 
 
 Grey. No other harm, but loss of such a lord. 
 
 Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms. 
 
 Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a goodly 
 To be your comforter, when he is gone. [son, 
 
 Q. Eli:. .\h, he is young ; and his minority 
 Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster, 
 A man that loves not me, nor none of you, 
 
 Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector? 
 
 Q. Eli-.. It is determin'd. not concluded yet : 
 But so it must be, if the king miscarry. 
 
526 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Enter Buckingham and Stanley, 
 Grey, Here come the lords of Buckingham and 
 
 Stanley, 
 
 Buck, Good time of day unto your royal g:race ! 
 
 Stan* God make your majesty joyful as you have 
 been. [Stanley, 
 
 Q. Eliz, The countess Richmond, good my lord "of 
 To your g-ood prayer will scarcely say — amen. 
 Yet, Stanley, notwith&tahiding she's your wife, 
 And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd, 
 1 hate not you for her proud arrogance. 
 
 .^tan. I do beseech you, either not believe 
 The envious slanders of her false accusers ; 
 Or, if she be accus'd on true report, 
 Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds 
 From waj'ward sickness, and no grounded malice. 
 
 Q.Eliz. Saw youtliekingto-dav.mylordof Stanley? 
 
 Stan. But now. the duke of Buckingham, and 1, 
 Are come from visiting his majesty. 
 
 Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment, lords ? 
 
 Buck. ^ladam, good hope : his grace speaks cheer- 
 fully, [him? 
 
 Q.Etiz. God grant Lira health ! did you confer with 
 
 Buck. Ay, madam : he desires to make atonement 
 Between the duke of Glosier and your brothers, 
 And between them and my lord chamberlain ; 
 And sent to warn them to his royal presence. 
 
 Q.Eiiz. 'Would all were well! — but that will never 
 I fear our happiness is at the height. [be ; — 
 
 Enter Gloster, Hastings, rt?irf Dorset. 
 
 Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure it: — 
 Who are they, that complain unto the king. 
 That 1, forsooth, am stern, and love them not? 
 By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly. 
 That till his ears with such dissentious rumours. 
 Because 1 cannot flatter, and speak fair, 
 Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog, 
 Duck with French nods and apish courtesy, 
 I must be held a rancorous enemy. 
 Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm. 
 But thus his simple truth must be abus'd 
 By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks? [grace? 
 
 Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your 
 
 Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace. 
 When have I injured thee? when done thee wrong? — 
 Or thee ? — or thee ? — or any of your faction ? i 
 
 A plague upon you all ! His royal grace, — 
 Whom God preserve better than you would wish ! — , 
 Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while, i 
 
 But you must trouble him with lewd complaints. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the 
 The king, of his own royal disposition, [matter : 
 And not provok'd by any suitor else ; 
 Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred, 
 1 hat in your outward action shews itself, 
 Against my children, brothurs, and myself, 
 IMakes him to send ; that thereby he may gather 
 The giound of your ill-will, and so remove it. 
 
 Glo. I cannot tell ; — The world is grown so bad. 
 That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch : 
 Since every Jack became a gentleman, 
 There's many a gentle person made a Jack. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning, 
 brother Gloster ; 
 You envj' my advancement, and my friends; 
 God grant, we never may have need of you ! 
 
 Glo, I\Ieantime, God grants that we have need of 
 Our brother is imprison'd by your means, [you : 
 Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility 
 Held in contempt ; while great promotions 
 Are daily given, to ennoble those 
 
 j That scarce, some two days since, were worth a noble, 
 
 I Q. Eliz, By Him, that rais'd me to this careful 
 j From that contented hap which I enjoy'd, [height 
 
 I I never did incense his majesty 
 
 I Against the duke of Clarence, but have been 
 
 ; An earnest advocate to plead for him. 
 I\ly lord, you do me shameful injury. 
 Falsely to draw me in these vile suspects. 
 
 I Glo. You may deny that you were not the cause 
 
 : Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment. 
 
 I Riv. She may, my lord ; for 
 
 I Glo. She may, lord Rivers ? — why, who knows not 
 
 ' She may do more, sir, than denying that : f iO ? 
 
 She may help you to many fair prtferments ; 
 
 I And then deny her aiding hand therein, 
 
 ' And lay those honours on your high desert. 
 
 ' What may she not! She may, — ay, marrv, may 
 liiv. What, many, may she ? [she, — 
 
 ! Glo. What, marry, may she ? marry with a king, 
 A bachelor, a handsome stripling loo : 
 I wis, your grandam had a worser match, 
 
 Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne 
 Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs* 
 By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty. 
 Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd. 
 I had rather be a country servant-maid. 
 Than a great queen, with this condition — 
 To be so baited, scorn'd, and slorm'd at: 
 Small joy have I in being England's queen. 
 
 Enter Queen Margaret, behind. 
 
 Q. Mar. Andlessen'd be that small, God, I beseech 
 Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me. [thee ! 
 
 Glo. What? threat you me with telling of the king? 
 Tell him, and spare not : look, what 1 have said 
 I will avouch, in presence of the king: 
 I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower. 
 'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot. 
 
 Q. Mar. Out, devil ! I remember them too well: 
 Thou kUl'dst my husband Henry in the Tower, 
 And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury. 
 
 Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband king, 
 I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ; 
 A weeder out of his proud adversaries, 
 A liberal rewarder of his friends ; 
 To royaiize his blood, I spilt mine own. ftbine. 
 
 Q, Mar. Ay. and much better blood' than his» or 
 
 Glo. Inall which time, you, and your husbandGrey, 
 Were factious for the house of Lancaster; — 
 And, Rivers, so were you : — Was not your husband 
 In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain ? 
 Let me put in your minds, if you forget, ■ 
 What you have been ere now, and what you are ; 
 Withal, what I have been, and what I am. 
 
 Q, Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art. 
 
 Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father Warwick, 
 Ay. and forswore himself, — Which Jesu pardon ! — 
 
 Q. Mar. Which God revenge 1 
 
 Glo. To fight on Edward's part}', for the crown ; 
 And, for his meed, poor lord, he is niew"d up : 
 I would to God, my heart were Hint like Edward's, 
 Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine ; 
 I am too childish-foolish for this world. 
 
 Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave this 
 Thou cacoda^mon ! there thy kingdom is. [world, 
 
 Riv. My loril of Gloster, in those busy days. 
 Which here you urge, to prove us enemies, 
 W^e follow'd then our lord, our lawful king ; 
 So should we you, if you should be om- king. 
 
 Glo. If I should be ? — I had rather he a pedlar : 
 Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 Vou should enjoy, were you this country's king ; 
 As little joy you may suppose in me, 
 i Udi I enjoy, being the queen thereof. 
 
 Q. Mfir. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof! 
 Foi I am she, and altogether joyless. 
 I can no longer hold me patient. — [Advancing, 
 
 Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out 
 In sharing that which you have pill'd from me : 
 Which of you trembles not, that looks on me ? 
 If not. that, I being queen, you bow like subjects ; 
 Vet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels 1 — 
 Ah, «p'ent!e villain, do not turn away ! [sight? 
 
 Gto. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in my 
 
 Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd 
 That will I make, before I let thee go. 
 
 Gin. Wert thou not banished on pain of death ? 
 '■» Q. Mnr. I was ; but I do find more pain in banish- 
 Than death can yield tne here by my abode, [ment, 
 A husband, and a son, ihou ow'st to me, — 
 And thon, a kingdom ; — all of you, allegiance : 
 This sorrow that I have, by right is yours ; 
 And all the pleasures you usurp, are mine. 
 
 Glo. Tlie curse my noble father laid on thee, — 
 When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper. 
 And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes ; 
 And tiien, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout, 
 Sieep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ; — 
 His curses, then from bitterness of soul 
 Denounc'd against thee, are all fallen upon thee ; 
 And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed. 
 
 Q. KHz. So just is God, to right the innocent. 
 
 Hast, O 'twas the foulest deed, to slay that babe, 
 And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of. 
 
 Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported 
 
 Dor. No man but prophesy 'd revenge for it. 
 -^uck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it 
 
 Q. Mar.What! wereyousnarlingall.beforelcame, 
 Ready to catch each other by the throat. 
 And turn you all your hatred now on me? 
 Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven, 
 That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, 
 Their kingdom's loss, my woeful banishment, 
 Could all but answer for that peevish brat? 
 Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven? — 
 Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick 
 
 curses ! — 
 Though not by war, by surfeit die your king ! 
 As ours by murder, to make him a king! 
 Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales, 
 For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales, 
 Die in his youth, by like untimely violence! 
 Thyself a queen, forme that was a queen, 
 Outlive thy glory, like my wretched self! 
 Long may'st thou live, to wail thy children's loss ; 
 And see another, as 1 see thee now, 
 Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine ! 
 Long die thy liappy days before thy death ; 
 And, after many lengthen'd hours of grief, 
 Die neitlier mother, wife, nor England's queen ! — 
 Rivers, — and Dorset, — you were standers by, — • 
 And so wast thou, lord Hastings, — wlien my son 
 "Was stabb'd with bloody daggers : God, I pray hira. 
 That none of you may live your natural age, 
 But by some unlook'd accident cut off! [^^g'* 
 
 Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd 
 
 Q. Mar. And leave out thee ? stay, dog, for thou 
 shalt hear me. 
 If heaven have any grievous plague in store, 
 Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, 
 O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe. 
 And then iiurl down their indignation 
 On thee, the troubler of the poor world*s peace ! 
 
 The worm of conscience still be-gnaw tlX 
 Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou 
 And take deep traitors for thy dearest friend 
 No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, '^ 
 Unless it be while some tormenting dream 
 Affright-s thee with a hell of ugly devils ! 
 Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog! 
 Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity 
 The slave of nature, and the son of hell ! 
 Thou slander of thy mother's heavv womb! 
 Thou loathed issue of thy father's loins! 
 Thou rag of honour ! thou detested 
 
 Glo. Margaret. 
 
 Q. Mar. Richard ! 
 
 07... Ha? 
 
 Q. M^nr. I call thee not, 
 
 Gh. I cry thee mercy then ; for I did think. 
 That thou had'st call'd me all these bitter names, 
 
 Q. Mar. Why, so I did ; but look'd for no reply. 
 0, let me make the period to my curse. 
 
 Gio. 'Tis done by me ; and ends in — Margaret, 
 
 Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse agaiust 
 yourself. 
 
 Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain Bourish of my 
 fortune ! 
 Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider. 
 Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about ? 
 Fool, fool ! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself. 
 The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me 
 To help thee curse this pois'nous bunch-hack'd toad, 
 
 Hitst, False-bodiug woman, end thy frantic curse; 
 Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience, [mine. 
 
 Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all mov'd 
 
 Riv. Were you well sei-v'd, you would be taught 
 your duty. [duty, 
 
 Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me 
 Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects; 
 O, serve rae well, and teach yourselves that duty. 
 
 Dor. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. 
 
 Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert: 
 Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current : 
 0, that your young nobility could judge, 
 What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable ! 
 They that stand high have many blasts to shake them ; 
 And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. 
 
 G/t>. Good counsel, marry j learn it, learn it, 
 marquis. 
 
 Dor. It touches you, my lord, as much as me. 
 
 Glo. Ay, and much more : Butlwas bornso high, 
 Our aiery buildeth in the cedar's top, 
 And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun, 
 
 Q. Mar, And turns the sun to shade ; — alas ! alas! 
 Witness my son, now in the shade of death : 
 Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath 
 Hath in eternal darkness folded up. 
 Vour aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest : — 
 God, that see'st it, do not suffer it ; 
 As it was won with blood, lost be it so ! 
 
 Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity, 
 
 Q. Mar. Urge neither chanty nor shame to me; 
 Uncliaritably with me have you dealt, 
 And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd. — 
 My charity is outrage, life my shame,— 
 And in my shame still live my sorrow's rao"e ! 
 
 Ihick. Have done, have done. 
 
 Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand. 
 In sign of league and amity with thee : 
 Now fair befal tliee, and thy noble house ! 
 Thy garments are not spotted with our blood, 
 Nor thou within the compass of my curse. 
 
 Buck. Nor no one here; for curses never pass 
 The lips of those that breathe them in the air. 
 
528 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky, 
 And there awake God's gentle-sleeping peace. 
 O Buckingham, beware of yonder dog ; 
 Look, when he fawns, he bites ; and, when he bites, 
 His venom tooth will rankle to the death : 
 Have not to do with him, beware of him ; 
 Sin, death, and hell, have set their marks on him ; 
 And all their ministers attend on him. 
 
 Glo. Whatdoth she say, my lord of Buckingham? 
 Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord. 
 Q. Miir. What, dost thou scorn me for my gentle 
 And sooth the devil that I warn thee from! [counsel 1 
 O but remember this another day, 
 When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow : 
 And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess. — 
 Live each of you the subjects to his hate. 
 And he to yours, and all of you to God s ! [ hxit. 
 Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses. 
 2?iii. And so doth mine; I muse, why she'sat liberty. 
 Gio. I cannot blame her, by God's holy mother ; 
 She hath had too much wrong, and I repeat 
 Wy part thereof, that I have done to her. 
 
 Q Elh. I never did her any, to my knowledge. 
 Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong. 
 I was too hot to do somebody good, 
 'That is too cold in thinking of it now, 
 Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ; 
 He is frank'd up to fatting for his pams ;— 
 God pardon them that are the cause tliereof ! 
 
 Riv. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion, 
 To pray for them that have done scath to us. 
 Glo.' So do I ever, being well advis'd ;— 
 For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. \_Aside. 
 
 Enter Catesby. 
 
 Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you,— 
 
 And for your grace,— and you, my noble lords. Lme 
 
 Q Eliz. Catesby, I come ;— Lords, will you go with 
 
 Riv Madam, we will attend upon your grace. 
 
 [Eieunt all but Glosteh. 
 G(c I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. 
 The secret miscliiefs that I set abroach, 
 1 lay unto the grievous charge of others. 
 Clarence,— whom I, indeed, have laid in darkness,— 
 I do beweep to many simple gulls ; 
 Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham; 
 And tell them- 'tis the queen and her allies, 
 That stir the king against the duke my brother. 
 Now they believe it ; and withal whet me 
 To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : 
 But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture. 
 Tell them— that God bids us do good for evil : 
 And tlius I clotlie my naked villany 
 With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ ; 
 And seem a saint, when most 1 play the devil. 
 
 Enter two Murderers. 
 But soft, here come my executioners.— 
 How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates? 
 Are you now going to despatch this thing ? 
 
 1 Murd. We are, my lord ; and come to have the 
 That we may be admitted where he is. [warrant. 
 
 Glo. Well thought upon, 1 have it here aboulfme : 
 [Gii'fS the Karraiit. 
 When YOU have done, repair to Crosby-place. 
 But, sirs, be sudden in the execution, 
 Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ; 
 For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps 
 May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him. 
 
 1 3J urd. Tut, tut, my lord.we will not stand to prate. 
 Talkers are no good doers ; be assur'd. 
 We "0 to use our hands, and not our tongues. 
 
 Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes 
 drop tears ; 
 I like you, lads ; — about your business straight ; 
 Go, go, despatch 
 
 1 yiurd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same A Roam in the Tower. 
 
 Tenter Clahence oiid BbakeSbuky. 
 Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day ? 
 Clar. 0, I'have pass'd a miserable night, 
 So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
 That, as I am a christian faithful man, 
 I would not spend another such a night, 
 Though 'twere to buy a world of happier days ; 
 So fuU of dismal terror was the time. [tell me. 
 
 Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, 
 C/(ir. Methought, tliat I had broken from the Tower, 
 And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ; 
 And, in my company, my brother Gloster . 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 Upon the hatches ; tlience we look'd toward England, 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times. 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster 
 That had befall'n us. As we pac'd along 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 Methought, that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling. 
 Struck me, that thought to stay liim, over-board, 
 Into the tumbling biflows of tiie main. 
 O Lord ! methought, what pain it was to drown ! 
 What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
 Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ; 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels. 
 All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept 
 (As 'twere in scorn of eyes,) reflecting gems. 
 That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep. 
 And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 
 
 Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death. 
 To gaze upon these secrets of the deep ? 
 
 Clar. iMetliought, I had ; and often did I strive 
 To yield the ghost ; but still the envious flood 
 Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air; 
 But smother'd it within my panting bulk. 
 Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 
 Brak. Awak'd you not with this sore agony ? 
 Clar. 0, no, niy dream was lengthen'd after life; 
 O, then began the'tempest to my soul ! 
 I pass'd. methought, the melancholy flood. 
 With that grim ferryman, which poets write of, 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul. 
 Was my great falher-in-law, renowned Warwick; 
 Who cry'd aloud, — What scourge for perjuri) 
 Can this dark monarchxi afford false Clarence J 
 And so he vanish'd : Then came wand'ring by 
 A shadow like an angel with briglit hair 
 Dabbled in blood; and he shriek'd out aloud, — 
 Clarence is come, false, deeting.perjur'd Clare/ice,- 
 That stabh'd me in the f. -Id by Tewksbury ; — 
 Seize on him, furies, tak.- him to your torments .'— 
 With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
 Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
 Such hideous cries, thaS with the very noise, 
 I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after, 
 Could not believe but t'lat I was in hell ; 
 Such terrible inipressior. made my dream. 
 
-'^: 
 
 
ACT I.— SCENE IV, 
 
 529 
 
 Brah. No marvel, lord, though it aflFrighted you ; 
 T am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. 
 
 Chr. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things, — 
 That now give evidence against my soul, — 
 For Edward's sake ; and, see, how he requites me! — 
 
 God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee. 
 But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds, 
 Yet execute thv wratli on me alone : 
 0, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor cliildren I — 
 
 1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ; 
 My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep, [rest I — 
 
 Briik. I will, my lord ; God give your grace good 
 [Clarence repost^s himself on a chair. 
 Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours. 
 Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. 
 Princes have but their titles for their glories. 
 An outward honour for an inward toil ; 
 And, for unfelt imaginations. 
 They often feel a world of restless cares ; 
 So that, between their titles, and low name, 
 There's nothing differs but the outward fame. 
 
 Enter the two IMurderers. 
 1 Murd. Ho ! who's here ? 
 
 Brah. What wou Id' st thou, fellow? and howcam'st 
 thou hither? 
 
 1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and I came 
 hither on my legs. 
 
 Brak. What, so brief! 
 
 2 Murd. O, sir, 'tis better to be brief than tedious: — 
 Let him see our commission ; talk no more. 
 
 [A paper is delivered to Brakenhury, who reads it. 
 Brak. I am, in this, comma.iUed to deliver 
 The noble duke of Clarence to your hands : — 
 I will not reason what is meant heieby. 
 Because I will be guiltless of the meaning. 
 Here are the keys ; — there sits the duke asleep : 
 I'M to the king; and signify to him, 
 Tliat thus I have resign'd to you my cliarge. 
 
 1 Murd. You may, sir; 'tis a point of wisdom : 
 Fare you well. [£ri( BnAKEXiiunY. 
 
 2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ? 
 
 1 Murd. No ; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly, when 
 be wakes. 
 
 2 Murd. When he wakes ! why. fool, he shall never 
 wake until the great judgment day. 
 
 1 Murd. Why, then he 'il say, we stabb'd him 
 sleeping. 
 
 2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgment, hath 
 bred a kind of remorse in me. 
 
 1 Murd. What 1 art thou afraid ? 
 
 2 Murd. Not to kill him. having a warrant for it ; 
 but to be damn'd for killing him, fiom the which no 
 warrant can defend me. 
 
 1 Murd. I thought, thou had'st been resolute. 
 
 2 Murd, So I am, to let him live. 
 
 1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and tell 
 him so. 
 
 2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little : I hope, this 
 holy humour of niine will change ; it was wont to 
 hold me iiut while one would tell l\\enty. 
 
 1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now ? 
 
 2 Murd. 'Faith, some certain dregs of conscience 
 are yet within me. 
 
 lA/«c.Remeniberour reward, when the deed's done. 
 2 ^lurd. Come, he dies ; I had forgot the reward. 
 
 1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now? 
 
 2 Murd, In the duke of Gloster's purse. 
 
 1 Murd. So, when he opens his purse to give us 
 our reward, thy conscience flies out. 
 
 2 Murd. 'Tis no matter ; let it go ; there's few, 
 or none, will entertain it. 
 
 1 Murd. What if it come to thee again ? 
 
 2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous 
 thing, It makes a man a coward ; a man cannot steal, 
 but it accuseth him ; a roan cannot swear, but it 
 checks him ; a man cannot lie with his neighbour's 
 wife, but it detects him : 'Tis a blushing shame-faced 
 spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills one full 
 of obstacles : it made me once restore a purse of gold, 
 that by chance I found ; it beggars any man that 
 keeps it : it is turned out of all towns and cities for 
 a dangerous thing ; and every man, that means to 
 live well, endeavours to trust to himself, and live 
 without it. 
 
 1 Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow, 
 persuading me not to kill the duke. 
 
 2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe 
 him not : he would insinuate with thee, but to make 
 thee sigh. 
 
 1 Murd. I am strong-fram'd, he cannot prevail 
 with me. 
 
 2 Murd. Spoke like a tall fellow, that respects 
 his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work ? 
 
 1 Murd. Take him over the costard with the hilts 
 of thy sword, and then throw him into the malmsey- 
 butt, in the next room. 
 
 SMiirrf. Oexcellentdevice! and make asopofhim. 
 
 1 Murd. Soft ! he wakes. 
 
 2 Murd. Strike. 
 
 1 Murd. No. we'll reason with him. 
 Clar. Where art thou, keeper? give me acup of wine. 
 1 Miny/. You shall have wine enough, my lord, anon. 
 Clar. In God's name, what art thou' 
 1 Murd. A man. as you are. 
 Clar. But not, as I am, royal. 
 1 Murd. Nor you, as we are. loyal. 
 C/(ir. Thy voice is thunder.hut thy looks are humble. 
 1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks mine 
 
 own. 
 ^ Clar. How darkly, and howdeadly dost thou speak ! 
 Your eyes do menace me : Why look you pale ? 
 Who sent you hither ? wherefore do you come ? 
 
 Bath Murd. To. to, to, 
 
 Clar. To murder me? 
 
 Bath Murd. Ay, av. 
 
 Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so. 
 And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it. 
 Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ? 
 
 1 Murd. Ofi'ended us you have not, but the king. 
 Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him ao-ain. 
 
 2 Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore prepare to die. 
 Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of men. 
 
 To slay the innocent ? What is my ofl'ence ? 
 W here is the evidence that doth accuse me ! 
 What lawful quest have given their verdict up 
 Unto the frowning judge ! or who pronounc'd 
 The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death? 
 Before I be convict by course of law, 
 'I'o threaten me with death, is most unlawful. 
 I charge you, as you hojie lo have redemption. 
 By Christ's dear blood siieJ for our grievous sins. 
 That you depart, and l,iy no hands on me ; 
 The deed you undertake is damnable. 
 
 1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command. 
 
 2 Murd. And he, that hath commanded, is our king. 
 Clar. Erroneous vassal ! the great King of kings 
 
 Hath in the table of his law commanded. 
 That thou shalt do no murder ; Wilt thou then 
 Spurn at his edict, and fulfil a man's? 
 Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his hand, 
 To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 
 
 2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl on 
 For false forswearing, and for murder too : [thee, 
 2 L 
 
530 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Thou didst receive the sacrament to fight 
 In quarrel of the house of Lancaster. 
 
 1 Murd. And, like a traitor to the name of God, 
 Didst break that vow ; and, with thy treacherous blade, 
 Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son. 
 
 S! Miaii. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and de- 
 fend, [to us, 
 
 1 ]\Iuiil. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law 
 When thou hast broke it in such dear degree ? 
 
 Ctar. Alas! for whose sake did I that ill deed? 
 For Edward, for my brother, for his sake : 
 He sends you not to murder me for this ; 
 For in that sin he is as deep as I. 
 If God will be avenged for the deed, 
 0, know you, that he doth it publicly ; 
 Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm ; 
 He needs no indirect nor lawless course, 
 To cut off those that have offended him. 
 
 1 Muid. Who made thee then a bloody minister, 
 When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet, 
 That princely novice, was struck dead by thee ? 
 
 Clar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage. 
 
 1 Murd. Thy brother's love, ourduty, andthy fault, 
 Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee. 
 
 Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me; 
 I am his brother, and I love him well. 
 If you are hir'd for meed, go back again. 
 And I will send you to my brother Gloster ; 
 Who shall reward you better for my life. 
 Than Edward will for tidings of my death. 
 
 2 Mitrd. You are deceiv 'd.your brother G loster hates 
 
 you. 
 
 Clar. O, no ; he loves me, and he holds me dear . 
 Go you to him from me. 
 
 Boti! Murd. Ay, so we will. 
 
 Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father York 
 Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm, 
 And charg'd us from his soul to love each other. 
 He little thought of this divided friendship : 
 Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep. 
 
 1 .Miud. Ay, mill-stones; ashe lesson'd us toweep. 
 
 Chir. O, do not slander him, for he is kind. 
 
 1 Murd. Right, as snow in harvest. — Come, you 
 deceive yourself: 
 'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here. 
 
 Clar. It cannot be; for he bewept my fortune. 
 And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs. 
 That he would labour my delivery. 
 
 1 Mari. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you 
 From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven. 
 
 2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die, 
 
 my lord. 
 
 Clar. Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul, 
 To counsel me to make my peace with God, 
 And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind. 
 That thou wilt war with God, by murdering me ? — 
 Ah, sirs, consider, he, that set you on 
 To do this deed, will hate you for the deed. 
 
 SMurd. What shall we do? 
 
 Clar. Relent, and save your souls, 
 
 1 Murd. Relent! 'tis cowardly, and womanish. 
 
 Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish. — 
 Which of you, if you were a prince's'son. 
 
 Being pent from liberty, as I am now, 
 
 If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, — 
 
 Would not entreat for life? — 
 
 My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ; 
 
 0, if thine eye be not a flatterer. 
 
 Come thou on my side, and entreat for me, 
 
 As you would beg, were you in my distress. 
 
 A begjjing prince what beggar pities not ? 
 
 it Murd, Look behind you, my lord 
 
 1 Murd. Take that, and that ; if all this will not 
 do, [Slabs him. 
 
 I '11 drown you in the malmsey-butt within. 
 
 [Eiit, with the bodif, 
 1 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately despatch'd I 
 How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands 
 Of this most grievous guilty murder done! 
 
 Re-enter first Murderer. 
 
 1 Murd. How now? what mean'st thou, that thou 
 
 help'st me not? [been. 
 
 By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have 
 
 ii Murd. I would he knew, that I had saved his bro- 
 Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say; [ther ! 
 For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Eait. 
 
 1 Murd. So do not I ; go, coward, as thou art. — 
 Well, I '11 go hide the body in some hole, 
 Till that the duke give order for hia burial : 
 And when I have my meed, I will away ; 
 For this will out, and then I must not stay. [Eaii. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — The same. A Room in the Palace, 
 
 Enter Ki\g Edward, {led in sick,) Queen Eliza- 
 beth, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Buckingham, 
 Grey, and others. 
 
 K, Edw. Why, so : — now have I done a good day's 
 
 You peers, continue this united league: [work j 
 
 I every day expect ar embassage 
 
 From my Redeemer to redeem me hence ; 
 
 And now in peace my soul shall part to heaven. 
 
 Since 1 have made my friends at peace on earth. 
 
 Rivers and Hastings, take each other's hand^ 
 
 Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love. 
 
 Riv. By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging 
 And with my hand I seal my true heart's love, [hate ; 
 
 Hast, So thrive 1, as I truly swear the like I 
 
 K. Ediv. 'I ake heed, you dally not before your king^ 
 Lest he, that is the supreme King of kings. 
 Confound your hidden falsehood, and award 
 Either of you to be the other's end. 
 
 Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love ! 
 
 Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart! 
 
 K. Edw. Madam, yourselfare not exempt in this, — 
 Nor your son Dorset, — Buckingham, nor you ; — 
 You have been factious one against the other. 
 Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand ; 
 And what you do, do it unfeignedly, 
 
 Q. Eliz. There, Hastings; — I wdl never more re- 
 Our former hatred, so thrive I, and mine! [member 
 
 A', Edw. Dorset, embrace him, — Hastings, love 
 lord marquis. 
 
 Dnr. This interchange of love, I here protest, 
 Upon my part shall be inviolable. 
 
 Hast. And so swear I. [Embraces Dorset. 
 
 A'. Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou thia 
 With thy embracements to my wife's allies, [league 
 And make me happy in your unity. 
 
 Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate 
 Upon your grace, [to the Qiti.N.] butwith all duteous 
 Doth cherish you, and yours, God punish me [love 
 With hate in those where I expect most love 1 
 When I have most need to employ a friend. 
 And most assured that he is a friend, 
 Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile. 
 Be he unto me! this do 1 beg of heaven, 
 When 1 am cold in love, to you, or yours. 
 
 [Embracing Rivers, A' c. 
 
 A'. Edw. A pleasing cordial, princely Buckingham^ 
 
ACT ir.— SCENE II. 
 
 531 
 
 Is iWs lliy vow unto my sickly heart. 
 There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, 
 To make the blessed period of tliis peace. 
 
 Buck, And, in good tin.e, here comes the nobleduke> 
 
 Entey Gloster, 
 
 G/ti. Good morrow to my sovereign king, and queen ; 
 And, princely peers, a happy time of day ! 
 
 K. Edv). Happy, indeed, as we have spent theday :— 
 Brother, we have done deeds of charity ; 
 Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate, 
 Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. 
 
 Glo. A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege.— 
 Among this princely heap, if any here. 
 By false intelligence, or wrong surmise, 
 Hold me a foe ; 
 
 If I unwittingly, or in my rage, 
 Have aught committed that is hardly borne 
 By any in this presence, 1 desire 
 To reconcile me to his friendly peace: 
 'Tis death to me, to be at enmity ; 
 I hnte it, and desire all good men's love. — 
 First, madam, I entreat true peace of you, 
 Which 1 will purchase with my duteous service ; — 
 Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham, 
 li ever any grudge \vere lodg'd between us ; — 
 Of you, loixi Rivers, — and lord Grey, of you,—* 
 That all without desert have frown'd on me ; 
 Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen ; indeed, of all, 
 I do not know that Englishman alive. 
 With whom my soul is any jot at odds, 
 More than the infant thai is born to-night ; 
 I thank my God for my humility. 
 
 Q. Elh. A holy-day shall this be kept hereafter :— 
 I would to God, all strifes were well compounded. — 
 My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness 
 To take our brother Clarence to your grace. 
 
 Glo. Why, madam, have I offer'd love for this, 
 To be so flouted in this royal presence 1 
 Who knows not, thai the gentle duke is dead 1 
 
 [T/iey all start. 
 You do him injury, to scorn his corse. [he is ! 
 
 A'. Edw. Who knows not, he is dead! who knows 
 
 Q. Eiiz. All-seeing iieaven, what a world is thisi 
 
 Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset, as the rest ! 
 
 Dor, Ay, my good lord ! and no man in the pre- 
 But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks, ^sence, 
 
 K. Edw, Is Clarence dead 1 the order was revers'd. 
 
 Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died, 
 And thai a vringed Mercury did bear; 
 Some tardy cripple bore the counternand, 
 That came too lag to see him buried : — 
 God grant, that some, less noble, and less loyal, 
 Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood. 
 Deserve not worse than wretchtd Clarence did. 
 And yet go current from suspicion ! 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 Slan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done ! 
 
 K. Edif. Ipr'ythee,oeace;mysoul is full of sorrow. 
 
 Stun. I will not rise, unless your highness hear me. 
 
 K. Erfic. Then say at once, what is it thou request'st. 
 
 Siayi, The fori'eit, sovereign, of my servant's life ; 
 Who slew to day a riotous gentleman, 
 Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk. 
 
 A', fetfu'. Have I a tongue todoom my brother's death. 
 And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave 1 
 Mv brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought. 
 And yet his punishment was bitter death. 
 Who sued to me for him ^ who, in my wrath, 
 Kneel'd at ray feel, and bade me be advis'd ? 
 Who spoke of brotherhood ] who spoke of love ^ 
 
 \Vho told me, how the poor soul did forsake 
 The mighty Warwick, and did fight for met 
 Who told me in the field at Tewksbury, 
 A\'hen Oxford had me down, he rescu'd me. 
 And said. Dear hvotlier, live, and be a king? 
 Who told me, when we both lay in the field. 
 Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me 
 Even in his garments ; and did give himself, 
 AH thin and naked, to the numb-cold night] 
 Ail this from my remembrance brutish wrath 
 Sinfully ptuck'd, and not a man of you 
 Had so much grace to put it in my mind. 
 But, when your carters, or your waiting-vassals, 
 Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd 
 The precious image of our dear Redeemer, 
 Vou straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon ,, 
 And I, unjustly too, must giunt it you ; — 
 But for my brother, not a man would speak. 
 Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself 
 For him, poor soul.. — The proudest of you all 
 Have been beholden to him i» his life ; 
 Yet none of you would once plead for his life.- — 
 O God ! I fear, thy justice will take hold 
 On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this. — 
 Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. O, 
 Poor Clarence ! [Eieuut King, Queen, Hastings, 
 RivEns, DonsET, and Grey. 
 Gl«. This is the fruit of rashness ! — Mark'd you not. 
 How that the guiltj kindred of the queen 
 Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' deathi 
 
 ! they did urge it still unto the king : 
 
 God will revenge it. Come, lords ; will you go, 
 To comfort Ed«ard with our company ? 
 
 Bnr.k. U'e wait upon your grace. [Eieuitt 
 
 SCENE n.— The same. 
 
 Ejiter the Dcchess of York, viith a Son and 
 Daughter of Clarence. 
 
 5.1II. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead' 
 
 Duck. No, boy. 
 
 Vaxigh. Why do you weep so oft? and beat your 
 And cry— O Clarence, mii unhoppit son! breast; 
 
 ion. Why do you look on us, and shake your head. 
 And call us— orphans, wretches, cast-aways. 
 If that our noble father be alive t 
 
 Duch. My pretty cousins, you mistake me both ; 
 
 1 do lament the sickness of the king, 
 
 .\s loath to lose him, not your father's death ; 
 It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. 
 
 Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead. 
 The king my uncle is to blame for this : 
 God will revenge it ; whom I will importune 
 With earnest prayers all to that efTect. 
 
 Datigb. And so will I. 
 
 Duch. Peace, children, peace ! the king doth lova 
 Incapable and shallow innocents, [you well : 
 
 You cannot ^uess who caus'd your father's death. 
 
 Son. Grandam, we can : for my good uncle Gloster 
 Told me, the king, provok'd to't by the queen, 
 Devis'd impeachments to imprison him : 
 And when my uncle told me so, he wept. 
 And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek ; 
 Bade me rely on him, as on mv father. 
 And he would love me dearly as his cliild. 
 
 Duch. Ah, thatdeceit should steal such gentle shapes, 
 And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice ! 
 He is my son, ay, and therein my shame. 
 Yet from my dugs he drew not this deceit. 
 
 Son, Think you, my uncle did dissemble, grandaml 
 
 Duch. Ay, boy. 
 
 Son. I cannot think it. Hark! what noise is this 1 
 
532 
 
 KING RICHARD III, 
 
 Unter Queen Elizabeth, distractedly ; Rivers 
 and Dorset following her. 
 
 Q. Elii. Ah ! who shall hinder me to wail and weep? 
 To chide my fortune, and torment myself; 
 I '11 join with black despair asaiiist my soul, 
 ^Lnd to myself become an enemy. 
 
 l)uch. What means this scene of rude impatience? 
 Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragic violence : — 
 Edward, my loid, thy son, our kmg, is dead. — 
 Wily grow the branches, when the root is gone? 
 Why wither not the leaves, that want their sap? — 
 If you will live, lament ; if die, be brief ; 
 That our swift winged souls may catch the king's ; 
 Or, like obedient subjects, follow him 
 To his new kingdom of perpetual rest. 
 
 Duch. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow. 
 As I had title in thy noble husband ! 
 I have bewept a worthy husband's death, 
 And liv'd by looking on his images : 
 But now, two mirrors of his princely semblance 
 Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death ; 
 And I for comfort have but one false glass. 
 That grieves me when 1 see my shame in him. 
 Thou art a widow ; yet thou art a mother, 
 And hast the comfort of thy children left thee : 
 But death hatlr snatch'd my husbaud from my arms, 
 And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands, 
 Clarence and Edward. 0, what cause have 1, 
 (Thine being but a moiety of my j^rief, ) 
 To over-go thy plaints, and drown ihy cries ? 
 
 Soiu Ah, aunt ! you wept not for our father's death ■ 
 How can we aid you with our kindred l^ars ? 
 
 Davgh. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd. 
 Your widow-dolour likewise be unwept ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Give me no help in lamentation, 
 I am not barren to bring forth laments ; 
 All springs reduce their currents to mine eyes. 
 That I, being govern'd by the watry moon. 
 May send forth plenteous tears to drown tlie worlil ' 
 Ah, for my liusband, for my dear lord Edward ! 
 CliH. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Clarence. 
 Duch. Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and Cla- 
 rence ! [gone. 
 Q. Eliz. What stay had I, but Edward ? and he's 
 Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence ? and he 's 
 gone. [g""'^- 
 Duch. What stays had I, but they? and they are 
 Q. Eliz. Was never widow, had so dear a loss. 
 Chil. Were never orphans, had so dear a loss. 
 Duch. Was never mother, had so dear a loss. 
 Alas ! I am the mother of these griefs ; 
 Their woes are parcell'd, mine are general. 
 She for an Edward weeps, and so do I ; 
 I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she : 
 These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I : 
 I for an Edward weep, so do not they : 
 Alas ! you ihree, on me, threefold distress'd. 
 Pour all your teais, I am your sorrow's nurse. 
 And I will pamper it with lamentations. [pleas'd. 
 Dor. Comfort, dear mother: God is much dis- 
 Itat you take witli unthankfulness his doing ; 
 In common worldly things, 'tis call'd — ungrateful. 
 With dull unwillingness to repay a debt. 
 Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent ; 
 Much more to be thus opposite w'ith heaven, 
 For it requires the royal debt it lent you. 
 
 Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother. 
 Of the young prince your son : send straight for him. 
 Let him be crown'd ; in him your comfort lives : 
 Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave. 
 And plant your joys in living Edward's throne. 
 
 Euler Gloster, Buckingham, Siahley, Hastinos 
 Ratcliff, and others. 
 
 Cln. Sister, have comfort : all of us have cause 
 To wail the dimming of our shining star ; 
 But none can cure their harms by wailing them. — 
 Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy, 
 I did not see your grace : — Humbly on my knee 
 I crave your blessing. 
 
 Duch. God bless thee; and put meekness in .thy 
 Love, charity, obedience, and true duty ! [breast, 
 Gin. Amen ; and make me die a good old man! — 
 That is the butt end of a mother's blessing ; 
 I marvel, that her grace did leave it out [Aside. 
 
 Buck. You cloudy princes, and heart-sorrowing 
 That bear this mutual heavy load of moan, [peers, 
 Now cheer each other in each other's love ; 
 Though we have spent our harvest of this king. 
 We are to reap the harvest of his son. 
 The broken rancour of your high swoln hearts. 
 But lately splinted, knit, and join'd together. 
 Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept : 
 Me seemeth good, that, with some little train. 
 Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd 
 Hither to London, to be crown'd our king, [ingham? 
 Riv. Why with some little train, my lord of Buck- 
 Buck, Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude. 
 The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out ; 
 Which would be so much the more dangerous. 
 By how much the estate is green, and yet ungovern'd : 
 W here every horse bears his commanding rein. 
 And may direct his course as please himself. 
 As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent. 
 In my opinion, ought to be prevented. 
 
 Glo. 1 hope, the king made peace with all of us ; 
 .\nd the compact is firm, and true, in me. 
 
 Riv. And so in me ; and so, 1 think, in all : 
 Yet, since it is but green, it should be put 
 To no apparent likelihood of breach. 
 Which, haply, by much company might he urg'd • 
 '1 iierefore 1 say, with noble Buckingham, 
 That it is meet so few should fetch the prince. 
 Unit. And so say I. 
 
 Gin. Then be it so -, and go we to determinfe 
 Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow, 
 Madam, — and you my mother, — will you go 
 '1 o givo your censures in this weighty business ? 
 
 [Ereunt all but Buckingham and Gloster. 
 Buck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince. 
 For God's sake, let not us two stay at home : 
 For, by the waj, I'll sort occasion. 
 As iidex to tlie story we late talk'd of, 
 To part the queen -."proud kindred from the prince. 
 
 Glo. My other self, my counsel's consistory. 
 My oracle, my prophet !— My dear cousin, 
 I, as a child, will go by thy direction. 
 Towards Ludlow then, {or we '11 not stay behind. 
 
 [Ejeunf. 
 
 SCENE 111.— The sane. A Street. 
 
 Enter two Citizens, meeting. 
 
 1 Cit. Good morrow, neighbour : Whither awav 
 
 so fast ? 
 '2 Cil. I promise you, I scaicely know myself: 
 Hear you the news abroad ? 
 
 1 Cit. Yes ; that the king is dead. 
 
 2 Cit. Ill news, by'r lady ; seldom comes the better : 
 I fear, I fear, 'twill prove a giddy world. 
 
 Enter another Citizen. 
 
 3 Cit. Neighbours, God speed ! 
 
 1 Cti. Give you good morrow, m. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 533 
 
 3 Ctf. Doth the news hold of good king Edward's 
 death? 
 
 2 Ciu Ay. sir, it is too true ; God help, the while ! 
 
 3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world. 
 1 Cit. No, no; by God's good grace, his son shall 
 
 reign. 
 
 3 Cit. Woe to that land, that's govern'd by a child! 
 
 S Cit. In him there is a hope of government ; 
 ■ That, in his nonage, council under him, 
 And. in his full and ripen'd years, himself, 
 No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well. 
 
 1 Cit, So stood the state, when Henry the Sixth 
 Was crow*n'd in Paris but at nine months old. 
 
 SCit. Stood the state so "? no, no, good friends, God 
 For then this land was famously enrich'd [wot ; 
 
 W^ith politic grave counsel ; then the king 
 Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace. [ther. 
 
 1 Cit. Whv. so hath this, both by his father and rao- 
 
 3 Cit. Better it were, they all came by his father ; 
 Or, by his father, there were none at all : 
 For emulation now. who shall be nearest, 
 Will touch us all too near, if God prevent not. 
 O, full of danger is the duke of Gloster ; 
 And the queen's sons, and brothers, haught and proud : 
 And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule, 
 This sickly land might solace as before. [well. 
 
 1 Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst ; all will be 
 3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put on their 
 
 cloaks ; 
 When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand ; 
 When the sun sets, who doth not look for night? 
 Untimely storms make men expect a dearth ; 
 All may be well ; but, if God sort it so, 
 'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect. 
 
 2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear : 
 You cannot reason almost with a man 
 
 That looks not heavily, and lull of dread. 
 
 3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so : 
 By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust 
 Ensuing danger ; as, by proof, we see 
 
 The water swell before a boist'rous storm. 
 But leave it all to God. Whither away t 
 
 2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices. 
 
 3 Cit. And so was 1 ; I '11 bear you company. 
 
 [Eaeu7it. 
 
 SCENE lY.—The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter the Archbishop of York, the voung Duke of 
 York, Qi/een Elizabeth, and the Duchessof York. 
 
 Arch, Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony-Strat- 
 And at Northampton they do rest to-night : [ford ; 
 To-morrow, or next day, they will be here. 
 
 Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prince ; 
 I hope, he is much grown since last I saw hira. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But I hear, no ; they say, my son of York 
 Hath almost overta'en hira in his growth. 
 
 York. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so. 
 
 Duch, Why, my young cousin ? it is good to grow. 
 
 York. Grandam. one night, as we did sit at supper, 
 IMy uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow 
 Wore than my brother ; Aij, quoth my uncle Gloster, 
 Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow a-pace: 
 And since, methinks, 1 would not grow so fast, 
 Becausesweet flowers are slow, and weeds make haste. 
 
 D^rft. 'Good faith, 'good faith.the saving did not hold 
 In him that did object the same to thee : 
 fie was the wretched'st tiling, when he was young, 
 So long a growing, and so leisurely, 
 lliat, if his rule were true, he should be gracious. 
 
 Arch* And so. no doubt, he is. my gracious madam. 
 
 Duch. I hope, he is ; but yet let mothers doubt. 
 
 York. Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd 
 I could have given my uncle's grace a flout. 
 To touch his growth, nearer than he touch'd mine. 
 
 Duch, How, my young York? I pr'ythee, let me 
 hear it. 
 
 York. I\Iany, they say, my uncle grew so fast. 
 That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old ; 
 'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth. 
 Grandam. this would have been a biting jest. 
 
 Duch. I pr'ythee. pretty York, who told thee this? 
 
 York. Grandam, his nurse. [born. 
 
 Duch. His nurse! why, she was dead ere thou wast 
 
 York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me. 
 
 Q Eliz. A parlous boy : Go to, you are too shrewd. 
 
 Arch. Good madnm, be not angry with the child. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears. 
 
 Enter a IMessenger. 
 
 Arch. Here comes a messenger : 
 
 What news? 
 
 Mess. Such news, my lord. 
 
 As grieves me to unfold. 
 
 Q. Eliz. How doth the prince ? 
 
 Mess. Well, madam, and in health. 
 
 Duch. What is thy news? 
 
 Mess. Lord Kivers. and lord Grey, are sent to Pom- 
 With them sir Thomas Vauehan. prisoners. [fret, 
 
 Dnch. Who iiath committed them ? 
 
 Mess. The mighty dukes, 
 
 Gloster and Buckingham. 
 
 Q. Eliz. For what ofl^ence? 
 
 Mess. The sum of all T can, I have disclos'd ; 
 Why, or for what, the nobles were committed, 
 Is all unknown to me. my gracious lady. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah me. I see the ruin of my house ! 
 The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind ; 
 Insulting tvranny begins to jut 
 Upon the innocent and awless throne : — 
 Welcome, destruction, blood, and massacre * 
 I see. as in a map. the end of all. 
 
 Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days ! 
 How many of you have mine eyes beheld ? 
 My husband lost his life to get the crown ; 
 And often up and down my sons were tost. 
 For me to joy, and weep, their gain, and loss : 
 And being seated, and domestic broils 
 Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors. 
 Make war upon themselves ; brother to brother, 
 Blood to blood, self 'gainst self: — O, preposterous 
 And frantic courage, end thy damned spleen : 
 Or let me die, to look on death no more ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Come, come', my boy, we will to sanc' 
 Madam, farewell. [luary.— 
 
 Duch. Stay, T will go with you. 
 
 Q. Eliz, You have no cause. 
 
 Arch. My gracious ladv. go, [To the Queen. 
 
 And thither bear your treasure and your goods. 
 For my part, I'll resign unto vnur grace 
 The seal I keep ; And so betide to me, 
 As well I tender you, and all of yours ! 
 Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary, [Exeunt 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— T/ie same. A Slreet. 
 The trumpets sound. Enter the Prince of Wales, 
 Gloster, Buckingham, Cardinal BouncuiER, 
 and otiiers. 
 
 Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to your 
 chamber. 
 
534 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 G/o. Wei come, dear cousin, my thoughts' sovereign : 
 The weary way hath made you melancholy. 
 
 Prince. No, uncle; but our crosses on the way 
 Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy : 
 I want more uncles here to welcome me. 
 
 ('/(). Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your years 
 Hath not yet div'dinto the world's deceit: 
 No more can you distinguish of a man, 
 Than of his outward show ; which, God he knows, 
 Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart. 
 Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous ; 
 Your grace attended to their sugar'd words, 
 liut look'd not on the poison of their hearts : 
 Uod keep you from them, and from such false friends ! 
 
 Prince. God keep me from false friends 1 but they 
 were none. [you. 
 
 Glo, My lord, the mayor of London comes to greet 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor, and his Train. 
 
 May, God bless your grace, with health and happy 
 
 days ! 
 Prince. I thank you, good my lord;— and thank 
 you all. — [^Exennt Mayor, &^c. 
 
 I thought, my motiier, and my brother York, 
 Would long ere this have met us on the way : 
 Fye, what a slug is Hastings ? that he comes not 
 To tell us, whether they will come, or no. 
 
 Enter Hastings. 
 
 Buck, And in good time, here comes the sweating 
 lord. [come? 
 
 Prince. Welcome, my lord : AVhat, will our mother 
 
 HaU. On what occasion, God he knows, not 1, 
 The queen your mother, and your brother York, 
 Have taken sanctuary : The tender prince 
 Would fain have come with me to meet your grace, 
 But by his mother was perforce withheld. 
 
 Bnck. Fye! what an indirect and peevish course 
 Is this of hers? — Lord cardinal, will your grace 
 Persuade the queen to send the duke of York 
 Unto his princely brother presently 7 
 If she deny, — lord Hastings go with him. 
 And from her jealous arms pluck him perforce. 
 
 Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak oratory 
 Can from his mother win the duke of York, 
 Anon expect him here : But if she be obdurate 
 To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid 
 We should infringe the holy privilege 
 Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this land, 
 Would I be guilty of so deep a sin. 
 
 Bitck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord. 
 Too ceremonious, and tradilional : 
 Weigh it but with the grossness of this age, 
 You break not sanctuary in seizing him. 
 The benefit thereof is always granted 
 To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place. 
 And those who have the wit to claim the place : 
 This prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it ; 
 And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it : 
 Then, taking him from thence, that is not there, 
 You break no privilege nor charter there. 
 Oft have I heard of sanctuary men ; 
 But sanctuary children ne'er till now. 
 
 Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for once. 
 Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me? 
 
 Hast. I go, my lord. 
 
 Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you 
 may. [^Eieunt Cahdinal and Hastings. 
 Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come. 
 Where shall we sojourn till our coronation? 
 
 Glo. Where it seems best unto your royal self. 
 If I may counsel you, some day, or two. 
 
 Your highness shall repose you at the Tower : 
 Then where you please, and shall be thouglu most fit 
 Tor your best health and recreation. 
 
 Prince. I do not like the Tower, of any place : — 
 Did Julius Caisar build that place, my lord ! 
 
 Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place ; 
 Which, since, .succeeding ages have re-edified. 
 
 Prince. Is it upon record ? or else reported 
 Successively from age to age, he built it? 
 
 Bnck. Upon record, my gracious lord. 
 
 Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd ; 
 Methinks, the truth should live from age to age. 
 As 'twere retail'd to all posterity. 
 Even to the general all-ending day. 
 
 Glo. So wise, so young, they say, do ne'er live long. 
 
 [Aside* 
 
 Prince. What say you, uncle ? 
 
 Glo. I say, without characters, fame lives long. 
 Thus, like the formal vice. Iniquity, ( . - , 
 
 I moralize two meanings in one word. \ 
 
 Prince. That Julius Caesar was a famous man ' 
 With what his valour did enrich his wit. 
 His wit set down to make his valour live : 
 Death makes no conquest of this conqueror ; 
 For now he lives in fame, though not in life.— - 
 I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham, 
 
 Bnck. What, my gracious lord? 
 
 Prince. An if I live until I be a man, 
 I'll win our ancient right in France again. 
 Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king. 
 
 Gto. Short summers lightly have a forward spring. 
 
 [Aside, 
 Enter York, Hastings, and the Cardinal. 
 
 Bnck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke of 
 York, [brother ? 
 
 Pri7ice. Richard of York ! how fares our loving 
 
 Forfc. Well, my dread lord; so must I call you now. 
 
 Prince. Ay, brother ; to our grief, as it is yours : 
 Too late he died, that might liave kept that title. 
 Which by his death hath lost much majesty. 
 
 Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York? 
 
 York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord. 
 You said, that idle weeds are fast in growth : 
 The prince my brother hath outgrown me far. 
 
 Glo. He hath, my lord. 
 
 York, And therefore is be idle ? 
 
 Glo. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so. 
 
 York- Then is he more beholden to you, than I. 
 
 Glo. He may command me, as my sovereign ; 
 But you have power in me, as in a kinsman. 
 
 York. I pray you, uncle, then, give me this dagger. 
 
 Glo. My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart. 
 
 Prince. A beggar, brother? 
 
 Yoi-k. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give j 
 And, being but a toy. which is no grief to give. 
 
 Glo. A greater gift than that I'll give ray cousin. 
 
 York. A greater gift ! O, that's the sword to it? 
 
 Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough. 
 
 York. O then. I see, you'll part but with light gifts; 
 In weightier things you"U say a beggar, nay. 
 
 Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear. 
 
 York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier. 
 
 G/o. What, would you have my weapon, little lord * 
 
 Fnr)i:. I would, that I might thank you as you callme. 
 
 Glo. How? 
 
 York. Little. 
 
 Prince. My lord of York will still becross in talk; — 
 Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him. 
 
 York. You mean, to bear me. not to bear with me :— 
 Uncle, my brother mocks both you and rae ; 
 Because that 1 am little, like an ape. 
 
ACT III.-SCENE II. 
 
 535 
 
 He thinks that you should bear me on your shoulders. 
 
 Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons ! 
 To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle, 
 He prettily and aptly taunts himself: 
 So cunning, and so young, is wonderful. 
 
 Gio, My gracious lord, will't please you passalongl 
 Myself, and my good cousin Buckingham, 
 \\ ill to your mother ; to entreat of her, 
 I'o meet you at the Tower, and welcome you. 
 
 York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my lord 1 
 
 Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so. 
 
 York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower. 
 
 Glo. Why, sir, what should you fear ? 
 
 York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost ; 
 My grandam told me, he was murder'd there. 
 
 Prince. I fear no uncles dead. 
 
 Gh. Nor none that live, I hope. 
 
 Prince. An if they live, I hope, I need not fear. 
 But come, my lord, and, with a heavy heart, 
 Thinking on them, go 1 unto the Tower. 
 
 [Eieunt Prince, Voiik, Hasiings, Cardinal, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York 
 Was not incensed by his subtle mother, 
 To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously ? 
 
 Glo. No doubt, no doubt : O, 'tis a parlous boy ; 
 Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable ; 
 He's all the mother's, from the top to toe. 
 
 Buck. Well, let them rest. — 
 Come hither, gentle Cateshy ; thou ait sworn 
 As deeply to efi'ect wirat we intend, 
 As closely to conceal what we impart : 
 Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way ; 
 What think'st thou 1 is it not an easy matter 
 To make William lord Hastings of our inind. 
 For the in:>lalment of this noble duke 
 lu the seat royal of this famous isle? 
 
 Catc* He for his father's sake so loves the prince, 
 That he will not be won to auglit against him. 
 
 Buck, What think'st thou then of Stanley ? will not 
 
 Cate. He willdo allinall as Hastings doth, [he? 
 
 Buck. Well then, no more but this : Go, gentle 
 Catesby, 
 And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings, 
 How he doth stand affected to our purpose ; 
 And summon him to-morrow to the Tower, 
 To sit about the coronation. 
 If thou dost find him tractable to us. 
 Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons: 
 If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling. 
 Be thou so too ; and so break off the talk. 
 And give us notice of his inclination ; 
 For we to-morrow hold divided councils, 
 Wherein thyself shait highly be employed. 
 
 G/i>.Commendmetolord William; tell him, Catesby, 
 His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries 
 To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle ; 
 And bid my friend, for joy of this good news. 
 Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more- 
 
 Buc/c.GoodCatesby.go,effect this business soundly. 
 
 Cate. Aly good lords both, with all the heed I can. 
 
 G/o. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we sleep? 
 
 Cate, You shall, my lord. 
 
 Glo. At Crosby-place, there shall you find us both. 
 [£i(l Catisbv. 
 
 Bu£k. Now.mylord.whatshallwedo.if we perceive 
 Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots? 
 
 Gio. Chop off his head, man ; — somewhat we will 
 And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me [do: — 
 The earldom of Hereford, and all tlie moveables 
 Whereof the king my brother was possess'd. 
 
 Biick, I'll claim »hat promise at your grace's hand. 
 
 Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kindness. 
 Come, let us sup betimes ; that afterwards 
 We may digest our coniplots in some form. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Before Lord Hastings' House. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mess. My lord, my lord, — [A'noc/cuig. 
 
 Host. [Within.] Who knocks ? 
 3/ess, One from lord Stanley. 
 
 Hiist. [Within.] What is't o'clock? 
 Mess. Upon the stroke of four. 
 
 Enter Hastings. 
 
 Hast. Cannot thy master sleep the tedious nights ? 
 
 Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say. 
 First, he commends him to your noble lordship. 
 
 Hast* And then, — 
 
 Mess. And then, he sends you word he dreamt 
 To-night the boar had rased off his helm : 
 Besides, he says, there are two councils held ; 
 And that may be determiu'd at the one, 
 Which may make you and him to rue at the otiier. 
 Therefore he sends to know your lordship's pleasure, — 
 If, presently, you will take horse with him. 
 And with all speed post with him toward the north, 
 To shun the danger that his soul divines. 
 
 Hast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord: 
 Bid him not fear the separated councils: 
 His honour, and myself, are at the one ; 
 And, at the other, is my good friend Catesby ; 
 Where nothing can proceed, that toucheth us, 
 Whereof I shall not have intelligence. 
 Tell him, his fears are shallow, wanting instance : 
 And for his dreams — I wonder, he's so fond 
 To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers: 
 To fly the boar, before tiie boar pursues. 
 Were to incense the boar to follow us, 
 And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase. 
 Go, bid thy master rise and come to me ; 
 And we will both together to the Tower, 
 Where, he shall see, the boar will use us kindly. 
 
 Mess. 1 'U go my lord, and tell him what you sav. 
 
 [Eiit. 
 Enter Catesey. 
 
 Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord ! 
 
 //(ist. Good morrow, Catesby ; you are early stirring 
 What news, what news, in this our totteiing state ( 
 
 Cute. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ; 
 And, I believe, will never stand upright, 
 Till Richard wear the garland of the realm. 
 
 Hast. How ! wear the garland ? dost thou mean the 
 
 Cate. Ay, my good lord. [crown? 
 
 /fast. I '11 have this crown of mine cut from my shoul- 
 Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd. [ders, 
 But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it? 
 
 Cate. Ay. on my life ; and hopes to find you forward 
 Upon his party, for the gain thereof: 
 And, thereupon, he sends you this good news,- - 
 That, this same very day, your enemies. 
 The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret, 
 
 Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news, 
 Because they have been still my adversaries : 
 But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side. 
 To bar my master's heirs in true descent, 
 God knows, I. will not do it, to the death. 
 
 Cate. God keep yourlordshipin that gracious mind! 
 
 Hast. But 1 shall laugh at this a twelvemonth 
 hence, — 
 That they, who brought me in my master's hate, 
 I live to look upon their tragedy. 
 Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older. 
 
536 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 I'll send some packing, that jet thini not on 't. 
 
 Cate. TU a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, 
 %VTien men are nnprepar'd, and look not for it. 
 
 Hdft. O monstrous, monstrous I and so falls it out 
 \Vith Rivers, Vanghan, Grey : and so 'twill do 
 With some men else, who think themselves as safe ' 
 ,\s thou and 1 ; who, as thoo know'st, are dear 
 To princely Richard, and to Bucidngham. 
 
 Cure. The princes both make higii accountof yon, — 
 Tor they account his head upon the bridge. [Atide. 
 
 Hart. 1 know, they do ; and I have well deserv'd it 
 
 Enter STASLrr. 
 Come on, come on, where is your hoar-spear, man? 
 Fear you the boar, and go so unprovidea t 
 
 Stan. Mt lord, good morrow ; and good moirow, 
 Catesby : — 
 Yon mav jest on, but, by the holy rood 
 I do not'Uke these several councils, L 
 
 Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yon do yours; 
 And never, in my life, I do protest. 
 Was it more precious to me than 'tis now : 
 Think you, but that I know roar state sectire, 
 I would be so triumphant as I am 1 [London, 
 
 Stan. The lords at Pomfret, when they rode from 
 Vi'ere jocund, and supposd their states were sure, 
 And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust ; 
 But vet, you see, bow soon the day o'er-cast. 
 This' sodden stab of rancour I misdoubt : 
 Piav God, I sav, I prove a needless coward ! 
 What, shall we" toward the Tower! the day is spent 
 
 Hau. Come, come, have with yon. — Wot you what, 
 my lord ? ,, . 
 
 To^dar, the lonJi you talk of are beheaded, [beads, 
 
 .Stan. Thev, for 'theirtruth. might betterwear their 
 Than some, that have accus'd them, wear their bats. 
 But come, my lord, let's away. 
 
 ZnXer a Porsairanl. 
 Hon. Go on before, 1 '11 talk with this good fellow. 
 
 [J,. ' aiMfCATtSST. 
 
 How now. sirrah ! how y with thee t 
 
 Pan. The better, thai > , .; j please to ask. 
 
 Haa. I tell thee, man, tis better with roe now. 
 Than when thon met'jt ir.e ''-" -r\'-.-r<: now we meet: 
 Then was I going ' ' '■ ^» 
 
 By the suggestion ' 
 E'Jt now. I u' 
 ■J i;> da- tiu',- 
 XiA I m be.--. — 
 
 Pun. God hold It. to your i- 
 
 floi«. Gramercv-, fellow ; Tt": 
 
 [TLtcl..:^ lam hit purfe. 
 
 Pun, I ttmtiV your hoooor. [JuU Pursmrant. 
 
 Eater a Priest. 
 
 Pr, Well met, my lord; I am glad to tee yoor honour. 
 
 Halt. I thank thee, good sir John, with an my heart. 
 I am in your debt for your last exercise ; 
 Cone the next Sabbath, and I will content you. 
 
 Come, will you go ? 
 
 Hatt. Ill wait upon your lordship. [Eirenf. 
 
 
 TOtent ! 
 for me. 
 
 Eater BcczncHjui. 
 
 BmA. What,talkin|witb apiiest Jordchamberiaia? 
 Yoar faieads at Pooftet. tfaqrdo need the pnest ; 
 Yoar hoBOBT hath bo Atmit^ work in hand. 
 
 Httt. 'Good iaidt.aad when I met this holy man. 
 The Beo yoa talk of came into my uiad. 
 What, gajo* toward the Tower ? 
 
 Buck. Ido.Bylord; batloo|Icaimotstaydteie: 
 I shall retoni bdbre yo« Uwdiiop tbeace. 
 
 Hca. NaT, like eaoaj^, for I stay dinner there. 
 
 hmek. ABdnq>pertM,althoaghthoakiiow'stitBat. 
 
 [AtiJe. 
 
 SCENE IIL— Pomfret. Brfm-e the cattle. 
 
 Enter Ratcliif, tcit'i a guard, etmducting RivxKS, 
 Geey, and Vacohas, to eiecntim. 
 
 Pat. Come, bring forth the prisoners. 
 
 Hit. Sir Richard Ratcliff, let me tell thee this, — 
 To-day, sbalt thou behold a subject die. 
 For truth, for duty, and for loyalty. 
 
 Grey. God keep the prince from all the pack of you! 
 A knot you are of damned blood-suckers. 
 
 Vaug. You live that shall cry woe for this hereafter. 
 
 /ia«r Despatch ; the limit of your lives is out. 
 
 Rip. O Pomfret, Pomfret ! O'thou bloody prison, 
 Fatal and ominous to noble peers ! 
 Within the guilty closure of thy walls, 
 Richard the Second here was hack'd to death : 
 And, for more slander to thy dismal seat. 
 We jive thee up our guiltle.« blood to drink. 
 
 Grfi/.NowJIargaret's curse is fallenupon our heads, 
 When she eiclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I, 
 For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son. 
 
 £ic. Then curs'd she Haitings, then cursed she 
 Buckingham, 
 Then curs'd she Richard ; — O, remember, God, 
 To hear her prayers for them, as now for us ! 
 And for my sister, and her princely sons, — 
 Be satisfied, dear God, with our true bloods, 
 Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt! 
 Kaf. Make haste, the hour of death is eipirale. 
 Bin. Come, Grey, — come, Vaughan, — let us here 
 embrace: 
 Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [E«u»<. 
 
 SCENE IV.— London, A Rxm in the Tower. 
 
 BrCKlKCHAM, SrAltLET, Hastjucs, the Bisiiop or 
 Ei.T, Cateset, LovEt, and ethert, fitting ala table: 
 offieert of the council attending. 
 Hoit. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met 
 Is — to determine of the coronation : 
 In God's name, speak, when is the royal day? 
 Buck. .Are all things ready for that royal timet 
 Stan. They are : ■■■■■■' "-••- '■ ■• -"r/inalion 
 Zl'i. To-tDorrow • y day. 
 
 Biu*. Who know- ■ mind herein? 
 
 Who is roost inward wiii. '.he nouie duke ? [mind. 
 Ely. Your grace, we tJiink, should soonestknowhis 
 Back. Wek'noweach other's faces: forovrhtaiU, — 
 He knows no more of mine, liian 1 of ymn ; 
 Nor I, of bis, my lord, tl»aa you oinattt:: 
 Lfjti Ha»tir,irs, you and be are near in lore. 
 
 Hau. I tiiank his ^raee. I know he loves me we il 
 But, for bis purpose m the coronation, 
 I bare not sounded birn, nor be deliver'd 
 His gracious pleasure any way therein : 
 But yos. my noble Uj.'d, mar name the tame; 
 And in the duke's behalf I'll ^*e my voice. 
 Which, 1 presume, he'll take in gentle part. 
 Enter GLO»r£B. 
 Ely. !■ happy time, here comes the duke bimseIC 
 Oli. My Dob4 lords, and couios, all.good morrow; 
 I have been long a sie«}«r ; but, I trust, 
 Mv absence doth r»e-j;Iw.-t r'l '/reat d»:tigii. 
 Which bv my presence v.'. . '■.a concluded. 
 
 had-.. Had von not c/. • cue, my lord, 
 
 William lord (tastings ha.. ^, . , . . ..--. . ywr part,— 
 I mean, you voice, — for crowning of tbe king. 
 6Ja. "ntan my lord Hastingi, no man mi^fat bo 
 
ACT III.— SCENE V, 
 
 His lordship knows me «ell, and loves me well 
 
 Hiist. I tliank your grace. 
 
 CIn. My loixl of Klv, when I was last in Holborn, 
 I saw jood strawliernos in your garden tliere ; 
 1 do beseech you, send for some of them. 
 
 Elil. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. 
 
 [Eiit Kly. 
 
 Gto. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you. 
 
 [Takes him uside. 
 Oalesby hath sounded Hastings in our business ; 
 And finds the testv gentleman so hot. 
 That he will lose his head, ere give consent. 
 His master's child, as worshipfully he terms if, 
 Shall lose the royalty of Kiigland's throne. 
 
 Biuik. Withdraw yourself awhile, I'll go with you. 
 
 [Exeunt CilOSTER tlltd lU'CKINGIIAM. 
 
 */<iti. We have not yet set down this day of triunijih. 
 To-motruw, in my judgment, is too sudden ; 
 For 1 myself am not so well provided. 
 As else I would be, were the day prolong'd. 
 
 He'Cnter Risnop of Ki.y. 
 
 Elfi. Where is my lord protector ? I have sent 
 For these strawberries. [morning; 
 
 Hiisi. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this 
 There's some conceit or other likes him well. 
 W hen he doth bid good morning with such spirit 
 1 think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom, 
 Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he ; 
 For by his face straight shall you know his heart. 
 
 Sttin, What of his he.irt perceive you in his face, 
 By any likelihood he sliew'd to-day ! 
 
 Hiijt. Marry, thai with no man here he is oifended ; 
 For. were he, he had shewn it in his looks. 
 
 Stan. I pray God he be not, I say. 
 
 He-enter Glostbr and Buckingham. 
 
 G(i>. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve, 
 That do conspire my death with devilish plots 
 Of damned witchcraft ; and that have pr^vail'd 
 Upon my body with their hellish channs ! 
 
 //<!>(. The tender love 1 bear your grace, my lord, 
 Makes me most forwaal in this noble presence 
 To doom the olVemlers : Whosoe'er they be, 
 1 say, my lord, they have dcser\'d death. 
 
 Gil'. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil. 
 Look how 1 am bewitcii'd ; behold mine arm 
 1.S, like a blasted sa)>ling, wither'd up ; 
 And this is Edward's wife, ihat monstrous witch. 
 Consorted with that harlot, strumpet Shore. 
 That by their witchcraft thus have marked me. 
 
 i/w.vr. If they have done this deed, mv noble lord, — 
 
 <;/.'. If I thou protector of this damned strumpet, 
 Talk'st thou to me of ifs ! — Thou art a traitor : — 
 Off with his head ;^now, by saint Paul 1 swear, 
 I will not dine until I see the same. — 
 l.ovel, and Calesby, look that it be done : 
 The rest, that love me, rise, and follow mc. 
 
 [K.1CIIMI Council, with Ciios. <iud BrcK. 
 
 II, lit. Woe. woe, for England! not a whit for mo; 
 For I, too fond, might have prevented this: 
 Stanley did dream, the boar did rase his helm : 
 )!ut 1 disdain'd it. and did scorn to tly. 
 Three times today my foot-cloth horse did slumblo. 
 And slartlcd, when ho look'd upon the I'owcr, 
 As loalh (o bear me to the slaughterhouse. 
 O, now I want the priest that spako to me: 
 1 now repent 1 told the pursuivant. 
 As too triumphing, how mine enemies. 
 To-day at I'omfret bloodily were buteher'd. 
 And 1 myself secure in grace and favour. 
 O, Waruaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse 
 
 Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched he 
 
 Cute. Despatch, my loi-d. the dukewould be at din- 
 Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head, [ner; 
 
 Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men. 
 Which we more hunt for than the grace of God ! 
 W ho builds his hope in air of your fair looks. 
 Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast ; 
 Ready, with every noil, to tumble down 
 Into the fatal bowels of the deep. 
 
 Lou. Come, come, despatch; 'tis bootless to exclaim. 
 
 Hast. O, bloody Richard! — miserable England' 
 I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee. 
 That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. — 
 Come, lead me to the block, bear him mv head , 
 They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead 
 
 [Eieiint. 
 
 SCENE v.— The .wme. Tlie Tower II"../(s. 
 
 Enter Gloster n>i(/ BrcKiNCHAM, in rustv (irHieiir, 
 
 manelloui ill-t'avoitred. 
 
 Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change 
 thy colour? 
 I\rurdcr thy breath in midvlle of a won!. — 
 .■\nd then again begin, and stop atain. 
 As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror ? 
 
 Hack. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedi.an ; 
 Speak, and look back, and pry on every side. 
 Tremble and start at wagging of a straw, 
 I ntending deep suspicion : ghastly looks 
 .\re at my service. like enforc'd smiles ; 
 .'\nd both are readv in their offices. 
 At any time, to grace my stratagems. 
 lUit what, is Catesby gone? 
 
 Glo. He is ; and, see, he brings the mayor along. 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor and Catisby. 
 Budc Let mo alone to entertain him. — Lord 
 Gli>. Look to the draw-bridge there- [mayor, — 
 Buck. Hark, hark ! a tiruni. 
 
 Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls. (yu. — 
 
 Buck. Lor\l mayor, the reason we have sent, for 
 Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies. 
 Biick.God and our innocence defend and guard us ! 
 
 Eiitrr LovKL and Ratcliff, u-ith Hastings' head. 
 
 Glo. Be patient, they are friends ; Ratcliff, and 
 Level. 
 
 Tiu'. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor. 
 The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings. 
 
 Glo. So dear I lov'd the man, that I must weep, 
 1 took him for the (ilainest harmless't creature, 
 that breath'd upon the e;irth a Christian : 
 M,ade him my book, wherein my soul recorded 
 rhe history of all her secrvt thoughts : 
 So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue. 
 That, his apparent open guilt omitted. — 
 I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, — 
 He liv'd fivm all attainder of suspect. 
 
 Buck. Well. well, he was the covert'st shelter "d 
 That ever liv'd. — Look you, my lorvl mayor, [traitor 
 Would you imagine, or almost believe, 
 (Were't not, that by great preservation 
 We live to tell it you.^ tho subtle traitor 
 This d,w had plotteil. in the council-house. 
 To murder me, and my gooii lord of Gloster ? 
 
 Man. What ! bad he so? 
 
 Glo. What ! think you wo are Turks, or infidels ? 
 Or that we would, against the fonu of law, 
 Pnx'eevl thus rashlv in the villain's death ; 
 But that the cxiivme peril of the case. 
 The peace of Ennlaiid. and our persons' safety, 
 Eufoi-c'd us to this execution I 
 
53B 
 
 KING KICHARD III. 
 
 Muv. Now, fair befal you ! he deserv'd his death I 
 And your good graces both have well proceeded, 
 To warn false traitors from the like attempts. 
 I never look'd for belter at his hands, 
 After he once fell in with mistress Shore. 
 
 Buck. Yet had we not determin'd he should die, 
 Until your lordship came to see his end ; 
 Which now the loving haste of these our friends. 
 Somewhat against our meaning hath prevented: 
 Because, my lord, we would have had you heard 
 The traitor speak, and timorously confess 
 The manner and the purpose of his treasons ; 
 That you might well have signified the same 
 Unto the citizens, who, haply, may 
 Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death, [serve, 
 J\I«U. 13ut, mv good lord, your grace's word shall 
 As well as I had seen, and heard hinr speak : [serve. 
 And do not doubt, right noble princes both, 
 But I '11 acquaint our duteous citizens 
 With all your just proceedings in this case. 
 
 G/i>. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here, 
 To avoid the censures of the carping world. 
 
 Buck. But since you came too late of our intent 
 Yet witness what you hear we did intend : 
 And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell. 
 
 [Kji'f Lord Mayor. 
 Gh. Go, after, after, cousin Buckingham, 
 The mayor towards Guildhall hies him with all post: — 
 There, at your meetest vantage of the time, 
 Tnfer the bastardy of Edward's children : 
 Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen, 
 Onlv for saying — he would make iiis son 
 Heir to the crown ; meaning, indeed, his house. 
 Which, Tjy the sign tlicreof was termed so. 
 Moreover, urge his hateful luxury. 
 And bestial appetite in change of lust ; 
 Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives, 
 Even where his raging eye. or savage heart. 
 Without control, listed to make his prey. 
 Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person : — 
 Tell them, when that my mother went with child 
 Of that insatiate Edward, noble York, 
 ISIy princely father, then had wars in France ; 
 And, by just computation of the time, 
 Eound, that the issue was not his begot ; 
 A\'hich rt'e'l appeared in his lineaments. 
 Being nothing like the noble duke my father: 
 Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off ; 
 Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives. 
 
 Buck. Doubt not, my lord : I'll play the orator. 
 As if the golden fee, for which I plead. 
 Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu, [castle; 
 Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's 
 Where you shall find me well accompanied, 
 With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops. 
 Buck. 1 go ; and, towards three or four o'clock. 
 Look for the news that the Guildhall affords. 
 
 [Eiit Buckingham. 
 Gh. Go, Lovel, with all speed to Doctor Shaw, — 
 Go thou [tn Cat.] to friar Penker ;^bid them both 
 Meet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle. 
 
 l_Exeunt Lovei. and Catesbv. 
 Now will I in, to take some privy order 
 To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight ; 
 And to give notice, that no manner of person 
 Have, any time, recourse unto the princes. [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE VI.— .4 Street. 
 Enter a Scrivener 
 Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good lord 
 Hastings ; 
 Which in a set hand fairly is engioss'd, 
 
 That it may be today read o'er in Paul's, 
 
 A nd mark how well the sequel hangs together : 
 
 Eleven hours I have spent to write it over. 
 
 For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me ; 
 
 The precedent was full as long a doing: 
 
 And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd, 
 
 Untainted, unexamin'd, free, at liberty. 
 
 Here's a good world the while ! — Who is so gross, 
 
 That cannot see this palpable device ? 
 
 Yet who so bold, but says — he sees it not? 
 
 Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought. 
 
 When such bad dealing must be seen in thought. 
 
 [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE Vn.—Tlie same. Court o/' Baynard's Castle. 
 Enter Gloster and Buckingham, meeting. 
 GJo. How now, how now? what say the citizens? 
 Buck. Now by the holy mother of our Lord, 
 The citizens are mum, say not a word. [dren " 
 
 Glo. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's chil 
 Buck. I did ; with his contract with lady Lucy, 
 And his contract by deputy in France : 
 The insatiate greediness of his desires, 
 And his enforcement of the city wives ; 
 His tyranny for trifles ; his own bastardy, — 
 As being got, your father then in France ; 
 And his resemblance, being not like the duke. 
 Withal, I did infer your lineaments, — 
 Being the right idea of your father. 
 Both in your form and nobleness of mind : 
 Laid open all your victories in Scotland, 
 Y'our discipline in war, wisdom in peace, 
 Y'our bounty, virtue, fair humility ; 
 Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose, 
 Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse. 
 And, when mine oratory grew to an end, 
 I bade them, that did love their country's good. 
 Cry — GihI save B-tchard, England^s royal king! 
 Glo. And did they so ? 
 
 Buck. No, so God' help me, they spake not a won? ; 
 But, like dumb statuas, or breathless stones, 
 Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale. 
 Which when I saw, I reprehended them ; 
 Andask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful silence: 
 His answer was — the people were not us'd 
 To be spoke to, but by tiie recorder. 
 Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again ; — 
 Thus saith the duke, thus hath the duke inferred ; 
 But nothing spoke in warrant from himself. 
 When he had done, some followers of mine own, 
 At lower end o' the hall, hurl'd up their caps. 
 And some ten voices cried, God save king Richard! 
 And thus 1 took the vantage of those few, — 
 Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends, quoth 1 ■, 
 This general applause, and i:heerj'ul shout, 
 Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard : 
 And even here brake off, and came away. 
 
 Glo. What tongueless blocks were they ; Would 
 they not speak ? 
 Will not the mayor then, and his brethren, come * 
 
 Buck. The mayor is here at hand, intend some fear ; 
 Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit : 
 And look you, get a prayer-book in your hand. 
 And stand between two churchmen, good my lord ; 
 For on that ground I'll make a holy descant : 
 And be not easily won to our requests ; 
 Play the maid's part, still answer nay, and take it. 
 
 Glo. I go ; and if you plead as well for thein, 
 As I can say nay to thee for myself. 
 No doubt we'll bring it to a happy is.sue 
 
 Buck. Go, go, up to the leads ; the lord mayor 
 knocks. [Exit Gloster. 
 
 ( 
 
ACT III.— SCENE VII. 
 
 539 
 
 Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, aiid Citizens. 
 Welcome, my lord ; I dance attendance here ; 
 I think, the duke will not be spoke withal. — 
 
 Enter from the castle, Cate.sby. 
 Now. Catesby! what says your lord to my request? 
 
 C'lte. He doth entreat }Our grace, my noble lord, 
 To M>it him to-morrow, or next day : 
 He is within, with two right reverend fathers, 
 Divinely bent to meditation : 
 And in no worldly suit would he be mov'd, 
 To draw him from his holy exercise. 
 
 Buck'. Return, good Cate^-by, to the gracious duke ; 
 Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen, 
 In deep designs, in matter of great moment, 
 No less importing than our general eood, 
 Are come to have some conference with his grace. 
 
 Ciite. I'll signify so much unto him straight. [Exit. 
 
 Back. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an Ed- 
 He is not lolling on a lewd day-bed, [ward ! 
 But on his knees at meditation ; 
 Not dallying with a brace of courtezans. 
 But meditating with two deep divines ; 
 Not sleeping, to engross his idle body. 
 But praying, to enrich his watchful soul : 
 Happy were England, would this virtuous prince 
 Take on himself the sovereignty thereof: 
 But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it. [nay ! 
 
 Mai), Marry, God defend, his grace should say us 
 
 Buck. I fear, he will : Here Catesby comes again ; — 
 
 Be-e7iter Catesby. 
 Now, Catesby, what says his grace'? 
 
 Cate. He wonders to what end you have assembled 
 Such troops of citizens to come to him. 
 His grace not being warn'd thereof before ; 
 He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him. 
 
 Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should 
 Suspect me, that I mean no good to him : 
 By heaven, we come to him in perfect love ; 
 And so once more return and tell liis grace. 
 
 [Eiit Catesdy. 
 When holy and devout religious men 
 Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence ; 
 So sweet is zealous contemplation. 
 
 Enter Glostcr, in a galleryf above, between Two 
 
 Bishops. Catesby returns. 
 May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two cler- 
 gymen ! 
 Buck. Two props of virtue for a christian prince, 
 To stay him from the fall of vanity : 
 And, see, a book of prayer in his hand 1 
 True ornaments to know a holy man. — 
 Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince. 
 Lend favourable ear to our requests ; 
 And pardon us the interruption 
 Of thy devotion, and right christian zeal. 
 
 Glo. IMy lord, there needs no such apology ; 
 I rather do beseech you pardon me, 
 Who, earnest in the service of my God, 
 Neglect the visitation of ray friends. 
 Bu^, leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure ? 
 
 Buck. Kven that, 1 hope, which pleaseth God above, 
 And all good men of this ungovern'd isle. 
 ^ Gh. I do suspect, I have done some offence. 
 That seems disgracious in the city's eye ; 
 And that you come to reprehend my ignorance. 
 Buck. Vou have, my lord ; Would it might please 
 your grace, 
 On our entreaties to amend your fault f 
 
 Glo. Else, wherefore breathe I in aChristian land? 
 Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you resign 
 
 The supreme seat, the throne majestical, 
 
 The scepter'd office of your ancestors, 
 
 Your state of fortune, and your due of birth, 
 
 The lineal glory of your royal house. 
 
 To the corruption of a blemish'd stock : 
 
 Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts, 
 
 (Which here we waken to our country's good,) 
 
 The noble isle doth want her proper limbs ; 
 
 Her face defac'd with scars of infamy. 
 
 Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants, 
 
 And almost shoulder'd in the swallowing gulf 
 
 Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion. 
 
 Which to recure we heartily solicit 
 
 Your gracious self to take on you the charge 
 
 And kingly government of this your land 
 
 Not as protector, steward, substitute, 
 
 Or lowly factor for another's gain : 
 
 But as successively, from blood to blood. 
 
 Your right of birth, your empery. your own. 
 
 For this, consorted with the citizens, 
 
 Your very worshipful and loving friends. 
 
 And by their vehement instigation. 
 
 In this just suit come I to move your grace. 
 
 Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence. 
 Oi bitterly to speak in your reproof. 
 Best fitteth my degree, or your condition : 
 If, not to answer, — you might haply think. 
 Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded 
 To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty. 
 Which fondly you would here impose on me • 
 If to reprove you for this suit of yours, 
 So season'd with your faithful love to me. 
 Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends. 
 Therefore, — to speak, and to avoid the firsi ; 
 And then, in speaking, not to incur the last,— 
 Detinitivelv, thus I answer you. 
 Your love deserves my thanks ; but ray desert 
 Unmeritable, shuns your high request. 
 First, if all obstacles were cut away, 
 And that my path were even to the crown, 
 As the ripe revenue and due of birth ; 
 Yet so much is my poverty of spirit. 
 So mighty, and so many, my defects. 
 That 1 would rather hide me from my greatness, — 
 Being a bark to brook no mighty sea, — 
 Than in my greatness covet to be hid, 
 And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. 
 But, God be thank'd, there is no need of me ; 
 (And much I need to help you, if need were ;) 
 The royal tree hath left us royal fruit, 
 W hich, mellow'd by the stealing hours of time, 
 Will well become the seat of majesty, 
 And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign. 
 On him 1 lay what you would lay on me, 
 The right and fortune of his happy stars, — 
 Which, God defend, that I should wring from him' 
 
 -Bf/cA. My lord, this argues conscience in your grace; 
 But the respects thereof are nice and trivial. 
 All circumstances well considered. 
 You say that Edward is your brother's son ; 
 So say we too, but not by Edward's wife : 
 For first he was contract to lady Lucy, 
 \ our mother lives a witness to his vow ; 
 And afterwards by substitute betroth 'd 
 To Bona, sister to the king of France. 
 These both put by, a poor petitioner, 
 A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, 
 A beauty-waning and distressed widow, 
 F.ven in the afternoon of her best days, 
 Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye, 
 Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts 
 To base declension, and loath'd bigamy; 
 
540 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 By hei , in hU cnlawfjl bed. he got 
 
 Tttis Edward, whom our manners call — tiie prince. 
 
 More faicterly could 1 expostulate. 
 
 Save that, for reverence to some alive, 
 
 I give a sparing limit to my tongue. 
 
 Tuen, good my lord, take to vour roral self 
 
 This protie.*'d benefit of disnitv : 
 
 If aot to biess us and the lanti withal. 
 
 Yet £0 draw forth your noble ancestry 
 
 From the corruption of abusing time. 
 
 Unto a lineal true-derived course. 
 
 ilau. Do, good my lord : your citizens entreat yon. 
 
 Budc Refuse not. mighty lord, this protfer'd love. 
 
 Cii;«. Omake th-tr ■ ■ ' ^TJit their lawful suit. 
 
 Gi.>- Alas, why -a -.■ those cares on me ! 
 
 I am unfit for stats _ - ._ ; ;• : — 
 I do beseech yon, tase tt not amiss ; 
 I cannot, nor I will not yield to you. 
 
 Btuk. If yon refose it, — as in love and zeal. 
 Loath to depose the child, your brother's son ; 
 As well we know your tenderness of heart, 
 Aud geatle. kind, etfeminate remorse. 
 Which we have noted i^ vou to your kindred. 
 And eijually, indeed, to all estates, — 
 Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no. 
 Your brother's son stiill never reign our king ; 
 But we will plant some other in your throne. 
 To the disgrace and downfal of your house. 
 .\ad. in this resolution, here we leave you ; — 
 Come, citizens, we will entreat no more. 
 
 [^ExeuTtC BrciaNGHA-H and Citizeas- 
 
 Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their 
 If yon deav them, all the land will rue iL [suit, 
 
 Gitr. WUl you enforce ne to a world of cares ! 
 Well. calL them again ; I am not made of stone. 
 But penetrable to your kind entreaties, [Eitt Cati. 
 Al'oeit against my c-jnscience and my soul, — 
 
 Re-fn:er BrcuscHjjM, and tie rat. 
 Cousin of Buckingham. — and you sage, grave men, — 
 Since yoa will buckle fortune oo my back. 
 To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no, 
 I must have patience to endure the load ; 
 But it black scandal, or foul-fac'd reproach. 
 Attend the se- - ■ - - ■---■- — 
 Yoormeree- .:?« me 
 
 From all "he 1- - hereof; 
 
 For God he "tnuws, and yoti may partly see. 
 How fer I am from, the dwsire of this. f say it. 
 
 yijiu. God bless your grace 1 we see it, and wiU 
 Gitf. la saving so, yoa shall bet say the truth. 
 Back. Then 1 salute vou with this royal title,— 
 Locg live king Richard, £nglaikd~s wortixy king I 
 Jtil. Amen. 
 
 BuiA. To-morrow may it ple^e yoa to be crt>wn*dt 
 Gta- Even wii«a you please, since you will have it sot 
 Buc&. To-aiorrow then we will attend tout grace ; 
 Asid so most joyfully, we take oar leave. 
 
 Gu?. Come, let us to our holy work again : — 
 
 ITj tke Bishops. 
 FarcweB, good cousin ; — farewell, geatle frie^ids. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE l—Bft'ore she Tow«r. 
 
 Eater, -m ffne sul^^ ^i^TEES Et-izAarTE, Ottsess of 
 Yoax, siui Masqcis of Ooaszr ; m the ather, 
 As^a, Xhrcsiss or Glostes, Uadiag Lofhe Uam- 
 CASTT Plantacesei, Claeesce's tromg f i ii^ifiii 
 Oaek. Wko aaeets ss hafe ! — bt niece Plaatageaet 
 
 Lei ia tkf kMd of ker kiad unt'of Cioster!' 
 
 I Now. for my life, she's wand'ring to J»e Tower, 
 On pure heart's love, to greet the tender ptioce.— 
 I Daughter, well met. 
 
 Anne. God give your graces both 
 
 A happy and a joyful time of day ! [away t 
 
 Q. i.i:. .\5 much to you, good sister! Whither 
 I Ariue. No further than the Tower ; and, as I guess. 
 Upon the like devotion as yourselves. 
 To gratulate the gentle princes there. 
 
 Q. Etis. Kind sister, thanks; we'll eater all together. 
 
 Enter BKAKENBvaT. 
 And, in gt)od time, here the lieutenant comes, — 
 Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave. 
 How doth the prince, and my young son of York ? 
 
 Brak. Right well, dear madam : By your patience, 
 I may not sulier you to visit them ; 
 The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary, 
 Q.Eilz. The king! who's that'! 
 Brak. I mean, the lord protecto-. 
 
 (J. Eliz. The Lord protect htm from that kingly title : 
 Hath he set bounds bet\veea their lore and me ? 
 I am their mother, who shall bar me from them T 
 
 Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them. J 
 Anne. Their aunt am 1 in law, in love their mother: I 
 Then bring me to their sights ; I'll bear thy blame, ^ 
 And take thy office from thee, on my peril. 
 
 Bmk. No, madam, no, 1 may not leave it so; 
 I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. 
 
 [£xif BaAK£>'2rRY. 
 Enter Stanzet. 
 Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hoar hencc , 
 And m salute your grace of York as mother, 
 ' And reverend looker-on of two (air queens. — 
 , Come, madam, }'Ou must straight to Westminster, 
 
 [Ttf the DvcHESS of Glostsb. 
 I There to be crowned Richard's royal queen. 
 ' Q. Eiiz. Ah, cut mv lace asunder ! 
 That my pent heart mav have some scope to beat. 
 Or else I - " ^ " ;: cews. 
 
 Attn^. ^ i-insnews! 
 
 Dijr. L_ ,. J. — . — „, ._^.. „j.v (ares your 
 
 I grace? 
 
 I Q. Eliz- O Dorset, speak net to me, get thee gosa 
 i Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ; 
 I Thy mother's name is ominous to children : 
 If thott wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, 
 I And lire with Richmond, from the reach of hell. 
 Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter^Kiuse, 
 Lest tbou increase the number of the dead ; 
 And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse,— 
 Nor BMMher, wife, nor England's counted queen. 
 
 Scox. Ftiliof wise care is this yourcottttsel, madam:.— 
 Take all the swift advantage of the hoars ; 
 Yoa sfaall have letters &om me to mj son 
 la TOOT behalf, to meet yoa on the way : 
 Be not ta'ea tardy by onwise delay. 
 
 Du«A. O ill -dispersing wind of misery !— 
 O my accursed womb, the bed of death ; 
 A cockatrice hast thoa hatch 'd to the »«!d. 
 Whose anavoided eye b murderous ! 
 Staa. Come, madam, cotae ; I in ail haste was seat. 
 Amtu. And I with all tmwilliagaess will go. — 
 O, vroold to God, that the ineiasive verge 
 Of golden metal, that must round my brow, * 
 
 Were red-hot steel, to sear aie to the brain! 
 Anoinied let me be with deadly veitOBi ; 
 And die, eie aiea can say, — Ged save the quees ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Go, ga, poor soul, I envy not thy gtojy ; 
 To feed mv huaoar, wish thvself oo haim- 
 
 Anm. No ! whv ? — When he, tnal is mv fcis^and 
 i CaiBe to me, as I toUowed Henry's cane ;' [now. 
 
ACT IV._ SCENE II. 
 
 541 
 
 n scarce the blood was well wash'd from his 
 .<:lt i%i>u'd from my i>tli<;r angel bubbami, [bands, 
 I And that dead taint which then I weeping foUuw'd; 
 I O, when, I say, I look'd on Kichard's face, 
 
 I'bis was my wish, — Be tliou, quoth 1, accursed, 
 
 For making me, to youug, to old a widuwt 
 
 Arul, when thou lied'lt, ttt sorroo; haii'it thy bed; 
 
 And be ihi/ wife (if atitf he to mud) 
 
 More mieeruble htf the life of thee, 
 
 Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death! 
 
 Lo, ere i can re))eat this curse again, 
 i Even in so short a space, my woman's heart 
 
 Gro^isly grew captive to las honey words, 
 
 And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse : 
 
 Which ever since hath lield mine eyes from rest; 
 
 For never yet one hour in his bed 
 
 Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep, 
 ; But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd. 
 
 Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ; 
 
 Aod will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. 
 
 ; Q. Eliz. I'oor heart, adieu : 1 pity thy complaining. 
 
 I Anne. No more than with my soul 1 mourn for yours. 
 
 I Dor. Farewell, thou woeful welcomer of glory ! 
 
 Anne. Adieu, poorsoul, that tak'st thy leave of it! 
 
 Duck. Go thou to Kichmond, and good fortune 
 
 guide thee ! [7'o Dorset. 
 
 Go thou to liicbard, and good angels tend thee ! — 
 
 [To A.NNE. 
 
 I Co thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess 
 
 I, thee! [To Q. Ei.izabf.th. 
 
 1 to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me ! 
 
 iughty odd years of sorrow have 1 seen. 
 
 And each hour's joy v/reck'd with a week of teen. 
 
 Q. Etii. Stay yet; look back, with i;ie, unto the 
 Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes, (Tower. — 
 Whom envy hath iromur'd within your walls! 
 Hough cradle for such little pretty ones ! 
 Piude raj.'gtd nurse! old sullen play fellow 
 For tender princes, use my babies well ! 
 So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [£i«un(. 
 
 SCENE 11.— A Room of State in the Palace. 
 
 Flourish of trumpets. RicnAno, as King upon hit 
 throne; Buckingham, CATE5Dy,aPage, aiLd others, 
 
 K, Hick. Stand all apart — Cousin of Bucking- 
 
 Buck. My gracious sovereign. [ham, — 
 
 K. liich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy ad- 
 And thy assistance, is king Jlichard seated : — [vice. 
 But shall we wear these glories for a day? 
 Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them ? 
 
 Buck. Still live *hey, and for ever let them last ! 
 
 K. Hick. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play the touch, 
 To try if thou be current gold indeed : — 
 YoungEdward lives; — Think now what I would speak. 
 
 Buck. Say on, my lovmg lord. 
 
 K. liich. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would beking. 
 
 Buck. Why, so you arc, my thrice-renowned liege. 
 
 A'. Rich. Hal anilkingl 'Tisso: but Edward lives. 
 
 Bucit. True, noble prince. 
 
 K. Rich. bitter consequence. 
 
 That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince ! — 
 Cousin, thou wast not wont lo be so dull: — 
 Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead ; 
 And I would have it suddenly perform 'd. 
 \\ hat say'st thou now ! speak suddenly, be brief. 
 
 Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure. 
 
 K. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, thy kindness 
 Say.havel thyconsent, thatthey shall die? [freezes: 
 
 Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause, dear 
 Before I positively speak in this : [lord, 
 
 I will resolve your grace immediately. [Eiii Buck. 
 
 Cal«. The kin^ is an^;6ee,he gnaws his iip. [Asirle. 
 
 K. Rich. I will converse with iron-witted fools, 
 
 [Uesceiuls from hit throne. 
 And unrespective boys ; none are for me. 
 That look into me with considerate eyes ; — 
 Iligh-rea<;liing Buckingham grows circumspect. — 
 Boy, 
 
 I'age. My lord. 
 
 K. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting 
 Would tempt unto a close exploit of death ; [gold 
 
 /■"u/^e. I know a discontented gentleman, 
 Whose humble means mat<;h not liis haughty mind • 
 Gold were as good as twenty orators. 
 And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing. 
 
 A'. Rich, What is his name ? 
 
 Pige- His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel. 
 
 K. Rich. I partly know the man ; Go, call him 
 hither, boy — [£ji( Page. 
 
 The deep-revolving witty Buckingham 
 No more shall be the neiifhbour to my counsels : 
 Hath he so long held out with me untir'd. 
 And stops he now for breath ? — well, be it so.^ 
 
 Enter SxANLEy. 
 How now, lord Stanley 1 what's the news 1 
 
 Stan. Know, my loving lord, 
 
 The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled 
 To Richmond, in the parts where he abides. 
 
 K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby; rumour it abroad, 
 That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick ; 
 I will take order for her keeping close. 
 Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman. 
 Whom I will marry straight to Clarence' daughter. — 
 The boy is foolish, and 1 fear not him. — 
 Ixiok, how thou dream'st ! — I say again, give out, 
 That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die : 
 About it ; for it stands me much upon. 
 To stop all hopes whose growth may damage me.- 
 
 [£ii( Catf^iiv. 
 I must be married to my brother's daughter. 
 Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass : — 
 Murder her brothers, and then marry her ! 
 Uncertain way of gain ! But I am in 
 So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin. 
 Tear- falling pity dwells not in this eye. 
 
 Re-enter Page, with Tyebeu 
 Is thy name— Tyrrel ? 
 
 Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject 
 
 K. Rich. Art thou, indeed ? 
 
 ^'"' Prove me, my gracious lord. 
 
 K, Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friendof mine? 
 
 Tyr. Please you ; but I had rather kill two enemies. 
 
 K. Rich. Why, then thou hast it ; two deepenernies. 
 Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers. 
 Are they that I would have thee deal upon : 
 Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. 
 
 Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them. 
 And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. 
 
 K. Rich Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come 
 hither, Tyrrel ; 
 Go.by this token:— Rise.and lend thi«eear:[H7iisper5. 
 There is no more but so.-^Say, it is done. 
 And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it. 
 
 Tyr. J will despatch it straight. [Ezit. 
 
 Re-enter Buckingham. 
 
 Buck. My lord, I have consider'd in my mind 
 The late demand that you did sound me in. 
 
 K. liich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to 
 
 Buck. I hear the news, my loid. [Richmond. 
 
 K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son : — Well, 
 look to iu 
 
542 
 
 KING RICHAIID III. 
 
 Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, 
 For whicli your honour and your faith is pawa'd ; 
 The eaildom of Hereford, and the moveables, 
 W'hicli you have promised I shall possess. 
 
 A'. litck. Stanley, look to your wife ; ifsheconvey 
 Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. 
 
 Buck. What says your highness to my just request ? 
 
 A'. Rich. I do remember me, — Henry the Sixth 
 Did prophesy, that Richmond should be king, 
 Wlien Richmond was a little peevish boy. 
 A king ! — perhaps 
 
 Biicli. My lord, [that lime 
 
 A. Ricli, How chance, the prophet could not at 
 Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him ? 
 
 Buck. Rly lord, your promise for the earldom, — 
 
 A". lUch, Richmond! — When last I was at Exeter, 
 The mayor in courtesy .shew'd me the castle. 
 And cail'd it — Rouge-mont : at which name I 
 Because a bard of Ireland told me once [started; 
 I should not live long after 1 saw Richmond. 
 
 Buck. My lord, 
 
 A'. Rich, Ay, what's o'clock ? 
 
 Buck. I am thus bold 
 
 To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd me? 
 
 A. Rich, Well, but what is't o'clock? 
 
 Buck, Upon the stroke 
 
 Of ten. 
 
 A. Rich. Well, let it strike. 
 
 Buck, Why, let it strike ? 
 
 K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep 'st 
 Betwixt thy begging and my meditation, [the stroke 
 I am not in the giving vein to-day. 
 
 Brick. Why, then resolve me whe'ryou will, orno. 
 
 K. Rich. Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein. 
 [Exeunt King Richard and Train. 
 
 Buck. And is it thus? repays he my deep service 
 With such contempt ? made I him king for this ? 
 O, let me think on Hastings ; and be gone 
 To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE III.— ne lame. 
 
 Enter Tvrrel 
 
 Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done ; 
 The most arch deed of piteous massacre. 
 That ever yet this land was guilty of. 
 Dighton, and Forrest, whom I did suborn 
 To do this piece of ruthless butchery. 
 Albeit they were tlesh'd villains, bloody dogs. 
 Melting with tenderness and mild compassion. 
 Wept like two children, in their death's sad story. 
 O thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes, — 
 Thus, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another 
 Within their alabaster innocent arms : 
 Their lips wereftmr red roses on a stalk, 
 Which, in their summer beauty, kiss'd each other. 
 A book of pray^irs on their pillow lay ; 
 Which once, quoth Forrest, almost chang'd my mind: 
 But, 0, the devil — there the villain stopp'd ; 
 When Dighton thus told on, — wesmnthered 
 The most replenished sweet work of nature. 
 
 That, from the prime creation, e'er she fram'd. 
 
 Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse, 
 They could not speak ; and so I left them both, 
 To bear this tidings to the bloody king. 
 
 Enter KiTMG Richard. 
 
 And here he comes: — All health, my sovereign lord! 
 
 K. Rich. Kind Tyrrel : am I happy in thy news ? 
 
 Tyr. If to ha\e done the thing you gave in charge 
 Beget your happiness, be happy then, 
 Fur it is done. 
 
 K Rich. But didst thou see them dead? 
 
 Tyr. 1 did, my lord. 
 
 A'. Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel 
 
 Tyr. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried them; 
 But where, to say the truth, I do not know. 
 
 K. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper, 
 When thou shall tell the process of their death. 
 Mean time, but think how I may do thee good. 
 And be inheritor of thy desire. 
 Farewell, till then. 
 
 Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Eiit 
 
 K. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up 
 close ; 
 His daughter meanly have I malch'd in marriage ; 
 The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, 
 And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night. 
 Now, for I know the Bretagne Richmond aims 
 At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter. 
 And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown. 
 To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. 
 
 Enter Catesby. 
 
 Catc. My lord, — 
 
 A. Rich. Good news or bad, that thou corn's! in 
 so bluntly? [mond ; 
 
 Cate. Bad news, my lord : Morton is fled to Rich- 
 And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen, 
 Is in the field, and still his power incrcaseth. 
 
 K. Kic/i. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near 
 Than Buckingham and his rash-levied strength. 
 Come, — I have learn 'd, that fearful commenting 
 Is leaden servitor to dull delay ; 
 Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary • 
 Then fiery expedition be my wing, 
 Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king I 
 Go, muster men : My counsel is my shield ; 
 We must be brief, when traitors brave the field. [£i. 
 
 SCENE lV.—Tl,e same. Before the Palace, 
 Enter Queen Margaret, 
 Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow, 
 And drop into the rotten mouth of death. 
 Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd. 
 To watch the waning of mine enemies. 
 A dire induction am I witness to. 
 And will to !■ ranee ; hoping, the consequence 
 Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical. 
 Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret! whocomes here! 
 
 Inter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of York. 
 
 Q. Eliz.Ah.my poor princes! ah, my tender babesl 
 My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets ! 
 If yet your gentle souls fly in the air, 
 And be not fix'd in doom perpetual, 
 Hover about me with your airy wings, 
 And hear your mother's lamentation ! 
 
 Q. Mar. Hover about her ; say, that right for right 
 Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night. 
 
 Duch. So many miseries, have craz'd my voice. 
 That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute, — 
 Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? 
 
 Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet, 
 Edward for Edward pays a dying debt. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle 
 And throw them in the entrails of the wolf ? [lambs. 
 When didst thou sleep, when such a deed was done! 
 
 Q. Mar. When holy llarrydied, and my sweetson. 
 
 Duch. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living 
 ghost, 
 Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due by life 
 Brief abstract and record of tedious days, [usurp'd^ 
 
ACT IV.- SCENE IV. 
 
 6-13 
 
 Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, 
 
 [Sitting down, 
 Cnlawfui/y made drunk with innocent blood ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou would'st as soon afi'ord a 
 As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ; [grave, 
 
 Then wouid 1 hide ray bones, not rest them here! 
 Ah, who hath any c;;use to mourn, but we ^ 
 
 [Sitting down by her. 
 
 Q. Mar* If ancient sorrow be raost reverent, 
 Give mine the benefit of seniory, 
 And let my griefs frown on the upper hand. 
 If sorrow can admit society. [67f(i//^ doun with them* 
 Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine r — 
 I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd himj 
 1 had a husband, till a Richard kiil'd him: 
 Thou hadstan Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; 
 Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him. 
 
 Diich. I had a Richard too, and thou didst kill 
 I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. [liim ; 
 
 Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard 
 kill'd him. 
 From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
 A hell-hound, that dolli hunt us all to death : 
 That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, 
 To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood. 
 That foul defacer of God's handy-work ; 
 Tliat excellent grand tyrant of the earth, 
 That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls, 
 Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. — 
 O upright, just, and true-disposing God, 
 How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur 
 Preys on the issue of his mother's body, 
 And makes her pew-fellow with others' moan! 
 
 Duch, O, Harry's wife, triumph not in my woes ; 
 God witness with me, I have wept for thine. 
 
 Q. Mar, Bear with me ; 1 am hungry for revengt;, 
 And now I cloy me with beholding it. 
 Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward ; 
 Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward ; 
 Young York he is but boot, because both they 
 Match not the high perfection of my loss. 
 Thy Clarence he is dead, that stabb'd my Edward ; 
 And the beholders of this tragic play, 
 The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grey, 
 Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves. 
 Ricliard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer ; 
 Only reserv'd their factor, to buy souls. 
 And send them thither : But at hand, at hand, 
 Ensues his piteous and unpitied end : 
 Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, 
 To have him suddenly convey 'd from hence : — 
 Cancel his bond of life, dear God, I pray, 
 That I may live to say, The dog is dead ! 
 
 Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy, the time would 
 That I should wish for thee to help me curse [come, 
 That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad. 
 Q. Mar. I caird thee then, vain flourish of my 
 fortune ; 
 I call'd *hee then, poor shadow, painted queen ; 
 The presentation of but what I was, 
 Tlie flattering index of a direful pageant, 
 One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below : 
 A motiier only mock'd with two fair babes ; 
 A dream of what thou wast ; a garish flag, 
 To be the aim of every dangerous shot ; 
 A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble ; 
 A queen in jest, only tu fill the scene. 
 Where is thy husband now? whtrebe thy brothers *! 
 Where be thy two sons ! wherein do-;t thou joy ? 
 Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save the queen? 
 Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee 1 
 Where be the thronging troops that foUow'd thee ^. 
 
 Decline all this, and see what now thou an, 
 l-'or happy wife, a most distressed widow ; 
 lor joyful mother, one that wails the name ; 
 I'ur one being sued to, one that humbly sues ; 
 For queen, a very caitiff" crown'd with care : 
 For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me ; 
 For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ; 
 For one commanding all, obey'd of none. 
 Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about, 
 And left thee but a very prey to time ; 
 Having no more but thought of what thou wert, 
 To torture thee the more, being what thou art. 
 Thou didst usurp my place, And dost thou not 
 Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow t 
 Now thy proud neck bears half ray burden'd yoke ; 
 From wliich even here I slip my wearied head, 
 And leave the burden of it all on thee, [chance,— 
 Farewell, York's wife, — and queen of sad mis- 
 These English woes shall make me smile in France. 
 
 Q. Eliz. thou well sVill'd in curses, stay awhile, 
 And teach me how to curse mine enemies, 
 
 Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the day j 
 Compare dead happiness with living woe ^ 
 Think that thy babes were fairer than they were, 
 And he, that slew them, fouler than he is : 
 Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse : 
 Revolving this ^vill teach thee how to curse, [thine? 
 
 Q, Eliz* My words are dull, 0, quicken them with 
 
 Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and 
 pierce like mine. [Exit Q. Maucaret, 
 
 Durh. Why should calamity be full of words I 
 
 Q. Eliz. Windy attorneys to their client woes. 
 Airy succeeders of intestate joys. 
 Poor breathing orators of miseries ! 
 Let them liave scope ; though what they do impart 
 Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart. 
 
 JJuch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd: go with me, 
 And in the breath of bitter words let's smother 
 IMy damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd. 
 
 [Druitiy within* 
 I hear his drum, — be copious in exclaims. 
 
 Enter King Richard, and his Train, marching. 
 
 K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition? 
 
 Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee. 
 By strangling thee in her accursed womb, 
 From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden 
 crown. 
 Where should be branded, if that right were right, 
 The slaughter of tlie prince that ow'd that crown. 
 And the dire death of my poor sons, and brothers ? 
 Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my cliildren ? 
 
 Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is tliy brother 
 And little Ned Plantagenet, his son? [Clarence? 
 
 Q.Eliz. Where is tlie gentle Rivers, Vaughan, Grey? 
 
 Duch. Where is kind Hastings ? [drums ! 
 
 K.Rich. A flourish, trumpets! — strike alarums, 
 Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women 
 Rail on the Lord's anointed : Strike, I say. — 
 
 [ Flourish . A larums* 
 Either be patient, and entreat me fair. 
 Or with the clamorous report of war 
 Thus will 1 drown your exclamations. 
 
 Ditch. Art thou mv son ? 
 
 K.Rich. Ay; I thank God, my father, and yourself. 
 
 Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience. 
 
 K. Rich. IMadam, I have a touch of your condition. 
 That cannot brook the accent of reproof. 
 
 Duch. O, let me speak. 
 
 K.Rich. " Do, then ; but I'll not hear. 
 
 Duch. T will be mild and gentle in my words. 
 
KING RICHARD Til. 
 
 Asd brief. ?oed motkw; foci im ic baste. : Tu rerei i:! th- e=-^_-'_5 'f^T '=^*^ 
 
 544 
 
 K-Rkh. .^^ ^..-... s. , . ^ 
 
 JDucA. Art tkott so hastr » 1 have staui toe tiee 
 
 Gc»i knows, in tonaent ui^ i« »g<»y- 
 
 K. Ka.-(i. Aod e«a»e I ■•» »t fast » comfort too ' 
 Xhioi. N»,bTAekolTiw)d. lb<Mifci»»"st itwell. 
 
 Thoe. eaoi'sl oot" earth to'oake the eartk mr belL 
 
 A siie«o«s bardea "^ thy bixth to me ; 
 
 Tetchv awi warward was ti>>' iafancT : 
 
 ITiy prime ot" waa^omi, Auin^. boU. aad wntanws. 
 ThV age coafifB'd. ptond. sabtfe. st^. and hkmiy . 
 1j^;-, - i '^..- vet more banoiui. knliabatied: 
 \Vh e iioiir canst thoa aaice. 
 
 ltd: . ate ia tav compaay ! 
 
 i. jurm.' tassh. Boae. W UoB^ioer Hoar, that 
 eaU"d yoar grice 
 Ta breakfast ones, BKtb «f my oompaay- 
 If 1 be so disstarioos ia y«K si^l. 
 Let ate oiucb oa. aad aot vSaa yoo, madam. — 
 Sttftaap thedrask 
 
 DuAik. I pr'vAee. hear aie speai- 
 
 t. Bk*. Yo« speak too bitterly. 
 
 IW*. Hearmeawon 
 
 For". er speak to A«e again. 
 
 i^., . ^....^.-Uwawihdie.byGod'sjastotdiBaEce 
 Eiafeom this »ar thaa tara a coatjaeror ; 
 Or 1 w«h srief a»i Mtn»e a^ stall peifeh. 
 And »e«r look apoa thy ace isaia. 
 Xheieioie. take with thee lay most tsea-Tv crtree ; 
 Whkh, ia the dwr «f battle, tire tiwe a»«> 
 Thaa aU the ctetplete annoar that tboa irear'st ! 
 MrmaToi^i ■!? The idrese {wrtr fight: 
 Aai th^ Js ot Edwards chiMrea 
 
 XThsper : tliiae eneniies, 
 
 Aad ancuid ^iisii s^iccess and »ieto«T. 
 Btoofc thoa art, hloQ*f »iU be thy eaa : 
 Stims series thy life, sad doth thy deaA adead. 
 
 [£iit. 
 Q. E.iz. TViagh fer more caase, y«t maeh less 
 spirit to earse . 
 
 Abi^ies in me : 1 sav amax to her. [G«t^. 
 
 A". KL-i. Star,ma«iuii,Imas«speaka«cmwithy«a. 
 fcj. t.a. 1 iare ao nsore soos of the i«yal hlo«>d. 
 For thee to mtuikr : for my daaghteis. Kiehard.— 
 TTsey shall be prawias b««s. not weeping qaeeis ; 
 Aad theielare le>rel m« to hit their lives. ^^ 
 
 K. ttitli. Yoa have a daaghter eaird— Flaabett, 
 Tutaaas aad ^r, roml aad gracioas. 
 
 Q. Bis. And mast she die far this! O.tetherhre. 
 Aai I'll wanip* hw maaaeis, stain h« beaaty ; 
 StaadeF mvself , as false to Edwaid's bed ; 
 Thi«« mec- her the Teti of iainaT : 
 S* she mar tire anxaiT'd of bke&t? shagbter . 
 1 will eoatW she was not Edward's daaghter. 
 K.Rk-h. Wnfflf B«»therb«rth.*eisoftOTaibIaod. 
 Q. Eiiz, To save hw life, lU say— ehe is aot so. 
 r.Rivft. Her Kfe is safest only ia her birth. 
 Q. liiz. Audorfy in that *a'e^- 1:^ her brotteis. 
 K. Rich. Lo, at their hir- 
 
 <i. liis. No. to thorlivei «e contiary. 
 
 r. Ski. All a»a»oiaed U iii i-v^ai of destiay. 
 Q. rH" Ttae.wbe«i avoided gtaee makes desaay 
 9iy babes were destia'd to a fairer deadi. 
 
 Pat trtit stU '.;»<! ci j- .^;' =;aies "tid grirf tame. 
 T.- ..-,... , ; ~ ■ ■ : • ■ ■ - -.-s aoc oamemT boys. 
 -"d in tiiiae eyes ; 
 .;v 01 deatb. 
 , UiB » pcor bifi. o! -^Jili iad tacUiag reft, 
 : Rus!> •'! to piece* on thy rocky bosoai. 
 
 MadiEi. so thri»« 1 in my enteipriie. 
 -c";s S'iccess of Woody wars. 
 ^, _ _i. nore iood to you and yours, 
 Tki:! <»er to- or vo'irs by me were harni'd ' 
 ' tj. Fill What iccd is coverd with tne f<ic« of hea- 
 ! To be discoverd. !h»t can do ae good ' ^-.t;. 
 
 ' A'.Rk*. Tbeidvaneemeat of jour children. i:«- -..o 
 ladr. "' - 
 
 Q.Elh. Vp to some scafioM. there '.: 
 X " -^ \ - ro the d:^t6y md beijfc; 
 Tfc. i'. type of tbss earth's "§:lory. 
 
 ^ ..- aiT ?or— ?w^ "itb report of it . 
 
 i Tell E,:. •-■hi-. iUte. « - irbat bonoar, 
 
 ' Tias- '.ii.--j ^=::;ise to ::iine » 
 
 i mvself and aU 
 
 sjni remeasraace or" those wroogs, 
 -...<;.>^^t_ 1 b?vt? •lo">? to tb^e. 
 
 ..'ftfarkind- 
 
 La?- "9- ' [ness 
 
 j^ ... ^. .. -I.I'.ovethy 
 
 - whisks it with her 
 .-.i. ; [soaL 
 
 ore my daa^ter, Iras 
 
 if brothers; 
 
 T< \--- it. 
 ;.:ung; 
 
 ."Ti 01 it. oiasii-u ; 
 
 Q.Elh. 
 
 K.Rk-k. \\r 
 
 Q. Fin. Tki-. 
 tky so.; 
 So, uom thy soal"s Ic-- 
 Aad. &oai tav heart's .> ; 
 
 A". Rim. Be not so hassv to co:i- 
 I meaa, that witV. -uv s?-;. ' '.--; 
 And do iatend • 
 
 Q.Eia. We 
 
 ber'^.; . 
 
 Q. EHs. Wh.. .— 
 
 K.Bkk. Even so: 
 
 Q.F&. How cans '* 
 
 K.Bkk. 
 As oue ban§ best a<:- 
 
 Q.F^ts. Abi! "■ 
 
 K.Rielk. 
 
 Q.EBS. Sei: 
 -A pair of Met- . = . 
 
 Si^vazd, and "i . 
 Therefore preset". :-' -:-.— 
 Did to thy father. stee?"d ::. — 
 
 AhaadkoMief; which, sav .. .-_ 
 
 XVe pu^ sap &om her sweet brotber's bcdy . 
 And M hs wipe her weeping eyes wiifcil. 
 If this ia daee m e a t taove her not to K>Te. 
 „«a«5.j Send her a letter of thy BoMe deeds: 
 .^reoMcsile. ' TeU her. Aca mid st awar her ancle Oaieiee, 
 Her anele Rivers : ay. and far her sake, 
 Mad'st qmtk co a vevince wiA her good aaat Anne. 
 
 IT. RM. Yoa aio^ ■». aodam -, this is not tbe way 
 To wia wa daaghter. 
 
 Q. £&. TWe is no otter wav ; 
 
 5;^Co^Sed:«»iby.heir»ncieci«.'d At«i not be Brimrd that^haA done ,11 tlus. 
 
 Of eaimfeft. kiagde^ kindred, fekdocn, life 
 Wmbc lands saever hnc'd their leader hearts, 
 Thv head. aU in«firecUy. gave £>e<^: 
 'Vo dwbtthe amdereas kaiie was daU and Uant. 
 Till it was vihened OB dw stooe-taid heart. 
 
 S. Rith. Sax, that I £d all ^s for love of ho''* 
 ij. Eia. Nay, Aea indeed, ^e cannot doose bet 
 have thee. 
 Having boaght love wT* saeh a bloody spaO. 
 E. Rtc*. IdQk,wbatisdBaE caoaotbeaowameaded : 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE IV, 
 
 545 
 
 Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes, 
 
 W'hicb after-hours give leisure to repent. 
 
 If I did lake the kingdom from your sons. 
 
 To make amends, I 'II give it to your daughter. 
 
 If I have kill'd tlie issue of your womb, 
 
 To quicken your increase, 1 will beget 
 
 Mine issue of your blood upon your daughter. 
 
 A grandarn's name is little less in love. 
 
 Than is the doating title of a mother ; 
 
 They are as children, but one step below, 
 
 Even of your mettle, of your very blood ; 
 
 Of all one pain, — save for a night of groans 
 
 Endur'd of her, for whom you bid like sorrow. 
 
 Your children weie vexation to your youth. 
 
 But mine shall be a comfort to your age. 
 
 The loss, you have, is but — a son being king. 
 
 And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen. 
 
 I cannot make you wliat amends I would. 
 
 Therefore accept such kindness as I can. 
 
 Dorset, your son, that with a fearful soul. 
 
 Leads discontented steps in foreign soil, 
 
 This fair alliance quickly shall call home 
 
 To high promotions and great dignity : 
 
 The king, that calls your beauteous daughter, — wife. 
 
 Familiarly shall call thy Dorset— brother ; 
 
 Again shall you be mother to a king. 
 
 And all the ruins of distressful times , 
 
 Repair'd with double riches of content, 
 
 W hat ! we have many goodly days to see : 
 
 The liquid drops of tears that you have shed. 
 
 Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl ; 
 
 Advantaging their loan, with interest 
 
 Of ten-times double gain of happiness. 
 
 Go, then, my mother, to thy daughter go , 
 
 Make bold her bashful years with your experience ; 
 
 Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale ; 
 
 Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame 
 
 Of golden sov'reignty ; acquamt the princess 
 
 With the sweet silent hours of marriage joys : 
 
 And when this arm of mine hath chastised 
 
 The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham, 
 
 Bound with triumphant garlands will I come. 
 
 And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed ; 
 
 To whom I will ittail my conquest won, 
 
 And she shall be sole victress, Csesar's Ciesar. 
 
 Q. Eliz. What were I best to say ? her father's bro- 
 Wouldbeher lord! Or shall I say, her uncle ! [ther 
 Or, he that slew her brothers, and her uncles 1 
 Under what title shall I woo for thee, 
 1'hat God, the law, my honour, and her love. 
 Can make seem pleasing to her tender years ? 
 
 K. llich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still last- 
 ing war. [entreats. 
 
 K. Kick. Tell her, the king, that may command, 
 
 Q. Elii. That at her-hands, which the king's King 
 forbids. 
 
 K. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen. 
 
 Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth. 
 
 h.Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Bui how long shall that title, ever, lastl 
 
 K. Kick. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end. 
 
 Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life 
 last ! [it. 
 
 K. Rick. As long as heaven, and nature lengthens 
 
 Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it 
 
 A'. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subjectlow. 
 
 Q.£li:.Butshe,yoursubject,loaths such sov'reignty. 
 
 K. Rick. Be eloquent in my behalf to her. 
 
 Q. Eliz. .\n honest tale speeds best, being plainly 
 told. [tale. 
 
 K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving 
 
 Q Eliz. Plain, and not hone«t, is too harsh a style. 
 
 A'. Rich. Yourreasons are too shallow and too quick. 
 
 Q.Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead ; — 
 Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. 
 
 A'.Kic/i. Harp notoo that string, madam ; that is past. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings 
 bleak. [crown, — 
 
 K, Rich. Now, by my George, my garter, and my 
 
 Q.E/i:. Profan'd.dishonour'd, and the tliird usurp'd. 
 
 K. Rich. 1 swear. 
 
 Q. Eliz. By nothing : for this is no oath. 
 
 Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour; 
 Thy garter, blemish'd. pawn'd liis knightlv virtue; 
 Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory: 
 If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd. 
 Swear then by something that thou hast notwrong'd. 
 
 K. Rick. Now by the world. — 
 
 Q. Eliz. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. 
 
 A'. Rich. My father's death. — 
 
 Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd. 
 
 K. Rich, Then, by myself. — 
 
 Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-mis -us'd. 
 
 K. Rich. Why then, by God. — 
 
 Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all. 
 
 If thou had'st fear'd to break an oath by him. 
 The unity, the king thy brother made, 
 Had not been broken, nor my brother slain. 
 If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him. 
 The imperial metal, circling now thy head. 
 Had grac'd the tender temples of my child ; 
 And both the princes had been breathing here, 
 Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust, 
 Thy broken faith hath made a prey for wonns. 
 What canst thou swear by now 1 
 
 A'. Rich. By the time to come. 
 
 Q. Eliz. That thou hast wronged in the time o'er- 
 For I myself have many tears to wash [past ; 
 
 Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee. 
 The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter'd. 
 Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age : 
 The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd, 
 Old barren plants, to wail it with their age. 
 Swear not by time to come ; for that thou hast 
 IVIis-us'd ere used, by times ill-us'd o'er-past. 
 
 K. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent ! 
 So thrive I in my dangerous attempt 
 Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound ! 
 Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours I 
 Day, yield me not thy light; nor, night thy rest ! 
 Be opposite all planets of good luck 
 To my proceeding, if. with pure heart's love, 
 Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, 
 I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter .' 
 In her consists my happiness, and thine ; 
 Without her, follows to myself, and thee. 
 Herself, the land, and many a christian soul. 
 Death, desolation, ruin, and decay ; 
 It cannot be avoided, but by this ; 
 It will not be avoided, but by this. 
 Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,) 
 Be the attorney of my love to her. 
 Plead what I will be. not what I have been ; 
 Not my deserts, but what 1 will deserve ; 
 Urge the necessity and state of times, 
 .4nd be not peevish found in great designs. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I be tempted of the devil thus ? 
 
 A'. Rich. Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. 
 
 Q. Eliz. Shall I foro:et myself, to be myself? 
 
 A'. Rick.Ay, if yourself s remembrance wrong your- 
 
 Q. Eliz. But thou didst kill my children. [self. 
 
 K.Rich. Butinyourdaughter'swomblburythem: 
 Where, in that nest of spicery, they shall breed 
 2 M 
 
546 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Selves of themselves to your recomforture. 
 
 Q. Etii, Shall I go win my daughter to thy will ? 
 
 K. Rich, And be a happy mother by the deed. 
 
 Q. Eliz. I go. — Write to me very shortly, 
 And you shall understand from me her mind. 
 
 K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so fare- 
 well. [A';Asi;ig her. Exit Q. Elizabeth. 
 Relenting fool, and shallow, changing — woman! 
 How now I what news t 
 
 Enter Ratcliff ; Cateshy following. 
 
 Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast 
 Rideth a puissant navy ; to the shore 
 Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends) 
 Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back : 
 'Tis thought, that Richmond is their admiral ; 
 And there they hull, expecting but the aid 
 Of Buckingham to welcome them ashore. [Norfolk : 
 
 K. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke of 
 Ratcliff, thyself, — or Catesby ; where is he 1 
 
 Cale. Here, my good lord. 
 
 K. Rich, Catesby, fly to the duke. 
 
 Cate. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste. 
 
 K. Kich. Ratcliff, come hither : Post to Salisbury ; 
 When thou com'st thither, — Dull, unmindful villain, 
 
 [To Catesby. 
 Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke 1 
 
 Caw.First, mighty liege, tell me your highness' plea- 
 What from your grace I shall deliver to him. [sure, 
 
 K.Rich. 0,true, good Catesby ; Bid him levy straight 
 The greatest strength and power he can make, 
 And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. 
 
 Cute. I go. [Exit. 
 
 fla(.What,may it pleaseyou , shall I do at Salisbury! 
 
 K. Rich.Wby, what would'st thou do there, before 
 I go? 
 
 Rat. Your highness told me, I should post before. 
 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 K. Rich. My mind is chang'd. — Stanley, what news 
 with you 1 [hearing ; 
 
 Store. None good, my liege, to please you with the 
 Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. 
 
 K.Rich. Heyday, a riddle ! neither good nor bad ! 
 What need'st thou run so many miles about. 
 When thou may'st tell thy tale the nearest way ? 
 Once more, what news ? 
 
 Stan, Richmond is on the seas. 
 
 K. Rich, There let him sink, and be the seas on him I 
 White-liver'd runagate, what doth he there 1 
 
 Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess. 
 
 K.Rich. Well, as you guess 1 [ton, 
 
 Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Mor- 
 He makes for England, here to claim the crown. 
 
 A. J?ic/i. Is the chair empty? Is the sword unsway'd? 
 Is the king dead ? the empire unpossess'd ? 
 What heir of York is there alive, but we ? 
 And who is England's king, but great York's heir? 
 Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas ? 
 
 Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess. 
 
 A'. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege. 
 You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. 
 Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. 
 
 Stan. No, mighty liege, therefore mistrust me not. 
 
 K. Rirfc.Where is thy power then, to beat him back ? 
 Where be thy tenants, and thy followers? 
 Are they not now upon the western shore, 
 Safe-c6nducting the rebels from their ships ? 
 
 Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are in the north. 
 A'. Rich. Cold friends to me : What do they in the 
 north, 
 When they should serve their sovereign in the west? 
 
 Stall. They have notbeen commanded, mighty king: aM 
 Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave, ~S 
 
 I'll muster up my friends ; and meet your grace, 
 Where, and what time, your majesty shall please. 
 
 A'. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be gone to join with 
 I will not trust you, sir. [Richmond : 
 
 Stan. Most mighty sovereign. 
 
 You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful ; 
 I never was, nor never will be false. [behind 
 
 A'. i?ic/i.WeU, go, muster men. But, hear you, leave 
 Your son, George Stanley ; look your heart be firm, 
 Or else his head's assurance is but frail. 
 
 Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. 
 [Exit Stanley. 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire, 
 As I by friends am well-advertised. 
 Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty prelate. 
 Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, 
 Witli many more confederates, are in arms. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guilfordsaie in arras ; 
 And every hour more competitors 
 
 Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong. 
 
 , Enter anothei- Messenger. 
 
 3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Buckingham — 
 A'. Rich. Out on ye, owls ! nothing but songs of 
 
 death ? [He strikes him. 
 
 There, take thou that, till thou bring belter news. 
 
 3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty. 
 Is, — that, by sudden floods and fall of waters, 
 Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ; 
 And he himself wander'd away alone. 
 No man knows whitlier. 
 
 K. Rich. 0, I cry you mercy: 
 
 There is my purse, to cure that blow of thine. 
 Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd 
 Reward to him that brings the traitor in ? 
 
 3 ilicas. Such proclamation hath been made, my liege. 
 
 Enter another Messenger, 
 
 4 Mess. Sir Thomas Lovel, and lord marquis Dorset, 
 'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire, are in arms. 
 
 But this good comfort bring I to your highness, — 
 The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempest : 
 Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat 
 Unto the shore, to ask those ou the banks, 
 If they were his assistants, yea, or no ; J 
 
 Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham 1 
 
 Upon his party : he, mistrusting them, ' 
 
 Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bretagne. 
 A'. Rich. March on, march on, since we are up in 
 If not to fight with foreign enemies, [arms ; 
 
 Yet to beat down these rebels here at home. 
 
 Enter Catesby. 
 
 Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken. 
 That is the best news ; That the earl of Richmond 
 Is with a mighty power landed at Milford, 
 Is colder news, but yet they must be told.' 
 
 K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury ; while we reason 
 A royal battle might be won and lost. — [here. 
 
 Some one take order, Buckingham be brought 
 To Salisbury; — the rest march on with me. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Room in Lord Stanley's House. 
 
 Enter Stanley and Sir Christopher Urswick. 
 
 Stan. SirChristopher,tell Richmond this from me • 
 That, in the sty of this most bloody boar, 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 547 
 
 My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold ; 
 If I revolt, off goes young George's head ; 
 The fear of that withholds my present aid. 
 But tell me, wliere is princely Richmond now 1 
 
 Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in Wales. 
 
 Stun. What men of name resort to himl 
 
 Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier ; 
 Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley ; 
 Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt, 
 And Rice-ap-Thomas, with a valiant crew ; 
 And many other of great fame and worth : 
 And towards London do they bend their course, 
 If by the way they be not fought withal. 
 
 S(i7n.VVell,hietheeto thylord ; commend rae to him; 
 Tell him the queen liath heartily consented 
 He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter. 
 These letters will resolve him of my mind. 
 Farewell. [_Gii'es papers (o Sir Christopher. Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. — Salisbuiy. An opan Place. 
 
 Enter the Sheriff a»rf Guard, with Buckingham, 
 led to execution. 
 
 Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him ? 
 
 Sher, No, my good lord : therefore be patient. 
 
 BucLHastingsandKdward'schildren, Rivers, Grey, 
 Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward, 
 Vaughan, and all that have miscarried 
 By underhand cornipted foul injustice : 
 If that your moody discontented souls 
 Do through the clouds behold this present hour. 
 Even for revenge mock my destruction! — 
 This is All Souls' day, fellows, is it not? 
 
 Sher. It is, my lord. 
 
 JB((f/£. Why, then AU-Souls'day is my body's dooms- 
 This is the day, which, in king Edward's time, [day, 
 I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found 
 False to his children, or his wife's allies : 
 This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall 
 By the false faith of him whom most I trusted : 
 This, this All- Souls' day to my fearful soul, 
 Is the detennin'd respite of my wrongs. 
 That high AU-seer which I dallied with, 
 Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head, 
 And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest. 
 Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men 
 To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms; 
 Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck, — • 
 XVhen he, quoth she, shall split thij heart with sorrow, 
 Remember Margaret was a prophetess, — 
 Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame ; 
 Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame. 
 l_Eieunt Bfckingham, ^'c, 
 
 SCENE II.— P/am near Tamworth. 
 
 Enter, with drum and colours, Richmond, Oxford, 
 Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and 
 others, with Forces, marching. 
 
 Rich. Fellows in arras, and my most loving friends, 
 Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny, 
 Thus far into the bowels of the land 
 Have we marcli'd on without impediment ; 
 And here receive we from our father Stanley j 
 
 Lines of fair comfort and encouragement. 
 The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar, I 
 
 That spnil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines, 
 Swillsyourwarmblood like wash, and makes his trough 
 In your erabowell'd bosoms, this foul swine 1 
 
 Lies now even in the center of this isle. 
 
 Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn : 
 From Tamworth thither is but one day's march. 
 In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends, 
 To reap the harvest of perpetual peace 
 By this one bloody trial of sharp war. 
 
 O.if. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords. 
 To fight against that bloody homicide. 
 
 Herb, I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us. 
 
 Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends for 
 Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him. [fear ; 
 
 Rich. All for our vantage. Then, in God's name, 
 march : 
 True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings, 
 Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures king^s. 
 
 ^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Bosworth Field, 
 
 Enter King Richard, a?id Forces ; the Duke op 
 Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, and others. 
 
 K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bosworth 
 My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad } [field. — 
 
 Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks. 
 
 A'. Rich, My lord of Norfolk, ■ 
 
 Nor. Here, most gracious liege. 
 
 K. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks ; Ha! must 
 we not ? 
 
 Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord- 
 
 K, Rich. Up with my tent : Here will I lie to-night , 
 [>S(j/J(Vri begin to set up the King's tent. 
 But where, to-morrow? — Well, all's one for that. — 
 Who hath descried the number of the traitors I 
 
 Nor- Six or seven thousand is their utmost power, 
 
 A'. Rich, Why, our battalia trebles that account : 
 Besides, the king's name is a tower of strengtii. 
 Which they upon the adverse faction want. 
 Up with the tent. — Come, noble gentlemen, 
 Let us survey the vantage of the ground ; — 
 Call for some men of sound direction : — 
 Let's want no discipline, make no delay ; 
 For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day. [E.zeu7it, 
 
 Enter, on the other side of the field, Richmond, Sir 
 W^iLLiAM Brandon, Oxford, and other Lords. 
 Some of the Soldiers pitch Richmond's tent. 
 
 Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set 
 And, by the bright track of his fiery car, 
 ' Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. — 
 Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my stambrd. — 
 Give me some ink and paper in my tent : — 
 I'll draw the form and model of our battle, 
 Limit eacli leader to his several charge. 
 And part in just proportion our small power. 
 My lord of Oxford, — you, sir William Brandon,— 
 And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me : 
 The e^rl of Pembroke keeps his regiment ; — 
 Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him, 
 And by the second hour in the morning 
 Desire the earl to see me in my tent; — 
 Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me ; 
 Where is lord Stanley quartered, do you know ' 
 
 Blu7it. Unless I have misia'en his colours mn '.. 
 (Which, well I am assur'd. 1 have not done. ) 
 His regiment lies half a mile at least 
 South from the mighty power of the king. 
 
 lUchm. If without peril it be possible, [iam. 
 
 Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with 
 And give him from me this most needful note. 
 
 Blunt. Upon my life, ray lord, I'll undertake it ; 
 And so, God give you quiet rest to-night I 
 
 Richm. Good night, good captain Blunt. Come, 
 gentlemen, 
 
 2M2 
 
548 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Let us consult upon to-morrow's bu^-iness ; 
 In to my tent, the air is raw and cold. 
 
 [Tlieij withdraw into the tent, 
 
 EnteVj to his teitt, K:ng Richaiid, Norfolk, 
 Ratcliff, arid Cat£3by. 
 
 A'. Rich. What is it o'clock ">. 
 
 Cute. It's supper time, my lord ; 
 
 It's nine o'clock. 
 
 K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. — 
 
 Give me some ink and paper. — 
 What, is my beaver easier than it was 1 — 
 And all my armour laid into my tent? 
 
 Cate. It is, my liege ; and all things are in readiness. 
 
 A'. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge ; 
 Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels. 
 
 Nor. I go, my lord. [folk. 
 
 A'. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle Nnr- 
 
 Nor. I warrant you, my lord. [£ai(. 
 
 K.Rich. Ratclitf, 
 
 Rat. My lord? 
 
 K. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms 
 
 To Stanley's regiment : bid him bring his power 
 Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall 
 Into the blind cave of eternal night. — 
 Fill me a bowl of wine. — Give me a watch : — 
 
 [To Catesby. 
 Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. — 
 Look that my staves be sound, and not too heavy. 
 RatclifT,— 
 
 Hat. My lord ? [berland ? 
 
 A'. Rich. Saw'stthouthemelancholylord Northum- 
 
 Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself. 
 Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop, 
 Went through the array cheering up the soldiers. 
 
 K. Rich. I am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine : 
 1 have not that alacrity of spirit. 
 Nor cheer of mind that 1 was wont to have. — 
 So, set it down. — Is ink and paper ready ? 
 
 Rat. It is, my lord. 
 
 A. Rich. Bid my guard watch ; leave me. 
 
 About the mid of night, come to my tent, 
 And help to arm me. — Leave me, 1 say. 
 
 [King Richard retires into his tent. Ej:eunt 
 Ratcliff and Catesby. 
 Richmond's tent ope;is,^'discoyei'sfcim&|' ills Officers, ^c. 
 Enter Stanley. 
 
 Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm ! 
 
 Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford 
 Be to thy person, noble father-in-law ! 
 Tell me how fares our loving mother ? 
 
 Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother, 
 Who prays continually for Richmond's good : 
 So much for tliat. — The silent hours steal on, 
 And flaky darkness breaks within the easL 
 In brief, for so the season bids us be. 
 Prepare thy battle early in the morning ; 
 And put tliy fortune to the arbitreinent 
 Of bloody sti'okes. and mortal-staring war, 
 I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot,) 
 With best advantage will deceive the time. 
 And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms: 
 But on thy side I may not be too forwai'd. 
 Lest, being seen, thy brother tender George 
 Be executed in his father's sight. 
 Farewell : The leisure and the fearful time 
 Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love, 
 And ample interchange of sweet discourse. 
 Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon ; 
 God give us leisure for these rites of love ! 
 Once mote, adieu : — Be valiant, and speed well ! 
 
 Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment J 
 I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap j 
 Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow. 
 When I should mount with wings of victory : 
 Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen. 
 
 [Eieunt Lords, lie. with Stanley. 
 Thou ! whose captain I account myself. 
 Look on my forces with a gracious eye ; 
 Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath. 
 That they may crush down with a heavy fall 
 Tire usurping helmets of our adversaries! 
 Make us thy ministers of chastisement. 
 That we may praise thee in thy victory ! 
 To thee I do commend my watchful soul. 
 Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes ; 
 Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still ! ^Sleeps. 
 
 The Ghost of Prince Edward, son to Henry the 
 Sixth, ^ises between the two tents. 
 
 Ghoit. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow ! 
 [To King Richard. 
 Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth 
 At Tewksbury ; Despair therefore, and die ! — 
 
 Be cheerful, Richmond ; for the wronged souls 
 Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf : 
 King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee. 
 
 The Ghost o/'KiNp Henry the Sixth rises. 
 
 Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 By thee was punched full of deadly holes : 
 Think on the Towe." and me ; Despair, and die j 
 Harry the Sixth bids thee despair, and die. — 
 Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror ! 
 
 [To Richmond 
 Harry, that prophesy 'd thou should'st be king. 
 Doth comfort thee in thy sleep ; Live, and Hourisb ' 
 
 The Ghost (if Clarence rises. 
 
 Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-monow ! 
 [To King Richard. 
 I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine. 
 Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death ! 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me. 
 And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die ! — 
 
 Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster, 
 
 [To RiCHIUOND. 
 
 The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee ; 
 Good angels guard thy battle ! Live, and flourish ! 
 
 The Ghosts o/' Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan rise. 
 Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow, 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 
 Rivers, that died at Poinfret ! Despair, and die ! 
 
 Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair ! 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 
 Tau^A. Think upon Vaughan ; and, with guilty fear. 
 
 Let fall thy lance ! Despair, and die ! — 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 All. Awake! and think, our wrongs in Richard's 
 bosom [To Richmond. 
 
 Will conquer him ; awake, and win the day ! 
 
 The Ghost ti/" Hastings rises. 
 
 Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake, 
 
 [To King Richard. 
 And in a bloody battle end thy days ! 
 Think on lord Hastings ; and despair, and die !— 
 Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake ! 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 Ann, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake ! 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 The Ghosts of the two young Pnnces rise. 
 
 Ghosts, Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the 
 Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard, [Tower, 
 And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death ! 
 Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair, and die.— 
 
 Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy; 
 Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy ! 
 Live, and beget a happy race of kings ! 
 Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish. 
 
 Tlie Ghost of Queen Anne rises. 
 
 Ghost. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne thy 
 That never slept a quiet hour with thee, [wife. 
 
 Now fills thy sleep with perturbations: 
 To-morrow in the battle think on me. 
 And fall thj; edgeless sword ; Despair, and die! — 
 
 Thou, quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep ; 
 
 [To Richmond. 
 Dream of success and happy victory ; 
 Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee. 
 
 The Ghost of Buckingham rms. 
 Ghost. The firstwas I, that help'd thee to the crown ; 
 [To King Richard. 
 The last was I that felt thy tyranny: 
 O, in the battle think on Buckingham, 
 And die in terror of thy guiltiness ! 
 Dream on, dream on. of bloody deeds and death ; 
 Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath !— 
 I died for hope, ert I could lend thee aid ; 
 
 [To RicTiMONn. 
 But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd : 
 God. and good angels, fight on Richmond's side; 
 And Richard falls in height of all his pride. 
 
 [The Ghosts vanish. King RiciunD starts 
 out of his dream. 
 K. Rich. Give me another horse, — bind up my 
 wounds, — 
 Have mercy, Jesu I — Soft ; I did but dream 
 
 coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! 
 
 The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnieht. 
 Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. 
 What do I fear! myself! there's none else by: 
 Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. 
 
 Is there a murderer here t No ;— Yes ; I am : 
 Then fly,— What, from myself ! Great reason: Why? 
 Lest I revenge. What!' Myself on mvself? 
 
 1 love myself. AVherefore ? "for any good. 
 That I myself have done unto myself ! 
 
 O, no : alas. I rather hate myself. 
 For hateful deeds committed by myself. 
 I am a villain : Yet I lie. I am" not. 
 Fool, of thy.self speak well :— Fool, do not flatter. 
 - My conscience hath a thousand several tont^ues. 
 And every tongue brings in a several tale, ° 
 And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
 Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree ; 
 Murder, stern murder, in the dir'st'degree ; 
 All several sins, all us'd in each degree. 
 Throng to the bar, crying all,— Guilty ! guilty' 
 I shall despair.— There is no creature loves nie ; 
 
 And, if 1 die, no soul will pity me . 
 
 Nay, wherefore should they ! since that I myself 
 Find in myself no pity to myself. 
 Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd 
 Came to my tent : and every one did threat 
 To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 
 
 Enter Ratcliff. 
 
 Rat. My lord, 
 
 K.Rich. Who's there 1 
 
 Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I, The early villagecock 
 
 549 
 
 Hath twice done salutation to the morn ; 
 \ our friends are up, and buckle on their armour. 
 A'. Rich. O, Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful 
 dream ! — 
 Whatthinkest thou, will our friends prove all true? 
 Rat. No doubt, my lord. 
 
 *'■ J^'<-h. Ratclifl', I fear, I fear,- 
 
 Rat. Nay. good my lord, be not afraid of shadows. 
 A". Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-ni»ht 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard" 
 Than can the .-substance of ten thousand soldiers, 
 Armed in pr'oof, and led by shallow Richmond. 
 It is not yet near day. Come, go with me ; 
 Under our tents I'll play the eaves dropper,' 
 To hear if any mean to "shrink from me. 
 
 [Eieunt King Richard and Ratcliff. 
 R1CH.11OND wahes. Enter O.xrORD and others. 
 Lords. Good morrow, Richmond. 
 Richm. 'Cryinercy, lords, and watchful gentlemen, 
 That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here. 
 Lards. How have you slept, my lord ! 
 Rich:n. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-bodin"- 
 That ever enter'd in a drowsy head, [dreams'. 
 
 Have I since your departure had, my lords. 
 Jlethought, their souls, whose bodies Richard mui- 
 Cametomytent, and cried— On! victory! [der'd, 
 I promise you, my heart is very jocund 
 In the remembrance of so fair a dream. 
 How far into the morning is it, lords ? 
 Lords. Upon the stroke of four. 
 Richm. Why, then 'tis time to arm, and give direc- 
 tion. — [He advances to the troops. 
 More than I have said, loving countrjmen, 
 The leisure and enforcement of the time 
 Forbids to dwell on : Yet remember this, — 
 God, and our good cause, fight upon our side ; 
 The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls. 
 Like high-rear 'd bulwarks, stand before our faces ; 
 Richard except, those, whom we fight against, 
 Had rather have us win, than him tliey follow.' 
 For what is he they follow ! truly, gentlemen, 
 A bloody tyrant, and a homicide ; 
 One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd ; 
 One that made means to come by what he hath, 
 .^nd slaughter'd those that were the means to help 
 .1 base foul stone, made precious by the foil, [him; 
 Of England's chair, where he is falsely set ; 
 One that hath ever been God's enemy : 
 Then if you fight against God's enemy, 
 God will, injustice, ward you as his soldieis ; 
 If you do sweat to put a tyrant down. 
 You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ; 
 If you do fight against your country's foes. 
 Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire ; 
 If you do fight in safeguard" of your wives, 
 ^ our wives shall welcome home the conquerors • 
 If you do free y^ur childreh from the sword. 
 Your children's children quit it in your age. 
 Then, in the name of God, and all these rights. 
 Advance your standards, draw your willing swords : 
 For ne, the ran.som of my bold attempt 
 Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face ; 
 But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt 
 The least of you shall share his part thereof. 
 Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully , 
 God, and Saint George ! Richmond and victory ! 
 
 [Eieunt, 
 Re-enter King Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants, 
 
 and Forces. 
 A. Rich. W'hat said Northumberland, as touching 
 Richmond ! 
 
>.'>0 
 
 KING RICHARD III. 
 
 Rjl. That he was never trained up in arms. 
 
 K.Rich. He said the truth: And wliat said Surrey 
 thenl 
 
 i?at.Hesinirdand said, the better for our purpose. 
 
 K. Rich. He was i' tlie right; and so, indeed, it is. 
 
 [Clock Ui-ikes. 
 Tell the clock there. — Give me a calendar. — 
 W ho saw the sun to-day ? 
 
 Kul. Not I, my lord. 
 
 K.Uich. Then he disdains to shine; for, by thebook. 
 He should have brav'd the east an hour ago : 
 A black day will it be to somebody. — ' 
 Ratcliff.— 
 
 Rat. My lord X 
 
 K. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day ; 
 
 The sky doth frown and lour upon our army. 
 I would, tliese dewy tears were from the ground. 
 Kot shine to-day ! Why, what is that to me. 
 More than to Richmond 1 for the self-same heaven, 
 That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him. 
 
 Enter Noufot.k. 
 Xor. Arm, arm, my lord ; the foe vaunts in the 
 
 And, on record, left them the heirs of shame. 
 Shall these enjoy our lauds' lie with your wives? 
 Ravish our daughters 1— Hark, I hear their drum. ^ 
 
 [Drujrt ajar ojf. 
 Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen ! 
 Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head! 
 Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ; 
 Amaze the welkin with your broken staves 1 — 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 What says lord Stanley 1 will he bring his power? 
 
 Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come. 
 
 A'. Rich. Off instantly with his son George's head. 
 
 Nor. JMy lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh ; 
 After the battle let George Stanley die. 
 
 A'. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my bo- 
 Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; [som: 
 Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George, 
 Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! 
 Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. [Eieiint. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Eiciirsions. Enter Norfolk, and Forces ; 
 
 field. [horse; 
 
 K.Rich. Come, bustle, bustle;— Caparison my 
 Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power: 
 1 will lead forth my soldiers to the plain. 
 And thus my battle shall be ordered. 
 My forward shall be drawn out all in length. 
 Consisting equally of horse and foot ; 
 Our archers shall be placed in the midst ; 
 Johu duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey, 
 Shall have tlie leading of this foot and horse. 
 They thus directed, we ourself will follow 
 In the main battle ; whose puissance on either side 
 Shall be well winged with our chiefest horse. 
 This, and Saint George to boot! — What think'st thou, 
 Norfolk ? 
 Kor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. 
 This found I on my tent this morning. 
 
 [^Giving a scrawl. 
 K. Rich. [Reads.] Jocky of Norfolk, be not too bold., 
 For Dickon thy master is bought and sold. 
 A thing devised by the enemy. — 
 Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge : 
 Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls ; 
 Conscience is but a word that cowards use, 
 Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe ; 
 Our strong amis he our conscience, swords our law. 
 March on, join bravely, let us to't pell-mell ; 
 If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. — 
 What shall I say more than I have inferr'd ? 
 Remember whom you are to cope withal ; — 
 A sort of vagabonds, rascals, and run-aways, 
 A scum of llretagnes, and base lackey peasants, 
 Whom their o'er-cloy'd country vomits forth 
 To desperate ventures and assur'd destruction. 
 You sleeping safe, they bring you % unrest ; 
 You having lauds, and bless'd with beauteous wives, 
 They would restrain the one, distain the other. 
 And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow, 
 Long kept in Bretagne at our mother's cost? 
 A milk-sop, one that never in his life 
 Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow ? 
 Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again ; 
 Lash hence these over-weening rags of France, 
 These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives ; 
 Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit. 
 For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves. 
 If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us. 
 And not these bastard Bretagues, whom our fathers 
 Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thurap'd, 
 
 Alarum : 
 
 to him Catesby. 
 
 Cate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk, rescue, rescue ! 
 The king enacts more wonders than a man. 
 Daring an opposite to every danger ; 
 His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights. 
 Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death : 
 Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost! 
 
 Alarums. Enter King Richard. 
 A. Birfi. Ahorse! ahorse! my kingdom for a horse! 
 Cate. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse 
 A'. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast. 
 And I will stand the hazard of the die : 
 I think, there be six Richmonds in the field ; 
 Five have I slain to-day, instead of him : — 
 A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse ! [Eieunt. 
 
 Alarumi. Enter Kino Richard and Richmond ; 
 
 andexeunt, fighting. Retreat, and Jiourish. Then 
 
 etiter Richmond, Stanley bearing the crouin,with, 
 
 divers other Lords, and Forces. 
 
 Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victorious 
 The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead, [friends ; 
 
 Stall. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit 
 Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty, [thee ! 
 
 From the dead temples of this bloody wretch 
 Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal ; 
 Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it. 
 
 Riclim. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all ! — 
 But, tell me first, is young George Stanley living? 
 
 Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town , 
 Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us. 
 
 Richm. What men of name are slain on either side? 
 
 Stan. John duke of Norfolk, W' alter lord Ferrers, 
 Sir Robert Brakenbury, and sir William Brandon. 
 
 Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births. 
 Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled, 
 That in submission will return to us ; 
 And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament. 
 We will unite the white rose with the red : — 
 Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction. 
 That long hath frown'd upon their enmity ! — 
 What traitor hears me, and says not, — amen ? 
 England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; 
 The brother blindly shed the brother's blood. 
 The father rashly slaughter'd his own son. 
 The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire ; 
 All this divided York and Lancaster, 
 Divided, in their dire division. — 
 
ACT v.— SCENE IV. 
 
 551 
 
 O, now let Kichraond and Elizabeth, 
 The true succetJers of each royal house, 
 By God's fair ordinance conjoin together ! 
 And let their heirs, i God, if thy will he so,) 
 Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace, 
 With suiiling plenty, and fair prosperous days ! 
 Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, 
 
 That would reduce these bloody days .again, 
 
 And make poor England weep in streams of blood ! 
 
 Let them not live to taste this land's increase, 
 
 That would with treason wound this fair land's peace! 
 
 Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again ; 
 
 That she may long live here, God say — -Amen! 
 
 \_Exeunt. 
 
 This is one of the most celebrated of our author's iierformaiices ; yet J know not whether it has not happened to him as to others. 
 lo he praised most, when praise is ootmost deserved. Ihat this play has sceues uoble in themselves, and very well conirivtd 
 to strike in the exhibition, caanot he deQied ; but some parts are tritlmg, others shocliing, and some improbable. — JoUNSON 
 
 KING HENRY VIIL 
 
 This play was Dot published till it appeared in the collected 
 edition of our author's works, in the year 1623. It was pro- 
 bably written in 1601 or 160C. 
 
 In June, 1613, this play was revived under the Dame of All is 
 True, at the Ohibe theatre, when the prologue, which con- 
 tains several nianit'esi allusions to tlie new lule; the epilogue, 
 and the com[i!imentary lines to Kiny Ifimes, in Arcnhishop 
 Craomer's proplietic speech, were probably added. Ihis re- 
 presentation w:j^ most uulorttmate lor the theatre ', for. in dis- 
 
 charging " f^r/om cannons at the kind's entry to a manjite at 
 the Cardinal JVolsey's house,'" the theatre was set on fire and 
 burnt to the ground. 
 This historical drama comprises a period of twelve years, com- 
 mencing in the twelfth year of Kinff Henry's reipn, (15210 
 and ending with the christening of Elizabeth in 1533. Shak- 
 speare has deviated from history in placing the death of Queen 
 Katharine before the birth of Elizabeth, for in fact Kaihariue 
 did not die till 1536. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 King Henry the Eighth. 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey. 
 
 Cardinal Campeius. 
 
 Capucii's, Ambassador from the Kmperor, Charles V. 
 
 Cranmer, Archbishop of' Canterbury. 
 
 DiTKE OF Norfolk. 
 
 Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 Di'KE OF Suffolk. 
 
 Earl of StinREv. 
 
 Lord Chanibeilain. 
 
 Lord Chancellor. 
 
 Gardiner, Bishop p/" Winchester. 
 
 Bishop of Lincoln. 
 
 Lord Abergavenny. 
 
 Lord Sands. 
 
 Sir Henry Guilford. 
 
 Sir Thomas Lovell. 
 
 Sir ANriioNY Denny. 
 
 Sir Nicholas Vaux. 
 
 Secretaries to AVoIsey. 
 
 Cromweli,, servatit to Wolsey. 
 
 Griffith, Gentleman-Usher to Queen Katharine. 
 
 Three other Gentlemen^ 
 
 Doctor Butts, physician to the King. 
 
 Garter, King at Arms. 
 
 Snrveuor to the Dufce o/" Buckingham. 
 
 Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms, 
 
 Door-keeper of the Council-Chamber. 
 
 Porter, and his man. 
 
 Page to Gardiner. 
 
 A Crier. 
 
 Queen Katharine, tvife to King Henry, afterwards 
 
 divorced, 
 Anne Bui.len, fter Maid of Honour, afterwards Queen, 
 An old Ladu, friend lo Anne Bullen. 
 Patience, woman to Queen Katharine. 
 
 Several Lords and Ladies in the Dumb Shows ; Women 
 attending upon the Queen ; Spirits which appear to 
 her ; Scribes, O^cer-., Guards, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, — chief u in London and Westminster 
 onet at Kimbolton. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 T come no more to make you laugh ; things now, 
 That bear a weighty and a serious brow, 
 Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe. 
 Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow, 
 We now present. Those that can pity, here 
 May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ; 
 The subject will deserve it. Such, as give 
 Their money out of hope they may believe, 
 May here find truth too. Those, that come to see 
 Only a show or two, and so agree, 
 The play may pass ; if they be still, and willing, 
 I'll undertake, may see away their shilling 
 Kichly in two short hours. Only they, 
 That come to hear a merry, bawdy play, 
 A noise of targets ; or to see a fellow 
 In a long motley coat, guarded with yellow. 
 Will be deceiv'd : for, gentle hearers, know, 
 To rank our chosen truth with such a show 
 As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting 
 Our own brains, and the opinion that we bnng, 
 (To make that only true we now intend.) 
 Will leave us never an understanding friend. 
 Therefore, for goodness' sake, and. as you are known 
 The first and happiest hearers of the town, 
 Be sad, as we would make you: Think, ye see 
 The very persons of our noble story. 
 As they were livin? ; think, you see them great. 
 And foUow'd witli the general throng, and sweat, 
 Of thousand friends ; then, in a moment, see 
 How soon this mightiness meets misery! 
 And if you can be merrv then, I'U say, 
 A man may weep upon his wedding day. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — London. An Ante-chamber tn tht Palace, 
 
 Enter the Duke of Norfolk, at one donr ; at the 
 other, the Duke of Buckingham, and the Lobd 
 Abergavenny. 
 
 I Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have you 
 I Since last we saw in France ? [done. 
 
552 
 
 KING HENRY VIII 
 
 jT^_ J thank your grace : 
 
 Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer 
 Of what I saw there. , 
 
 jjj^ck. ' An untimely ague 
 
 Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when 
 Those suns of glory, those two lights of men, 
 
 Met in the vale of Arde. 
 
 j^^j. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde : 
 
 I was then present, saw them salute on horseback ; 
 Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung 
 In their embracement, as they grew together ; 
 Which had they, what four thron d ones could have 
 
 weigh'd 
 Such a compounded one] , , .■ 
 
 5„f(;. All the whole lime, 
 
 1 was mv chamber's prisoner. 
 
 ]V„r. Then you lost 
 
 The view of earthly glory : Men might say, . 
 Till this time, pomp was single ; but now roamed 
 To one above itself. Each following day 
 Became the next day's master, till the last 
 Made former wonders it's : To-day, the trench, 
 All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods 
 Shone down the English ; and, to-morrow, they 
 Made Britain, India: every man, that stood, 
 Shew'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were 
 As cherubins, all gilt : the madams too, 
 Not used to toil, did almost sweat to bear 
 The pride upon them, that their very labour 
 Was to them as a painting : Now this inask 
 Was crv'd incomparable ; and the ensuing night 
 Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings. 
 Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst. 
 As presence did present them ; him in eye 
 Still him in praise ; and, being present both, 
 'Twas said tLey saw but one ; '^-'d no discerner 
 Durst wag his tongue in censure. ^\ hen these suns 
 ( For so they phrasi them, ) by their heralds challeng d 
 The noble spirits to arms, they did perforin 
 Beyond thought's compass; that former fabulous 
 Being now seen possible enough, got credit, [stoiy. 
 That Bevis was believ'd. 
 
 Buck. ■ O- y°" S° '*■■• 
 
 T^or. 'As I belong to worship, and affect 
 In honour honesty, the tract of every thing 
 Would by a good discourser lose some lite. 
 Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal ; 
 To the disposing of it nouglit rebeU d. 
 Order gave each thing view ; the othce dia 
 Distinctly his full function. 
 
 Buck. Who did guide, 
 
 I mean,' who set the body and the limbs 
 Of this great sport together, as you guess . 
 
 Nor. One, certes, that promises no e.ement 
 In such a business. , , 
 
 Buck. I pray you, who, my lord . 
 
 m: All this was oider'd by the good discretion 
 Of the right reverend cardinal of 'V ork. . , , 
 
 Buck. The devil speed him ! no man s pie is free d 
 From his ambitious finger. What had he 
 To do in these fierce vanities ? I wnder. 
 That such a keech, can with his very bulk 
 Take up the rays o' the beneficial sun, 
 And keep it from the earth. 
 
 Km- Surely, sir. 
 
 There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends : 
 For, being not propp'd by ancestry, (whose grace 
 Chalks successors their way,) nor call d upon 
 For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied 
 To eminent assistants, but, sp.der-l.ke 
 Out of his self-drawing web, he g.ve> us note, 
 The force of his own merit makes his way , 
 
 A gift that heaven gives tor him, which buys 
 
 A place next to the king. 
 
 4j„. I cannot tell 
 
 What heaven hath given him, let some graver eye 
 
 Pierce into that ; but I can see us pride 
 
 Peep through each part of him : Whence has he that? 
 
 If not fronrhell, the devil is a niggard ; 
 
 Or has given all before, and he begins 
 A new hell in himself. , , . ., 
 Buck Why the devil, 
 
 ITpon tliis French going-out, took he upon him. 
 Without the privity o' the king to appo"" 
 Who should Attend on him ! He makes up the file 
 Of all the gentry ; for the most part such 
 Too, whoni as great a charge as little honour 
 He meant to lay upon : and his own letter. 
 The honourable board of council out, 
 Must fetch him in the papers. 
 
 Aber I <1° k-aoyi 
 
 Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have 
 By this so sicken'd their estates, that nevft 
 They shall abound as formerly. 
 
 B ck ^' ™^°y 
 
 Have broke their backs with laying manors on them 
 For this great journey. What did this vamty, 
 But minister communication of 
 A most poor issue \ , , , ■ , 
 
 N„r "^ Grievingly I think. 
 
 The peace between the French and us not values 
 The cost that did conclude it. 
 
 Buck. , „E™7 ™='°' 
 
 After the hideous storm that follow d, vvas 
 A thing inspir'd ; and, not consuUing, broke 
 Into a general prophecy,-That this tempest, 
 Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
 The sudden breach on't. 
 
 Y^^. Which IS budded out ; 
 
 For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attached 
 Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux. .^ ^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 Aber. 
 The ambassador i4 silenc d 1 
 
 AW. Marry, IS t. 
 
 Aber. A proper title of a peace ; and purchas d 
 At a superfluous rate ! ,,,.,■ 
 
 ^„;.,J Why, all this business 
 
 Our reverend cardinal carried. 
 
 Km- ^^^^- '' y°"'' ^"'^^' 
 
 The state takes notice of the private difference 
 Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you, 
 find take it from a heart that wishes towards you 
 Honour and plenteous safety,) that you read 
 The cardinal's malice and his potency 
 Together : to consider further, that 
 What his high hatred would eflect, wants not 
 A minister in his power : You know his nature. 
 That he's revengeful ; and I know, his sword 
 Hath a sharp elge : it's long, and, it may be said. 
 It reaches far ; and where 'twill not extend. 
 Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counse , 
 You'n find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock. 
 That 1 advise your shunning. 
 
 Vnter Cardinal Wolsf.y, {the pwse borne before 
 L \c^tain of the Guard, and Two Secretaries 
 S^p/r 'A.CAn.,iNAW.i;..s r^.a,efi.eiU 
 rr.;/« OH Buckingham, a«rf Buckingham o« ft.m, 
 
 both full of disdain. 
 
 Wol The duke of Buckingham's surveyor ■>. ha ! 
 
 '''iT^ *"' ^^'™""'°" ' Here, so please you. 
 
 1 
 
ACT I.— SCENE ir. 
 
 553 
 
 Wot. Well, we shall then know more ; and Buck- 
 
 Shali lesseQ tbis big look. [inghara 
 
 [EaeuHt WoLSET and Train. 
 
 Buck. This butcher's cur is venom- mouth 'd, and I 
 Have not the power to muzzle him ; therefore, best 
 Not wake iiim in his slumber. A beggar's book 
 Out-worths a noble's blood. 
 
 N<>}\ What, are you chafd ? 
 
 Ask God for temperance ; that's the appliance only, 
 Which jour disease requires. 
 
 Buck, I read in his looks 
 
 Matter against me ; and his eye revil'd 
 Me, as his abject object : at this instant 
 He bores me with some trick : He's gone to the king ; 
 I'll follow, and out-stare him. 
 
 Nor. Stay, my lord. 
 
 And let your reason with your choler question 
 What 'tis you go about : To climb steep hills, « 
 Requires slow pace at first : Anger is like 
 A full-hot horse ; who being allow'd his way, 
 Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England 
 Can advise me like you : be to yourself 
 As you would to your friend. 
 
 Buck. I'll to the king: 
 
 And from a mouth of honour quite cry down 
 This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim, 
 There's dift'erence in no persons. 
 
 Nor. Be advis'd : 
 
 Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot 
 That it do singe yourself: We may outrun, 
 By violent swiftness, that which we run at. 
 And lose by over-running. Know you not, 
 The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er, 
 In seeming to augment it, wastes it? Be advis'd : 
 I say again, there is no English soul 
 More stronger to direct you than yourself; 
 If with the sap of reason you would quench, 
 Or but allay, the fire of passion. 
 
 Buck. Sir, 
 
 1 am tliankful to you : and I'll go along 
 By your prescription : — but this top-proud fellow, 
 (Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but 
 From sincere motions.) by intelligence, 
 And proofs as clear as founts in July, when 
 We see each grain of gravel, I do know 
 To be corrupt and treasonous. 
 
 Nor. Say not, treasonous. 
 
 Buck. To the king I'll say't ; and make my vouch as 
 As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox, [strong 
 Or wolf, or both, (for he is equal ravenous 
 As he is subtle ; and as prone to mischief. 
 As able to perform it : his mind and place 
 Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally,) 
 Only to shew his pomp as well in France 
 As here at home, suggests the king our master 
 To tins last costly treaty, the interview. 
 That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass 
 Did break i' the rinsing. 
 
 Nor, 'Faith, and so it did. 
 
 Buck. Pray, give me favour, sir. This cunning car- 
 The articles o' the combination drew, [dinal 
 
 As himself pleas'd ; and they were ratified, 
 As he cried, Thus iet be : to as nftich end. 
 As give a crutch to the dead ■. But our count-cardinal 
 Has done this, and 'tis well ; for worthy Wolsey, 
 Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows, 
 (Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy 
 To the old dam, treason,) — Charles the emperor, 
 Under pretence to see*he queen his aunt, 
 (For 'twas, indeed, his colour ; but he came 
 To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation : 
 His fears were, that the iater\'iew, betwixt 
 
 England and France, might, through their amity. 
 Breed h'm some prejudice ; for from this league 
 Peep'd harms that menac'd him : He privily 
 Deals with our cardinal ; and, as I trow, — 
 Which 1 do well ; for, 1 am sure, the emperor 
 Paid ere he promis'd ; whereby his suit was granted 
 Ere it was ask'd ; — but when the way was made, 
 And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd ; — - 
 That lie would please to alter the king's course, 
 And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know, 
 (As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal 
 Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases, 
 And for his own advantage. 
 
 Nor. I am sorry 
 
 To hear this of him ; aud could wish, he were 
 Something mistaken in"t. 
 
 Buck. No, not a syllable , 
 
 I do pronounce him iu that very shape, 
 He shall appear in proof. 
 
 Ejiter Brandon ; a Sergeant at Arms before /iim, 
 ami two or three of the Guard. 
 
 Bran. Your office, sergeant ; execute it. 
 
 ^arg. Sir, 
 
 My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl 
 Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, 1 
 Arrest thee of high treason, in the name 
 Of our most sovereign king. 
 
 Buck. Lo you, my lord. 
 
 The net has fall'n upon me ; I shall perish 
 Under device and practice. 
 
 Bran. I am sorry 
 
 To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on . 
 The business present: 'Tis his highness' pleasure. 
 You shall to the Tower. 
 
 Buck. It will help me nothing. 
 
 To plead mine innocence ; for that die is on me. 
 Which makes my whitest part black. The will of heaven 
 Be done in this and all things !— I obey. — 
 
 my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well. 
 
 Bra;i. Nay, he must bear you company : — The king 
 [To Abergavenny. 
 Is pleas'd, you shall to the Tower, till you know 
 How he determines further. 
 
 Abev. As the duke said, 
 
 The will of heaven be done, and tb|L king's pleasure 
 By me obey'd. 
 
 Brail. Here is a warrant from 
 
 The king, to attach lord Montacute ; and the bodies 
 Of the duke's confessor. John de la Court, 
 One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, — 
 
 Buck. So, so ; 
 
 These are the limbs of the plot : no more, I hope. 
 
 Bran, A monk o' the Chartreux. 
 
 Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins? 
 
 Bran. He. 
 
 Buck. My surveyor is false ; the o'er-great cardinal 
 Hath shew'd him gold : my life is spann'd already: 
 
 1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham ; 
 Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on. 
 By dark'ning my clear sun. — My lord, farewell. 
 
 l^Eieunt. 
 SCENE U,— The Council-Chamber. 
 
 Cornets. Enter Ktng Henry, Cardinal Wolsey, 
 the Lords (i^' the Council, Sir Thomas Lovell, 
 Officers, and Attendants. The King enters, leaw 
 tng on the Cardinal's shouldei', 
 K. Hen. My life itself, and the best heart of it, 
 Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the level 
 Of a full-charged confederacy, and give thanks 
 ITo you that chok'd it.— Let be call'd before us 
 
KING he:»ry vhi 
 
 ife *«i.:-. 1^*:=: :«^s« 
 
 1 
 
 
 Fuavx: TW» 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 i^.^,,,. i^f xiw «Jw<tt' I'*-"*' 
 
 •^-^.^ 
 
 ^.X.n. 
 
 A 
 
 A 
 
 S-- 
 
 >il>>*v'tS 
 
 
 KriTKV toe. 
 
 ■,*«« 
 
 . vv»ss"d <w»> k«l • 
 
 ■ '■:<«. 
 
 -4*; ia» say. 
 . i*. \\> »»i«s* »*» ^3* 
 
 : ■.-,«. (Vtl^MT 
 W a.iit «« 0*^ ^'> ^««'« 
 ,-•«« tt*ai o«^s, » 
 
 . .. « CiTj^'J »t. 
 , >.« si». or ^« 
 
 IswfMS"? a.^ai-»=pf^r- 
 
 eMCtVe 
 
 Saw *«;«« oaiv. 
 
 A 
 T 
 
 A 
 
 ■ 
 
 \\ . - 
 
 Am sociL UK 
 
 A li««ti>t«^ . 
 
 A»l.t~ 
 
 TUa«$ dsae w*lV; 
 
 A»i !>»«!§«* S«i*** iii-"^ 
 
 AM*. 
 
 Tin tivw o. 
 
 .\n\ hNir ; 
 
 .;r Uvs, 
 
 .:h i T\v«. ta«s b*-"* *• 
 i\. ivvktot; 
 
 ^JS«*«t« fc»« »«» **y "« 
 
 , - ?.> tiN KvikI. »"»»*y^>"- 
 
 "i-, or elsa vmi saner 
 
 LetJti. 
 
 \\. 
 
 ■n>c - .^ ■ 
 
 Tk*v .- 
 
 *^" ■ ^.-««r«i*tienc«-. bal «« boMead 
 
 V ^.>-.. «isk TO*. 
 
 ft* a* Sttsnmj. 
 
 -H writ *» #rM\" saiK. 
 
 EkIw Swrwyv*. 
 e. Km\. I »» Sony. tk»t«fc*dukt<rf RKkiBS^*" 
 Is r«o ia >»« displ«*s«i«- 
 
 tTi^w^ - ^«"^'= hist»»««?s«ch. 
 
 . Jrieioos *i>nBS *» W""** »^^ '^ 
 
 I Mmost uith n»vfehd Ust-tv,tvg vvaMl«^ 
 life iKHttoTsfOtdi »»«*«•■. h^«>y"«f' 
 
ACT I.-SCENE III. 
 
 65r, 
 
 Math into mori>.lroii» liabill put the grwch 
 
 'I liat oiict; wi;r't hiM, arid i» bccoini; im lfl:i'-k 
 
 An irbvMiicar'd in licll. Sit by un ; vou sball hear 
 
 (rhi» wn» \iU |;cnlh:iiiaii in truHt, ) oFbiin 
 
 TWtini^n Uj hirikt; huiioiir nail, — iii'l iiijn r<;(;ount 
 
 'I lie; fon^-ri.iilf'l |)rai.lici!)i : whereof 
 
 VV'c ciiniiot i'c*;l tofi little, litar too ijjiicli, 
 
 Wei. Stand forlli ; and with bold Miirit relate wlial 
 MoHl lilii; a careful «ubjcct, have collected [yu, 
 Out of llie duke of liucltingham, 
 
 K. Ilr.n. Speak freely. 
 
 SuTi). I'ifHt, it wan unual with hini, every day 
 It vvoiilrj infect liih Hi»eecli, 'i bat if tlie king 
 Should ivilbout i»:iuc die, be'd carry it «o 
 lo nj.ike llie nccpler bin; 'I'bene very wordn 
 1 liave beard biin utter to IiIh HUn^in law, 
 Lord Abir;,'a'ny ; to whom by oath he menac'd 
 Kevenge upon the cardinal. ^ 
 
 Wot, rieaKft your hi;;hnci>», note 
 
 'i'ljin dangerous conception in ibiH rjfiiril. 
 Not friended by his wiidi, to your lii(;li pcrnon 
 IIIh will in ruoKt malignant ; and itatretehcs 
 I'-eyond you, to your friends. 
 
 (I. Kiitli. My Icam'd lord cardinal. 
 
 Deliver all with cliarity. 
 
 li. lien. Speak on : 
 
 How grounded be his title to the crown, 
 Ij'pon our fail f to this rioint bast tbou heard him 
 At any time speak au({ht ? 
 
 SuTv. lie wa» brought to thi» 
 
 By a vain pionhccy of N'ieholas llopkiun. 
 
 K. lien. What was that IIo|,kinB ! 
 
 fiurv. Sir, a Cbartrcux friar, 
 
 Hi* ronfcBKor ; who fed him every minute 
 With wordt of sovereignty. 
 
 A^- IliM. Jfow know'Kt tbou thin'! 
 
 Suiv. Not long before your higbneHBspedto !■' ranee, 
 'I'be duke being at the Koiie, williin the parish 
 Saint Lawrence I'oultney, did of roe demand 
 What was the Rpeecb amongst the Londoners 
 Concerning the ircncb journey : I replied. 
 Men I'ear'd, the I'rench would prove perfidious. 
 To the king's danger. Presently the duke 
 Said, "I'was the fear, indeed ; and that he doubted, 
 'Twould prove the verily of certain words 
 .Spoke by a holy monk ; tlmt kJ'i, says he, 
 llnlh tent to me, whhinfr me to permit 
 John de la Court, my cUajtlain, a choice hoifr 
 so hear from him a matter of mme moment : 
 Whom uj'ier under the confenion's $eal 
 ile solemnly had aworn, that, what heitjwhe. 
 My chofilain to 710 creature Hvinf^, hut 
 To me, should utter, with demure conjidenee 
 Thu.1 jiuusin^ly ensu'd — Neither thehiiif;, nor his heiri, 
 (Tell you the duke I hall prosper : bid him strive 
 To frain the love tf the commonalty ; the dulte 
 Shall j^overn England. 
 
 Q. Kuth. If I know you well. 
 
 You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office 
 On the complaint 0' the tenants : Take good heed, 
 ^ou charge not in your spleen a noble person. 
 And spoil your nobler soul ! 1 say, take heed ; 
 Ves, heartily beseech you. 
 
 K. lien. Let him on : — 
 
 Go forward. 
 
 .Siiru. On my soul, I'Jl speak but truth. 
 I told my lord the duke, IJy the devil's illusiorl* 
 The monk might be deceiv'd ; and that 'twas dan- 
 
 g'rous for "him 
 To ruminate on iliis so far, until 
 It forg'd liim some design, which, being believ'd, 
 It waji mucU like to do : He answer'd, T\uh I 
 
 It can do me no damjige : aildin^ further, 
 'J'hat, had the king in his last sickness fail 'd, 
 The cardinal's and sirThoniat Ixtvell'* heads 
 Should have gone off. 
 
 K. Ilea. Ha ! what so rank ? Ah, ah I 
 There's mischief in this man ; Canst thou say fur- 
 
 Surv. 1 can, rny liege, [ther ? 
 
 A', lien. Proceeil. 
 
 Surv. Being at Greenwich, 
 
 After your bigbness had reprov'd tiie duke 
 About sir William Ivlurner, — 
 
 K, lien. I remember 
 
 Of sucli a time — lleing my servant sworn, 
 The duke retain'd him his. -But on ; WItat hence? 
 
 Surv. If, fjuoth he, l for this hail he'-.n ctmimittedf 
 As, to the Tower, I thought, — / uould Ituve pUiy'd 
 The part my jather meMnt to act upon 
 The usurper Hichard : uhu, hein/^ at SaVulmry, 
 Made suit to come into hit presence ; which if /^ranted; 
 As he made semhlanee (f his duty, would 
 Have put hit knife into him. 
 
 K. Hen. A giant traitor ! 
 
 Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in free- 
 And this man out of prison 1 [dum, 
 
 H. hath. God mend all ! 
 
 li. Ilea. 'I'here's something more would out of 
 thee ( What say'sti 
 
 Surv. A fter — the duke his father, — with the hnife, — 
 He stret<;b'd him, and, with one hand on his dagger, 
 Another spread on bis breast, mounting his eyes, 
 lie did discharge a horrible oath ; whose tenour 
 Was, — Were he evil us'd, he would out-go 
 His father, by as much as a performance 
 Does an irresolute purpose. 
 
 K. Hen. I'here's his period. 
 
 To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'u ; 
 Call birn to present trial : if he ifiay 
 I'ind mercy in the law, 'tis his ; if none, 
 l^.'t him not seek't of us ; by day and night, 
 lie's traitor to the height. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE in.— A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain and Lojtn .Sanus. 
 
 Cham. Is it possible, the spells of Trance should 
 Men into such strange mysteries 1 [juggle 
 
 Sands. New customs, 
 
 Though they be never so ridiculous, 
 •Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd. 
 
 Cham. As far as 1 see, all the good our English 
 Have got by the late voyage, is but merely 
 A fit or two 0' the face ; but they are shrewd ones j 
 For when they hold them, you would swear directly. 
 Their very noses had been counsellors 
 To Pepin, or Clotbarius, they keep state so. 
 
 Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones ; 
 one would take it, 
 That never saw them pace before, the spavin, 
 A springhalt reign'd among them. 
 
 Cham, Death I my lord, 
 
 Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too, 
 That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How 
 What news, sir 'i'homas Lovcll ? [now ! 
 
 Enter Sir Thouas Lovei.i.. 
 Lov. 'Faith, my lord, 
 
 I hear of none, but the new proclamation 
 That's clapp'd upon the court-gate. 
 
 Cham. What is't fori 
 
 Lov. 'i'be reformation of our travell'd gallants, 
 That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors. 
 Cham. I am glad, 'tis there ; now I would pray 
 our monsicurs 
 
556 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 To think an English courtier may be wise, 
 And never see the Louvre. ^^^^ ^^^^ ^.^^^^ 
 
 f rtrlo run the conditions,) leave these remnants 
 h( fool, and feather, that they got in France, 
 With all their honourable points of ignorance, 
 Pertaining thereunto, (as fights, and fireworlcs ; 
 AbusiniJ better men than they can be, , 
 
 Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncmg clean 
 ?h ai'h he; have in tenn.s, and tall stocktngs 
 Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel, I 
 And understand again like honest inen; 
 Ox pack to their old playfellows : there, I take it, 
 They may, cum privilegw wear away 
 The lac end of their lewdness, and be laugh d at. 
 lands. 'Tis time to give them physic, their diseases 
 
 %flT '" '"''"''°' What a loss our ladies 
 Will have of these trim vanities ! ^ 
 
 Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lord Samds, and 
 Sir Thomas Lovell. 
 The very thought of this fair company 
 Clappd wings to me.^^ .^ ^^^^^ , 
 
 Sands. Sir Thomas Lovell had the cardinal 
 But half my lay thoughts inh.m, some of these 
 Should find a running banquet ere » >ey .e.ted 
 I think, would better please them : By my lite, 
 Thev are a sweet society of fair cues. 
 
 Liv!o. that your lordship were but now confessor 
 To one or two of these! 
 
 Sands. I would, I were; 
 
 They should find easy penance. _^^.^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^ 
 
 sZ'ds. As easy as a down-bed would afford it. 
 aam.Sweetladies,willitpleaseyousillSi.U.irry, 
 
 Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this : 
 His grice is enfiing.-Nay, you -"^'^ .'">' ^X^- 
 Two women placed together makes cold weather .- 
 1 wu wo y » , waking ; 
 
 TU -11 h. WOP indeed lords ; the sly whoresons Mv lord Sands, you are one wiU keep them waking , 
 
 1 here wiU be woe indeed, lora,^^^ ^^^^^^^ pfay, sit between these ladies. 
 
 Have got a speeding trick lo Kiji u r.rmntr- c j Bv my iaith, 
 
 oiui another lady. 
 
 If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ; 
 
 1 had it from ray father. a .wi 
 
 . Was he mad, sir I 
 
 Sand's. O, very mad, exceeding mad, m love too : 
 
 But he would bite none ; just as I '1° "«"'• , 
 
 He would kiss you twenty «nh a breatl. [A...|e. 
 
 Sir Thomas, go, now you are fairly seated :-t.entlemen, 
 
 ' The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies . 
 Pass away frowning. 
 
 Saads. For my little cure. 
 
 Let me alone. 
 
 (For s;re, theTe's no converting of them ;) now 
 An honest country lord, as I am, beawn 
 A long time out of play, may bring h'spl^"'^^''"?' 
 And have an hour of hearing ; and, bj i lady, 
 
 " ar^'"' """"' ""' Well said, lord Sands ; 
 
 '''°£i"'' *""* '' ""' "'' ^"' N"- "y ^"'^ ' 
 Nor^shail not, while I have a stump. 
 
 Cham. 
 Whither were you a going . ^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^^^.^ . 
 
 Lov. 
 ^'°^ljf'^^^'"'^''^'''°°- 0, 'tis true: 
 This night he makes a supper, and a great one, 
 To manv lords and ladies ; there wiU be 
 The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. 
 
 L™ Thlt churchman bears a b-nteous mind n- 
 A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; [deed, 
 His dews fall every where. ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^,^ ^^^,^ . 
 
 He li'ad a black mouth, that said other of h™- 
 
 S.,..i..Hemay,mylord.hehaswherewithaU^^^^^^^ 
 Sparing would shew a worse sin than 11 doctnne 
 Wen of his way should be most liberal. 
 They are set here for examples. ^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^_^ . 
 
 Bu?few now give so great ones. My barge stays ; 
 ?"ou lordship'shall along :-Come, good sir Ihomas, 
 We shall be late else : which I -0"''1,?,°\ ^e. 
 For 1 was spoke to, with sir Henry Guildfoid, 
 This night to be comptrollers. r Exeunt. 
 
 Sands. I am your lordship's. 1^=-"'" 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Presence-Chamber in York-Place. 
 Hauthoys. A small uMe under a state far the Cab- 
 
 n n7l a langer table far the guests. Enter at on 
 door Anne Bullen, aad divers Lords, Ladies, and 
 Gentlewomen, as guests ; at another door, enter Su- 
 Henkv GuiLDionu. 
 
 f"'"-^^?'^^^^rMi:d:r:r''^'^'=^ 
 
 ^r^:^-..-^ '---^^^''°•■^^' 
 ^ In ,his noble bevy, has brought with her 
 
 Ir, all »b.s noble "^ )• j ^^^^^ ^U as merry 
 One care abroad . ne wo welcome. 
 
 As first-good company,^od w^m . g 
 Canmakegoodpeople — U.myior.y 
 
 Hautboys. Enter CAnmNAE Woesev, attended ; 
 
 and takes his state. 
 
 Wol You are welcome, my fair guests; thatiioble 
 
 Or gentleman, that is not freely merry, L'ady, 
 
 Is not my friend : This, to confirm '»y''^l'=°™« ^ ^ 
 
 And to vou all good health. . [i' " ''«• 
 
 Let me'have such a bowl may hold my thanks. 
 I And_sav6 me so much talking. ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^ 
 
 I am'beholden to you : cheer your neighbours.— 
 Ladies, you are not merry ;— Gentlemen, 
 Whose fault is this 1 „ . . 
 
 S is The red wine first must nse 
 
 In their fair cheeks, my lord ; then we shall have them 
 Talk us to silence. 
 
 ^I,„,e. You are a merry gamester. 
 
 My lord Sands. 
 
 Sands. Yes, if I make my play. 
 
 Here's to your ladyship : and pledge it, mad.un. 
 For 'tis to such a thing,- ^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^_ 
 
 Sands. I told your grace, they would talk anon. 
 [Drum and irLpets uut/,iu: ^'^'">'%^^^^^; 
 at. U>ok out there, some of you.^.^ ^ ^^^^^^ 
 .„ . What warlike voice'! 
 
 And°o what end is thisl-Nay, ladles, fear not; 
 By all the laws of war you are privileged. 
 ]ie-enter Servant. 
 Cham. How now! whatis't^ 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 557 
 
 Scrv. A noble Iroop of stranjers ; 
 
 For so they seem ; they have left their barge, and 
 And hither make, as great ambassadors [landed ; 
 From foreign princes. 
 
 1If'o(. Good lord chamberlain, [tongue ; 
 
 Go, give them welcome, you can speak the French 
 And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct tliem, 
 I Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty 
 ■ Sliall shine at full upon them ; — Some attend him. — 
 [_Exit CliaiTiberiain, attended^ Ait arise, 
 and tables remoLed. 
 You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it. 
 A good digestion to you all : and, once more, 
 1 shower a welcome on you ; — Welcome all. 
 
 Haatbovs. Enter the King, and twelve others, as 
 maskers, habited like shepherds, with siiteen torch- 
 bearers; ushered bif the Lord Chamberlain. They 
 pass directly before the Caudinal, and gracefully 
 salute him. 
 A noble company '. what are their pleasures ? 
 
 Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they 
 pray'd 
 To tell your grace ; — That, having heard by fame 
 Of this so noble and so fair assembly 
 This niglit to meet here, they could do no less, 
 Out of the great respect they bear to beauty, 
 But leave their flocks ; and, under your fair conduct. 
 Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat 
 An hour of revels with them. 
 
 Wol. Say, lord chamberlain, [pay them 
 
 They have done ray poor house grace ; for wliich I 
 
 A thousand thanks, and pray them take their pleasures. 
 
 [Ladies chosen for the dance. The Kino 
 
 chooses Anne Bullen. 
 
 A". Hen. The fairest hand I ever touch'd ! O, beauty, 
 
 Till now I never knew thee. [Musick. Dance. 
 
 Wol. My lord, 
 
 Cham. Your grace ? 
 
 Wol. Pray, tell them thus much from me : 
 There sliould be one amongst them, by his person, 
 More worthy this place than myself ; to w horn, 
 If I but knew him, with my love and duty 
 I would surrender it, 
 
 Cham. I will, my lord. 
 
 [Cham, goes to the company, and retur7is. 
 Wol. What say they ! 
 
 Chum. Such a one, they all confess. 
 
 There is, indeed; which they would have your grace 
 Find out, and he will take it. 
 
 Wol. Let me see then. — \^Come$froin his state. 
 By all your good leaves, gentlemen ; — Here I'll make 
 Bly royal choice. 
 
 A'. Hen. You have found him, cardinal ; 
 
 [^Unmasking. 
 You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord : 
 You are a churchman, or I'll tell you, cardinal, 
 I should judge now unhappily. 
 
 Wol. I am glad, 
 
 Your grace is grown so pleasant. 
 
 K. Hen. My lord chamberlain, 
 
 Pr'ythee, come hither : What fair lady is that ? 
 Cham. An't please your grace, sir Thomas Bullen's 
 daughter. 
 The viscount Rochford, one of her highness* women. 
 K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. — Sweet- 
 I were unmannerly, to take you out, [heart, 
 
 And not to kiss you, — A health, gentlemen. 
 Let it go round. 
 
 Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready 
 I'the privy chamber 1 
 
 Loo. Yes, mj lord. 
 
 Wol. Your grace, 
 
 I fear, with dancing is a little heated. 
 
 A'. Hen. I fear, too much. 
 
 Wol. There's fresher air, my lord. 
 
 In the next chamber. [partner, 
 
 K. Hen. Lf ad in your ladies, every one. — Sweet 
 I must not yet forsake you : — Let's be merry ; — 
 Good my lord cardinal, I liave half a dozen healths 
 To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure 
 To lead them once again ; and tlien let's dream 
 Who's best in favour. — Let tlie music knock it. 
 
 [Eieunt, with trumpets. 
 
 ACT II, 
 
 SCENE 1.—A Street. 
 Enter Two Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 1 Gent. Whither away so fast ? 
 
 2 Gent. O, — God save you * 
 Even to. the hall,, to hear what shall become 
 
 Of the great duke of Buckingham. 
 
 1 Gent. I'll save you 
 That labour, sir. All's now done, but tlie ceremony 
 Of bringing back the prisoner. 
 
 2 Gent. Were you there ? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I. 
 
 2 Gent. Pray, speak, what has happen'd ? 
 1 Gent. You may guess quickly what. 
 
 1! Gent. Is he found guilty 1 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it. 
 
 2 Gent. I am sorry for't. . 
 
 1 Gent. So are a number more. 
 
 2 Gent, But, pray, how pass'd it t 
 
 1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke 
 Came to the bar ; where, to his accusations, 
 
 He pleaded still, not guilty, and alleg'd 
 
 Many sharp reasons to defeat the law. 
 
 The king's attorney, on the contrary, 
 
 Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, cpnfessions 
 
 Of divers witnesses ; which the duke desir'd 
 
 To have brought, viva voce, to his face : 
 
 At which appear 'd against him, his surveyor ; 
 
 Sir Gilbert Peck his chancellor ; and John Court, 
 
 Confessor to him ; with that devil-monk, 
 
 Hopkins, that made this mischief. 
 
 2 Gent. That was he. 
 That fed him with his prophecies 1 
 
 1 Gent. The same. 
 All these accus'd him strongly ; which he fain 
 Would have flung from him, but, indeed, hecouldnot. 
 And so his peers, upon tills evidence. 
 
 Have found hiin guilty of high treason. Much 
 He spoke, and learnedly, for life ; but all 
 Was either piiied in him, or forgotten. 
 
 2 Gent. After all this, how did lie bear himself? 
 
 1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar,— 
 
 to hear 
 His knell rung out, his judgment, — he was stirr'd 
 With such an agony, he sweat extremely. 
 And something spoke in choler, ill, and hasty : 
 But he fell to himself again, and, sweetly. 
 In all the rest shew'd a most noble patience. 
 
 2 Gent. I do not think he fears death. 
 
 1 Gent. Sure, he does not. 
 He never was so womanish ; the cause 
 
 He may a little grieve at. 
 
 2 Ceiit. Certainly, 
 The cardinal is the end of this. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis likely. 
 
5o8 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 By all conjectures: First, Kildare's attainder, 
 Then deputy of Ireland ; wlro removed, 
 Earl Surrey was scut thither, and in haste too, 
 Lest he should help his father. 
 
 !2 Cent. That trick of state 
 
 Was a deep envious one. 
 
 1 Gent. At his return, 
 No doubt, he will requite it. This is noted, 
 And generally, whoever the king favours. 
 The cardinal instantly will find employment. 
 And far enough from court too, 
 
 2 Cent. All the commons 
 Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience. 
 Wish him ten fathom deep : this duke as much 
 They love and dote on ; call him bounteous Buck- 
 The mirror of all courtesy ; — [ingham, 
 
 1 Cent. Stay there, sir. 
 
 And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of. 
 
 Enter Buckingham ^7-(»m his arraignment ; Tipstaves 
 before liim; the aie with the edge ttncardshitn ; hal- 
 berds on each side ; with him, Sir Thomas Lovell, 
 Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William Sands, and 
 common people. 
 
 V Gent. Let's stand close, and behold him. 
 Buck. . ' All good people. 
 
 You that thus far have come to pity me, 
 Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me. 
 1 have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment, 
 And by that name must die ; Vet. heaven bear witness, 
 And, if 1 have a concience, let it sink me. 
 Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful ! 
 The law I bear no malice for my death. 
 It has done, upon the premises, but justice : 
 But those, that sought it, Icouldwish more christians : 
 Be what they will, I heartily forgive them : 
 Vet let them look they glory not in mischief, 
 JS'or build their evils on the graves of great men ; 
 For then my guiltless blood must cry against them. 
 For further life in this world I ne'er hope. 
 Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies 
 More than Idare make faults. Vou few that lov'dme, 
 And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham, 
 His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave 
 Is only bitter to him, only dying. 
 Go with me, like good angels, to my end ; 
 And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me, 
 Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice. 
 And lift my soul to heaven. — Lead on, o'God's name. 
 
 Lov. I do beseech your grace, for cliarity, 
 [fever any malice in your heart 
 Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly. . 
 
 Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you. 
 As I would be forgiven ; 1 forgive all ; 
 There cannot be those numberless offences 
 'Gainst me, I can't take peace with : no black envy 
 Shall make my grave. — Commend me to his grace ; 
 And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him. 
 You met him half in heaven : my vows and prayers 
 Yet are the king's ; and, till my soul forsake me. 
 Shall cry foi blessings on him ; May he live 
 Longer than I have time to tell his years ! 
 Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be ! 
 A»d, when old time shall lead him to his end. 
 Goodness and he fill up one monument ! 
 
 Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace ; 
 Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux, 
 Who undertakes you to your end. 
 
 Vaui. Prepare there, 
 
 The duke is coming ; see, the barge be ready ; 
 And tit it with such furniture, as suits 
 The greatness of his person. 
 
 Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas, 
 
 Let it alone ; my state now will but mock me. 
 When I came hither, I was lord high constable. 
 And duke of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward Bohun: 
 Vet I am richer than my base accusers. 
 That never knew what truth meant : I now seal it ; 
 .\nd with that blond will make them one day groan 
 I\lv noble father, Henry of Buckingham, [for't. 
 
 Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard, 
 Flying for succour to his servant Banister, 
 Being (iistress'd, was by that wretch betray'd. 
 And ivithout trial fell ; God's peace be with him '. 
 Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying 
 My father's loss, like a most royal prince, 
 Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins. 
 Made my name once more noble. .Now his son, 
 Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all 
 That made me happy, at one stroke has taken 
 For ever from the world. I had my trial, 
 .\nd, must needs say, a noble one ; which makes me 
 A tittle happier than my wretched father : 
 Vet thus far we are one in fortunes, — Both 
 Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most ; 
 A most unnatural and faithless service ! 
 Heaven has an end in all : Vet, you that hear me. 
 This from a dying man receive as certain : 
 Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels. 
 Be sure, you be not loose ; for those you make friends. 
 And give your hearts to, when tiiey once perceive 
 The least rub in your fortunes, fall away 
 Like water from ye, never found again 
 But where they mean to sink ye. All good people. 
 Pray for me ! I must now forsake ye ; the last houi 
 Of my long weary life is come upon me. 
 Farewell ; 
 
 And when you would say something that is sad. 
 Speak how 1 fell. — I have done ; and God forgive me.' 
 [Eieunt BuCKiNGHA.ir and Train. 
 
 1 Gent. O, this is full of pity ! — Sir, it calls, 
 I fear, too many curses on their heads 
 
 That were the authors. 
 
 2 Gent. If the duke be guiltless, 
 'Tis full of woe : yet I can give you inkling 
 
 Of an ensuing evil, if it fall. 
 Greater than this. 
 
 1 Gerd, Good angels keep it from us ! 
 Where may it be ? Vou do not doubt my faith, sir? 
 
 2 Gent. .This secret is so weighty, 'twill require 
 A strong faith to conceal it. 
 
 1 Gent. Let me have it ; 
 I do not talk much. 
 
 2 Gent. X am confident ; 
 
 You shall, sir : Did you not of late clays hear 
 A buzzing, of a separation 
 Between the king and Katharine? 
 
 1 Gent. Yes, but it held not: 
 For when the king once heard it, out of anger 
 
 He sent command to the lord mayor, straight 
 To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues 
 That durst disperse it. 
 
 2 Gent. But that slander, sir. 
 Is found a truth now : for it grows again 
 Fresher than ere it was ; and held for certain. 
 The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal. 
 Or some about him near, have, out of malice 
 
 To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple 
 That will undo her: To confirm this too. 
 Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately ; 
 .•Vs all think, for this business. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal ; 
 
 And merely to revenge him on the emperor. 
 For not bestowing on him, at his asking. 
 
 4 
 
ACT IT.— SCENE II. 
 
 559 
 
 The arcWishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd. 
 
 Ij Cent. I think, jou have hit the mark : But is't 
 not cruel, 
 That she should feel the smart of this 1 The cardinal 
 Will have his will, and she must fall. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis woeful. 
 
 We are too open here to argue this ; 
 Let's think in private more. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — An Ante-chamber in the Palace. 
 Enter the Lord Chamb^lain, reading a letter, 
 
 Cham. My lord, — The homes your lordship sent for, 
 with ail the care I had, I saw well chosett, ridden, and 
 J'urjiished. They were young, and handsome ; and of 
 the best breed in the north. When tliey were ready to 
 set out for London, a man of my lord cardinal's, by 
 commissioji, and main power, took 'em from me ; with 
 this reason, — His master would be served before a subject , 
 if not before the king ; which stopped our mouths, sir. 
 I fear, he will, indeed : Well, let him have them : 
 He will have all, 1 think. 
 
 Enter the Dukes of Noufolk and Suffolk. 
 
 Nor. Well met, my good 
 
 Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good day to both your graces. 
 
 Suf. How is the king employ'd ] 
 
 Cham. I left hira private , 
 
 Full of sad thoughts and troubles. 
 
 Kor. What's the cause? 
 
 Cham. It seems the marriage with his brother's wife 
 Has crept too near his conscience. 
 
 Suf, No, his conscience 
 
 Has crept too near another lady. 
 
 Nor. 'Tis so : 
 
 This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal : 
 That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune. 
 Turns what he lists. The king will know him one day. 
 
 5n/'. Pray God, he do! he'llnever knowhimself else. 
 
 Nor. How holily he works in all his business ! 
 And with what zeal ! For now he has crack'd the league 
 Between us and the emperor, the queen's great nephew, 
 He dives into the king's soul ; and there scatters 
 Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience. 
 Fears, and despairs, and all these for his marriage : 
 And out of all these to restore the king, 
 He counsels a divorce : a loss of her, 
 That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years 
 About his neck, yet never lost her lustre ; 
 Of her, that loves hira with that excellence 
 That angels love good men with ; even of her 
 That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls. 
 Will bless the king: And is not this course pious 1 
 
 Cham. Heaven keep jne from such counsel ! 'Tis 
 most true, [them. 
 
 These news are every vvhei^ ; every tongue speaks 
 And every true heart weeps for 't : All, that dare 
 Look into these affairs, see this main end, — 
 The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open 
 The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon 
 This bold bad man. 
 
 Suf. And free us from his slavery. 
 
 Nor. We had need pray, 
 And heartily for our deliverance ; 
 Or this imperious man will work us all 
 From princes into pages ; all men's honours 
 Lie in one lump before him, to be fashion'd 
 Into what pitch he please. 
 
 Suf. For me, my lords, 
 
 I love him not, nor fear him ; there 's my creed : 
 As I am made without him, so I 'II stand, 
 
 If the king please ; his curses and his blessings 
 Touch me alike, tliey are breath I not believe in. 
 I knew him, and I know him ; so I leave him 
 To him that made him proud, the pope. 
 
 Nor. Let 'sin; 
 
 And with some other business, put the king 
 From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon 
 My lord, you'll bear us company? [him : 
 
 Cham. Excuse me ; 
 
 The king hath sent me other-where ; besides. 
 You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him : 
 Health to your lordships. 
 
 Nor, Thanks, my good lord chamberlain. 
 
 [Eiit Lord Chamberlain 
 
 Norfolk opens a folding-door. The King is dis- 
 covered sitting, and reading pensiielu- 
 
 S»/. How sad he looks ! sure, he is much afflicted. 
 
 A'. Hen. Who is there ? ha? 
 
 Nor. 'Pray God, he be not angry. 
 
 K. Hen. Who's there, I say? How dare you thrust 
 Into my private meditations ? [yourselves 
 
 Who am I? ha? 
 
 Nor. A gracious king, that pardons all offences 
 INIalice ne'er meant : our breach of duty, this way 
 Is business of estate ; in which, we come 
 To know your royal pleasure. 
 
 A". Hen. You are too bold , 
 
 Go to ; I '11 make ye know your times of business : 
 Is this an hour for temporal affairs ? ha ? — 
 
 Enter Wolsey and Cajipeius. 
 
 Who's there? my good lord cardinal? — my Wolsey, 
 
 The quiet of my wounded conscience. 
 
 Thou art a cure fit for a king. — You 're welcome, 
 
 [To Cami'eius. 
 Blost learned reverend sir. into our kingdom ; 
 Use us, and it : — My good lord, have great care 
 I be not found a talker. [To Wolsev. 
 
 Wol. Sir, you cannot. 
 
 I would, your grace would give us but an hour 
 Of private conference. 
 
 A'. Hen. We are busy ; go. 
 
 [To Norfolk and Suffolk. 
 
 Nor, This priest has no pride in him ? 
 
 Sif. Not to speak of; 
 
 I would not be so sick though, for his place : 
 But this cannot continue. y.iside. 
 
 ^ Nor. If it do, 
 
 I 'II venture one heave at him. 
 
 Suf. I another. 
 
 [Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk- 
 
 Wol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom 
 Above all princes, in committing freely 
 Your scruple to the voice of Christendom : 
 Who can be angry now? what envy reach you? 
 The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her. 
 Must now confess, if they have any goodness, 
 The trial just and noble. All the clerks, 
 I mean, the learned ones, in christian kingdoms, 
 Have their free voices ; Rome, the nurse of judgment, 
 Invited by your noble self, hath sent 
 One general tongue unto us, tliis good man, 
 This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius ; 
 Whom, once more, I present unto your highness. 
 
 K. Hen. And, once more, in mine arms I bid him 
 welcome. 
 And thank the holy conclave for their loves ; [for. 
 They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd 
 
 Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers' 
 You are so noble : To your highness' hand [loves, 
 I tender my commission ; by whose virtue, 
 
560 
 
 KING HENRY VIII, 
 
 (The court of Rome commanding,) — you, my lord 
 Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant. 
 In the unpartial judging of this business, [quainted, 
 
 A'. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be ac- 
 Forthwith, for what you come: — Where'sGardiner? 
 
 ]Vol. I know, your majesty has always iov'd her 
 So dear in heart, not to deny her that 
 A woman of less place might ask by law, 
 Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her. [favour 
 
 K- Hen. Ay, and the best, she shall haVe ; and my' 
 To him that does best ; God forbid else. Caidinal, 
 Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary ; 
 I find him a fit fellow. [Eiit Wolsey. 
 
 l-le-entey- Wolsey, with Gardineu. 
 
 Wol. Give me your hand: much joy and favour to 
 Vou are the king's now. [yo" j 
 
 Gard. But to be commanded 
 
 Forever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 K, Hen, Come hither, Gardiner. 
 
 [Thexi converse apart. 
 
 Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace 
 In this man's place before him 1 
 
 Wot. Yes, he was. 
 
 Cam, Was he not held a learned man t 
 
 Wol. Yes, surely. 
 
 Cam. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then 
 Even of yourself, lord cardinal. 
 
 Wol. How ! of me ? 
 
 Cam. They will not stick to say, you envied him; 
 And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous, 
 Kept him a foreign man still ; which so griev'd him. 
 That he ran mad, and died. 
 
 Wot. Heaven's peace be with him! 
 
 That's christian care enough : for living murmurers, 
 There 's places of rebuke. He was a fool ; 
 For he would needs be virtuous : This good fellow. 
 If I command him, follows my appointment ; 
 I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother, 
 We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons. 
 
 K. Hen. Deliver this with modesty to the queen. 
 [Eait Gardiner. 
 The most convenient place that I can tliink of. 
 For such receipt of learning, is Black-Friars; 
 There ye shall meet about this weighty business : — 
 My Wolsey, see it furnish'd. — my lord. 
 Would it not grieve an able man, to leave 
 So sweet a bedfellow ? But, conscience, conscience, — 
 0, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her. [£ieiiHt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 An Ante-Chamber in the Queen's Apartinents. 
 Entei- Anne Bullen and an old Lady. 
 Anne. Not for that neither ; — Here's the pang that 
 pinches : 
 His highness having liv'd so long with her : and she 
 So good a lady, that no tongue could ever 
 Pronounce dishonour of her, — by my life. 
 She never knew harm-doing ; — O now, after 
 So many courses of the sun enthron'd. 
 Still growing in a majesty and pomp, — the which 
 To leave is a thousand -fold more bitter, than 
 'Tis sweet at first to acquire, — after this process. 
 To give her the avaunt! it is a pity 
 Would move a monster. 
 
 Old L. Hearts of most hard temper 
 
 Melt and lament for her. 
 
 Anne. O, God's will ! much better, 
 
 She ne'er had known pomp : though it be temporal. 
 Yet, if that quarrel fortune do divorce 
 
 It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging 
 As soul and body's severing. 
 
 Old L. Alas, poor lady ! 
 
 She 's a stranger now again. 
 
 Anne. So much the more 
 
 Must pity drop upon her. Verily, 
 I swear, 'tis better to be lowly born, 
 And range with humble livers in content, 
 Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, 
 And wear a golden sorrow. 
 
 Old L. , Our content 
 
 Is our best having. 
 
 Anne. By my troth, and maidenhead, 
 
 I would not be a queen. 
 
 Old L. Beshrew me, I would. 
 
 And venture maidenhead for 't ; and so would you, 
 For all this spice of your hypocrisy : 
 You, that have so fair parts of woman on you. 
 Have too a woman's heart : which ever yet 
 Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; 
 Which, to say sooth, are blessings ; and which gifts 
 (Saving your mincing) the capacity 
 Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive. 
 If you might please to stretch it, 
 
 Arme. Nay, good troth, — [queen? 
 
 Old L. Yes, troth, and troth, — You would not be a 
 
 Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven. 
 
 Old L. 'Tis strange: a three-pence bowed would 
 hire me. 
 Old as I am, to queen it ; But, I pray you. 
 What think you of a duchess 1 have you limbs 
 To bear that load of title ! 
 
 Anne. No, in truth. 
 
 Old L. Then you are weakly made : Pluck off a 
 I would not be a young count in your way, [little ; 
 For more than blushing comes to : if your back 
 Cannot vouchsafe this burden, 'tis too weak 
 Ever to get a boy. 
 
 An7ie. How you do talk ! 
 
 I swear again, I would not be a queen 
 For all the world. 
 
 Old L. In faith, for little England 
 
 You 'd venture an emballing : I myself 
 Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'longed 
 No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes here'? 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What wer't worth to 
 The secret of your conference t [know 
 
 Anne, My good lord. 
 
 Not your demand ; it values not your asking : 
 Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying. 
 
 Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming 
 The action of good women ; there is hope. 
 All will be well. 
 
 Anne. Now I pray God, amen ! [ing3 
 
 Cham, You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly bless 
 Follow such creatures. That you may, fair lady. 
 Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's 
 Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty 
 Commends his good opinion to you, and 
 Does purpose honour to you no less flowing 
 Than marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title 
 A thousand pound a-year, annual support. 
 Out of his grace he adds. 
 
 Anne. I do not know. 
 
 What kind of my obedience I should tender ; 
 More tlian my all is nothing ; nor my prayers 
 Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes 
 Blore worth than empty vanities ; yet prayers, and 
 
 \vishes. 
 Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV. 
 
 561 
 
 Vouchsafe to speak ray thanks, and mv obedience, 
 As from a blushing handmaid to his highness ; 
 Whose health, and royalty, I pray for. 
 , Cham. Lady, 
 
 I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit, 
 The king hath of you. — I have perus'd her well ; 
 
 Beauty and honour in her are so mingled, 
 
 That they have caught the king : and who knows yet, 
 
 But from this lady may proceed a gem. 
 
 To lighten all this isle ] — I'll to the king, 
 
 And say, I spoke with you. 
 
 Aiuie. My honour'd lord. [Erit Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Old L. Why, this it is ; see, see ! 
 I have been begging sixteen years in court, 
 (Am yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could 
 Come pat betwixt too early and too late. 
 For any suit of pounds ; and you, (O fate !) 
 A very fresh-fish here, (fye, fye upon 
 This compell'd fortune \) have your mouth filled up. 
 Before you open it. 
 
 Anne. This is strange to me. 
 
 OW L. How tastes it 1 is it bitter? forty pence, no. 
 There was a lady once, ('tis an old story,) 
 That would not be a queen, that would she not. 
 For all the mud in Egypt ' — Have you heard it ? 
 
 Anne, Come, you are pleasant. 
 
 Old L. With your theme, I could 
 
 O'ermount the lark. The marchioness of Pembroke I 
 A thousand pounds a year ! for pure respect ; 
 No other obligation : By my life. 
 That promises more thousands : Honour's train 
 Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time, 
 I know, your back will bear a duchess ; — Say, 
 Ktz you not stronger than you were 1 
 
 Anne. ' Good lady, 
 
 Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy. 
 And leave me out on't. *\VouId I had no being, 
 If this salute my blood a jot ; it faints me. 
 To think what follows. 
 The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful 
 In our long absence : Pray, do not deliver 
 What here you have heard, to her. 
 
 Old L. \Vhat do you tliink me t [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Hall in Black-Friars. 
 
 Trumpets, sennet, and cornets. Enter Tuo Vergers, 
 u'(t/i short silver xoands; ne.xt them, Two Scribes, in 
 the habits of doctors ; after them, the Auchbishop 
 OF Canterbury alone ; after him, the Bishops of 
 Lincoln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph ; 
 next them, with some small distance, follows a Gen- 
 tleman bearing the purse, with the great seal, and a 
 cardinal's hat ; then Two Priests, bearing each a 
 silver cross ; thert a Gentleman-Usher bare-headed, 
 accompanied u-ith a Serjeant at Arms, bearing a sil- 
 ver mace ; then Two Gentlemen, bearing two great 
 silver pillars ; after them, side bi^ side, the Two Car- 
 DiNAis WoLSEV arid Campeius ; Two Noblemen 
 with the sword and mace. Then enter the King and 
 Queen, nnd their Trains. The King takes place un- 
 der the cloth of state ; the Two Cardinals sit under 
 him as judges. The Queen takesplace at some dis- 
 tance from the King. The Bishops place them- 
 selves on each side the court, in manner of a consis- 
 tory ; between them, the Scribes. The Lords sit 
 nert the Bishops. The Crier and the rest of the 
 Attendants stand in convenient order about the stage. 
 
 Wo/ Whilst our commission from Rome is read, 
 Let silence be commanded. 
 
 A'. Hen. What's the need ? 
 
 It hath already publicly been read, 
 
 And on all sides the authority allow'd ; 
 
 You may then spare that time. 
 
 Wot. Be't so : — Proceed, 
 
 Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into the 
 Crier. Henry king of England, &c. [court. 
 
 I K. Hen. Here. 
 Scribe. Say. Katharine queen of England, come into 
 Crier. Katharine queen of England, &c. [court, 
 
 [T/ie Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair, 
 goes\about the court, comes to the King, and kneeli 
 at his feet ; then speaks. 
 
 Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice , 
 And to bestow your pity on me . for 
 I am a most poor woman, and a stranger. 
 Born out of your dominions ; having here 
 No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance 
 Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir. 
 In what have I offended you 1 what cause 
 Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, 
 That thus you should proceed to put me off. 
 And take your good grace from me ? Heaven witness, 
 I have been to you a true and humble wife. 
 At ail times to your will conformable : 
 Ever in fear to kindle your dislike. 
 Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorr^'. 
 As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour, 
 I ever contradicted your desire. 
 Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your fnenils 
 Have I not strove to love, although I knew 
 He were mine enemy ? what friend of mine 
 That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I 
 Continue in my liking? nay, gave notice 
 He was from thence discharg'd ? Sir, call to mind 
 That I have been your wife, in this obedience, 
 Upward of twenty years, and have been blest 
 With many children by you ; If, in the course 
 And process of this time, you can report. 
 And prove it too, against mine honour aught. 
 My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty. 
 Against your s.acred person, in God's name, 
 Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt 
 Shut door upon me, and so give me up 
 To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir. 
 The king, your father, was reputed for 
 A prince most prudent, of an excellent 
 -And unmatch'd wit and judgment : Ferdinand, 
 Jly father, king of ,Spain, was reckon'd one 
 The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many 
 A year before : It is not to be question'd 
 That they had gather'd a wise council to them 
 Of every realm, that did debate this business. 
 Who deem'd our marriage lawful: Wherefore I humbly 
 Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may 
 Be by my friends in Spain advis'd ; whose counsel 
 I will implore ; if not ; i'the name of God, 
 Your pleasure be fultill'd ! 
 
 WoU Y'ou have here, lady, 
 
 CAnd of your choice,) these reverend fathers ; men 
 Of singular integrity and learning. 
 Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled 
 To plead your cause : It shall be therefore bootless, 
 That longer you desire the court ; as well 
 For your own quiet, as to rectify 
 What is unsettled in the king. 
 
 Cam. His grace 
 
 Hath spoken well, and justly r Therefore, madam. 
 It's fit this royal session do proceed ; 
 And that, without delay, their arguments 
 Be now produc'd, and heard. 
 2 N 
 
Lwi ctttxHiiitl. — 
 Sir. 
 
 063 
 
 1 tm aJbiMt M «««p ; b«t, tUsbkia^ (kit 
 
 TW jn^ter <m a Vb^. bit i£»>^ 4^ Kars 
 1"U BB» i» ^«ii£. «" ine- 
 
 ' •*' 
 , r^ :-■«. I sax »g«a, 
 
 > ».<«. aasi t&iak »)t 
 
 : E&» TOmsrit" ; wkj «»«■ vet 
 
 I &g?i»T"i tie sdecte 
 
 KIXG HENRY V»I. 
 
 . C4BU. 
 
 TW aaaa i"»he vixU. wfec ,^^. .^.■^.•. -^ i*> 
 
 Fvv s.i>:*iu« Ski* Li •,>,*{ : 'ft.M ait, a bag » 
 - - ■ ■ . ■ -jaess. 
 
 V • . ■ -irts 
 
 S- : - V '2«*W>t.) 
 
 ' ■ ,- — >ci^ ^» a«Me bcca ; 
 
 V »b« &*$ 
 
 >."i . . -. - ^. 
 
 U <<«> ]il«$t giiacwcs sit. 
 
 I3 J i anH t iTt aasacf I k^uk vwkt kiskaass. 
 I :u: it 9^1 %<r«s« rmt w <iiciu«. ia htaiiar 
 O; ill :~«>« »7Sx y ^K^ wiM* I aa nikb'4 aatWaad, 
 
 A: >-a».>; iis>i ;. 
 
 ^Cu^ *4H, 
 
 >^ao« tkM« 
 >??*«« 1 
 Jiskjaess ; a; 
 
 •9C. Maim. TWt d» a« 
 
 TWlhara: 
 
 A 
 
 •: ^..-CK. i ,-t caar?e ate, 
 ;y S* «««a4> 
 
 As . . 
 
 : i:iow 
 
 Mt kmL KX bad. 
 
 k etafa.. 
 
 Y*i hi 
 
 &3ae s . 
 
 WW« 
 
 DkiMcs 
 
 Vaasse. 
 
 Ta« Sikba a,>c« WKT jersea s 
 
 Taar fc%k jcojle:^ s-Ti-^rri? 
 
 I An Ktsse iwt gge - " ,. 
 
 BeAce Twt aS. lacc 
 
 TakR^-v^>^ -^-^ 
 
 ikida. 
 
 d»- lit: ^asKI :;S ■^>^'-^^**», 
 
 StaMan «» jieike, a^ » jiv^ts; V_ M>i 
 D«iMaMa*Veti3*iit^h-. '^a»t««& 
 SSe'^^wasawaT. 
 
 r ,_ > iSher^g^aia. [coart. 
 
 uaayeeaef F»giw <tataBaAe 
 
 ilKT T^i =;< r*s4 3i\ va::-;:!','*; — vcav ^vM^^assaft: 
 I mUaatCKnr: aaT wc e<«r aaMft, ~ 
 Vpa ties '>ra-ii»'T7 st i^c«>;a3K« n^ 
 
 ttiv« Ni\«tt. — tet wick tiiaaks M Gsal te sack 
 A ^.Mral Sabr.— sj^aiE»«ar» lt)» kast laaoi. lu^t 
 Be CO tike ^ja£c« <m' W ft«scat staM^ 
 Or KMKk M Kv j<K<i persoa ? 
 
 r. Htm. M; ka eanfiMl. 
 
 I «.< excttse TWt ; v«a. kpia atiae koasejr, 
 I c«« vctt fiveat. Ytm are aat s» be caajkt 
 Tku Tvit ka«« aasT ««e>aias, dat baaw aat 
 Wb:T \^- a» so. Iwt. tikie (a nlb^ eais. 
 Bi:i «ka ^eii feUavs 4» ; br simw at lhe«e 
 Tfct ^«e«a is f«t is »m^. Yi« u:* siims">£ : 
 Bat ■<HH TM >«^ ^,-r?_-.r5~jK\i ' v-- ev«-- 
 
 r - ■ ... aft 
 
 I sank BT gaad had caidiaal ta t^'|«MI. 
 
 A^ tkaskrctwrUn. Xow.«kata»*Ma»i»X— ; 
 
 I will he Mid vkk tiaae. a»i rear atieaan :^ — 
 , TfceaBatt tlwiadM — KM TinsitcaaM; — giiv aeed 
 I Mr cwascaace &n: r«c«:<i'<i a teaatniKs, [ta'U 
 
 Senjik. aai.fii.-k. >» c«^ata saeec&« aiMr'd 
 
 !<> kad keea ktlte saat as die dateAi^ 
 . ^swnafe. tvixt tke daks afOriaaK aad 
 
 ^ L^c dKi$\:ec M^ : I' Ae pgggwss gf das WSaa^y 
 
 ' &? a <&«iral=^%i KsoiaDaa. )» 
 
 tke kisk»B) dai K^aim a lespiae ; 
 ke B%kt ne kia^ ke ianl aAnHtt>« 
 amA K^ jka ar atge Wgfeiaaat. 
 RasfMia^ tkis aaa aans^ wisk ik» dwwac. 
 Scmi-tiiM'i aaf hwitknr'^ «<fe. Tkis ksjm* auak 
 Tke koeaat af kt c«ais«ka»K. eswf'd ■«> 
 Yea. «uk a spliBiB$ f0«>«r. aai nufe ta tnoaikk 
 TksiagMafBTkR^; i(kKk<te«>l satk «»fw 
 TlodtBaan' ans'ii c«asaieda^ £1 tkmag. 
 AaiiaassViiawi&disvaatMB. I%si.a 
 Istaadaatiadiesaule ef Wiawa; vkakal 
 CaaBaaied aataw. dot «t it<iT^ waak^ 
 If in eaaceti'd a aala ctaid^bf M. dkaaU 
 Stt a* BMR «dkes M" Kfe a» X lka» 
 Xlw^nvediKaadednd: te 
 *> dwd vkeae ^ktv w«te aad^ ar sautdr aAs 
 TtevacUkadavdskea: H«an 1 aia^ a tkaa^ 
 Iks vas ajat^Bta: <.Na sr : ikat ar tia^diiii.' 
 We^i v«(diT da tea aek a' tke ir.~r$. .<i:c<:^M aas 
 Be gtaJaaiVa^ kjr ae : Tkea v. 
 1 w^'d ae dMfac «kxk lax ; ^ . 
 £t As a; bsats ttl: aad da: c^^v r.- ^:ii 
 
 M'lij 1,. Mimkno Tkgasfcaniigaa 
 
 Tke «i>i set af BT cassianee. 1 djil aear 
 
 
 . 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 .^63 
 
 Tos'ardthis remedy, whereupon we are 
 Now present here logelher ; that's to say, 
 I meant to rectify my conscience, — which 
 I then did feel Cull sick, and yet not wcdl, — 
 By all the reverend fathers of the land, 
 And doctors learn'd. — First, I bet/an in private 
 With von, my lord of Lincoln ; you remember 
 flow linder my oppression 1 did reck, 
 When I first mov'd you. 
 
 Lin. Ver)' well, my liege. 
 
 K. lUn. 1 have spoke long ; be pleas'd yourself to 
 How far yoa satisfied me. [say 
 
 l,ln. .So please your highness, 
 
 1 he question did at first so stagger me, — 
 Hearing a state of mighty moment in 't. 
 And consequence of dread, — that I committed 
 U'he daring'st counsel which 1 had, to doubt ; 
 And did entreat your highness to this course, 
 VVIiicli you are running here. 
 
 A'. Hen. I tlien mov'd you, 
 
 My lord of Canterbury ; and got your leave 
 
 '■ To make this present summons : — Unsolicited 
 I left no reverend jwrson in this court ; 
 But by particular consent proceeded. 
 Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on ; 
 
 I For no dislike i' the world against the jierson 
 Of the good nueen, but the sharp thorny points 
 
 I Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward : 
 
 i Frove but our marriage lawful, by my life, 
 
 \ And kinrlv dignity, we are contented 
 To wear our mortal state to come, with her, 
 Katharine our queen, before the primcst creature 
 That's paragon'd o'the world. 
 
 Cam. So pleasure your highness, 
 
 The (pieen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness 
 That we adjourn this court till further day : 
 Mean while must be an earnest motion 
 Made to the queen, to call back her appeal 
 She intends iinlo his holiness. [Thni rise^o depart. 
 K. Hen. I may perceive, ^Aside. 
 
 These cardinals trifle with me : 1 abhor 
 This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Home. 
 My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer, 
 Pr'ythee, return ! with thy approach, 1 know, 
 My comfort comes along. Dreak up the court : 
 I say, 'set oa. [_ExeuHt in manner as theu entered. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I Palace at Bridewell. A Rmn in the 
 
 Queen's .'ijtartment. 
 
 The Queen, and some of her Women, at uvrk. 
 
 Q. Kalh. Take thy lute, wench : my soul grows sad 
 with troubles : 
 Siug, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave working. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Orpheus with his Lute made trees, 
 And the mtuintain-tops, that freeze. 
 
 Bow themselves, when he did siug: 
 To his music, plants, ajid flowers. 
 Ever sprung ; as sun, and showers, 
 
 There haa been a lasting spring. 
 
 Every thing that heard him play. 
 Even the billows of the sea. 
 
 Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
 Jn sweet music is stich art: 
 Killing care, and grief of heart, 
 
 Fall asleep, or, hearingj die. 
 
 Q, Kath. How now? 
 
 Cent. An 't please your grace, the two great car- 
 Wait in the presence. [dinals 
 
 (i. Hath. Would they speak with me t 
 
 Gent. They will'd me say so, madam. 
 
 Q. hath, I'ray their graces 
 
 Tocomenear. [ErilGent.] Whatcanbetheirbusiness 
 With me, a poor weak woman, fallen from favour 1 
 I do not like their coming, now 1 think oa't. 
 ']'hcy should be goda men ; their afl'airs as righteous . 
 But all hoods make not monks. 
 
 Enter Wolsev and Campf.ius. 
 
 Il'n'. Peace to your highness ! 
 
 Q. Kath. \oMT graces find me het« part of a house- 
 wife ; 
 I would be all, against the worst may happen. 
 What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords'* 
 
 Wot. ]\Iay it please you, noble madam, to withdraw 
 Into your private chamber, we shall give you 
 The full cause of our coming. 
 
 Q. Kath. Speak it here ; 
 
 There 's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience, 
 Deserves a corner: 'Would, all other women 
 Could speak this with as free a soul as I do ! 
 .My lords, I care not, (so much 1 am happy 
 Above a number,) if my actions 
 Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them. 
 Envy and base opinion set against them, 
 I know my life so even ; If your business 
 Seek me out, and that way I am wife in. 
 Out with it boldly ; Truth loves open dealing. 
 
 Wol. Tauta est erga te mentis integritas, region sere- 
 
 Q, Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin ; [^uis^'mh:, — 
 I am not such a truant since my coming. 
 As not to know the language I have liv d in : 
 A strange tongue makes my cause more strange, sus- 
 picious ; 
 Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank you, 
 If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake ; 
 Believe me, she has had much wrong: Lord cardinal, 
 I'he willing'st sin I ever yet committed. 
 May be absolv'd in English. 
 
 (Vol. Noble lady, 
 
 I am sorry, my integrity should breed, 
 (,\nd service to his majesty and you,) 
 So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant. 
 We come not by the wav of accusation. 
 To taint that lionour every good tongue blesses ; 
 Nor to betray you any way to sorrow ; 
 You have too much, good lady; but to know 
 How you stand minded in the weighty diiference 
 Hetween the king and you ; and to deliver. 
 Like free and honest men, our just opinions, 
 ■\nd comforts to your cause. 
 
 Cam. Slost honour'd madam, 
 
 I\Iy lord of 'V'ork, — out of his noble nature. 
 Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace ; 
 Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure 
 Both of his truth and him, (which was too far,) — 
 Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace. 
 His service and his counsel. 
 
 Q. Kuih. To betray me. [Aside. 
 
 My lords, I thank you both for your good wills, 
 Ye speak like honest men, (pray God, ye prove so !) 
 But how to make ye suddenly an answer. 
 In such a point of weight, so near mine honour, 
 (More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit. 
 And to such men of gravity and learning. 
 In truth, I know not. I was set at v/ork 
 Among my maids ; full little, God knoivs, looking 
 8 N 2 
 
561 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Eitlier for such men, or such business. 
 Foi her sake tliat 1 have been, (for 1 feel 
 The last tit of my greatness,) good your graces, 
 Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause ; 
 Alas ! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless. 
 
 Wot. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these 
 Your hopes and friends are infinite. [fears ; 
 
 Q. Kath, In England, 
 
 But little for my profit : Can you think, lords. 
 Than any Englishman dare give me counsel ? 
 Or be a known friend, 'gainst his*highness' pleasure, 
 (Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,) 
 And live a subject? Nay, forsooth, my friends, 
 They that must weigh out my afflictions. 
 They that my trust must grow to, live not here 
 They are, as all my other comforts, far hence, 
 In mine own country, lords. 
 
 Cam. I would, your grace 
 
 Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel. 
 
 Q. Kath. How, sir? 
 
 Cam. Put yourmaincauseinto the king's protection^ 
 He's loving, and most gracious ; 'twill be much 
 Both for your honour better, and your cause ; 
 For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you. 
 You '11 part away disgrac'd. 
 
 Wol. He tells you rightly. 
 
 Q. Kitth. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin: 
 Is this your christian counsel ? out upon ye ! 
 Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a judge. 
 That no king can corrupt. 
 
 Ca7u. Your rage mistakes us. 
 
 Q. Kath. The more shame for ye j holy men I 
 thought ye ; 
 Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues; 
 But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye : 
 Mend them, for shame, my lords. Is this your comfort? 
 The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady 1 
 A woman lost among ye, laugh 'd at, scorn'd ? 
 I will not wish ye half my miseries, 
 I have more charity : But say, I warn'd ye ; 
 Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once 
 The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye. 
 
 M'ol. Madam, this is a mere distraction ; 
 You turn the good we offer into envy. 
 
 Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing : Woe upon ye. 
 And all such false professors ! Would ye have me 
 (If you have any justice, any pity ; 
 If ye be anything but churchmen's habits,) 
 Put my sick cause into his hands that hates me ? 
 Alas ! he has banish'd me his bed already ; 
 His love, too long ago : I am old, my lords, 
 And all the fellowship I hold now with him 
 Is only my obedience. What can happen 
 To me above this wretchedness ? all your studies 
 Jlake me a curse like this. 
 
 Cum. Your fears are worse. 
 
 Q.Kath. Have I liv'd thus long — (let me speak 
 myself, 
 Since virtue finds no friends,) — a wife, a true one? 
 A woman (I dare say, without vain-glory,) 
 Never yet branded with suspicion? 
 Have 1 with all my full aflections 
 Still met the king? lov'd him next heaven? obey 'd him? 
 Been, out of fondness, superstitious to him? 
 Almost forgot my prayers to content him ? 
 And am 1 thus rewarded ? 'tis not well, lords. 
 Brin<r me a constant woman to her husband, 
 One tliat ne'er dream'd a joy beyond his pleasure ; 
 And to that woman, when she has done most, 
 Yet will I add an honour, — a great patience. 
 
 Wnl. INladam, you wander from the good we aim at. 
 
 Q. Kath. My lord, Idare not make myself so guilty. 
 
 To give up willingly that noble title 
 
 Your master wed me to : nothing but death 
 
 Shall e'er divorce my dignities. 
 
 Wol. 'Pray, hear me. 
 
 Q Kath. 'Wouldlhad never trod this English earth. 
 Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it ! 
 Ye have angels' faces, but Heaven knows your hearts. 
 What will become of me now, wretched lady? 
 I am the most unhappy woman living. — 
 Alas ! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes? 
 
 [To her Women. 
 Shipwreck 'd upon a kingdom, where no,pity, 
 No friends, no hope ; no kindred weep for me, 
 Almost, no grave allow'd me : — Like the lily. 
 That once was mistress of the field, and flourish'd, 
 I'll hang my head, and perish. 
 
 JVoi. If your grace 
 
 Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest, 
 You'd feel more comfort : why should we, good lady, 
 Upon what cause, wrong you I alas ! our places. 
 The way of our profession is against it ; 
 We afre to cure such sorrows, not to sow them, 
 For goodness' sake, consider what you do*; 
 How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly 
 Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage- 
 The hearts of princes kiss obedience, 
 So much they love it ; but, to stubborn spirits, 
 They swell, and grow as terrible as storms. 
 I know, you have a gentle, noble temper, 
 A soul as even as a calm ; Pray, think us 
 Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, and servants. 
 
 Cam. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your 
 virtues 
 With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit, 
 As yours was put into you, ever casts 
 Sucli doubts, a^ false coin, from it. The king loves you; 
 Beware, you lose it not : For us, if you please 
 'I'o trust us in your business, we are ready 
 To use our utmost studies in your service. 
 
 Q. Kiith. Do what ye will, my lords : And, pray for- 
 If 1 have used myself unmannerly ; [give me 
 
 You know, I am a woman, lacking wit 
 To make a seemly answer to such persons. 
 Pray do my service to his majesty : 
 He has my heart yet, and shall have my prayers. 
 While I shall Iiave my life. Come, reverend fathers. 
 Bestow your counsels on me : she now begs, 
 That little thought, when she set footing here, 
 She should have bought her dignities so dear. 
 
 l_Exeu}it. 
 
 SCENE II. — Ante-chamber to the King's ajmrttnenc. 
 
 Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, 
 the Eabl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 yor. If you will now unite in your complaints 
 And force them with a constancy, the cardinal 
 Cannot stand under them : If you omit 
 The offer of this time. I cannot promise. 
 But that you shall sustain more new disgraces. 
 With these you bear already. 
 
 Sur. I am joyful 
 
 To meet the least occasion, that may give me 
 Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke. 
 To be reveng'd on him. 
 
 Suf. Which of the peers 
 
 Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least ^ jj 
 Strangely neglected ? when did he regard 
 The stamp of nobleness in any person, 
 Out of hiraselH 
 
 Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures 
 
 What he deserves of you and me, 1 know ; 
 

 ""- ii "i " L lf iy '"'"T'''n y '«L'gTii«ftrWiin r 'irifW*if ^'"'^''"'"''\ if^ ^ 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 565 
 
 What we can do to him, (though now the time 
 Gives way to us,) I much fear. If you cannot 
 Bar his access to tlie king, never attempt 
 Any thing on him ; for he hath a witchcraft 
 Over the king in his tongue. 
 
 Nor, O, fear him not ; 
 
 His spell in that is out : the king hath found 
 iVIatler against him, that for ever mars 
 The honey of his language. No, he's settled. 
 Not to come off, in his displeasure. 
 
 Sur. Sir, 
 
 I should be glad to hear such news as this 
 Once every hour. 
 
 Nor. Believe it, this is true, 
 
 In the divorce, his contrary proceedings 
 Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears, 
 As I could wish mine enemy. 
 
 Sur, How came 
 
 His practices to light t 
 
 Stif. Most strangely. 
 
 Sur. 0, how, how ? 
 
 Snf, The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried, 
 And came to the eye of the king: wherein was read, 
 How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness 
 To stay the judgment o' the divorce ; For if 
 It did take place, I do, quoth he, pcireive, 
 Mv king is tangled iri affection to 
 A creature of (he queens, lady Anne BuUen, 
 
 Siir. Has the king this f 
 
 Suf. Believe it 
 
 Sur, Will this work? [coasts, 
 
 Cham. The king in this perceives him, how he 
 And hedges, his own way. But in this point 
 All his tricks founder, and he brings his physic 
 After his patient's death ; the king already 
 Hath married the fair lady. 
 
 Sur. 'Would he had! 
 
 Snf, May you be happy in your wish, my lord ! 
 For. I profess, you have it. 
 
 Sur. Now all my joy 
 
 Trace the conjunction ! 
 
 Suf, j\Iy amen to't ! 
 
 Nor^ All men's. 
 
 Suf, There's order given for her coronation : 
 Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left 
 To some ears unrecounted. — But, my lords, 
 She is a gallant creature, and complete 
 In mind and feature : I persuade me, from her 
 Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall 
 In it be memorized. 
 
 Svr, But, will the king 
 
 Digest this letter of the cardinal's t 
 The Lord forbid ! 
 
 Nor, Marry, amen ! 
 
 Suf. No. no ; 
 
 There be more wasps that buz about his nose. 
 Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius 
 Is stolen away to Rome ; hath ta'en no leave ; 
 Has left the cause o' the king unhandled ; and 
 Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal. 
 To second all his plot. I do assure vou. 
 The king crj^'d, ha ! at this. 
 
 Cham. Now, God incense him, 
 
 And let him cry ha, louder! 
 
 AW. But, my lord, 
 
 When returns Cranmer? 
 
 Suf. He is return'd, in his opinions ; which 
 Have satisfied the king for his divorce, 
 Together with all famous colleges 
 Almost in Christendom : shortly, I believe. 
 His second marriage shall be publish'd, and 
 Uer coronation. Katharine no more 
 
 Shall be caU'd, queen ; but princess dowager. 
 And widow to prince Arthur. 
 
 Nor. This same Cranmer's 
 
 A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain 
 In the king's business. 
 
 Suf. He has ; and we shall see him 
 
 For it, an archbishop. 
 
 Nor. So I hear. 
 
 Suf, 'Tis so. 
 
 The cardinal — 
 
 Enter Wolsey aud CnouwELL. 
 
 Nor. Observe, observe, he's moody. 
 
 Wol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king? 
 
 Crom. To his own hand, in his bedchamber. 
 
 WoL Look'd he o'the inside of the paper \ 
 
 Crom. Presently 
 
 He did unseal them : and the first he view'd. 
 He did it with a serious mind ; a heed 
 Was in his countenance ! Vou, he bade 
 Attend liim here this morning. 
 
 Wol. Is he ready 
 
 To come abroad 1 
 
 Crom. I think, by this he is. 
 
 WoL Leave me a while, — [Exit Cromwell. 
 
 It shall be to the duchess of Alenron, 
 1 he French king's sister : he shall marry her. — 
 Anne Bullen ! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him* 
 There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen ! 
 No, we'll no Bullens. — Speedily I wish 
 To hear from Rome. — The marchionessof Pembroke! 
 
 Nor. He's discontented. 
 
 Suf. May be, he hears the king 
 
 Does whet his anger to Mm. 
 
 Sur, Sharp enough, 
 
 Lord, for thy justice I [daughter, 
 
 Will. The late queen's gentlewoman ; a knight's 
 To be her mistress' mistress! the queen's queen ! — • 
 This candle burns not clear ; 'tis I must snuff it ; 
 Then.outitgoes. — What though I know her virtuous. 
 And well deserving } yet 1 know her for 
 A spleeny Lutheran ; and not wholesome to 
 Our cause, that she should lie i* the bosom of 
 Our hard-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up 
 An heretic, an arch one, Cranmer ; one 
 Ilalh crawi'd into the favour of the king, 
 And is his oracle. 
 
 Nor, He is vex'd at something. 
 
 Suf. I would, 'twere something that would fret the 
 The master-cord of his heart ! [string, 
 
 Enter the King, reading a schedule; and Lovell. 
 
 Suf, The king, the king. 
 
 A'. Hen. What piles of weafth hath he accumulated 
 To his own portion ! and what expense by the hour 
 Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of thrift, 
 Does he rake this together! — Now, my lords j 
 Saw you the cardinal? 
 
 A'l>/-. I\Iy lord, we have 
 
 Stood here observing him : Some strange commotion 
 Is in his brain : he bites his lip, and starts ; 
 Stops on a suddep, looks upon the ground 
 Then, lays his finger on his temple ; straight, 
 Springs out into fast gait ; then, stops again, 
 Strikes his breast hard ; and anon, he casts 
 His eye against the moon : in most strange postures 
 We have seen him set himself. 
 
 A'. He7t. ■ It may well be; 
 
 There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning 
 Papers of state he sent me to peruse. 
 As I requir'd ; And, wot you, what I found 
 There; on my conscience, put unwittingly"! 
 
566 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, — 
 The several parcels of his plate, his treasure, 
 Rich stuffs, and ornaments of household ; which 
 I find at such proud rate, that it out-speaks 
 Possession of a subject. 
 
 Nor. It*s Heaven's will ; 
 
 Some spirit put this paper in the packet 
 To bless your eye withal. 
 
 A'. Hen. If we did think 
 
 His contemplation were above the earth, 
 And fix'd on spiritual object, he siiould still 
 Dwell in his musings: but, I am afraid, 
 His thinkings are below the moon, not worth 
 His serious considering. 
 
 [He takes his sent, and whimpers Lovell, who 
 
 goes lO WOLSF.Y. 
 
 JVol. Heaven forgive me! 
 
 Ever God bless your highness ! 
 
 A', Hen, Good my lord. 
 
 You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear the inventory 
 Of your best graces in your mind ; the which 
 You were now running o'er ; you have scarce time 
 To steal from spiritual leisure a brief span 
 To keep your earthly audit ; Sure, in that 
 I deem you an ill husband ; and am glad 
 To have you therein my companion. 
 
 U'oL Sir, 
 
 For holy offices I have a time ; a time 
 To think upon the part of business, which 
 I bear i' the state ; and nature does require 
 Her times of preservation, which, perforce, 
 I her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal, 
 Must give my tendance to. 
 
 A. Hen, You have said well. 
 
 ]Vol. And ever may your highness yoke together, 
 As I will lend you cause, my doing well 
 With my well-saying. 
 
 A. Hen. *Tis well said again ; 
 
 And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well : 
 And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you : 
 He said, he did ; and with his deed did crown 
 His word upon you. Since 1 had my office, 
 I have kept you next my heart ; have not alone 
 Employ'd you where high profits might come home, 
 But par'd my present liavings, to bestow 
 My bounties upon you. 
 
 WoL What should this mean ? 
 
 Sitr. The Lord increase this business ! [Aside* 
 
 K. Hen. Have I not made you 
 
 The prime man of the state ? I pray you, tell me, 
 If what I now pronounce, you nave found true ; 
 And, if you may confess it, say withal, 
 If you are bound to us, or no. What say you ? 
 
 Mol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces, 
 Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could 
 My studied purposes requite ; which went 
 Beyond all nian's endeavours: — my endeavours 
 Have ever come too short of my desiies, 
 Yet, fiird with my abilities : Mine own ends 
 Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed 
 To the good of your most sacred person, and 
 The profit of the state. For your ^eat graces 
 Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, 1 
 Can nothing render but allegiant thanks ; 
 My prayers to heaven for you ;*my loyalty, 
 W^hich ever has, and ever shall be growing, 
 Till death, that winter, kill it. 
 
 K. Hen. Fairly ariswer'd ; 
 
 A loyal and obedient subject is 
 Therein illustrated ; the honour of it 
 Does pay the act of it ; as i' the contrary, 
 The foulness is the punishment. I presume 
 
 That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you, 
 My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour more 
 On you, than any ; so your hand, and heart. 
 Your brain, and every function of your power. 
 Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty. 
 As 'twere in love's particular, be more 
 To me, your friend, than any. 
 
 IVol. I do profess, 
 
 That for your highness' good I ever labour'd 
 More than mine own ; that am. Iiave, and will be, 
 Though all the world should crack their duty to you. 
 And throw it from their soul ; though perils did 
 Abound, as thick as thought could make them, and 
 Appear in forms more horrid ; yet my duty. 
 As doth a rock against the chiding flood. 
 Should the approach of this wild river break. 
 And stand unshaken yours. 
 
 7v. Hen, 'Tis nobly spoken . 
 
 Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast, 
 For you have seen him open't. — Read o'er this ; 
 
 [Giving him papers. 
 And, after, this : and then to breakfast, with 
 What appetite you have. 
 
 [Exit Kino, frowning upnnCMiDi'S at.Wo'LSZY ; the 
 Nobles throng after him, smiling, and ichispering. 
 
 WoL What should this mean ' 
 
 What sudden anger's this ; how have I reap'd it ! 
 He parted frowning from me, as if ruin 
 Leap'd from his eyes : so looks the chafed lion 
 Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him , 
 Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper: 
 I fear, the story of his anger. — 'Tis so ; 
 This paper has undone me: — 'Tis the account 
 Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together 
 For mine own ends ; indeed, to gain the popedom. 
 And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence. 
 Fit for a fool to fall by ! What cross devil 
 Made me put this main secret in the packet 
 I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this"? 
 No new device to beat this from his brains ? 
 I know, 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know 
 A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune 
 Will bring me off again. What's this — To the Pope? 
 The letter, as I live, with all the business 
 I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell ! ) 
 
 I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness: ' 
 And, from that full meridian of my glory, ] 
 
 I haste now to ray setting. 1 shall fall 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 And no man see me more. 
 
 He-enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the 
 Earl of Surrey, and the L-jrd Chamberlain. 
 
 Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal : who com- 
 To render up the great seal presently [mauds you 
 Into our hands ; and to confine yourself 
 To Asher-house, my lord of Wincliester's, ' 
 
 Till you hear further from his highness. 
 
 Wol. Stay, 
 
 Where's your commission lords? words cannot carry 
 Authority so weighty. 
 
 Suf. Who dare cross them, 
 
 Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly? 
 
 Wol. Till I find move than will, or words, to do it, 
 (I mean, your malice.) know, officious lords, 
 1 dare, and .must deny it. Now I feel 
 Of what coarse metal ye are moulded, — envy. 
 How eagerly ye follow my disgraces. 
 As if it fed ye ? and how sleek and wanton 
 Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin ! 
 Follow your envious courses, men of malice ; 
 You have christian warrant for them, and, no doubt. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 567 
 
 In time will find their fit rewards. That seal. 
 You ask with such a violence, the king, 
 (Mine, and your master, ) with his own hand gave me : 
 Bade me enjoy it, with the place and honours, 
 During mv life, and, to contimi his goodness. 
 Tied it by' letters patents; Now, who'll take it? 
 
 Stir. The king, that give it. 
 
 lyol. It must be himself then. 
 
 Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest. 
 
 H',i;. Proud lord, thou liest ; 
 
 Within these forty hours Surrey durst better 
 Have burnt that tongue, than said so. 
 
 .Siir. Thy ambition, 
 
 Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this bewailing land 
 Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law : 
 The heads of all thy brother cardinals, 
 (With thee, and all tliy best parts bound together,) 
 Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy ! 
 You sent me deputy for Ireland ; 
 Far from his succour, from the king, from all 
 Tiiat might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him ; 
 Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity, 
 Absolv'd him with an axe. 
 
 IVol. This, and all else 
 
 This talking lord can lay upon my credit, 
 I answer, is most false. The duke by law 
 Found his deserts : how innocent I was 
 From any private malice in his end. 
 His noble jury and foul cause can witness. 
 If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you, 
 You have as iittie honesty as honour ; 
 That I, in the way of loyalty and truth 
 Toward the king, my ever royal master. 
 Dare mate a sounder man than Surrey can be. 
 And all that love his follies. 
 
 Sur. By my soul, [feel 
 
 Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou should'st 
 My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. — My lords, 
 Can ve endure to hear this arrogance 1 
 And frjm this fellow 1 If we live thus tamely 
 To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, 
 Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward. 
 And dare us with his cap, like larks. 
 
 H'n/. All goodness 
 
 Is poison to thy stomach. 
 
 Sur. Yes, that goodness 
 
 Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one. 
 Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion ; 
 The goodness of your intercepted packets, [ness. 
 You writ to the pope, against the king: your good- 
 Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. — 
 My lord of Norfolk, as you are truly noble, 
 As you respect the common good, the state 
 Of our despis'd nobility, our issues. 
 Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, — 
 Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles 
 Collected from his life : — I'll startle you 
 Worse than the sacring bell, when the brown wench 
 Lay kissing in your arms, lord cardinal. 
 
 i(''o/.Hovvmuch,methinks,l could despise this man, 
 But that I'm bound in charity against it ! 
 
 Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's hand : 
 But, thus much, they are foul ones. 
 
 Wnl. So much fairer. 
 
 And spotless, shall mine innocence arise. 
 When the king knows my truth. 
 
 Sur. This cannot save you : 
 
 I thank my memory, I yet remember 
 Some of these articles ; and out they shall. 
 Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal. 
 You'll shew a little honesty. 
 
 Wol, Speak on, sir ; 
 
 I dare your worst objections : if I blush. 
 It is, to see a nobleman want manners. 
 
 Sur. I'd rather want those, than my head. Have 
 at you. 
 First, that, without the king's assent, or knowledge, 
 \ ou wrought to be a legate ; by which power 
 You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops. 
 
 Nor. Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else 
 To foreign princes. Ego et Rex iiieus 
 Was still insciib'd ; in which you brought the king 
 To be your servant. , 
 
 Suf. Then, that, without the knowledge 
 
 Either of king or council, when you went 
 Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold 
 To carry into Flanders the great seal. 
 
 Sur. Item, you sent a large commission 
 To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude. 
 Without the king's will, or the state's allowance, 
 A league between his highness and Ferrara. 
 
 Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd 
 Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin. 
 
 .Siir. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub- 
 stance, 
 (By what means got, I leave to your own conscience,) 
 To furnish Borne, and to prepare the ways 
 You have for dignities ; to the mere undoing 
 Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ; 
 Which, since they are of you, and odious, 
 I will not taint my mouth with. 
 
 Cham. O my lord. 
 
 Press not a falling man too far ; 'tis virtue : 
 His faults lie open to the laws ; let them. 
 Not you, correct him. jMy heart weeps to see him 
 So little of his great self. 
 
 Sur. I forgive him. 
 
 Suf. Lord cardinal, the king's further pleasure is. — 
 Because all those things, you have done of late 
 By your power legatine within this kingdom. 
 Fall into the compass of a pnemunire, — 
 That therefore such a writ be sued against you ; 
 To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements. 
 Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be 
 Out of the king's protection : — This is my charge. 
 
 Xor. And so we'll leave you to your meditations 
 How to live better. For your stubborn answer 
 About the giving back the great seal to us. 
 The king shall know it, and, nodoubt, shall thank you. 
 So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal. 
 
 [Ejcuitt all but WoLSEY. 
 Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man ; To-d,ay he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms. 
 And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : 
 The third day, comes a frost, a killing Irost.; 
 And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
 His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root. 
 And then he falls, as 1 do. I have ventur'd. 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 This many summers in a sea of glory ; 
 But far beyond my depth: my highblown pride 
 At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
 Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. 
 "Vain pomp, and glory of this world. I hate ye ; 
 I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched 
 Is that poor man. that hangs on princes' favours ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to. 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
 -More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
 -•Vnd when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again. — 
 
5G0 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Enter Cromweli., amazcdly. 
 
 Why, how now CromwelH 
 
 Crom. 1 have no power to speak, sir. 
 ,|.^j What amaz d 
 
 At my misfortunes ■> can thy spirit wonder, 
 A great man should decline 1 Nay, an you weep, 
 [ am fallen indeed. 
 
 Crom. How does your grace 
 
 Wol. Why, well; 
 
 Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
 I know myself now ; and I feel within me 
 A peace above all earthly dignities, 
 \ still and quiet conscience. The king has cur d me, 
 I humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders, 
 These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
 A load would sink a navy, too much honour: 
 O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, I 
 
 Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. ^ [ot it. 
 Crmn. I am glad, your grace has made that right use 
 Wol. I hope, 1 have : I am able now, methinks, 
 (Out of a fortitude of soul 1 feel,) 
 To endure more miseries, and greater hi. 
 Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
 What news abroad'! 
 
 C-om. The heaviest and the worst, 
 
 Is your displeasure with the king, 
 
 jy^l '^ God bless him ! 
 
 Crom. The next is that sir Thomas More is chosen 
 Lord chancellor in your place. 
 
 jj'i,; That s somewhat sudden : 
 
 But he's a learned man. May he continue 
 Lone in his highness' favour, and do justice 
 Tor truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bones, 
 When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings. 
 May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on em ! 
 
 What more! . i„„„„ 
 
 Crom. That Cranmer is veturn'd with welcome, 
 Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Wol. That's news indeed. , , , , 
 
 r,.„„ Last, that the lady AnnC: 
 
 Whom the king hath in secrecy long married. 
 This day was view'd in open, as his queen. 
 Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 
 Only about her coronation. 
 
 Wol. There was the weight that pull d me down. 
 Cromwell, 
 The king has gone beyond me, all my glories 
 In that one woman 1 have lost for ever : 
 No sun shall ever usher forth mine honours. 
 Or ffild again the noble troops that waited 
 Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ; 
 I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
 To be thy lord and master : Seek the king ; 
 That sun, 1 pray, may neve, set! 1 have told him 
 What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee; 
 Some little memory of me will stir him, 
 ( I know his noble nature,) not to let 
 Thy hopeful service perish too: Good Cromwell, 
 Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
 For" thine own future safety. 
 
 Crom. O my lord. 
 
 Must I then leave you 1 must I needs lorego 
 So good, so noble, and so true a master 1 
 Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron 
 With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord.— 
 The kin<r shall have my service ; but my prayers 
 For ever", and for ever, shall be yours. 
 
 Wol Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc'd me 
 Out of thy honest truth to play the woman 
 
 And,— when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 Of me more must be heard of,-say, I taught thee ; 
 Say Wolsev,— that once trod the ways of glory, 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,— 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 \ sure and safe one, though thy master miss d it. 
 Mark but my fall, and that that ruin d me. 
 Cromwell, 1 charge thee, fling away ambition; 
 By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then. 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by tj 
 Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee . 
 Corruption wins not more tlian honesty. 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not . 
 Let all the ends, thou aim'st at, be thy country s. 
 Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall st, O 
 
 Cromwell, 
 I Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ; 
 ' And,— Pr'ythee, lead me in: 
 
 There take an inventory of all.l have. 
 
 To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe. 
 
 And mv integrity to heaven, is all 
 
 I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell. 
 
 Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
 
 I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies. 
 Crom. Good sir, have patience. 
 !,,.„; So I have. Farewell 
 
 The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do well. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE l.—A Street in Westminster. 
 Enter Tiro Gentlemen, meeting. 
 1 Gent. You are well met once again. 
 Si Gent. -^""^ ^" "^ y"' 
 
 1 Gent. You come to take your stand here and be- 
 The lady Anne pass from her coronation '. [hold 
 ii Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last encounter. 
 The duke of Buckingham came from his trial. 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis very true : but that timeofter'd sorrow ; 
 This, general joy. 
 
 ,) Qg„t. 'Tis well : The citizens, 
 
 I am sure, have shewn at lull their royal minds ; 
 As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward 
 In celebration of this day with shows. 
 Pageants, and sights of honour. 
 
 1 Gent. '^^.^^' greater. 
 
 Nor I'll assure you, better taken, sir. 
 
 'J Gent. May 1 be bold to ask what that contains, 
 That paper in your hand! , 
 
 iGent. Yes ; 'tis the hst 
 
 Of those, that claim their offices this day, 
 By custom of the coronation. 
 The duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims 
 To be high steward ; next, the duke of Norfolk, 
 He to be'earl marshal ; you may read the rest 
 
 « Gent. I thank you, sir ; had 1 not known those cus- 
 I should have been beholden to your paper, [toms, 
 But I beseech you, what's become of Katharine, 
 The' princess dowager? how goes her business 1 
 
 1 Cc"i. That I can tell you too. 1 he archbishop 
 Of Canterbury, accompanied with other 
 Learned and reverend fathers of liis order, 
 Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles ott 
 
 where the princess lay ; to whicn, 
 
 From Ampthill, ..i.^.^ . — r -,,■ 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE 11. 
 
 569 
 
 Tlie king's late scruple, by the main assent 
 Of all these learned men she was divorc'd, 
 And the late marriage made of none effect : 
 Since which, she was removed to Kirabolton, 
 Where she remains now, sick. 
 
 2 Gent. Alas, good lady ! — [Trumpets. 
 
 The trumpets sound : standclose, the queen iscoming. 
 
 THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION. 
 
 A lively flourish of Ti-umpetz : then, enter 
 
 1. Two Judges, 
 
 2. Lord Chancellor , with the purse and mace hefnre him. 
 
 3. Choristers singing. [Music. 
 
 4. Mayor of London bearing the mace. Then Garter, 
 
 in his coat of arms, and, on his head, a gilt 
 copper crown. 
 
 5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a sceptre of gold, on his 
 
 head a demi-coronal of gold. With him, the 
 Earl of Surreii, bearing the rod of silver with 
 the dove, crowned with an earl's coronet. 
 Collars oj- SS. 
 
 6. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coronet on 
 
 his head, bearing a long white wand, as high- 
 steward. With him, the Duke of Norfolk, with 
 the rod of murshalship, a coronet on his head. 
 Collars of SS. 
 
 7. A canopy home by four of the Cinque-ports ; under 
 
 it, the Queen in her robe; in her hair richly 
 adorned with pearl, crowned. On each side of 
 her, the Bishops of London and Winchester, 
 
 8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold, 
 
 wrougJit with flowers, bearing the Queen s train. 
 
 9. Certain Ladies or Countesses, with plain circlets of 
 
 gold without fowers. 
 
 2 Gent* A royal train, believe me. — These I know ; 
 \Vho*s that, that bears the scepter? 
 
 1 Gejit, Marquis Dorset : 
 And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod. 
 
 2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman: And that should 
 The duke of Suffolk. [be 
 
 1 Gent. 'Tis the same; high-stewaid. 
 
 •2 Gent. And that my lord of Norfolk ] 
 
 1 Gent. Yes. 
 
 2 Gent. Heaven bless thee ! [Looking on the Queen- 
 Thou hast the sweetest face 1 ever look'd on. — 
 Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel ; 
 
 Our king has all the Indies in his arms, 
 
 And more, and richer, when he strains that lady ; 
 
 I cannot blame his conscience. 
 
 1 Gent. They, that bear 
 
 The cloth of honour over her, are four barons 
 Of the Cinque-ports. 
 
 "2 Gent. Those men are happy ; and so are all, are 
 I lake it, she that carries up the train, [near her 
 Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk. 
 
 1 Gent. It is ; and all the rest are countesses, 
 
 2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars, in- 
 And, sometimes, falling ones, [deed; 
 
 1 Getit. No more of that. 
 [Eri( Procession, with a great Jiourish of trumpets. 
 
 Enter a Third Gentleman. 
 God save you, sir ! Where have you been broiling ? 
 
 3 Gent. Among the crowd i' the abbey ; where a 
 
 finger 
 Could not be wedg'd in more ; and I am stifled 
 With the mere rankness of their joy. 
 
 2 Gent, You saw 
 The ceremony t 
 
 3 Gent, That I did. 
 
 1 Gent. How was it 1 
 
 3 Gent. Well worth the seeing. 
 
 2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us. 
 
 3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream 
 Of lords, and ladies, having brcught the queeu 
 
 To a piepar'd place in the choir, fell off 
 
 A distance from her : while her grace sat down 
 
 To rest a while, some half an hour, or so, 
 
 In a rich chair of state, opposing freely 
 
 The beauty of her person to the people. 
 
 Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman 
 
 That ever lay by man : which when the people 
 
 Had the full view of, such a noise arose 
 
 As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest. 
 
 As loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks, 
 
 (Doublets, I think,) flew up; and had their faces 
 
 Been joose, this day they had been lost. Such joy 
 
 I never saw before. Great-bellied women. 
 
 That had not half a week to go, like rams 
 
 In the old time of war, would shake the press. 
 
 And make them reel before them. No man living 
 
 Could say, This is iny wife, there ; all were woven 
 
 So strangely in one piece. 
 
 2 Gent, But, 'pray, what followed? [paces 
 
 3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest 
 Came to the altar: where she kneel'd, and, saint-like. 
 Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and prayed devoutly. 
 Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people • 
 When by the archbishop of Canterbury 
 
 She had all the royal makings of a queen; 
 As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, 
 The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems 
 Laid nobly on her ; which perform'd, tiie choir, 
 With all the choicest music of the kingdom. 
 Together sungTe Deum. So she parted, 
 And with the same full state pac'd back again 
 To York-place, where the feast is held. 
 
 1 Gent. Sir, you 
 Must no more call it York-place, that is past • 
 For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost; 
 'Tis now the king's, and call'd — Whitehall. 
 
 3 Gent. I know it ; 
 
 But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name 
 Is fresh about me. 
 
 2 Gent. What two reverend bishops 
 Were those that went on each side of the queen 1 
 
 SGent. Stokesly and Gardiner, the one, of Win- 
 (Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,) [chester, 
 The other, London. 
 
 2 Gent, He of Winchester 
 
 Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's. 
 The virtuous Cranmer. 
 
 3 Gent, AH the land knows that : 
 However, yet there is no great breach; when it comes, 
 Cranmer will find a friend will not shrink from him. 
 
 2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you 1 
 
 3 Gent, Thomas Cromwell ; 
 A man in much esteem with the king, and truly 
 
 A worthy friend. — The king 
 
 Has made him master o' the jewel-house 
 
 And otie, already, of the privy council. 
 
 2 Gent. He will deserve more. 
 
 3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt. 
 Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which 
 
 Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests ; 
 Something I can command. As I walk thither, 
 I'll tell ye more. 
 
 Both, You may command us, sir. [Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II.— Kimbolton. 
 
 Eh^ct* Katharine, Dowager, sick; led between 
 Griffith and Patience. 
 
 Crif, How does your grace ? 
 
570 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 Knth. 0, Griffith, sick to death: 
 
 My legs, like loadcu brandies, bow to the eaitli, 
 \ViUiiig to leave their burden; Ueacii a chair ^ — 
 So, — now, methinks, I feel a little ease. 
 Didst thou not tell me, Gritiilh, as thou led'st me, 
 That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey, 
 Was dead 1 
 
 Grif. Yes, madam ; but, I think, your grace. 
 Out of the pain you sufter'd, gave no ear to't. 
 
 Kath. Pr'ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: 
 If well, he stepp'd before me, happily, 
 For my example. 
 
 Gvif. Well, the voice goes, madam : 
 
 For after the stout earl Northumberland 
 Arrested him at York, and brought him forward 
 (As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer. 
 He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, 
 He could not sit his mule. 
 
 Kath. Alas, poor man ! 
 
 Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, 
 Lodg'd in the abbey ; where the reverend abbot, 
 ^Vith all his convent, honourably receiv'd him ; 
 To whom he gave these woj'ds, — Ojather abbot. 
 An old man, broken with the storms of state, 
 Js come to lay liis weary bones among ye y 
 Give him a little earth/or charity ! 
 So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness 
 Pursu'd hiiu still ; and, three nights after this. 
 About the hour of eight, (which he himself 
 Foretold, should be his last,) full of repentance. 
 Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows. 
 He gave his honours to the world again, 
 His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. 
 
 Kath. So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him. 
 Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him. 
 And yet with charity ,^ — He was a man 
 Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking 
 Himself with princes ; one, that by suggestion 
 Ty'd all the kingdom ; simony was fair play ; 
 His own opinion was his law . 1' the presence 
 He would say untruths ; and be ever double. 
 Both in his words and meaning : He was never. 
 But where he meant to ruin, pitiful ; 
 His promises v\eie, as he then was, mighty ; 
 But his performance, as he is now, nothing. 
 Of his own body he was ill, and gave 
 The clergy ill example. 
 
 Grif, Noble madam, 
 
 Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues 
 We write in water. May it please your highness 
 To hear me speak his good now ? 
 
 Kath. Yes, good Griffith ; 
 
 1 were malicious else. 
 
 Grif. This cardinal. 
 
 Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
 Was fasliion'd to much honour. Fiom his cradle. 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe, and good one ; 
 Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading : 
 Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ; 
 }5ut, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer. 
 And though he were unsatisfied in getting, 
 (Which was a sin,) yet, in bestowing, madam, 
 He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
 Those twins of learning, that he rais'd in you, 
 Ipswich, and Oxford ! one of \\'hich fell with him. 
 Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; 
 The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, 
 So excellent in art, and still so rising. 
 That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
 His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
 For then, and not till then, he felt himself. 
 And found the blessedness of being little : 
 
 And, to add greater honours to his age 
 Than man could give him, he died feaiing God. 
 Kuth. -Vfter my death 1 wish no other herald. 
 No other speaker of my living actions, 
 To keep mine honour from corruption. 
 But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. 
 Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me. 
 With thy religious truth, and modesty, 
 Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! — 
 Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower : 
 I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Grithth, 
 Cause the musicians play me that sad note 
 I nam'd my kuell, whilst I sit meditating 
 On that celestial harmony I go to. 
 
 Sad and solemn Tntisic, 
 
 Grif. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down 
 quiet. 
 For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience. 
 
 The Vision. Enter, solemnly tj-ipping one after an- 
 other, six Personages, clad in white robes, wearing on 
 their heads garlands of bays, and golden vizards 07i 
 their faces ; branches if baqs, or palm, in their hands. 
 They first congee unto her, then dance; and at cer- 
 tain changes, tlie frst two hold a spare garland over 
 her head ; at which, the other four make reverend 
 courtesies ; then the two, that held the garland, de- 
 liver the same to the other next two, who observe the 
 same order in their changes, and holding the garland 
 over her head : which done, they deliver tlte same 
 garland to the last two, who litiewise obierve the same 
 order; at which, {as it were by inspiration,) she 
 makes in her sleep signs (f rejoicing, and holdeth up 
 her hands to heaven: and so in their dancing they 
 vanisli, carrying the garland with them.* The »^*u- 
 sic continues. 
 
 A'o(/i. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are yeall gone? 
 And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ? 
 
 Grif. Jladam, we are here. 
 
 Kath. It is not you I call for: 
 
 Saw ye none enter, since I slept ? 
 
 GriJ. None, madam. 
 
 Kath. No 1 Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop 
 Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces 
 Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ? 
 They promis'd me eternal happiness ; 
 And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
 I am not worthy yet to wear : 1 shall. 
 Assuredly. 
 
 Grif. 1 am most joyful, madam, such good dreams 
 Possess your fancy. 
 
 Kath. Bid the music leave. 
 
 They are Karsh and heavy to me. [illusir ceases 
 
 Put. Do you note. 
 
 How much her grace is alter'd on a sudden ; 
 How long her face is drawn ? How pale she looks. 
 And of an earthly cold 1 Mark you her eyes 1 
 
 Grif. She is going, wench ; pray, pray. 
 
 Pat. fleaven comfort her ! 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. An't like your grace, — 
 
 Kath. You are a saucy fellow . 
 
 Deserve we no more reverence? 
 
 Grif. You are to blame. 
 
 Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness 
 To use so rude behaviour : go to, kneel. 
 
 Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon i 
 My haste made me unmannerly : There is staying 
 A gentleman^ sent from the king, to see you. 
 
ACT V._SCENE I. 
 
 571 
 
 Kath. Admit him entrance, Giitfith: But this fellow 
 Let me ne'er see agam. [Ex, Griffith 6^ Messenger. 
 
 Rerenter Griffith, with Capucius. 
 If my sight fail nut, 
 Vou should be lord ambassador from the emperor, 
 My royal nephew, and your name Capucius, 
 Cap. Madam, the same, your servant. 
 
 Kath. O my lord, 
 
 The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely 
 With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you. 
 What is your pleasure with me 1 
 
 Cap. Noble lady. 
 
 First mine own service to your grace ; the next. 
 The king's request that I would visit you ; 
 Who giieves much for your weakness, and by me 
 Sends you his princely commendations, 
 And heartily entreats you take good comfort. 
 
 Kath. O my gooa lord, that comfort comes too late ; 
 Tis like a pardon after execution : 
 That gentle physic, given in time, had cur'd me ; 
 But now I am pa^t ail comforts here, but prayers. 
 How does his highness ^ 
 
 Cap. Madam, in good health. 
 
 Kath. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish, 
 When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name 
 Banish'd the kingdom ! — Patience, is that letter, 
 I caus'd you wiiie, yet sent away I 
 
 Pat. No, madam. [Giving it to Kathahine. 
 
 Kath. Sir, 1 most humbly pray you to deliver 
 This to my lord the king. 
 
 Caji. Most willingly, madam. 
 
 Kath. In which I have commended to his goodness 
 The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter: — 
 Tiiedews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her! — 
 Beseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding ; 
 (She is young, and of a noble modest nature ; 
 1 hope, she will deserve well ;) and a little 
 To love her for her mother's sake, that lov'd him, 
 Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition 
 Is, that his noble grace would have some pity 
 Upon my wretched women, that so long, 
 Have foUow'd both my fortunes faithfully : 
 Of which there is not one, I dare avow, 
 (And now I should not lie,) but will deserve, 
 For virtue, and true beauty of the soul. 
 For honesty, and decent carriage, 
 A right'good husband, let him be a noble ; 
 And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them. 
 The last is, for my men ; — they are the poorest, 
 But poverty could never draw them from me ; — 
 That they may have their wages duly paid them. 
 And something over to remember me by ; 
 If heaven had pleas 'd to have given me longer life. 
 And able means, we had not parted thus. 
 The^e are the whole contents: — And, good my lord. 
 By that you love the dearest in this world. 
 As you wish phristian peace to souls departed, 
 Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king 
 To do me this last right. 
 
 Cap. By heaven, I will ; 
 
 Or let me lose the fashion of a man ! 
 
 Kath. I thank you, honest lord. Remember me 
 In all humility unto his highness : 
 Say, his long trouble now is passing 
 Out of this world : tell him, in death I bless'd him. 
 For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell, 
 My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience, 
 You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ; 
 Call in more women. — When I am dead, good wench. 
 Let me be us'd with honour ; strew me over 
 With maiden flowers, that all the world may know 
 
 I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me, 
 Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like 
 A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me. 
 I can no more, [Exeunt, leading Kathauinb. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Galterij in the Patau. 
 
 Enter GAJiDiyETt, Bishop p/' Winchester, a Pagewitk 
 a torch before hini, met by Sir Thomas Lovell. 
 
 Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not ? 
 
 Bou. It hath struck. 
 
 Gar. These should be hours for necessities. 
 Not for delights ; times to repair our nature 
 With comforting repose, and not for us [mas ! 
 
 To waste these times. — Good hour of night, sir Tho- 
 Whither so latel 
 
 Lor, Came you from the king, my lord ? 
 
 Gar. I did, sir Thomas ; and lett him at primero 
 With the duke of Suffolk. 
 
 Lov. I must to him too. 
 
 Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave. 
 
 Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the mat- 
 It seems, you are in haste ; an if there be [ter 1 
 No great offence belongs to't, give your friend 
 Some touch of your late business : Affairs, that walk 
 (As, they say, spirits do,) at midnight, have 
 In them a wilder nature, than the business 
 That seeks despatch by day. 
 
 Lov. I\Iy lord, I love youj 
 
 And durst commend a secret to your ear 
 Much weightier than this work. The queen'sin labour, 
 They say, in great extremity ; and tear'd. 
 She'll with the labour end. 
 
 Gar. The fruit, she goes with, 
 
 I pray for heartily ; that it may find 
 Good time, and live : but for the stock, sir Thomas, 
 I wish it grubb'd up now. 
 
 Lov. Methinks, I could 
 
 Cry the amen ; and yet my conscience says 
 She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does 
 Deserve our better wishes. 
 
 Gar. But, sir, sir, — 
 
 Hear me, sir Thomas : You are a gentleman 
 Of mine own way ; I know you wise, religious ; 
 And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, — 
 'Twill not, sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me, 
 Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she. 
 Sleep in their graves. 
 
 Lov. Now, sir, you speak of two 
 
 The most remark'd i' the kingdom. As for Cromwell, — 
 Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master 
 O' the rolls, and the king's secretary ; further, sir. 
 Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments, 
 With which the time will load him: The archbishop 
 Is the king's hand, and tongue ; and who dare speak 
 One syllable against him ! 
 
 Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas, 
 
 There are that dare ; and I myself have ventur'd 
 To speak my mind of him : and, indeed, this day. 
 Sir, (I may tell it you.) I think, I have 
 Incens'd the lords o' the council, that he is 
 (For so I know he is, they know he is,) 
 A most arch heretic, a pestilence 
 That does infect the fend : with which they mov'd. 
 Have broken with the king ; who hath so far 
 Given ear to our complaint, (of his great grace 
 And princely care ; foreseeing those fell mischiefs 
 Our reasons laid before him,) he hath commanded. 
 
-573 
 
 KING HENRT VUL 
 
 sotini. 
 
 to tiMeaaocil-lMacil 
 
 r-vin ^'jor L.rAsn 
 
 -.cief wi 
 
 
 
 
 :t OBWS esLitoiiiitfus ftrai^ifls. 
 
 J. 
 
 L ijtt a^ pni' - 
 
 ia«£ At soar. 
 
 1* 
 
 s« ■- . , , - - - 
 
 C Acs. ~ ~ W&ac sir'st <ii>ra ! aa 
 
 T» -r™' ■■- • - ■ — :•■- :,- t=te crxtn^ autf 
 
 L ^ xml gkafi hiK* snjT^ 
 
 AJc-. ._.__.. ^ . 
 
 Sl. son. Atxs. anoii laiy ' 
 
 'q sviw« to tile xiaiuiof <jc 
 , .oess v£Ck a£L a&r '~ 
 
 ?i-'irtttae. tn a«£ ; mi ta ti 
 
 Tb «eiiB <K orr puor ^{iteea 
 
 For I Base susu. ac tiee, wiinat o.. ^ 
 
 WB aat tn nrmrW s- 
 
 .S*^ " I wisa V 
 
 A ^mat s^&t. i3ii an- jtnni misc ; 
 
 £. Han, C!»ariH&. ^<i<ii£ lig^ — [£iic Sc 
 EJmr Sr Jksaaorr I^sxr. 
 
 DvL. Sot. I kve aw ag &e sr bni de xi^dLnstup. 
 As Toa eflBaaaadHi iBeh. 
 
 £- She. BxT Ca aiMibmi ? 
 
 Uen. At, aw suuii loti. 
 
 5. i'tm. T < ~« : Where is be. VwmxT 
 
 Bitwtt r ©ssotT, miei Cz^xtss^ 
 
 ju Sir. ATxnd t^ ^^Herr. ~Lt>TS£.£ imbms te Aml 
 S»f — t iane saai. — & £qae. " 
 
 Cran. iKaaarttci:^ — WikseSicefewnskei&as! 
 iBlisssaeettfXQvc. AETsaatwelL 
 
 Cnat. It is an- tfaftr, 
 
 T» ataead tosc k^bies* gfamuW 
 
 t fl«*. "Par Twx, ICS8. 
 
 tfr Twi inrf — irinn flnnf if rain iIwb"<' 
 Caa& n<£ aa£ i atost vaik i taox (agc^ec : 
 I k»e MS. B Kit no.: Cone, caoe^ gn« me mar 
 A2.sT|««i{bi:4. Igc»Teac«3a:l jaei^ n»r.»{ 
 Aid IK o^ sacT a? regeiE vaac 
 
 Gaenoe faofhcMB ■( va> ; 
 
 
 -xi.-i, ii'. i' Oil!; JtiSiTtVH 
 
 Mast &«ati Kes«. 
 
 ■:di. aait kooK^i' . 
 
 14 
 
 
 'P^5« 
 
 ■rjss lacaoe. 1 Bear ai«aui^ 
 
 ELotiw Ton aat btfv 
 
 : :.l^:Ctf 
 
 - - , :i. 
 
 - ; :c --iwicjjcs*. liSK-, 
 
 : - --; z: ; > :: v'Jtt t'^. »Q- - t-'v* 
 : ^^ .^ > ;._;- =r-^r uc:- 
 
 Crrtri, Gci£. ina TwxraK^4i&^, 
 
 Pbjsbcc minf toBtoceaca, ot 1 ali aiw 
 T&e eiaps toai uc me ! 
 
 niBT siatt no »'-". /xajrot^ 
 
 Keep maonr a.- s« 
 
 VaadBapm-.i- . -i.n.-e 
 ladaigt::. 
 
 FaB aHk &.• 
 Tkoccas: 
 WiBNni': 
 IMneriii': 
 
 "-'is "i..-.:-- :<r : 
 
 N Joe jec = 
 
 i&5 ii2agai(£<£ __; 
 
 Gnu. [VaA^. 
 
 Fb-»"«rt: 
 
 ; C. Bm 
 
 1 1 joess ct-. ^ 
 
ACT V,-SCENC II. 
 
 G73 
 
 Tjidt). ky, ay, my liege ; 
 
 And of a lovely boy : The god of ht-avta 
 Uolli now and ever bless her — 'tit a girl, 
 HroMiise* boys hereafter. Sir, your (juecn 
 lieftireii your visitation, ajid to be 
 Aojuainted with thia stranger ; 'tin as like you, 
 As ctirrry ii \a cherry. 
 
 K.Hta. Lovell,— 
 
 Enter Lov».i,L. 
 
 Jjn>. Sir. 
 
 K. Hen. Give her an hundred markj. I'll to the 
 queen. [Kiil Kixo. 
 
 Lttitu, An hundred marks ! By ihin light, I'll liave 
 An ordinary groum h for such payment. [more. 
 
 J will have more, or acold it out of him. 
 8aid I for thii, this girl h like to him 1 
 ] will have more, or eUe uii^ay't ; and now 
 While it is hot, I'll put it to the isnue. [£ieunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— Lobby before the Council-Chamber. 
 
 Enter Cbanmer ; Servants, Door-Keeper, ife. 
 attend'tnj*. 
 
 Cran, I hope I am not too late ; and yet the gcntlc- 
 That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me [man. 
 To make great haste. All fast? what meanii this? — Hoa! 
 Who wait* there ? — .Sure, you know me ? 
 
 I). Keep. Ve«, my lord ; 
 
 But yet I cannot help you. 
 
 Cran. Why ? 
 
 D. Keep. Your grace must wait, till youbccali'd for. 
 Enter Doctor IIuits. 
 
 Cran. So. 
 
 Huttt. This is a piece of malice. I am glad, 
 I came this way so happily : The king 
 Sliall understand it presently. [Exit Burrs. 
 
 Cran. {At'ule.j 'Tis Butts, 
 
 Tlie king's physician ; as he past along. 
 How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me ! 
 Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace! For certain, 
 This is of purpose lay'd, by some that hate rne. 
 (Cjod turn their hearts ! I never sought their malice,) 
 'Jo quench mine honour; they would shame to make 
 Wail else at door , a fellow counsellor, [me 
 
 Among boys, grooms, and lackeys, liut their pleasures 
 Must be fulAll'd, and I attend with patience. 
 
 Enter, at a window above, the King and liumi. 
 
 Buiri. I'll shew your grace the strangest sight, — 
 
 K. lien. What's that. Butts ? 
 
 Buttt. I think your highness saw this many a day. 
 
 K. Hen. Body o' me, where is it 1 
 
 Bum. There, my lord : 
 
 The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ; 
 Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants, 
 Pages and footboys. 
 
 "■ Hfn. Ila! 'Tis he, indeed : 
 
 Is this the honour they do one another 1 
 'Tis well there's one above them yet. I had thought. 
 They had parted so much honesty among them, 
 (At least, good manners,; as not thus to sutfer 
 A man of his place, and so near our favour. 
 To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures. 
 And at the door too, like a post with packets. 
 By holy .Mary, Butts, there's knavery : 
 Let them alone, and draw the curtain close ; 
 Wo shall hear more anon. — {Ezeunt. 
 
 THE COUh'CIL-CHAMnF.n. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Dl'ke op Suppolk, 
 Earl op Subrev, Lord Chamberlain, Gabdiner, 
 aitd Crosiwell. The Chancellor placet hinael/at 
 
 the upper end of the table on the left hand ; a teat 
 being left coid above him, at for the Kv-Cimiinnr tjt 
 CAMEKrii.'HY. The reit wit themtehet in order on 
 each tide. Cromwell a( tiie lover end, at teeretary. 
 
 Clian. Speak (o the bnsinen, matter secretary : 
 Why are we met in council ♦ 
 
 Crom. Please your honours. 
 
 The chief cause concern* his grace of Canterbury. 
 
 Gar. Has he had knowledgeof it \ 
 
 Crom. Yefc 
 
 Nor. Who waiu there ? 
 
 IJ. Keep. Without, my noble lords 1 
 
 Gar. Yes. 
 
 I). Keep. My lord archbishop ; 
 
 And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures. 
 
 Chan, Let him come in. 
 
 D. Keep. Your grace may enter now, 
 
 [Cranmlk ajfproachet tlte eouncil'tabte. 
 
 Chan. Jly go'>d lord archbishop, I arn very sorry 
 To sit here at this present, and behold 
 That chair stand empty : But we all are men, 
 In our own natures frail ; and capable 
 Of our flesh, few are angels : out of which frailty. 
 And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us. 
 Have niisdemean'd yourself, and not a little, 
 Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling 
 The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chap- 
 CFor so we are inform'd,; with nev/ opinions, [lains. 
 Divers and dangerous : which are heresies. 
 And, not reform 'd, may prove pernicious. 
 
 Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too, 
 My noble lords : for those that tame wild horses. 
 Pace them not in their hands to make them gentle ; 
 But slop their mouths with stubborn bits, and spur 
 Till they oljey the manage. If we sufTer [them, 
 (Out of our easiness, and childish pity • 
 
 To one man's honour; this contagious sickiuss. 
 Farewell, all physic ; And what follows thent 
 Commotions, uproars, with a general taint 
 Of the whole slate : as, of late days, our neighbours. 
 The upper Germany, can dearly witness. 
 Yet freshly pitied in our memories. 
 
 Cran. My good lords, hitherto, in all the progreu 
 Both of my life and office, I have labour'd. 
 And with no little study, that my teaching, 
 And the strong course of my authority. 
 Might go one way, and safely ; and the end 
 Was ever, to do well : nor is there living 
 (I speak it with a single heart, mv lords,; 
 .\ man that more detests, more stirs against. 
 Both in his private conscience, and his place, 
 Defacers of a public peace, than I do. 
 'Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart 
 With less allegiance in it ! Men, that make 
 Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment, 
 Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships, 
 That, in this case of justice, my accusers. 
 Be what they will, may staiid forth face to face. 
 And freely urge against me. 
 
 ^'i/. Nay, my lord. 
 
 That cannot be ; you are a counsellor, 
 And, by that virtue, no roan dare accuse you. 
 
 Gar. My lord, because we have business of great 
 moment. 
 We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness' plea- 
 And our consent, for better trial of you, [sure. 
 
 From hence you be committed to the Tower, 
 W here, being but a private man again. 
 You shall know many dare accuse you boldly, 
 More than, I fear, you are provided for. 
 
 Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank too, 
 
574 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 You are always my good friend ; if your will pass, 
 I shall both find your lordship judge and juror, 
 You are so merciful • 1 see your end, 
 'Tis my undoing : Love, and meekness, lord. 
 Become a churchman better than ambition j 
 Win straying souls with modesty again. 
 Cast none away. That I shall clear myself, 
 Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience, 
 I make as little doubt, as you do conscience. 
 In doing daily wrongs. 1 could say more. 
 But reverence to your calling makes me modest. 
 
 Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary. 
 That's the plain truth ; your painted gloss discovers. 
 To men that understand you. words and weakness. 
 
 Crmn. My lord of Winchester, you are a little, 
 By your good favour, too siiarp ; men so noble. 
 However faulty, yet should find respect 
 For what they have been ; 'tis a cruelty, 
 To load a falling man. 
 
 Gar. Good master secretary, 
 
 I cry your honour mercy ; you may, worst 
 Of all this table, say so. 
 
 Crom. Why, my lord ] 
 
 Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer 
 Of this new sect^ ye are not sound. 
 
 C'lom. Not sound t 
 
 Gar. Not sound, I say. 
 
 Crom. 'Would you were half so honest I 
 
 Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears. 
 
 Gar. 1 shall remember this bold language. 
 
 Crom. Do. 
 
 Remember your bold life too. 
 
 Chan. This is too much ; 
 
 Forbear, for shame, my lords. 
 
 Gar. I have done. 
 
 Crom. And I. 
 
 Chmi. Then thus for you, my lord, — It stands 
 I take it, by all voices, that forthwith [agreed, 
 
 You be conveyed to the Tower a prisoner ; 
 There to remain, till the king's further pleasure, 
 Be known unto us : Are you all agreed, lords'! 
 
 Alt. We are. 
 
 Cran. Is there no other way of mercy. 
 
 But I must needs to the Tower, my lords ? 
 
 Gar. What other 
 
 Would you expect ? You are strangely troublesome : 
 Let some o'the guard be ready there. 
 
 Enter Guard. 
 Cran. For me 1 
 
 Must I go like a traitor thither ? 
 
 Gar. Receive him, 
 
 And see him safe i'the Tower. 
 
 Cran. Stay, good my lords ; 
 
 I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords j 
 By virtue of tiiat ring, 1 take mycause 
 Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give il 
 To a most noble judge, the king my master. 
 Cham. This is the king's ring. 
 Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit. 
 
 Snf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven : I told ye all. 
 When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling, 
 'Twould fall upon ourselves. 
 
 Nor. Do you think, my lords, 
 
 The king will suffer but the little finger 
 Of this man to be vex'd \ 
 
 Cham. 'Tis now too certain ; 
 
 How much more is his life in value with him ? 
 'Would I were fairly out on't. 
 
 Crom. My mind gave me. 
 
 In seeking tales, and informations. 
 Against this man, (whose honesty the devil 
 
 And his disciples only envy at,) 
 
 Ye blew the fire that burns ye : No«- have at ye. 
 
 Enter K\^o , frowning on them ; takeshis seat* 
 
 Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound to 
 In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince ; [heaven 
 Not only good and wise, but most religious: 
 One that, in all obedience, makes the church 
 The chief aim of his honour ; and, to strengthen 
 That holy duty, out of dear respect. 
 His royal self in judgment comes to hear, 
 'I'he cause betwixt iier and this great offender. 
 
 K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commenda 
 Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not [tious 
 To hear such flattery now, and in my presence ; 
 I'hey are too thin and base to hide offences. 
 'J"o me you cannot reach ; you play the spaniel. 
 And think with wagging of your tongue to win me ; 
 But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, 1 am sure. 
 Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. — 
 Good man, [(o Cr.^n.meh.] sit down. Now let ma 
 
 see the proudest 
 He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee : 
 By all that 's holy, he had better starve. 
 Than but once think his place becomes thee not. 
 
 Sur. J\Iay it please your grace, — 
 
 A'. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me. 
 
 I had thought, I had had men of some understanding 
 And wisdom, of my council ; but I find none. 
 Was it discretion, lords, to let this man. 
 This good man, (few of you deserve that title,) 
 This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy 
 At chamber door? and one as great as you arel 
 Why, what a shame was this? Did my commission 
 Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye 
 Power as he was a counsellor to try him. 
 Not as a groom ; There 's some of ye, I see. 
 More out of malice than integrity. 
 Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ; 
 Which ye shall never have, while I live. 
 
 Chan. Thus far, 
 
 My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace 
 To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd 
 Concerning his imprisonment, was rather 
 (If there be faith in men,) meant for Jiis trial, 
 And fair purgation to the world, than malice ; 
 I am sure, in me. 
 
 K. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him; 
 
 Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it, 
 I will say thus much for him. If a prince 
 Slay be beholden to a subject, I 
 Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
 Make me no more ado, but all embrace him ; 
 Be friends, for shame, my lords. — My lord of Canter- 
 I have a suit wliich you must not deny me ; [bury. 
 That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism. 
 You must be godfather, and answer for her. 
 
 Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory 
 In such an honour : How may I deserve it. 
 That am a poor and humble subject to you ? 
 
 A'. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your 
 spoons; you shall have [Norfolk, 
 
 Two noble partners with you ; the old duchess of 
 And lady marquis Dorset: Will these please you? 
 Once more, my lord of Winchester, I charge you, 
 Embrace, and love this man. 
 
 Gar. With a true heart, 
 
 And brother-love, I do it. 
 
 Cran. And let heaven 
 
 Witness, how dear I hold this confirmation. 
 
 A'. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears shew thy true 
 The common voice, I see, is verified [heart. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE IV. 
 
 575 
 
 Of thee, which says thus, Do my lord of Canterlmry 
 
 A shrewd turn, aitd he is your friend for ever. — 
 
 Come, lords, we trifle time away ; 1 long 
 
 To have this young one made a christian. 
 
 As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ; 
 
 So 1 grow stronger, you more honour gain. [Eigiint. 
 
 SCENE III.— T/ie Palace Yard, 
 Koiseand tumult within. Enter FoTier and /jwMan, 
 
 Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals: 
 Do you take the court for Paris-garden 1 ye rude 
 slaves, leave your gaping. [larder. 
 
 [ Within,] Good roaster porter, I belong to the 
 
 Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you 
 rogue : Is this a place to roar in 1 — Fetch me a dozen 
 crab-tree staves, and strong ones ; these are but 
 switches to them.— I'll scratch your heads : You 
 must be seeing christenings 1 Do you look for ale and 
 cakes here, you rude rascals'? [sible 
 
 Man. Pray, sir, be patient ; 'tis as much impos- 
 (Uniess we sweep them from the door with cannons,) 
 i'o scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep 
 On May-day morning ; which will never be : 
 We may as well push against Paul's, as stir ihera 
 
 Port. How got they in, and be hang'd. 
 
 Man, Alas, I know not ; How gets the tidein? 
 As much as one sound cudgel of four foot 
 (You see the poor remainder) could distribute, 
 1 made no spare, sir. 
 
 Port. Y'ou did nothing, sir. 
 
 Man. I am not Samson, norsirGuy, nor Colbrand, 
 to mow them down before me : but, if I spared any, 
 that had a head to hit, either young or old, he or she, 
 cuckold or cuckold-maker, let me never hope to see a 
 chine again ; and that I would not for a cow, God 
 save her. 
 
 [Within.] Do you hear, master porter? 
 
 Poi-t. I shall be with you presently, good master 
 puppy.— Keup the door close, sirrah. 
 
 Mtiti What would you have me do 1 
 
 Port. What should you do, but knock them down 
 by the dozens 1 Is this IMoorfields to muster in 1 or 
 have we some strange Indian with the great tool come 
 to court, the women so besiege us"! Bless me, what 
 a fry of fornication is at door! On my christian con- 
 science, this one christening will beget a thousand; 
 here will be father, godfather, and all together. 
 
 Man, The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is 
 a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a bra- 
 zier by his face, for, o'my conscience, twenty of the 
 dog-days now reign in's nose ; all that stand about 
 !iim are under the line, they need no other penance: 
 That fire-drake did 1 hit three times on the head, and 
 three times was his nose discharged against me ; he 
 stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us. There 
 was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him. that 
 railed upon me till her pink'd porringer fell off her 
 head, tor kindling such a combustion in the state. 
 I miss'd the meteor once, and hit that woman, who 
 cried out, cluhb ! when I might see from far some 
 forty truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were 
 the hope of the Strand, where she was quartered. 
 They fell on ; I made good my place ; at length they 
 came to the broomstafi" with me, I defied them still ; 
 when suddenly a file of boys behind them, loose shot, 
 delivered such a shower of pebbles, that I was fain 
 to draw mine honour in, and let them win the work: 
 The devil was amongst them. I think, surely. 
 
 Port, These are the youths that thunder at a play- 
 house, and tiglit for bitten apples ; tliat no audience, 
 but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of 
 
 I Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to endure. 
 
 I I have some of thfem in Limbo Patrum, and there 
 they are like to dance these three days ; besides the 
 running banquet of two beadles, that is to come. 
 
 Enter the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 Cham, Mercy o'me, what a multitude are here I 
 They grow still too, from all parts they are coming, 
 As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these porters, 
 These lazy knaves 1 Ye have made a fine hand, fel- 
 There's a trim rabble let in : Are all these [lows. 
 Your faithful friends o' the suburbs ? We shall have 
 Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies, 
 When they pass back from the christening. 
 
 Port. An't please your honour 
 
 We are but men ; and what so many may do, 
 Not being torn a pieces, we have done : 
 An army cannot rule them. 
 
 Cham. As I live, 
 
 If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all 
 By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads 
 Clap round fines, for neglect: You are lazy knaves. 
 And here ye lie baiting of bumbards, when 
 Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound ; 
 They are come already from the christening : 
 Go, break among the press, and find a way out 
 To let the troop pass fairly; or I'll find 
 AMarshalsea, shall hold you play these two months. 
 
 Port. Make way there for tlie princess. 
 
 Man. You great fellow, stand close up, or I'll 
 make your head ake. 
 
 Port. You i'the camblet, get up o'the rail ; I'll pick 
 you o'er the pales else. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— r/je Palace, 
 
 Ejiter trumpets, sounding ; then Two Aldermen, Lord 
 Mayor, Garter, CaANMnn, Duke of Norfolk, 
 witlt bis 7narshal's sta^', Duke of Suffolk, Two 
 Noblemen bearing great standing-bouls for the 
 christening gifts ; then Four Noblemen bearing a 
 canopy, under which the Duchess of Norfolk, god- 
 motheTy bearing the child richly habited in a mantle, 
 S\c. Train borne by a Lady: then follows t/te Mar- 
 chioness of Dorset, the other godmother, and La- 
 dies. The trooppass once about the stage, and Garter 
 speaks. 
 
 Gart, Heaven from thy endless goodness, send 
 prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high 
 and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth ! 
 
 Flourish. Enter King rt7Jti Train, 
 
 Cran. [Kneeling.] And to your royal grace, and 
 the good queen. 
 My noble partners, and myself, thus pray; — 
 All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady. 
 Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy, 
 IMay hourly fall upon ye ! 
 
 A. lien. Thank you, good lord archbishop, 
 
 What is her name? 
 
 Cran. Elizabeth, 
 
 A'. Hen. Stand up, lord-^ 
 
 [The King kisses the child. 
 With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee ' 
 Into whose hands I give thy life, 
 
 Cran, Amen. 
 
 A'. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too pro- 
 I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady, [digal. 
 
 When she has so much English. 
 
 Cran. Let me speak, sir 
 
 For heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter 
 Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth. 
 
676 
 
 KING HENRY VIII, 
 
 This royal infant, (heaven still move about her !) 
 
 Though in her cradlt, yet now promises 
 
 Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, 
 
 Which time shall bring to ripeness : She shall be 
 
 (But few now living can behold that goodness,) 
 
 A pattern to all princes living with her. 
 
 And all that shall succeed ; Sheba was never 
 
 More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue. 
 
 Than this pure soul shall be : ail princely graces, 
 
 That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, 
 
 With all the virtues that attend the good, 
 
 Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse her. 
 
 Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her; 
 
 Sheshallbelov'd.andfear'd: Her own shall bless her: 
 
 Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, 
 
 And hang their heads with sorrow : Good grows with 
 
 In her days every man shall eat in safety [her: 
 
 Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing 
 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours : 
 
 God shall be truly known ; and those about her 
 
 From her shall read the perfect ways of honour. 
 
 And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. 
 
 [Nor shall this peace sleep with her : But as when 
 
 The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phcenix, 
 
 Her ashes new create another heir, 
 
 As great in admiration as herself; 
 
 So shall she leave her blessedness to one, 
 
 (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of dark- 
 
 Who, from the sacrqd ashes of her honour, [ness,) 
 
 Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was. 
 
 And so stand fix'd: Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, 
 
 That were the servants to this chosen infant, 
 
 Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; 
 
 Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine. 
 
 His honour, and the greatness of his name 
 
 Shall be. and make new nations: He shall flourish, 
 
 And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches 
 
 To all the plains about him : Our children's chil- 
 
 Shall see this, and bless heaven. [dren 
 
 1 A". Hejt. Thou speakest wonders. 
 
 Cratu She shall be, to the happiness of England, 
 An aged princess ; many days shall see her, 
 
 I And yet no day without a deed to crown it. 
 
 I 'Would 1 had known no more ! but she must die, 
 
 I She must, the saints must have her ; yet a virgin, 
 
 I A most unspotted lily shall she pass 
 To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her. 
 
 K. Hen. O lord archbishop. 
 Thou hast made me now a man ; never, before 
 
 ' This happy child, did I get any thing : 
 This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me, 
 That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire 
 
 To see what this child does, and praise my Maker • 
 
 I thank ye all, — To you, my good lord mayor. 
 And your good brethren, I am much beholden ; 
 I have receiv'd much honour by your presence. 
 And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way lords j 
 Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye. 
 She will be sick else- This day, no man think 
 He has business at his house ; for all shall stay, 
 This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt, 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 'Tis ten to one, this play can never please 
 All that are here ; Some come to take their ease. 
 And sleep an act or two ; but those, we fear. 
 We have frighted with our trumpets ; so, 'tis clear 
 They'll say tis naught : others, to hear the city 
 Abus'd extiemelv, and to cry, — that's wittu-' 
 Which we have not done neither : that, I fear. 
 All the expected good we are like to hear 
 For tiiis play at this time, is only in 
 The merciful construction of good women ; 
 For such a one we shew'd them ; If they smile. 
 And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while 
 All the best men are ours ; for 'tis ill hap, 
 If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap. 
 
 The play of Henri/ the Eighth \%onvi of those which still keeps 
 possession of the stage by the splendour of its pageantry. The 
 coronation, about forty years a^'o, drew the people together iu 
 multitudes for the great part ot the winter. Yet pomi) la not 
 the only merit of this play, the meek sorrows and virtuous 
 distress of Katharine have furnished some scenes, which may 
 be justly numbered among the greatest efforts of tragedy. But 
 the genius of Shakspeare comes in and goes out with Katharine. 
 Every other part may be easily conceived and easily written. 
 Johnson. , , . i,-.-. a 
 
 Chetwood says that, during one season, it was exhitited se- 
 venty-five times. I'here are.I nelieve.very few readers who will 
 coincide with Dr. Johnson in their opinion of Qiis play ; or who 
 
 will not discover the traces of.Shakspeare's^eniusaspowerfally 
 marked in the delineation of Wolsoy and Kin^' lienry, as in the 
 exquisite portrait of Queen Katharine herselt. It has been sup- 
 posed, that the epilo^'ue and prologue, and a few iiicidental pas- 
 sages, were added by Ben .lonson, on the revival of this i)Tay, 
 1613. This opinion was entertained by Steevensj IMalone, Dr. 
 Farmeriand Dr. Johnson, partly on the groundsel Shakspeare's 
 absence from London, and partly on an imaginary detection of 
 Jonson's stvle and manner. I'o demonstrate the vanity of all 
 such actual speculations, it is now certain, that they were most 
 probably from the pen of Shakspi'are, who was still in London; 
 and that, at all event.*, they co'jld not have been written by 
 BcQ Jon^on* |ior he was not even in Cn^laod. 
 
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Th Is play was entered at Stationers* Hall, Feb. 1602-3, under i 
 the title of The Booke of 'J'roilus and Cressida ; and was there- 
 fore probably written id 1602. It was not printed till lG09 ; 
 when it was preceded by an advertisement of the editor, stat- 
 ing that " it n.id never been staled witb the stage, never clap- 
 per-clawed with the palms of the vulgar." Yet, as the tragedy 
 ■was entered in I611C-0, as acted t'T my lord Chamberlain's 
 □lea ; we must suppose that the editor's words do not mean 
 
 that It had never been presented at all, but only at court, and 
 not on the nublic stage. 
 There was a play upon this subject ^v^ittenby Decker and Chettle, 
 in 1599 ; thp original story of Iroilus and Cressida was the 
 work ot Lollius, ahistoriographerof Urbino, in Italy. It was, 
 according to Drj'den. written in Latin verse, and translated 
 by Chaucer. Shakspeare received the greater part of his ma- 
 *,f."^!l, ''■am the Troy Booke of Lydgate ; aud the romance of 
 ihe Three Destructions ef Troy. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Priam, King ii/'Troy. 
 
 Hector, Troilus, Paris, Deiphodus, Helenus, 
 
 his sons. 
 ^NEAS and Antenor, Trojaa commanders. 
 Calchas, a Trojan priesf, taking part with the GieAs. 
 Pandarus, ^CJlcle to Cressida. 
 BIaroarelon, a bastard son of'Priam. 
 Agamemnon, the Grec'iSin general. 
 Menelaus, his brother, 
 AcaiLiES, Ajax, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, 
 
 Pathoclus, Grecian commanders. 
 Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. 
 Alexander, servant tc Cressida. 
 Servant to Troilus. 
 Servant to Paris. 
 Servant to Diomedes. 
 Helen, wife to Menelaus. 
 Andromache, wife to Hector. 
 Cassandra, daughter to Priam, a prophetess. 
 CnEssiDA, daughter to Calchas. 
 
 Trojan and Greeli. Soldiei-s, and Attendants. 
 SCENE, — Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece 
 The princes orgulous, their high blood chafd. 
 Have to the port of .Athens sent their ships. 
 Fraught \vith the ministers and instruments 
 Of cruel war : Sixty and nine, that wore 
 Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay 
 Put forth toward Phrygia ; and their vow is made. 
 To ransack Troy ; within whose strong immures 
 The ravish'd Helen, ftlenelaus' queen. 
 With wanton Paris sleeps ; And that's the quarrel. 
 To Tenedos they come ; 
 
 And the deep-drawng barks do there disgorge 
 Their warlike fraughtage : Now on Dardan plains 
 The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch 
 Their brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city, 
 Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Chetas, Trojan, 
 And Antenorides, with massy staples. 
 And coiTesponsive and fulfilling bolts, 
 Sperr up the sons of Troy. 
 Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 
 On one and other side, Trojan aud Greek, 
 Sets all on hazard : — And hither am I come 
 A prologue ami'd, — but not in confidence 
 Of author's pen, or actor's voice ; but suited 
 In like conditions as our argument, — ■ 
 To tell you, fair beholders, that our play 
 Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those broils 
 'Ginning in the middle ; starting thence away 
 To what may be digested in a play. 
 Like, or find fault ; do as your pleasures are ; 
 Now good, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. . 
 Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. 
 
 Tro. Call here my varlet. I'll unarm again : 
 Why should I war without the walls of Troy, 
 That find such cruel battle here within t 
 Each Trojan, that is master of his heart. 
 Let him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none. 
 
 Pan. Will this geer ne'er be mended ? [strength, 
 
 Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their 
 Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant ; 
 But 1 am weaker than a woman's tear. 
 Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance ; 
 Less valiant than the virgin in the night. 
 And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy. 
 i Pan. \^'ell, 1 have told you enough of this : for 
 I Tny part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He 
 that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the 
 ' grinding. 
 
 ! Tro. Have I not tarried ? 
 
 ' Pan, Ay, the grinding ; but you must tarry tlic 
 j bolting. 
 I Tro, Have I not tarried ? 
 
 Pan. Ay, the bolting ; but you must tarry the lea- 
 vening. 
 
 Tro. Still have I tarried. 
 
 Pan. Ay, to the leavening : but here's yet in the 
 word — hereafter, the kneading, the making of the 
 cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, 
 you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to 
 burn your lips. 
 
 Tro, Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be. 
 Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. 
 At Priam's royal table do I sit ; 
 And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, — 
 So, traitor ! when she comes ' — When is she thence ? 
 
 Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever 
 I saw her look, or anv woman else. 
 
 Tro. I was about to tell thee, — When my heart, 
 .\s wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain ; 
 Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, 
 I have (as when the sun doth light a storm,) 
 Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile : 
 But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness. 
 Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness. 
 
 Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than 
 Helen's, (well, go to.) there were no more compari- 
 son between the women. — But, for my part, she is 
 my kinswoman ; I would not, as they term it, praise 
 her. — But I would somebody had heard her talk yes- 
 terday, as I did. I will not dispraise yoiir sister Cas- 
 sandra's wit ; but — 
 
 Tro. O, Pandarus !' I tell thee, Pandarus, — 
 When I do tell thee, There my hopes lie drown'd. 
 Reply not in how many fathoms deep 
 They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad 
 In (Sressid's love : Thou answer's!, She is fair; 
 iO 
 
578 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart 
 
 Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice ; 
 
 Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand, 
 
 In whose comparison all whites are ink. 
 
 Writing their own reproach ; To whose soft seizure 
 
 The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense 
 
 Hard as the palm of ploughman ! This thou tell'stme^ 
 
 As true thou tell'st me, when I say — I love her ; 
 
 But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm, 
 
 Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me 
 
 The knife that made it. 
 
 Pan. I speak no more than truth. 
 
 Tro. Thou dost not speak so much. 
 
 Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as 
 she is ; if she be fair, 'tis the better for her ; an she 
 be not, she has the mends in her own hands. 
 
 Tni. Good Pandarus ! How now, Pandarus t 
 
 Pud. I have had my labour for my travel; ill-thought 
 on of her, and ill-thought on of you; gone between 
 and between, but small thanks for my labour. 
 
 Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus 1 what, with 
 mel 
 
 Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore she's not 
 so fair as Helen : an she were not kin to me, she 
 would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sunday. 
 But, what care I ? T care not, an she were a black- 
 a-moor ; tis all one to me. 
 
 Tto. Say I, she is not fair ? 
 
 Pa?u I do not care whether you do or no. She's a 
 fool to stay behind her father ; let her to the Greeks ; 
 and so I'll tell her the next time I see her ; for my 
 part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the matter. 
 
 Tfo. Pandarus, — 
 
 Pan. Not I. 
 
 Ti-o. Sweet Pandarus, — ■ 
 
 Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me ; I will leave 
 all as I found it, and tlieie an end. 
 
 [-Er/( Pandarus. An alarum. 
 
 Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours I peace, rude 
 sounds ! 
 Fool* on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair, 
 When with your blood you daily paint her thus. 
 I cannot fight upon this argument ; 
 It is too starv'd a subject for my sword. 
 But Pandarus — O gods, how do you plague me ! 
 I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar ; 
 And he's as tetcliy to be woo'd to woo. 
 As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. 
 Tell me, Apollo, for thv Daphne's love. 
 What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we "? 
 Her bed is India ; there she lies, a peail : 
 Between our Ilium, and where she resides, 
 Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood ; 
 Ourself, the merchant ; and this sailing Pandar, 
 Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark. 
 
 Alaruifi. "Enter .,3^neas, 
 
 JEnc. How now, prince Troilus ? wherefore not 
 afield ■> 
 
 Tvo. Because not there ; This woman's answer sorts. 
 For womanish it is to be from thence. 
 What news, ,'Eneas, from the field to-day? 
 
 JEne. That Paris is return'd home, and hurt. 
 
 Tro. By whom, ..Eneas ? 
 
 Mne. Troilus, oy Menelaus. 
 
 Tro. Let Paris bleed ; 'tis but a scar to scorn ; 
 Paris is gor'd with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. 
 
 JEne. Hark ! what good sport is out of town to-day ! 
 
 Tro. Better at home, if would I might, were mnu. — 
 But, to the sport abroad ; — Are you bound thither t 
 
 /Etif. In all swift haste. 
 
 Tro. Come, go we then together. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.—The same. A Street. 
 Ente?'CnESSiDA and Alexander. 
 
 Cres. Who were those went by ■> 
 
 Alei. Queen Hecuba, and Helen. 
 
 Cres. And whither go they 1 
 
 Alex. _ Up to the eastern tower. 
 
 Whose height commands as subject all the vale, 
 To see the battle. Hector, whose patience 
 Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd : 
 He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer ; 
 And, like as there were husbandry in war^ 
 Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light. 
 And to the field goes he ; where every flower. 
 Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw 
 In Hector's wrath. 
 
 Cres. What was his cause of anger? 
 
 Alei: The noise goes, this: There is among the 
 A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector ; [Greeks 
 They call him, Ajax. 
 
 Cres. Good ; and what of him ? 
 
 A lei: They say he is a very man per se. 
 And stands alone. 
 
 Cres. So do all men ; unless they are drunk, sick, 
 or have no legs. 
 
 Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts of 
 their particular additions ; he is as valiant as the lion, 
 churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant : a man 
 into whom nature hath so crouded humours, that his 
 valour is crushed into folly, his folly sauced with 
 discretion : there is no man hath a virtue that 
 he hath not a glimpse of ; nor any man an attaint, 
 but he carries some stain of it : he is melancholy 
 without cause, and merry against the hair : He hath 
 the joints of every thing ; but every thing so out of 
 joint, tliat he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and 
 no use ; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight. 
 
 Cres. But how should this man, that makes me 
 smile, make Hector angry ? 
 
 Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in the 
 battle, and struck him down ; the disdain and shame 
 whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting and 
 waking. 
 
 Enter Pandarus. 
 
 Cres. Who comes here ? 
 
 Alei. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Cres. Hector's a gallant man. 
 
 Alei. As may be in the world, lady. 
 
 Pan. What's that? what's that? 
 
 Ci-es, Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid : Whatdoyon 
 talk of? — Good morrow, Alexander. — How do you, 
 cousin? When were you at Ilium ? 
 
 Cres. This morning uncle. 
 
 Pan. What were you talking of, when I came? 
 Was Hector armed and gone, ere ye came to Ilium? 
 Helen was not up, was she? 
 
 Cres. Hector was gone ; but Helen was not up. 
 
 Pun. E'en so ; Hector was stirring early. 
 
 Cres. That were we talking of, and of his auger. 
 
 Pan. Was he angry ? 
 
 Cres. So he says here. 
 
 Pnn. True, he was so; I know the cause too ; he'll 
 lay about him to-day, I can tell them that : and there 
 is Troilus will not come far behind him ; let them 
 take heed of Troilus ; I can tell them that too. 
 
 Cres. What is he angry too ? 
 
 Pan. Who, Troilus? Troilus is the better man oi 
 the two. 
 
 Cres. O .Tupiter ! there's no comparison. 
 
 Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector? Do 
 you know a man, if you see him ? 
 
ACT I. -SCENE II. 
 
 579 
 
 Cres* Ay, if I ever saw him before, and kuew him. 
 
 Pail, Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus. 
 
 Cres, Then you say as I say ; for, I am sure, he is 
 not Hector. 
 
 Pan. No, nor Hectons not Troilus, in some degrees. 
 
 Cres. *Tis just to each of them ; he is himself. 
 
 Patu Himself! Alas, poor Troilus! 1 would, he 
 were,— 
 
 Cres. So he is. 
 
 Paji, 'Condition, T had gone bare-foot to India. 
 
 Cres. He is not Hector. 
 
 Pan. Himself? no, he's not himself. — 'Would 'a 
 were himself! Well, the gods are above ; Time must 
 friend, or end: Well, Troilus, well, — I would, my 
 heart were in her body ! — No, Hector is not a better 
 man than Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Excuse me. 
 
 Pan. He is elder. 
 
 Cres* Pardon me, pardon me. 
 
 Pan. The other's not come to *t ; you shaU tell me 
 another tale, when the other's come to't. Hector 
 shall not have his wit this year. 
 
 Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own. 
 
 Pan. Nor his qualities ;— 
 
 Cres. No matter. 
 
 Pan. Nor his beauty. 
 
 Cres. Twould not become him, his own's better. 
 
 Pan. You have no judgment, niece : Helen herself 
 swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown favour, 
 (for so 'tis, I must confess,) — Not brown neither. 
 
 Cres, No, but brown. 
 
 Pan. Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown. 
 
 Cres. To say the truth, true and not true. 
 
 Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris. 
 
 Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough. 
 
 Pan. So he has. 
 
 Cres. Then, Troilus should have too much : if she 
 praised him above, his complexion is higher than his ; 
 ne having colour enough, and the other higher, is too 
 flaming a praise for a good complexion. I had as 
 lief. Helen's golden tongue had commended Troilus 
 for a copper nose. 
 
 Pan. 1 swear to you, I think, Helen loves him 
 better than Paris. 
 
 Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed. 
 
 Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to him 
 the other day into the compassed window, — and, you 
 know, he has not past three or four hairs on his chin. 
 
 Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may soon bring 
 his particulars therein to a total. 
 
 Pan. Why, he is very young : and yet will he, 
 within three pound, lift as much as his brother Hector. 
 
 Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter? 
 
 Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves him ; 
 — she came, and puts me her white hand to his cloven 
 chin, — — 
 
 Cres* Juno have mercy ! — How came it cloven ? 
 
 Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled: I think, his 
 smiling becomes him better than any man in all 
 Phrj'gia. 
 
 Cres. O, he smiles valiantly. 
 
 Pan. Does he not ! 
 
 Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. 
 
 J^an. Why, go to then ; — But to prove to you that 
 Helen loves Troilus, 
 
 Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll prove 
 it so. 
 
 Pan. Troilus? why, he esteems her no more than 
 I esteem an addle egg. 
 
 Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love 
 an idle head, you would eat chickens i' the shell. 
 Pan, I cannot choose but laugh, to think how she 
 
 tickled his chin ! — Indeed, she has a marvellous white 
 hand, I must needs confess. 
 
 Cres. Without the rack. 
 
 Pajt. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair 
 on his chin. 
 
 Cres. Alas, poor chin ! many a wart is richer. 
 
 Pan. But, there was such laughing; — Queen He- 
 cuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er. 
 
 Cres. With mill-stones. 
 
 Pan. And Cassandra laughed. 
 
 Cres, But there was a more temperate fire under 
 the pot of her eyes ; — Did her eyes run o'er too ? 
 
 Pan. And Hector laughed. 
 
 C'-es, At what was all this laughing? 
 
 Pan. iMarry, at the white hair that Helen spied on 
 Troilus' chin. 
 
 Cres. An't had been a green hair, T should have 
 laughed too. 
 
 Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair, as at 
 his pretty answer. 
 
 Cres. What was his answer ? 
 
 Pan. Quoth she, Here's hut one and fifty hairs on 
 yotir chin, and one of them is white, 
 
 Cres. This is her question. 
 
 Pan. That's true ; make no question of that One 
 and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one ivhite : That white 
 hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. Jupiter! 
 quoth she; which of these hairs is Paris mi/ husband? 
 The forked one, quoth he, p/uc/c it out, and give it him. 
 But, there was such laughing! and Helen so blushed 
 and Pai-is so chafed, and all the rest so laughed, that 
 it passed. 
 
 Cres. So let it now ; for it has been a great while 
 going by. 
 
 Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday ; 
 think on 't. 
 
 Cres. So I do. 
 
 Pan. I'll be sworn 'tis true ; he will weep you, an 
 'twere a man born in April. 
 
 Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a 
 nettle against May. [A retreat sounded. 
 
 Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field : Shall 
 we stand up here, and see them, as they pass toward 
 Ilium? good niece, do ; sweet niece Cressida. 
 
 Cres. At your pleasure. 
 
 Pan, Here, here, here's an excellent place ; here 
 we may see most bravely: I '11 tell you them all by 
 their names, as they pass by ; but mark Troilus above 
 the rest. 
 
 ^-Eneas passes over the Stage, 
 
 Cres, Speak not so loud. 
 
 Pan. That's ^neas ; is not that a brave man? 
 he 's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you ; But 
 mark Troilus ; you shall see anon. 
 
 Cres. Who's that? 
 
 Antenor passes over. 
 
 Pan. That's Antenor ; he has a shrewd wit, I can 
 tell you; and he's a good man enough : he's one 
 o'tlie soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever, and a 
 proper man of person: — When comes Troilus ?— I'll 
 sliew you Troilus anon ; if he see me, you shall see 
 him nod at me. 
 
 Cres. Will he give you the nod ? 
 
 Pan. You shall see. 
 
 Cres, If he do, the rich shall have more. 
 
 Hector passes over. 
 
 Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that ; 
 
 There's a fellow !— Go thy way, Hector !— There's 
 
 a brave man, niece. — brave Hector !— Look, how 
 
 he looks! there's a countenance: Is't not a brave man? 
 
500 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Cres. O, a brave man ! 
 
 Pan. Is "a unt I It docs a man's heart good — Look 
 you what hacks are on his hehnet"? look you yonder, 
 do you see ; look you there ! there's no jesting : 
 there's laying on ; tak't off who will, as they say : 
 there be hacks ! 
 
 Cres. Be those with swords 1 
 
 PARrs passes over. 
 
 Pan. Swords? any thing, he cares not: an the 
 devil come to him, it's all one : By god's lid, it does 
 cue's heart good : — Yonder comes Paris, yonder 
 comes Paris ; look ye yonder, niece ; Is't not a gal- 
 lant man too, is't not? — Why, this is brave now, — 
 Who said, he came hurt home to-day? he's not hurt : 
 why, this will do Helen's heart good now. Ha! 
 'would I could see Troilus now ! — you shall see 
 Troilus anon. 
 
 Cres. Who's that ? 
 
 Helenus passes over. 
 
 Pan. That's Helenus, — I marvel, where Troilus 
 is : — That's Helenus ;— I think he went not forth 
 to-day: — That's Helenus. 
 
 Cres. Can Helenus flight, uncle ? 
 
 Pan. Helenus ? no ; — yes, he'll fight indifferent 
 well : — I marvel, where I'roilus is ! — Hark ; do you 
 not hear the people cry, Troilus? — Helenus isa priest. 
 
 Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder 1 
 
 TROiLirs passes over. 
 
 Pan. Where ? yonder ? that's Deiphobus : 'Tis 
 Troilus ! there'sa man, niece ! — Hem ! — Brave Troi- 
 lus ! the prince of chivalry. 
 
 Cres. Peace, for shame, peace ! 
 
 Pan. Mark him ; note him ;— brave Troilus ! — 
 look well upon him, niece ; look you, how his sword 
 is bloodied, and his helm more hacked than Hector's ; 
 And how he looks, and how he goes ! — O admirable 
 youth ! he ne'er saw three and twenty. Go thy w^y, 
 Troilus, go thy way ; had I a sister were a grace, or 
 a daughter a goddess, he should take his choice. O 
 admirable man ! Paris ? — Paris is dirt to him ; and, 
 I warrant, Helen, to change, would give an eye to 
 boot. 
 
 Forces pass over the stage. 
 
 Cres. Here come more. 
 
 Pan. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, chaff 
 and bran ! porridge after meat ! I could live and die 
 i'the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look ; the 
 eagles are gone ; crows and daws, crows and daws I 
 I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Aga- 
 memnon and all Greece. 
 
 Cres. There is among the Greeks, Achilles ; a 
 better man than Troilus. 
 
 Pan. Achilles? a drayman, a porter, a very camel. 
 
 Cres. Well, well. 
 
 Pan. Well, well? — Why, have you any discretion? 
 have you any eyes ? Do you know what a man is ? 
 Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse, manhood, 
 learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and 
 such like, the spice and salt that season a man ? 
 
 Cres. Ay, a minced man : and then to be baked with 
 no date in the pye, — for then the man's date is out. 
 
 Pan. You are such a woman ! one knows not at 
 what ward you lie. 
 
 Crfs. Upon my back, to defend my belly; upon 
 my wit, to defend my wiles ; upon my secrecy, to de- 
 fend mine honesty; my mask, to defend my beauty ; 
 and you, to defend all these : and at all these wards 
 I lie, at a thousand watches. 
 Pan, Say one of your watches. 
 Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that ; and that's one 
 
 of the chiefest of them too ; if I cannot ward what I 
 would not have hit, I can watch you for telling how 
 I took the blow ; unless it swell past hidiug, and 
 then it is past watching. 
 
 Pan. You are such another ! 
 
 Enter TnorLus' Boy, 
 
 Boil. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you. 
 
 Pan. Where? 
 
 B'Ji/. At your own house ; there he unarms him. 
 
 Pan. Good boy, tell him I come : [Exit Boy 
 
 I doubt, he be hurt. — Fare ye well, good niece. 
 
 Cres. Adieu, uncle. 
 
 Pii?i. I'll be with you, niece, by and by. 
 
 Cres. To bring, uncle, 
 
 Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 
 
 Cres. By the same token — you are a bawd. 
 
 [Kj'/( Pandaru?. 
 Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice, 
 He offers in another's enterprize: 
 But more in Troilus thousand fold I see 
 Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be ; 
 Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing : 
 Things won are done, joy's soul lies in the doing: 
 That she belov'd knows nought, that knows not this, — 
 Wen prize the thing ungain'd more than it is : 
 That she was never yet, that ever knew 
 Love got so sweet, as when desire did sue : 
 Therefore this maxim out of love I teach, — 
 Achievement is command ; ungain'd, beseech ; 
 Then though my heart's'content firm love doth bear, 
 Nothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. [£ii«. 
 
 SCENE in. 
 
 TAc Grecian Camp. — Before Agamemnon's Tent, 
 
 Ti^mpets. Enter Agamem.non, Nesior, Ulysses, 
 
 IMlnelaus, and others. 
 
 Again. Princes, 
 What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks? 
 The ample proposition, that hope makes 
 lu all designs begun on earth below, 
 Fails in the promis'd largeness : cliecks and disasters 
 Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd ; 
 As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
 Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain 
 Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 
 Nor, princes, is it matter new to us, 
 That we come short of our suppose so far, 
 That, after seven years' siege, yet Tioy walls stand ; 
 Sith every action that hath gone before, 
 Whereof we have record, trial did draw 
 Bias and thwart, not answering the aim. 
 And that unbodied figure of the thought 
 Thatgav't surmised shape. Wiiy then, you princes, 
 Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works ; 
 And think them shames, which are, indeed, nought 
 But the protractive trials of great Jove, [else 
 
 To find persistive constancy in men ? 
 The fineness of which metal is not found 
 In fortune's love : for then, the bold and coward. 
 The wise and fool, the artist and unread. 
 The hard and soft, seem all aflfin'd and kin : 
 But, in the wind and tempest of her frown. 
 Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, 
 Puffing at all, winnows the light away ; 
 And what hath mass, or matter, by itself 
 Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled. 
 
 Acat. \Vith due observance of thy godlike seat. 
 Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
 Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance 
 Lies the true proof of men : the sea being smooth. 
 
Y^.~auii. 1,1, ■;,)., ,.m^.]iiiiA^;./iM|..|p.|[|..,,..,|,.|. J.,. i''"'i'Vn/»l,vmi:;-..i^,i;;i.i>if.Hj.l,ua,jYi'lll-"'1)'-'tt\^tfji;i-;HIM'i'M>"f_ 
 
ACT I. -SCENE III. 
 
 581 
 
 How many shadow bauble boats dare sail 
 
 Tpon her patient breast, making their way 
 
 With those of nobler bulk? 
 
 But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
 
 The gentle Thetis, and, anon, behold 
 
 Thestrong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountainscut, 
 
 Boun^ling between the two moist elements, 
 
 Like Perseus' horse : Where's then the saucy boat. 
 
 Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now 
 
 Co-rival*d greatness I either to harbour fled. 
 
 Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 
 
 Doth valour's show, and valour's worth, divide. 
 
 In storms of fortune: For, in her ray and brightness, 
 
 The herd hatli more annoyance by the brize. 
 
 Than bv the tiger ; but when the splitting wind 
 
 Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks. [rage, 
 
 And flies fled under shade, Why, tlien.the tiiingof cou- 
 
 As rous'd with lage, with rage doth sympathize, 
 
 And, with an accent tun'd in self-same key, 
 
 Returns to chiding fortune. 
 
 Uli/ss. Agamemnon. — 
 
 Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece, 
 Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit, 
 In whom the tempers and the minds of all 
 Should be shut up. — hear what Ulysses speaks. 
 Besides the applause and approbation 
 The which, — most mighty for thy place and swav, — 
 
 [To Agamemnon. 
 And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life, — 
 I _ [To Nes'ior. 
 
 I give to both your speeches, — which were such, 
 As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
 Should hold up high in brass ; and such again, 
 As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in S'ilver, 
 Should with a bond of air (strong as the axletree 
 On which heaven rides,) knit all the Greekish ears 
 To his experienc'd tongue, — yet let it please both, — 
 Thou great. — and wise,— to hear Ulysses speak. 
 
 Again, Speak, prince of Ithaca; and be't of less 
 That matter needless, of importless burden, [expect 
 Divide thy lips ; than we are confident. 
 When rank Theisites opes his mastiff jaws, 
 We shall hear music, wit, and oracle. 
 
 Ulitss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down, 
 And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master, 
 But for these instances. 
 The specialty of rule hath been neglected : 
 And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
 Hollow upon this plain, so, many hollow factions. 
 When that the general is not like the hive, 
 To whom the foragers shall all repair. 
 Wiiat honey is expected ! Degree being vizarded, 
 The unworthiest shews as fairly in the mask. 
 The heavens themselves, the planets and this centre, 
 Observe degree, priority, and place, 
 (nsisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
 Oflice, and custom, in all line of order : 
 And therefore is the glorious planet. Sol, 
 In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd 
 Amidst the other ; whose med'cinable eye 
 Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, 
 And posts. like the commandment of a king. 
 Sans check, to good and bad: But. when the planets. 
 In evil mixture, to disorder wander. 
 What plagues, and what portents'? what mutiny? 
 What raging of the sea? shaking of earth? 
 Commotion in the winds? frights, changes, horrors, 
 Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
 The unity and married calm of states 
 Quite from their fixture? O, when degree is shak'd, 
 AVhich is the ladder of all high designs. 
 The enterprise is sick! How could communities, 
 
 Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities, 
 
 Peaceful commerce from dividable shores, 
 
 The primogenitive and due of birth, 
 
 Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
 
 But by degree, stand in authentic place? 
 
 Take but degree away, untune that string, 
 
 And hark, what discord follows ! each thing meets 
 
 In mere oppugnancy : The bounded waters 
 
 Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores, 
 
 And make a sop of all this solid globe : 
 
 Strength should be lord of imbecility. 
 
 And the rude son should strike his father dead : 
 
 Force should be right ; or, rather, right and wrong, 
 
 (Between whose endless jar justice resides,) 
 
 Should lose their names, and so should justice too. 
 
 Then every thing includes itself in power, 
 
 Power into will, will into appetite ; 
 
 And appetite, an universal wolf, 
 
 So doubly seconded w itli will and power, 
 
 Must make perforce an universal prey, 
 
 And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, 
 
 This chaos, when degree is suffocate. 
 
 Follows the choking. 
 
 And this neglection of degree it is. 
 
 That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose 
 
 It hath to cUmb. The general's disdain 'd 
 
 By him one step below ; he, by the next ; 
 
 That next, by him beneath : so every step. 
 
 Exam pled by the first pace that is sick 
 
 Of his superior, grows to an envious fever 
 
 Of pale and bloodless emulation : 
 
 And "tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, 
 
 Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length, 
 
 Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength. 
 
 Kest. Blost wisely hath Ulysses here discovei'd 
 The fever whereof all our power is sick. 
 
 Agam. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses, 
 W^hat is the remedy? 
 
 Uljjss. The great Achilles, — whom opinion crowns 
 The sinew and the forehand of our host, — ■ 
 Having his ear full of his airy fame. 
 Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent 
 Lies mocking our designs: With him, Patroclus, 
 Upon a lazy bed, the livelong day 
 Breaks scurril jests ; 
 And with ridiculous and awkward action 
 (Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,) 
 He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamemnon, 
 Thy topless deputation he puts on ; 
 And, like a strutting player, — whose conceit 
 Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich 
 To hear the wooden dialogue and sound 
 'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage, — 
 Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrested seeming 
 He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks, 
 'Tis like a chime a mending ; with terms unsquar'd. 
 Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd 
 Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff. 
 The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling. 
 From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause ; 
 Cries— El cellent ! — 'Tis Agamemnon just. — 
 Now phu me Nestor ; — hem, and stroke thy beard. 
 As be, being ^drest (o some oi-ation. 
 That's done ; — as near as the extremestends 
 Of parallels : as like as Vulcan and his wife : 
 Yet good Achilles still cries. Excellent; 
 'Tis Nestor right! Norn play him me, Patroclus, 
 Armittg to answer in a ni^ht alarm. 
 And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age 
 Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough, and spit, 
 And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget. 
 Shake in and out the rivet ; — And at this sport, 
 
582 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 
 
 Sir Valoui dies ; cries, ! — enough, Patroclus ; — 
 Or give me ribs of steel.' 1 shall split all 
 In pleasure of vnj spleen. And in this fashion, 
 All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
 Severals and generals of grace exact, 
 Achievements, plots, orders, preventions, 
 Excitements to the field, or speech for truce, 
 Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves ! 
 As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. 
 
 Nest. And iu the imitation of these twaia 
 (Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns 
 With an imperial voice,) many are infect. 
 Ajax is grown self-will'd ; and bears his head 
 In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
 As broad Achilles ; keeps his tent like hira ; 
 IMakes factious feasts ; rails on our state of war. 
 Bold as an oracle ; and sets Thersites 
 ( A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint,) 
 To match us in comparisons with dirt ; 
 To weaken and discredit our exposure. 
 How rank soever rounded in with danger. 
 
 Uluss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice ; 
 Count wisdom as no member of the war ; 
 Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 
 But that of hand : the still and mental parts,— 
 Thai do contrive how many hands shall strike, 
 When fitness calls them on; and know, by measure 
 Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, — 
 Why, this hath not a finger's dignity : 
 They call this — bed-work, mappery, closet-war : 
 So tliat the ram, that batters down the wall, 
 For the great swing and rudeness of his poize, 
 They place before his hand that made tiie engine ; 
 Or those, that with the fineness of their souls 
 By reason guide his execution. 
 
 Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse 
 Makes many Thetis' sons. [Trumpet sounds. 
 
 Agam. What trumpet? look, Menelaus. 
 
 Enter ..^neas. 
 
 MeJi. From Troy. 
 
 Agatn. What would you 'fore our tent? 
 
 Mne. Is this 
 
 Great Agamemnon*s tent, I pray ? 
 
 Agam, Even this. 
 
 ^ne. May one, that is a herald, and a prince. 
 Do a fair message to his kingly ears 1 
 
 Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm 
 'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice 
 Call Agamemnon head and general. 
 
 £ne. Fair leave, and large security. How may 
 A stranger to those most imperial looks 
 Know ihem from the eyes of other mortals? 
 Again. How ? 
 
 JEne. Ay ; 
 I ask, that 1 might waken reverence, 
 And bid the cheek be ready with a blush 
 Modest as morning wiien she coldly eyes 
 The youthful Phoebus : 
 Which is tiiat god in office, guiding men 1 
 Which is the high and mighty Agajneranon? 
 
 Agam. This Trojan scorns us ; or the men of Troy 
 Are ceremonious courtiers. 
 
 ^ne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd. 
 As bending angels ; that's their fame in peace : 
 But when they would seem soldiers, they have galls. 
 Good aims, strong joints, true swords ; and Jove's ac- 
 Nothing so full of heart. But peace, ^*Eneas, [cord. 
 Peace, Trojan ; lay thy finger on thy lips ! 
 The worthiness of praise distains his worth, 
 If that the prais'd himself bring llie praise forth : 
 But what the repining enemy commends. 
 
 That breath fame blows j that praise, sole pure, tran- 
 scends. 
 
 Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself ^nens 
 
 jEne. Ay, Greek, that is my name. 
 
 Agam. What's your affair, I pray you ? 
 
 JEne. Sir, pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears. 
 
 Agam. He hears noughtfiivately, that comes from 
 Troy. 
 
 JEue. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him - 
 I bring a trumpet to awake his ear ; 
 To set his sense on the attentive bent. 
 And then to speak. 
 
 Agam. Speak frankly as the wind ; 
 
 It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour : 
 That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake. 
 He tells thee so himself. 
 
 ^ne. Trumpet, blow loud, 
 
 Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents ; — 
 And every Greek of mettle, let him know, 
 What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud. 
 
 [Trumpet sounds. 
 We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy 
 A prince call'd Hector, (Priam is his father,) 
 Who in this dull and long-continued truce 
 Is rusty grown ; he bade me take a trumpet, 
 And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords, 
 If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece, 
 That holds his honour higher than his ease ; 
 That seeks his praise more than he fears his peril ; 
 That knows his valour, and knows not his fear . 
 That loves his mistress more than in confession, 
 (With truant vows to her own lips he loves,) 
 And dare avow her beauty and her worth, 
 In otner arms than hers — to him this challenge. 
 Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
 Shall make it good, or do his best to do it, 
 He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer, 
 Than ever Greek did compass in his arms ; 
 And will to-morrow with his trumpet call, 
 Midway between your tents and walls of Troy. 
 To rouse a Grecian that is true in love : 
 If any come, Hector shall honour him ; 
 If none, he'll say iu Troy, when he retires. 
 The Grecian dames are sun-burn'd, and not worth 
 The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 
 
 Agam. This shall be told our lovers, lord .^lEneas ; 
 If none of them have soul in such a kind, 
 We left them all at home : But we are soldiers ; 
 And may that soldier a mere recreant prove, 
 That means not, hath not, or is not in love! 
 If then one is, or hath, or means to be, 
 That one meets Hector ; if none else, I am he. 
 
 NeU. Tel! him of Nestor, one that was a man 
 When Hector's grandsiie suck'd : he is old now ^ 
 But, if there be not in our Grecian host 
 One noble man, tiiat hatli one spark of fire 
 To answer for his love. Tell him fiora me, — 
 I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver. 
 And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn ; 
 And meeting him, will tell him, that my lady 
 Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste 
 As may be in the world ; his youth in flood, 
 I'll prove this truth with my three drops of blood. 
 
 /Ene. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of youth ' 
 r//i/s5. Amen. 
 
 Agam. Fair lord ^neas, let me touch your hand j 
 To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. 
 Achilles shall have word of this intent ; 
 So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent ; 
 Yourself shall feast with us before you go, 
 And find the welcome of a noble foe. 
 
 [EjfUHt all but Ulysses and KestOb^ 
 
ACT ir.-SCENE I. 
 
 583 
 
 Vlyss. Nestor, 
 
 A>W. What says Ulysses^ 
 
 Ulijss. I have a young conception in my brain, 
 Be you ray time to bring it to some shape. 
 
 Aesf. What is "t I 
 
 Uhji-s. This 'tis : 
 Blunt wedges rive hard knot> : The seeded pride 
 That hath to this maturity blown up 
 In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd, 
 Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil, 
 To overbulkus all. 
 
 Kest. Well, and how? 
 
 Uiyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector sends, 
 However it is spread in general name. 
 Relates in purpose only to Achilles. 
 
 Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as substance, 
 Whose grossness little characters sum up : 
 And, in the publication, make no strain, 
 But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
 As banks of Libya, — though, Apollo knows, 
 'Tis dry enough, — will, with great speed of judgment, 
 Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose 
 Pointing on him. 
 
 Utuss. And wake him to the answer, think you ? 
 
 Nest. Yes, 
 
 It is most meet ; Whom may you else oppose, 
 That can from Hectur bring those honours ofl", 
 If not Achilles'! Though't be a sportful combat, 
 Yet in the tiial much opinion dwells ; 
 For here the Trojans taste our dear'st re|)ute 
 With their finest palate : And trust to me, Ulysses, 
 Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd 
 In this wild action : fur the success. 
 Although particular, shall give a scantling 
 Of good or bad unto the general ; 
 And in such indexes, although small pricks 
 To their subsequent volumes, there is seen 
 The baby figure of the giant mass 
 Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd. 
 He, that meets Hector, issues from our choice : 
 And choice, being mutual act of all our souls. 
 Makes merit her election , and doth boil. 
 As 'twere from forth us all, a man distiU'd 
 Out of our virtues ; Who miscarrying, 
 What heart receives from hence a conquering part, 
 To steel a strong opinion to themselves ? 
 Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments. 
 In no less working, than are swords and bows 
 Directive by the fimbs. 
 
 Ulqss. Give pardon to my speech; — ■ 
 Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector. 
 Let us, like merchants, shew our foulest wares, 
 And think, perchance, they'll sell ; if not. 
 The lustre of the better shall exceed, 
 By shewing the worse first. Do not consent, 
 That ever Hector and Achilles meet ; 
 For both our honour and our shame, in this, 
 Are do^g'd with two strancje followers. 
 
 Nest. 1 see them not with my old eyes; what are they ? 
 
 Uluss. Whaiglory our Achilles shares from Hector, 
 Were he not proud, we all should share with him : 
 But he already i^ too insolent ; 
 And we were better parch in Afric sun, 
 Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes. 
 Should he 'scape Hector fair: If he were foil'd. 
 Why, then we did our main opinion crush 
 In taint of our best man. Xo, make a lotteiy ; 
 And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw 
 The sort to fight with Hector : Among ourselves, 
 Give him allowance for the better man, 
 For that will physic the great Myrmidon. 
 Who broils in loud applause ; and make him fall 
 
 His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends. 
 
 If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, 
 
 We'll dress him up in voices : If he fail. 
 
 Vet go we under our opinion still 
 
 That we have better men. But, hit or miss. 
 
 Our project's life this shape of sense assumes, — 
 
 Ajax, employ'd, plucks down, Achilles' plumes. 
 
 Nest. Ulysses, 
 Now I begin to relish thy advice ; 
 And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
 To Agamemnon : go we to him straight. 
 Two curs shall tame each other ; Pride alone 
 IMust tarre the mastifls on, as 'twere their bone. [£i. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Another pan of the Grecian Camp. 
 Enter Ajax and Thersites. 
 
 Ajax. Thersites, 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon — how if he had boils'! full, all 
 over, generallv '*■ 
 
 Ajm. Thersites, 
 
 Ther. And those boils did run 1 — Say so,- — did not 
 the general run then'! were not that a botchy core! 
 
 Ajax. Dog, 
 
 Ther. Then would come some matter from him ; I 
 see none now, 
 
 Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou not hear'! 
 Feel then. [Strikes him. 
 
 Ther. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mon- 
 grel beef-witted lord ! 
 
 4/nr Speak then, thou unsalted leaven, speak ; I 
 ^vill beat tliee into handsomeness. 
 
 Ther. 1 shall sooner rail thee into wit and holiness : 
 but, I think, thy horse will sooner con an oration, 
 than thou learn a prayer without book- Thou canst 
 strike, canst thou! a red murrain o' thy jade'stricks! 
 
 Ajax. Toads-stool, learn me the proclamation.* 
 
 Ther. Dost thou think, I have no sense, thou 
 strikest me thus 1 
 
 Ajar. The proclamation. — ■ 
 
 Ther. Thou art proclaim'd a fool, I think. 
 
 Ajax. Do not. porcupine, do not ; my fingers itch. 
 
 Ther. I would, thou didst itch from head to foot, 
 and I had the scratching of thee ; 1 would make thee 
 the loathsomest scab in Greece. When thou art forth 
 in the incursions, thou strikest as slow as another. 
 
 Jjax. I say, the proclamation, 
 
 Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on 
 Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his great- 
 ness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, tliat 
 thou barkest at him. 
 
 Ajax. jNIistress Thersites ! 
 
 Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. 
 
 Ajax. Cobloaf! 
 
 Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with his fist, 
 as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 
 
 Aja:. 'ii'ou whoreson cur ! [Beating him. 
 
 Ther. Do, do. 
 
 Ajai. Thou stool for a witch I 
 
 Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-witled lord I thou 
 hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows ; an 
 assinego may tutor thee : Thou scurvy valiant ass ! 
 thou art here put to thrash Trojans ;"and thou art 
 bought and sold among those of any wit. like a Bar- 
 barian slave. If thou use to beat me. I will begin 
 at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches, thou 
 thing of no bowels, thou ! 
 
 Ajax. You dog! 
 
 Ther. You scurvy lord. 
 
584 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Ajai, You cur '. [Beating him, 
 
 Ther. Mars his idiot '. do, rudeness ; do, camel ; 
 do, do. 
 
 Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 
 
 i4(^/iii. Why, hownow.Ajax'! wliereforedoyouthusi 
 How now, Thersites'! what's the matter, manl 
 
 Ther. You see him there, do you 1 
 
 Achil, Ay ; what's the matter ? 
 
 Ther. Nay, look upon him. 
 
 Achil. So I do ; What's the matter? 
 
 Ther. Nay, but regard him well. 
 
 Achil. Well, why 1 do so. 
 
 Ther. But yet you look not well upon him : for, 
 whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. 
 
 Achil. I know that, fool. 
 
 Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 
 
 Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 
 
 Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he ut- 
 ters ! his evasions have ears thus long. I have bobbed 
 his brain, more than he has beat my bones : I will 
 buy nine sparrows for a penny, and his fia mater is 
 not worth the ninth part of a sparrow. This lord, 
 Achilles, Ajax, — who wears his wit in his belly, and 
 his guts in his head, — I'll tell you what I say of him. 
 
 Achil. What? 
 
 Ther. I say, this Ajax- — - 
 
 Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 
 
 [Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles interposes, 
 
 Ther. Has not so much wit 
 
 Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 
 
 Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for 
 whom he comes to fight 
 
 Achil. Peace, fool ! 
 
 Tlicr. I would have peace and quietness, but the 
 fool will not : he there ; that he ; look you there. 
 
 Ajai. thou damned cur ! I shall 
 
 Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's ? 
 
 Ther. No, I warrant you ; for a fool's will shame it. 
 
 Patr. Good words, Thersites. 
 
 Achil. What's the quarrel? 
 
 Ajcu\ I bade the vile owl, go learn me the tenour 
 of the proclamation, and he rails upon me. 
 
 Ther. I serve thee not. 
 
 Ajax. Well, go to, go to. 
 
 Ther. I serve here voluntary. 
 
 Achil. Your last service was sufferance, 'twas not 
 voluntary ; no man is beaten voluntary ■, Ajax was 
 here the voluntary, and you as under an impress. 
 
 Ther. Even so ! — a great deal of your wit too lies 
 in your sinews, or else there be liars. Hector shall 
 have a great catch, if he knock out either of your 
 brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with no 
 kernel. 
 
 Achil. What, with me too, Thersites? 
 
 Tlier. There's Ulysses and old Nestor, — whose wit 
 was mouldy ere your graodsires had nails on their 
 toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and make you 
 plough up the wars. 
 
 Achil. What, what? 
 
 Ther. Yes, good sooth ; To, Achilles ! to, Ajax ! to I 
 
 Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. 
 Ther. 'Tis no matter ; 1 shall speak as much as 
 thou, afterwards. 
 
 Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace. 
 Tlier. I will hold my peace when Achilles' brach 
 bids me, shall I ? 
 
 Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. 
 'flier. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere 1 
 come any more to your tents ; I will keep where there 
 is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools. [Eiit. 
 Patr. A good riddance. 
 
 Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all our 
 That Hector, by the first hour of the sun, [host: 
 Will, with a trumpet, 'twixt our tents and Troy, 
 Tomorrow morning call some knight to arms. 
 That hath a stomach ; and such a one, that dare 
 Maintain — I know not what ; 'tis trash : Farewell. 
 
 Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? 
 
 Achil. I know not, it is put to lottery ; otherwise, 
 He knew his man. 
 
 Ajax. 0, meaning you : — I '11 go learn more of it. 
 
 l^Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace. 
 Enter Priam, Hector, Tboilus, Paris, and Helenus. 
 
 Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches spent. 
 Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks ; 
 Deliver Helen, and all damage else — 
 As honour, loss of time, travel, expense. 
 Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consum'd 
 In hot digestion of this cormorant war, — 
 Shall he strurk of: — Hector, what say you to 't ? 
 
 Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks than I, 
 As far as toucheth my particular, yet, 
 Dread Priam, 
 
 There is no lady of more softer bowels, 
 More spungy to suck in the sense of fear, 
 More ready to cry out — 117(0 knows what follows "f 
 Than Hector is : The wound of peace is surety. 
 Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd 
 The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
 To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go : 
 Since the first sword was drawn about this question. 
 Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes, 
 Hath been as dear as Helen , I mean of ours : 
 If we have lost so many tentlis of ours . 
 To guard a thing not ours ; not worth to us. 
 Had it our name, the value of one ten ; 
 What merit's in that reason, which denies 
 The yielding of her up ? 
 
 Tro. Fye, fye, my brother I 
 
 Weigh you the worth and honour of a king. 
 So great as our dread father, in a scale 
 Of common ounces ? will you with counters sum 
 The past-proportion of his infinite ? 
 And buckle-in a waist most fathomless. 
 With spans and inches so diminutive 
 As fears and reasons ? fye, for godly shame ! 
 
 Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at reasons. 
 You are so empty of them. Should not our father 
 P'oar the great sway of his affairs with reasons. 
 Because your speech hath none, that tells him so ? 
 
 Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother priest , 
 You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your 
 You know, an enemy intends you harm ; [reasons; 
 You know, a sword employ'd is perilous. 
 And reason flies the object of all harm : 
 Who maiTels then, when Helenus beholds 
 A Grecian and his sword, if he do set 
 The very wings of reason to his heels ; 
 And fly like chidden Mercury from ,Tove. 
 Or like a star disorb'd ? — Nay, if we talk of reason, 
 Let's shut our gates, and sleep: "Manhood and honour 
 Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their 
 
 thoughts 
 With this cramm'd reason ; reason and respect 
 Make livers pale, and lustihood deject, 
 
 Hect. Brother she is not worth what she doth cost 
 The holding. 
 
 Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued \ 
 
 Hect. But value dwells not in particular will j 
 It holds bis estimate and dignity 
 
ACr II.— SCENE II. 
 
 As well wherein 'tis precious of itself 
 As in the prizer : 'tis mad idolatry, 
 To make the service greater than the god ; 
 And the will dotes, that is attributive 
 To wliat infectiously itself affects, 
 Without some image of the affected merit. 
 
 Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
 Is led on in the conduct of my will ; 
 My will enkindled by rame eyes and ears, 
 Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
 Of will and judgment : How may I avoid, 
 Although my will distaste what is elected. 
 The wife I chose ? there can be no evasion 
 To blench from this, and to stand firm by honour : 
 We turn not back the silks upon the merchant. 
 When we have soil'd them : nor the remainder viands 
 We do not throw in unrespective sieve, 
 Because we now are full. It was thought meet, 
 Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks : 
 Your breath with full consent bellied his sails ; 
 The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce. 
 And did him service : he touch'd the ports desir'd ; 
 And, for an old aunt, whom the Greeks held captive, 
 He brought a Grecian queen, whose youth and fresh- 
 ness 
 Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning. 
 Why keep we her 1 the Grecians keep our aunt : 
 Is she worth keeping 1 why, she is a pearl. 
 Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships, 
 And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 
 If you '11 avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went, 
 (As you must needs, for you all cry'd — Go, ^o,) 
 If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize, 
 (As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands, 
 And ciy'd — Inestimable I) why do you now 
 Thf issue of your proper wisdoms rate ; 
 And do a deed that fortune never did. 
 Beggar the estimation which you priz'd 
 Richer than sea and land \ O theft most base ; 
 That we have stolen what we do fear to keep ! 
 But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stolen, 
 That in their country did them that disgrace. 
 We fear to warrant in our native place ! 
 
 Ca$, \_Within.'\ Cry, Trojans, cry ! 
 
 Pri. What noise ? what shriek is this I 
 
 Tro, 'Tis our mad sister. I do know her voice. 
 
 Cas. [H'it/iin.] Cry, Trojans ! 
 
 }iect. It is Cassandra. 
 
 filter Cassandra, raving. 
 
 Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry! lendme ten thousand eyes. 
 And 1 will fill them with prophetic tears. 
 
 Hect. Peace, sister, peace. 
 
 Cus. Virgins and boys.midage and wrinkled elders, 
 Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry. 
 Add to my clamours I let us pay betimes 
 A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry ! practise your eyes with tears ! 
 Troy must not be. nor goodly Ilion stand ; 
 Our fire-brand brother. Paris, burns us all. 
 Cry, Trojans, cry I a Helen, and a woe : 
 Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit. 
 
 Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high 
 Of divination in our sister work [strains 
 
 Some touches of remorse l or is your blood 
 So madly hot. tliat no discourse of reason, 
 Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause. 
 Can qualify the same 1 
 
 Tro. Why. brother Hector, 
 
 We may not think the justness of each act 
 Snch and no other than event doth form it ; 
 Nor once deject the courage of our minds, 
 
 Because Cassandra's mad ; her brain-sick raptures 
 Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel, 
 Which hath our several honours all engag'd 
 To make it gracious. For my private part, 
 I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons : 
 And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us 
 Such things as might offend the weakest spleen 
 To fight for and maintain ! 
 
 Par. Else might the world convince of levity 
 As well my undertakings as your counsels . 
 But I attest the gods, your full consent 
 Gave wings to my propension. and cut off 
 All fears attending on so dire a project. 
 For what, alas, can these my single arms? 
 What propugnation is in one man's valour. 
 To stand the push and enmity of those 
 This quarrel would excite ? Vet, I protest, 
 \^'ere I alone to pass the diihculties, 
 And had as ample power as 1 have will, 
 Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done, 
 Nor faint in the pursuit. 
 
 Pri. Paris, you speak 
 
 Like one besotted on your sweet delights : 
 You have the honey still, but these the gall ; 
 So to be valiant, is no praise at all. 
 
 Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself 
 The pleasures such a beauty brings with it ; 
 But I would iiave the soil of her fair rape 
 ^Vip'd off, in honourable keeping her. 
 \\'liat treason were it to the ransack'd queen. 
 Disgrace to yonr great. worths, and shame to me, 
 Now to deliver her possession up. 
 On terms of base compulsion 1 Can it be. 
 That so degenerate a strain as this. 
 Should once set footing in your generous bosoms ? 
 There's not the meanest spirit on our party. 
 Without a heart to dare, or sword to diaw. 
 When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble. 
 Whose life were ill be^tow'd, or death unfam'd. 
 Where Helen is the subject : then, I say, 
 ^^'ell may we fight for her, whom, we know well. 
 The world's large spaces cannot parallel. 
 
 Hect. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well; 
 And on the cause and question now in hand 
 Hiive gloz'd, — but superficially ; not much 
 Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thouglit 
 Unfit to hear moral philosophy; 
 The reasons you allege, do more conduce 
 To the hot passion of distemper'd blood. 
 Than to make up a fiee determination 
 'Twixt right and wrong ; for pleasure, and revenge. 
 Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
 Of any true decision. Nature craves, 
 All dues be render'd to their owners ; Now 
 What nearer debt in all humanity. 
 Than wife is to the husband ? if this law 
 Of nature be corrupted through affection ; 
 .\nd that great minds, of partial indulgence 
 To their benumbed wills, resist the same ; 
 There is a law in each well order'd nation. 
 To curb tho«e raging appetites that are 
 Most disoljedient and refractory. 
 
 If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king, 
 
 As it is known she is,— these moral laws 
 
 Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud 
 
 To have her back return'd : Thus to persist 
 
 In doing wrong, extenuates not wrono-. 
 
 But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion 
 
 Is this, in way of truth : yet, ne'ertheless. 
 
 My spritely brethren, I propend to you 
 
 In resolution to keep Helen still ; 
 
 For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance 
 
580 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Upon our joint and several dignities. 
 
 Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design; 
 Were it not glory that we more afiectcd 
 Than the performance of our heaving spleens, 
 I would not wish a drop of Trujaa blood 
 Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector, 
 She is a theme of honour and renown ; 
 A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds ; 
 AVhose present courage may beat down our foes. 
 And fame, in time to come, canonize us : 
 For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
 So rich advantage of a promis'd glory, 
 As smiles upon the forehead of this action. 
 For the wide world's revenue. 
 
 Hect. I am yours. 
 
 You valiant offspring of great Priamus. — 
 I have a roisting challenge sent amongst 
 The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks, 
 Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits : 
 1 was advertis'd. their great general slept. 
 Whilst emulation in the army crept ; 
 This, 1 presume, will wake him. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Grecian Camp. — Before Achilles' Tent. 
 
 Enter Thersites. 
 
 Titer. How now, Thersites 1 what, lost in the 
 labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax carry 
 it thus ? he beats me, and I rail at him ; O wortiiy 
 satisfaction ! 'would it were otherwise, that I could 
 beat him, whilst he railed at me : 'Sfoot, I'll learn 
 to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue of 
 my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles, — a 
 rare engineer. If Troy be not taken till these two 
 tindermine it, the walls will staud till they fall of 
 themselves. thou great thunder-darter of Olym- 
 pus, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods ; and, 
 Blercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy Cadu- 
 ceus ; it ye take not that little little less-than-little 
 wit from them that they have ! which short-aimed 
 ignorance itself knows is so abundant scarce, it will 
 not in circumvention deliver a fly from a spider, with- 
 out drawing their massy irons, and cutting the web. 
 After this, the vengeance on the whole camp ! or, 
 rather, the bone-ache '. for that, methinks, is the curse 
 dependant on those that war for a placket. I have 
 said my prayers ; and devil, envy, say Amen. What, 
 ho ! my lord Achilles ! 
 
 Enter P.txnocLUS. 
 
 Putr. Who's tliere 1 Thersites ? good Thersites, 
 come in and rail. 
 
 Ther. If I could have remembered a gilt counter- 
 feit, thou wouldest not have slipped out of my con- 
 templation: butitis no matter: Thyself upon thyself! 
 The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, 
 be thine in great revenue ! heaven bless thee from a 
 tutor, and discipline come not near thee! Let thy 
 blood be thy direction till death ! then if she, that 
 lays thee out, says — thou art a fair corse, I'll be 
 sworn and sworn upon't, she never shrouded any but 
 lazars. Amen. Where's Achilles ] 
 
 Pair. What, art thou devout! wast thou in prayer? 
 
 Ther. Ay ; the heavens hear me ! 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 AchiL Who's there? 
 Patr. Thersites, my lord. 
 
 Achil. Where, where? — Art thou come? Why, 
 my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served 
 
 thyself in to my table so many meals? Come; what's 
 Agamemnon ? 
 
 Ther. Thy commander, Achilles ; — Then tell me, 
 Patroclus, what's Achilles? 
 
 Pair. Thy lord, I'hersites : Then tell me, I pray 
 thee, what's thyself? 
 
 Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus ; Then tell me, Pa- 
 troclus, what art thou ? 
 
 Patr. Thou mayest tell, that knowest. 
 
 Achil. O tell, tell. 
 
 Ther, I'll decline the whole question. Agamem- 
 non commands Achilles; Achilles is my lord; lam 
 Patroclus' knower ; and Patroclus is a fool. 
 
 Patr. Vou rascal ! 
 
 Ther. Peace, foo! ; I have not done. 
 
 Achil. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Thersites. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a fool ; 
 Thersites is a fool ; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is a 
 fool. 
 
 Achil. Derive this; come. 
 
 Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command 
 Achilles ; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of 
 Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to serve such a fool ; 
 and Patroclus is a fool positive. 
 
 Patr. ■\Vhy am I a fool ? 
 
 Ther. Make that demand of the prover. — It suf- 
 ficeth me, thou art. Look you, who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Ag,\memnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes, 
 and Ajax. 
 
 Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody : — Come 
 in with me, Thersites. [£.ii(. 
 
 Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and 
 such knavery ! all the argument is, a cuckold, and a 
 whore : A good quarrel to draw emulous factions, 
 and bleed to death upon. Now the dry seiyign on the 
 subject ! and war, and lechery, confound all ! [Exit. 
 
 Agam, Wiiere is Achilles ? 
 
 Patr. Within his tent ; but ill-dispos'd, my lord. 
 
 Agam. Let it be known to him, that we are here. 
 He shent our messengers, and we lay by 
 Our appertainments, visiting of him ; 
 Let him be told so ; lest, perchance, he think 
 We dare not move the question of our place. 
 Or know not what we are. 
 
 Pair. I shall say so to him. [Exit. 
 
 Jllijss. We saw him at the opening of his tent; 
 He is not sick. 
 
 Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart: you 
 may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man ; 
 but, by my head, 'tis pride : But why, why? let him 
 shew us a cause. — A word, my lord. 
 
 [Takes Agamemnon aside. 
 
 Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ? 
 
 Utyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him. 
 
 Ne'st. Who? Thersites? 
 
 Uli/ss. He. 
 
 Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost 
 his argument. 
 
 Ulyss. No ; you see, he is his argument, that has 
 his argument ; Achilles. 
 
 Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more our 
 wish, than their faction: But it was a strong com- 
 posure, a fool could disunite. 
 
 Ulyss. The amity, that wisdom knits not, folly may 
 easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. 
 
 Be-enter Patroclus. 
 
 Nest. No Achilles with him. 
 Ulifss. The elephant hath joints, but none for cour- 
 tesy :" his legs are legs for necessity, not for flexure, 
 Patr. Achilles bids me say — he is much sotry. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 587 
 
 If any thing more than your sport and pleasure 
 Did move your greatness, and this noble state, 
 To call upon him ; he hopes, it is no other, 
 But, for your health and your digestion sake, 
 An after-dinner's breath. 
 
 Again. Hear you, Patroclus ;— 
 
 Vve are too well acquainted with these answers: 
 But his evasion, wirig'd thus swift with scorn. 
 Cannot outfly our apprehensions. 
 Much attribute he hath ; and much the reason 
 Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues — 
 Not virtuously on his own part beheld, — 
 Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss ; 
 Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish. 
 Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him. 
 AVe come to speak witli him ; And you shall not sin, 
 If you do say — we think him over-proud. 
 And under-honest ; in self-assumption greater. 
 Than in the note of judgment ; and worthier than him- 
 Here tend the savage sU'angeness he puts on ; [self 
 Disguise the holy strength of their command, 
 And underwrite in an observing kind 
 His humorous predominance ; yea, watch 
 His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if 
 The passage and whole carriage of this action 
 Kode on his tide. Go. tell him this ; uid add, 
 That, if he overbold his price too much. 
 We'll none of him ; but let him, like an engine 
 Not portable, lie under this report — 
 Bring action hither, this cannot go to war ; 
 A stirring dwarf we do allowance give 
 Before a sleeping giant : — Tell iiim so. 
 
 Piitr. 1 sliall ; and bring his answer presently. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Agam. In second voice we'll not be satisfied. 
 We come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter. 
 
 [Exit Ulvsses. 
 
 Ajrx. What is he more than another ? 
 
 Aj;am. No more than what he tliinks he is. 
 
 Ajai. Is he so much 1 Do you not think, he thinks 
 himself a better man than I am 1 
 
 A«am. No question. 
 
 Ajui.. Will you subscribe his thought, and say — 
 he is? 
 
 Agam. No, noble Ajax ; you are as strong, as va- 
 liant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle, and 
 altogether more tractable. 
 
 Ajui. \\'hy should a man be proud 1 How doth 
 pride grow 1 1 know not what pride is. 
 
 Agam. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your 
 virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up him- 
 self: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his 
 own chronicle ; and whatever praises itself but in the 
 deed, devours the deed in tiie praise. 
 
 AJai. 1 do hate a proud man, as I hate the engen- 
 dering of toads. 
 
 Nat. And yet he loves himself: Is it not strange? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Re-enter Ulvsses. 
 
 Uliiss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow. 
 
 Agam. What's his excuse! 
 
 Uliiss. He doth rely on none ; 
 
 But carries on the stream of his dispose. 
 Without observance or respect of any. 
 In will peculiar and in self-admission. 
 
 Again. Why will he not, upon our fair request, 
 Untenthis person, and share the air with us? [only, 
 
 Uluis. Things small as nothing, for request's sake 
 He makes important ; Possess'd he is with greatness ; 
 And speaks not to himself, but with a pride 
 That quarrels at self-breath : imagin'd worth 
 
 Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse. 
 That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts, 
 Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages. 
 And batters down himself: What should 1 say? 
 He is so plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it 
 Cry — No recoverif. 
 
 As 
 
 Let Ajax go to him. — 
 
 Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent • 
 'Tis said, he holds you well ; and will be led, 
 At your request, a little fiom himself. 
 
 Uiuss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so ! 
 We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes 
 When they go from Achilles : Shall the proud lord, 
 That bastes his arrogance with his own seam ; 
 And never suflTers matter of the world 
 Enter his thouglits, — save such as do revolve 
 And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd 
 Of that we hold an idol more than he ? 
 No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord 
 Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd ; 
 Nor, by my will, subjugate his merit. 
 As amply titled as Achilles is. 
 By going to Achilles ; 
 That were to enlard his fat-already pride ; 
 And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns 
 With entertaining great Hyperion. 
 This lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid ; 
 And say in thunder — Achiiles go to him. 
 
 Nest. 0, this is well ; he rubs the vein of him. 
 
 [.■iside. 
 
 Dio. And liow his silence drinks up this applause '. 
 
 [AsicU: 
 
 Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash him 
 Over the face. 
 
 Agiim. O, no, you shall not go. 
 
 Ajai. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze his pride • 
 Let me go to him. 
 
 C'iuss.Not for the worth thathangs upon our quarrel 
 
 Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow, 
 
 Nest. How he describes 
 
 Himself! [Aside. 
 
 A/ax. Can he not be sociable ? 
 
 I'hss. The raven 
 
 Chides blackness, [Aside. 
 
 Ajai. I will let his humours blood. 
 
 Agam. He'll be physician, that should be the pa- 
 tient. [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. An all men 
 Were o'my mind, 
 
 Uliiss. Wit would be out of fashion. [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. He should not bear it so. 
 He should eat swords first : Shall pride carry it? 
 
 Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside. 
 
 Ulnss. He'd have ten shares. [Aside. 
 
 Ajax. I'll knead him. I will make him supple : ^ 
 
 Nest. He 's not yet thorough warm: force him with 
 praises : 
 Pour in, pour in : his ambition is dry. [Aside. 
 
 Ulyss. iMy lord, you feed too much on this dislike. 
 [To Aga.memnon. 
 
 Nest. O noble general, do not do so. 
 
 Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. 
 
 Ultiss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm. 
 Here is a man — but 'tis before his face ; 
 I will be silent. 
 
 Nest. Wherefore should you so ? 
 
 He is not emulous, as Achilles is. 
 
 Uliiss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant. 
 
 4;ai. A whoreson dog, that shall pal terthus with us 
 I would, he were a Trojan ! 
 
 Nest. What a vice 
 
 Were it in Ajax now 
 
588 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Ulifss. If he were proud ; 
 
 Din. Or covetous of praise ? 
 
 Ulyss. Ay. or surly borne 7 
 
 Dio, Or strange, or self-affected? [composure ; 
 Uliiss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet 
 Praise hira that got thee, slje tliat gave thee suck : 
 Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature 
 'J'hrice- fam'd, beyond all erudition : 
 But he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight. 
 Let Mars divide eternity in twain. 
 And give him half: and, for thy vigour. 
 Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield 
 To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom. 
 Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines 
 Thy spacious and dilated parts : Here's Nestor, — 
 lostructed by the antiquary times. 
 He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ; — 
 But pardon, father Nestor, were your days 
 As gjeen as Ajax, and your brain so temper'd, 
 Vou should not have the eminence of him. 
 But be as Ajax. 
 
 Ajci. Shall I call you father 1 
 
 Nest. Ay, my good son. 
 
 Din. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax. 
 
 Ulifss. There is no tarrying here ; the hart Achilles 
 Keeps thicket. Please it our great general 
 To call together all his state of war; 
 Fresh kings are come to Troy ; To-morrow, 
 We must with all our main of power stand fast ; 
 And here's a lord, — come knights from east to west, 
 And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best. 
 
 Agam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sU;ep ; 
 Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw deep. 
 
 lExeuiit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE 1. — Troy. A Ronm in Priam's Palace. 
 Enter Pandarus and a Servant. 
 
 Pan. Friend I you ! pray you, a word : Do not 
 you follow the young lord Paris 1 
 
 Sen'. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 
 
 Pan. You do depend upon him, I meaul 
 
 Serv. Sir, I do depend upon the lord. 
 
 Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman ; 1 
 must needs praise hira. 
 
 Serv. I'he lord be praised ! 
 
 Pan. You know me, do you not ? 
 
 Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially. 
 
 Pan. Friend, know me better ; I am the lord 
 Pandaius. 
 
 Serv. I hope. I shall know your bonour better. 
 
 Pan. I do desire it. 
 
 Serv. You are in the state of grace. [M'lsic within. 
 
 Pan. Grace! not so. friend ; honour and lordship 
 are my titles ; — What music is this '. 
 
 Serv. I do but partly know, sir ; it is music in 
 parts. 
 
 Pan. Know you the musicians 7 
 
 Serv. Wholly, sir. 
 
 Pun. Who play they to ? 
 
 Serv. To the hearers, sir. 
 
 Pan. At whose pleasure, friend ? 
 
 Serv, At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. 
 
 Pan. Command, I mean, friend. 
 
 Serv. Who shall 1 command, sir ? 
 
 Pan. Friend, we understand not one another ; I 
 am too courtly, and thou art too cunning ; At whose 
 request do these men play 1 
 
 I Serv. That's to't, indeed, sir : Marry, sir, at tlie 
 request of Paris my lord, who is there in person j 
 with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of beauty, 
 love's invisible soul, 
 
 Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ? 
 
 Serv. No, sir, Helen ; Could you not find out that 
 by her attributes ? 
 
 Pan, It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not 
 seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris 
 from the prince Troilus : I will make a complimental 
 assault upon him, for my business seeths. 
 
 Scrr. Sodden business ! there 's a stewed phrase, 
 indeed ! 
 
 Enter Paris and Helen, attended. 
 
 Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair 
 
 company ! fair desires, ia all fair measure, fairly guide 
 them ! especially to you, fair (jueen ! fair thoughts 
 be your fair pillow ! 
 
 Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 
 Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen. — 
 Fair prince, here is good broken music. 
 
 Par. You have broke it, cousin: and, by my life, 
 you shall make it whole again ; you shall piece it 
 out with a piece of your performance : — Nell, he is 
 full of harmony. 
 
 Pin;. Truly, lady, no. 
 
 Helen. O, sir, 
 
 Pnu. Rude, in sooth ; in good sooth, verj' rude. 
 Far. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so in fits. 
 Pan. [ have business to my lord, dear queen :■ — 
 My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word 1 
 
 Helm. Nay, tliis shall not hed^e us out : we'll hear 
 you Slug, certainly. 
 
 Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with 
 me. — But (marry) thus, my lord, — Mydearlord, and 
 most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus — 
 Helen. My lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet lord, — 
 Pun. Go to, sweet queen, go to : — commends him- 
 self most affectionately to you. 
 
 Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody , 
 If you do, our melancholy upon your head ! 
 
 Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ; that's a sweet 
 queen, i'faith. 
 
 Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour 
 offence. 
 
 Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; that 
 shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such 
 words : no, no. — And, my lord, he desires you, that, 
 if the king call for him at supper, you will make his 
 excuse. 
 
 Helfn. My lord Pandarus, 
 
 Pan. AVhat says my sweet queen, — my very very 
 sweet queen 1 
 
 Par. What exploit's in hand! where sups he to 
 night ? 
 
 Helen. Nay, but my lord, — — 
 Pan. \\'hat says my sweet queen? — My cousin 
 will fall out with you. You must not know where 
 he sups. 
 
 Par. I '11 lay my life, with my disposer Cressida. 
 Pun. No, no, no such matter, you are wide ; come, 
 your disposer is sick. 
 
 Par. Well, I '11 make excuse. 
 Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say — 
 Cressida ? no, your poor disposer's sick. 
 Pur. I spy. 
 
 Pan. You spy ! what do you spy ?— Come, give 
 me an instrument. — Now, sweet queen. 
 Helen. Why, this is kindly done. 
 Pan. Sly niece is horribly in love with a thing yon 
 have, sweet queen. 
 
ACT III.--SCENE II. 
 
 589 
 
 Helen She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my 
 lord Paris. 
 
 Pan. He! no, she'll none of hira ; they two are twain. 
 
 Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may make them 
 three. 
 
 Fan. Come, come, I '11 hear no more of this ; I'll 
 sing you a song now. 
 
 Helen. Ay, ay, pry'thee now. By my troth, sweet 
 lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 
 
 Pan. Ay, you may, you may. 
 
 Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will undo 
 us all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! 
 
 Pan, Love ! ay, that it shall, i'faith. 
 
 Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love. 
 
 Pan. In good troth, it begins so : 
 
 Love, love, nothing but Lwe, still mere! 
 
 For, oh, love's hoiv 
 
 Shoots buck and tloe: 
 
 The shaft conffyuudsy 
 
 Not that it uounds, 
 But tickles still the sore. 
 
 These lovers crif — Oh! oh! then die! 
 
 Yet that which seems the wound to kill, 
 Doth turn oh ! oh ! to ha ! ha ! he ! 
 
 So dying love lives still : 
 Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha! ha ! ha ! 
 Oh! oh! groans outj'or ha! ha! ha! 
 
 Hey ho ! 
 
 Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose. 
 
 Par. He eats nothing but doves, love ; and that 
 breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, 
 and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is 
 love. 
 
 Pan. Is this the generation of love 1 hot blood, 
 hot thoughts, and hot deeds 1 — Why, they are vipers : 
 Is love a generation of vipers 1 Sweet lord, who's 
 afield to-day 1 
 
 Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and 
 all the gallantry of Iroy : I would fain have armed 
 to-night, but my Nell would not have it so. How 
 chance my brother Troilus went not ? 
 
 Helen. He hangs the lip at sometliing ; — you isnow 
 all, lord Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Kot I, honey-sweet queen. — I long to hear 
 how they sped to-day. — You'll remember your bro- 
 ther's excuse ? 
 
 Par. To a hair. 
 
 Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. 
 
 Helen. Commend me to your niece. 
 
 Pan. I will, sweet queen. [Exit. 
 
 [-4 retreat soun4ed. 
 
 Par. They are come from field: letustoPriam'shall. 
 To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo you 
 To help unarm our Hector : his stubborn buckles, 
 With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd. 
 Shall more obey, tlian to tlie edge of steel. 
 Or force of Greekish sinews ; you shall do more 
 Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector 
 
 Helen. "Twill make us proud to be his servant, Paris : 
 Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty. 
 Give us more palm in beauty than we have ; 
 Vea, overshines ourself. 
 
 Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. [Eieunl. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. Pandarus' Orchard. 
 Fitter Pandabvs and a Servant meeting. 
 
 Pr.n. How now? where's thyma.ster? at my cousin 
 Cressida's 1 
 
 Sere. No, sir ; he stays for you to conduct him 
 Uiither. 
 
 Enter TROiLtJS. 
 
 Pan. O, here he comes. — How now, how now ? 
 
 Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Pii7i. Have you seen my cousin ? 
 
 Tro. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door. 
 Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks 
 Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon, 
 And give rae swift transportance to those fields. 
 Where I may wallow in the lily beds 
 Propos'd for the deserver ! Ejentle Pandarus, 
 From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings, 
 And fly with nie to Cressid ! 
 
 Pan. Walk here i'the orchard, I'll bring her straight. 
 [Exit Pandakus. 
 
 Tro. I am giddy ; expectation whirls me round. 
 The imaginary relish is so sweet 
 That it enchants my sense ; What will it be. 
 When that the watry palate tastes indeed 
 Love's thrice-reputed nectar ! death, I fear me ; 
 Swooning destruction ; or some joy too fine. 
 Too subtle-potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness, 
 For the capacity of my ruder powers : 
 I fear it much ; and 1 do fear besides. 
 That I shall lose distinction in my joys ; 
 As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
 The enemy flying. 
 
 Be-enter Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come straio-ht . 
 you must be witty now. She does so blush, and 
 fetches her wind so short, as if she were frayed with 
 a sprite : I'll fetch her. It is the prettiest villain : 
 — she fetches her breath as short as a new-ta'en 
 sparrow. [Exit Pandarus. 
 
 Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my bosom : 
 RIy heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ; 
 And all my powers do their bestowing lose. 
 Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring 
 The eye of majesty. 
 
 Enter Pandaets and Chessida. 
 
 Pan, Come, come, what need you blush? shame 's 
 a baby — Here she is now : swear the oaths now to 
 her. that you have sworn to me. — What, are you gone 
 again? you must be watched ere you be made tame, 
 must you ! Come your ways, come your ways ; an 
 you draw backward, we'll put you i'the tills.— Why 
 do you not speak to her?— Come, draw this curtain, 
 and let's see your picture. Alas the day, how loath 
 you are to offend daylight \ an 'tn'ere dark, you 'd 
 close sooner. So, so; rub on, and kiss the mistress. 
 How now, a kiss in fee farm! build there, carpenter ; 
 the air is sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts 
 out, ere I part you. 'The falcon as the tercel, for all 
 the ducks i'the river ; go to, go to. 
 
 Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 
 
 Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds: but 
 she '11 bereave you of the deeds too, if she call your 
 activity in question. Wliat. billing again? Here's— 
 In witness whereof the parties interchangeablu— Come 
 in, come in ; I '11 go get a fire. [Exit PIndarus. 
 
 Ores. Will you walk in, my lord ? 
 
 Tro. Cressida, how often have I wished me thus? 
 
 Cres. W ished, my lord ? — The gods grant I — my 
 lord! 
 
 Tro. What should they grant? what makes this 
 pretty abruption ? What too curious dreg espies my 
 sweet lady in the fountain of our love? 
 
 Cres. I\Iore dregs than water, if my fears have eyes. 
 
 Tro. Fears make devils cherubins ; they never see 
 truly. 
 
 Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds 
 
590 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 safer footing than blind reason stumbling without 
 fear : To fear the worst, oft cures the worst. 
 
 Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear : in all 
 Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster. 
 
 Cres, Nor nothing monstrous neither? 
 
 Tro. Nothing, but our undertaliings ; when we 
 vow to weep seas, live in 6re, eat rocks, tame tigers ; 
 thinking it harder for our mistress to devise imposition 
 enough, than for us to undergo anyditficulty imposed. 
 This is the moostruosity in love, lady, — that the will 
 is infinite, and the execution confined ; that the desire 
 is boundless, and the act a slave to limit. 
 
 Cres. They say, all lovers swear more performance 
 than they are able, and yet reserve an ability that 
 they never perform ; vowing more than the perfection 
 of ten, and discharging less than the tenth part of one. 
 They that have the voice of lions, and the act of 
 hares, are they not monsters ''. 
 
 Tro. Are there such 1 such are not we : Praise us 
 as we are tasted, allow us as we prove ; our head shall 
 go bare, till merit crown it : no perfection in reversion 
 siiall have a praise in present : we will not name de- 
 sert, before his birth; and, being born, his addition 
 shall be humble. Few words to fair faith : Troilus 
 shall be such to Cressid, as what envy can say worst, 
 shall be a mock for his truth; and what truth can 
 speak truest, not truer than Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 
 
 Re-enter P.\NDAnus. 
 
 Pun. What, blushing stilll have you not done 
 talking yet ? 
 
 Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedicate 
 to you. 
 
 Pan. I thank you for that ; if my lord get a boy 
 of you, you'll give him me : Be true to my lord: if 
 he flinch, chide me for it. 
 
 Tro You know now your hostages ; your uncle's 
 word, and my firm faith. 
 
 Pan. Nay, I'll give ray word for her too; our 
 kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed, 
 tliey are constant, being won : they are burs, I can 
 tell you ; they'll stick where they are thrown. 
 
 Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me 
 heart : — 
 Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day, 
 For many weary months. 
 
 Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win ? 
 
 Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my lord. 
 With the first glance that ever — Pardon me ; — 
 If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
 I love you now ; but not, till now, so much 
 But I might master it : — in faith, I lie ; 
 RIy thoughts were like unbridled children, grown 
 Too headstrong for their mother : See, we fools ! 
 Why have I blabb'd 1 who shall be true to us. 
 When we are so unsecret to ourselves'? 
 But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not ; 
 And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man ; 
 Or that we women had men's privilege 
 Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue ; 
 For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak 
 The thing 1 shall repent. See, see, your silence, 
 Cunning in dumbness, from my weakness draws 
 My very soul of counsel : Stop my mouth. 
 
 Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence. 
 
 Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 
 
 Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me : 
 'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss ; 
 I am asham'd ; — O heavens 1 what have I done 1 — 
 For this time will I take my leave, my lord. 
 
 Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid 1 
 
 Pan. Leave ! an you take leave till to-morrovr 
 morning, 
 
 Cres. Pray you, content you. 
 
 Tro. What offends you, ladyT 
 
 Cres. Sir, mine own company. 
 
 Tro. Vou cannot shun 
 
 Yourself. 
 
 Cres. Let me go and try : 
 I have a kind of self resides v/ith you . 
 But an unkind self, that itself will leave. 
 To be another's fool. I would be gone :^ 
 Where is my wit 1 I know not what I speak. 
 
 Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speak 
 so wisely. 
 
 Cres. Perchance, my lord, I shew more craft than 
 And fell so roundly to a large confession, [love : 
 To angle for your thoughts : But you are wise ; 
 Or else you love not ; For to be wise, and love, 
 Exceeds man's might; that dwells with gods above. 
 
 Tro. O, that I thought it could be in a woman, 
 (As, if it can, I will presume in you,) 
 "To feed-for aye her lamp and flames of love ; 
 To keep her constancy in plight and youth. 
 Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind 
 That doth renew swifter than blood decays • 
 Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me, — 
 That my integrity and truth to you 
 Might be affronted with the match and weight 
 Of such a winnow'd purity in love ; 
 How were I then uplifted 1 but, alas, 
 I am as true as truth's simplicity, 
 And simpler than the infancy of truth. 
 
 Cres. In that I'll war with you. 
 
 Tro. • virtuous fight. 
 
 When right with right wars who shall be most right! 
 True swains in love shall, in the world to come, 
 .Approve their truths by Troilus : when their rhymes. 
 Full of protest, of oath, and big compare. 
 Want similies, truth tir'd with iteration,— 
 As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, 
 .■Vs sun to day, as turtle to her mate. 
 As iron to adarnaut, as earth to the center, — 
 Yet, after all comparisons of truth. 
 As truth's authentic author to be cited, 
 As true as Troilus shall crown up the verse, 
 .And sanctify the numbers. 
 
 Cres. Prophet may you be ! 
 
 If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth, 
 When time is old and hath forgot itself, 
 When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy, 
 And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up. 
 And mighty states characterless are grated 
 To dusty nothing ; yet let memory 
 From false to false, among false maids in love. 
 Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said — as false 
 As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, 
 As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 
 Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son ; 
 Yea, let them say, tp stick the heart of falsehood. 
 As false as Cressid. 
 
 Pa?i. Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it; I'll 
 be the witness. — Here I hold your hand : here, my 
 cousin's. If ever you prove false one to another, 
 since I have taken such pains to bring you together, 
 let all pitiful goers-between be called to the world's 
 end after my name, call them all — Pandars ; let all 
 constant men be Troiluses, all false women Cressids, 
 and all brokers-between Pandars ! say, amen. 
 
 Tro. Amen. 
 
 Cres. Amen. 
 
 Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will shew you a cham- 
 ber and a bed, which bed, because it shall not speak 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 591 
 
 of your pretty encounters, press it to death : away. 
 And Cupid grant ail tongue-tied maidens here. 
 Bed. chamber, Pandar to provide thisgeer! 
 
 SCENE III.— r/(e Grecian Cunip. 
 
 Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, Nestor, 
 Ajax, Menelaus, and Calchas. 
 
 Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you, 
 The advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
 To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind. 
 That, through the sight I bear in things, to Jove 
 I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
 Incurr'd a traitor's name ; expos'd myself, 
 From certain and possess'd conveniences. 
 To doubtful fortunes ; sequest'ring from me all 
 That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, 
 Made tame and most familiar to my nature ; 
 And here, to do you service, am become 
 As new into the world, strange, unacquainted : 
 1 do beseech you, as in way of taste. 
 To give me now a little benefit, 
 Out of those many register'd in promise. 
 Which, you say, live to come in my behalf, [mand. 
 
 Ai;am. What would'st thou of us, Trojan? makede- 
 
 C(i/. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd Antenor, 
 Yesterday took. ; Troy holds him very dear. 
 Oft have you, (often have you thanks therefore,) 
 Desir'dmy Cressid in right great exchange, 
 Whom Troy hath still denied : But this Antenor, 
 I know, is such a wrest in their aftairs, 
 That their negotiations all must slack, 
 Wanting his manage ; and they will almost 
 Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, 
 In change of him: let him be sent, great princes. 
 And he shall buy my daughter ; and her presence 
 Shall quite strike off all service I have done. 
 In most accepted pain. 
 
 Ai^avt. Let Diomedes bear him, 
 
 And bring us Cressid hither ; Calchas shall have 
 What he requests of us. — Good Diomed, 
 Furnish you fairly for this interchange: 
 Withal, brino; word — if Hector will to-morrow 
 Be answer'd in his challenge : Ajax is ready. 
 
 Dio. This shall I undertake ; and 'tis a burden 
 Which I am proud to bear. 
 
 [EaeuHt Diomedes and Calchas. 
 
 Enter Achilles and Pathoclus, before their tent, 
 
 Ulijss, Achilles stands i' the entrance of his tent : — 
 "lease it our general to pass strangely by him. 
 As if he were forgot ; and. princes all, 
 Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : 
 I will come last: 'Tis like, he'll question me, 
 Why such unplausive eyes are bent.whyturn'd on him: 
 If so, I have derision ined'cinable,- 
 To use between your strangeness and his pride, 
 Which his own will shall have desire to drink ; 
 It may do good : pride liath no ^her glass 
 To shew itself, but pride ; for supple knees 
 Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees. 
 
 Agtim. We'll execute your purpose, and put on 
 A form of strangeness as we pass along ; — 
 So do each lord ; and either greet hira not. 
 Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more 
 Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. 
 
 Achil. What, comes the general to speak with me? 
 You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy. 
 
 Af^um. What says Achilles ! would he aught with us? 
 
 'Sest, Wouldyou.my lord, aught with the general ? 
 
 Achil. Ho. 
 
 Nest. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 A^am. 
 
 The better. 
 [Exeunt Agamemnon and Nestor. 
 
 Achil. Good day, good day 
 
 Men. How do you ? how do you ? 
 
 [Exit Menelaus. 
 
 Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me? 
 
 Ajax. How now, Patroclus ? 
 
 Achil, Good morrow, Ajax. 
 
 'Ajax. Ha? 
 
 Achil, Good morrow, 
 
 Ajai: Ay, and good next day too. [Exit Ajax. 
 
 Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they not 
 Achilles ? 
 
 Pn tr.They pass by strangely : they were us'd to bend. 
 To send their smiles before them to Achilles , 
 To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep 
 To holy altars. 
 
 Achil, What, am I poor of late? 
 
 'Tis certain, greatness, once fallen out with fortune, 
 Must fail out with men too : What the declin'd is, 
 He shall as soon read in the eyes of others, 
 As feel in his own fall : for men, like butterflies, 
 Shew not their mealy wings, but to the summer ; 
 And not a man, for being simply man, 
 Hath any honour; but honour for those honours 
 That are without him, as place, riches, favour 
 Prizes of accident as oft as merit : 
 Which when they fall, as being slippery standers. 
 The love that lean'd ou them as slippery too. 
 Do one pluck down another, and together 
 Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me : 
 Fortune and I are friends ; I do enjoy 
 At ample point all that I did possess. 
 Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, find out 
 Something not uurlh in me such rich beholding 
 As they have often given. Here is Ulysses; 
 I'll interrupt bis reading. — ■ 
 How now, Uljsses? 
 
 Ulvss. Now, great Thetis' son ■? 
 
 Achil. What are you reading? 
 
 Utuss. A strange fellow here 
 
 Writes me. That man — how dearly ever parted. 
 How much in having, or without, or in, — 
 (Jannot make boast to have that which he hath. 
 Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ; 
 As when his virtues shining upon others 
 Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
 To the first giver. 
 
 Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses, 
 
 The beauty that is borne here in the face 
 I'he bearer knows not, but commends itself 
 To others' eyes : nor doth the eye itself 
 (That most pure spirit of sense,) behold itself. 
 Not going from itself ; but eye to eye oppos'd 
 Salutes each other with each other's form. 
 For speculation turns not to itself. 
 Till it hath travell'd, and is married there 
 Where it may see itself: this is not strange at all. 
 
 Ulyss. I do not strain at the position. 
 It is familiar ; but at the author's drift : 
 \^ ho, in his circumstance, expressly proves — 
 That no man is the lord of any thing, 
 ( Though in and of him there be much consisting,) 
 rill he communicate his parts to others : 
 Nor doth he of himself know them for aught 
 lill he behold them form'd in the applause 
 U here they are extended ; which, like an arch, revei- 
 Thc voice again ; or like a gate of steel [berates 
 Fronting the sun, receives and renders back 
 His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this ; 
 And apprehended here immediately 
 The unknown Ajax. 
 
592 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIPA. 
 
 Besveusi, wlmi a mar. is Jhert ' a verr hprse ; 
 
 rhstha* he know-snot what. Natnre.wjiat things t)ieKC 
 
 Most ntnfici in regaril, and dear in use ! [a^'fc, 
 
 ^'hat things again mo^i dear in the «steem. 
 
 And poor in worth ! Now shall we see lo-morrow, 
 
 Anaci that -very chance doth throw upon hire, 
 
 Aiax renown 'd. hoavcns. what some men do, 
 
 ■Whik some men leave tn do ! 
 
 Hmv some- men creep in skittisli fortune's haill, 
 
 'W liile others plav the idiots in >ier eyes J 
 
 How one man eats into another's pride, 
 
 While pride is fasting in his wantonness ! 
 
 To see these Creoian lords ! — why. even already 
 
 Tbcy clap the JnliheT Ajai: on the shoulder ; 
 
 As if his fo. V.-ave Hector's breast. 
 
 And £Teat '. ..c. 
 
 AchU. 1 „. . ., ; for tlier pass'd by me. 
 
 As misers do hv beg^rs ; neither ca^'C to me 
 Good word, nor look : What, arc my deeds forgot'! 
 
 ZTljtsf. Time bath, my lord, a wallet at ins i)ack, 
 U herein he puts alms for oKli^noti, 
 A gneat-sit'd mpr - , -.ritndcs: 
 
 Tbosescrapsart c ^t: whicb are^vonr'd 
 
 As fast as they a: :^ot as soon 
 
 As done : Perseverance., dear my lord. 
 
 Keeps honour bright : To have ^one, is to hatig 
 
 Quite out of fashion; like a rastj- mail 
 
 In monumental mockeiy, TaVe the instant way , 
 
 For 1 . 's in a strait so narrow, 
 
 M'hc . . u"s abreast : leep then the path ; 
 
 For t... :..,;h a thousand sons. 
 
 That one bj- one pursue ; If yon five way. 
 
 Or becgt aside from the direct forthrig bi, 
 
 lite to'an enter 'd tide., they all rash by. 
 
 And leave von hindmost ; — 
 
 Or, like at"; -■ ' -^- ': ■-- -■- '-'• — »:. 
 
 Lie there ?.- [seat, 
 
 O'ei^mn ai;, do in pre- 
 
 Tbongh less than vours in past, mnstoertopyonts; 
 
 For time is lite a fashionable best. 
 
 That slightly shakes bis partine guest by the band; 
 
 And with his arms oct-stretch'^, as be would H^, 
 
 '."—-- - -'■■ •■ ^^ - --rriee^'er smiles, 
 
 O, let owvirto* seel 
 ^ ; ''Fas 5 
 For heanty, wit, 
 
 Higb birth, itt m;T of bone, <?es6Tt in serrjee, 
 Lovf - " , - ": , , tsall 
 
 Tee: 
 ,-.-,, , -■'laida.— 
 
 n CTiXwlsi, 
 
 Ana £:\'e t<i dust, that js a litt-ie gut, 
 WoTf !f.i),-] thar; e-ilt <^>r-^nstod. 
 
 man. 
 
 r/ws. Is that a wojider ? 
 The Prfnidenoe that's in a watchful statt. 
 
 ■ .„ ,.,.. . .,,- 1^1 
 
 Since things in motion sooner cjitch the eye. 
 Than what not stirs. The cty went once on tbee. 
 And still it might ; and yet 3t may again. 
 If tbon would St not entomb tbvsclf ali>«, 
 
 r c-lds of laliK, 
 
 ?'..- _.. ..! ... :^ . . ■ .,., J. ;>ds themselves. 
 
 And dnive great Mais to tactuyn, 
 
 JML " Of this my piwacy 
 
 I have strong reasons. 
 
 IThisi. B*t 'gainst your pivacy 
 
 The T; ;-._—. -,-tejij aj,d heroioal : 
 'Tis V - at yon are i& love 
 
 Witt .... ..... ^ ...ichters. 
 
 Jjitu. ~ Ha ! boown t 
 
 '■• . , ''be goii. 
 
 I l')oe?. ihoughls unvfcii in iiioit oumb cnwiics. 
 
 I There is a mystery ('with whom relation 
 
 ' I>nrst never meddlc^i in the soul of state ; 
 W hich bath an operation more diWne, 
 Than bretith, or pen. can give evpressure to ; 
 A!i the 0. mmerce that you have had with Troy, 
 As perfectly is ours, as vours, my lord ; 
 
 ' And better would it fit Achilles much, 
 To throw down H^vti^r.. than Polvvena ; 
 
 ^^ " i» at home. 
 
 . her trump 
 
 ■-■• ■ ■ -~ . ^. : ..ping&ing,— 
 
 Grejit Hertm- s sisTe^- did AchiUes win ; 
 
 But miT grtat AJfiz hravelv heai dnum him. 
 
 Farewell, my lord : 1 as your 1o^'er speak ; 
 
 The fo-M slides o'er the ice that yon should breaV J Ei. 
 
 ' Patr. To this effect, .^ ' ' ■ ' ■ c 1 mov'd yoB ; 
 A wotnan impudent an.\ 'in 
 
 Is not more loath d thar. .... ,. , :e man 
 
 In time of action. I stand con;lemn'd f«t tins j 
 They think, my little stomach to the war. 
 And your great love to me, restrains yon thus : 
 Sweet, rouse yourself ; and the weakwanton Ca{ad 
 Shall from yoar neck unloose bis amorous fold. 
 And, like a dew-drop from the licm's maise. 
 Be shook to air. 
 AehiL Shall Aian ficht with Hector ? 
 
 PofK Xy; ajid,perhaps, receive much honour bj 
 AciiL 1 see, my repntation is at stake ; [biak 
 My fame is shrewdly gor'd. 
 
 Pi»i\ ' O, then beware ; 
 
 Those wounds beal ill, that men do gji-e themselves : 
 Omission to do wliat is neccssarv' 
 Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; 
 
 j And danger, 1ik-e an ague, subtly taints 
 
 I FN'cn then when we sit idly in the sun. 
 
 AMI. Go call Thcrsitcs hither, sweet Pitroclas : 
 ri! send the fool to .\jav, and desire him 
 T« incite the Trojan lords after the combat. 
 To see us here nnarm'd : I have a woman's longing. 
 An appetite that 1 am sick withal. 
 To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ; 
 To talk w-.th him, and to behold his iTsage, 
 Even to my full of xiew. A labour sav'd \ 
 
 Enter THESStTES. 
 
 ThfK A wonder ! 
 AcML Whall 
 
 Ther. Ajax goes np and down the iieJd, asking ft* 
 himself. 
 
 AeiiiL How so ? 
 
 TTmb-. He must %ht singly to-isoiwyw with Hector; 
 atid is so prophetically proud of an heroical cudgel 
 ting, that be raves ^ saying nothing. 
 
 Aehil, How can that be T 
 
 Thfr, Why, be stalks up an3 dcwn like a peacock. 
 r. '— - -- r. stand : ruminates '- -- '^ -^tcss, that 
 .inetic but her b: . wa her 
 
 Tf. : . tes his lip «-ith a ;^ -..as who 
 
 shonia say — there were wit in this head, an 'twould 
 on; ; and so rbe^ is ; but it lies as coldly- in him as 
 fii« ii .'. " '■ lil] not she ■ .-.c. 
 
 The r. .'■t ever; fi ,,^l 
 
 his neck .v v, ...T'at, he'll brt„k n, ;„.i- 
 
 clorv. He kno*-s not me ; 1 said, iriwd-mflmw^ 
 Aiax ; and he replies, Th/ivis. .Vgamemnon. Wfcal 
 tiiiiik you of this imb, that takes coe for die g«9«nl t 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 593 
 
 He 14 grown a very land fish, languageless, a mon- 
 ster. A plague of opinion ! a man may wear it on 
 both sides, like a leather jerkin. 
 
 Achil. Thou must be my embassador to him, Ther 
 sites. 
 
 Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody ; he pro- 
 fesses not answering : speaking is for beggars : he 
 wears his tongue in his arms. I ivill put on his pre- 
 sence : let Patroclus maie demands to me, you shall 
 see the pageant of .ijax. 
 
 Achil. to him, Patroclus : Tell him, — I humbly 
 desire the valiant Ajax. to invite the most valorous 
 Hector to come unarmed to my tent ; and to procure 
 safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and 
 most illustrious, six-or-seven-times-honoured cap- 
 tain-general of the Grecian array, Agamemnon. Do 
 this. 
 
 Pafr. Jove bless great Ajax. 
 
 Ther. Humph! 
 
 PiKr. I come from the worthy Achilles, 
 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Pa(r. Who most humbly desires you, to invite 
 Hector to his tent I 
 
 Ther. Humph ! 
 
 Pntr. And to procure safe conduct from -Iga- 
 memnon. 
 
 Ther. .Agamemnon 1 
 
 Patr. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ther. Ha! 
 
 Patr. What say you to't ? 
 
 Ther. God be wi' you, with all my heart. 
 
 Patr. Your answer, sir. 
 
 Ther. If to-morrow bea fair day, byeleven o'clock 
 It will go one way or other ; howsoever, he shall pay 
 for me ere he has me. 
 
 Ptitr. Your answer, sir. 
 
 Ther. Fare you well, with all ray heart. 
 
 Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he ? 
 
 Ther. No, but he's out o'tune thus. What music 
 will be in hira when Hector has knocked out his brains 
 I know not : But, I am sure, none ; unless the fid- 
 dler .\pollo get his sinews to make catlings on. 
 
 Achil. Come, thou shall bear a letter to him straight. 
 
 77;er. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that's 
 the more capable creature. 
 
 Jchil. Jly mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd; 
 And 1 myself see not the bottom of it. 
 
 [Eieunt Achilles and Patroclus 
 
 Titer. Would the fountain of your mind were clear 
 again, that I might water an ass at it ! I had rather 
 be a tick in a sheep, than such a valiant ignorance. 
 
 [Eiit 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I — Troy. A Street. 
 
 Snter, at otu side, -Eneas, and Servant uith a torch ; 
 ut the other, Pabis, Deiphobus, Antenor, Dio- 
 MEDE3, and others, with torches. 
 
 Par. See, ho ! who's that there ? 
 
 Dei. His the lord .Eneas. 
 
 £ne. Is the prince there in person? — 
 Had I so good occasion to lie long, 
 .As you, prince Paris, nothing but heavenly business 
 Should rob my bed-mate of my company. [.Eneas. 
 
 Dio. That's my mind too. — Good morrow, lord 
 
 Par. A valiant Greek, -Eneas ; take his hand ; 
 Witness the process of your speech, wherein 
 You told — how Diomed, a whole week by days, 
 Did haunt you in the field. 
 
 J^ne. Health to you, valiant sir. 
 
 During all question of the gentle truce : 
 But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance, 
 -\s heart can think, or courage execute. 
 
 Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces. 
 Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so lonf', health * 
 But when contention and occasion meet. 
 By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life. 
 With all my force, pursuit, and policy. 
 
 yEne. And thou shalt hunt a lioa, that will fly 
 With his face backward.— In humane gentleness, 
 ^^'elcome to Troy ! now, by -■Vnchises' life. 
 Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear, 
 Xo man alive can love, in such a sort. 
 The thing he means to kill, more excellently. 
 
 Dio. We sympathize : — Jove, let -Eneas live. 
 If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
 A thousand complete courses of the sun ! 
 But, in mine emulous honour, let him die, 
 With even,- joint a wound ; and that to-morrow ! 
 
 -Ene. We know each other well. 
 
 Dio, We do ; and long to know each other worse. 
 
 Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting, 
 
 The noblest hateful love, that e're I heard of 
 
 What business, lord, so early ■• 
 
 -En«. 1 was sent for to the king ; but why, I know 
 not. 
 
 Par. His purpose meets you ; 'Twas to bring this 
 ToCalchas' house ; and there to render him, [Greek 
 For the enfreed .•Vntenor, the fair Cressid : 
 Let's have your company ; or, if you please. 
 Haste there before us : I constantly do think. 
 (Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,) 
 Sly brother Troilus lodges theie to-ni^ht ; 
 Rouse him, and give him note of our approach 
 \\ ith the w hole quality wherefore ; I fear. 
 We shall be much unwelcome. 
 
 ^■^"«- That I assure you ; 
 
 Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece, 
 Than Cressid borne from Troy. 
 
 •P"'"; There is no help ; 
 
 The bitter disposition of the time 
 Will have it so. On, lord ; we'll follow you. 
 
 .'Ene. Good morrow, all. [Eiit. 
 
 Par. -Andtellme.nobleDiomed: faith, tell me true. 
 
 Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, 
 
 Who, in your thoughts, me'rits fair Helen best. 
 Myself or Menelaus 1 
 
 Din. Both alike : 
 
 He merits well to have her, that doth seek her 
 (Xot making any scruple of her soilure, ) 
 With such a hell of pain, and world of charge; 
 -■indyou as well to keep her, that defend her 
 (Xot palating the taste of her dishonour,) 
 With such a costly loss of wealth and friends : 
 He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
 The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ; 
 You. like a lecher, out of whorish loins 
 .\re pleas 'd to breed out your inheritors ; 
 Both merits pois'd, each weighs nor less nor more ; 
 But he as he, the heavier for a whore. 
 
 Pur. You are too bitter to your countrywoman. 
 
 Dio. She'sbitter to her country : Hear rae, Paris. — • 
 For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
 A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple 
 Of her contaminated carrion weight, 
 A Trojan hath been slain ; since she could speak. 
 She hath not given so many good words breath, 
 As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer 'd death. 
 
 Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do, 
 Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : 
 But we in silence hold this virtue well, — 
 i P 
 
594 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 
 
 We'll not commend what we iatend to sell. 
 
 Here lies our way. [Ei«Bnt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 The same. — Court before the House (f Pavdarus. 
 
 Enter Troilus and Chessida. 
 Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself ; theraornis cold. 
 Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle 
 He shall unbolt llie gates. [down ; 
 
 jro. Trouble him not ; 
 
 To bed, to bed : Sleep kill those pretty eyes, 
 And give as soft attachment to thy senses, 
 As infants' empty of all thought ! i 
 
 Qres, Good morrow then. 
 
 Tro. 'Pr'ythee now, to bed. 
 Cres. Are you aweary of me 1 
 
 Tro. OCressida! but that thebusy day, 
 Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald crows. 
 And dreaming night will hide our joys no longer, 
 1 would not from thee. 
 
 Cres. Night hath been too brief 
 
 Tro. Eeshrew the witch ! with venomous wights 
 she stays. 
 .'\s tediously as hell ; but flies the grasps of love. 
 With wings more momentary-swift than thought. 
 Vou will catch cold, and curse me. 
 
 Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry ;— 
 
 Vou men will never tarry. — 
 
 foolish Cressid !— I might have still held off. 
 And then you would have tarried. Hark ! there's 
 
 one tip. 
 Pnn. [Within.] What are all the doors open here? 
 Tro. It is your uncle. 
 
 Enter Pandarus. 
 Cres. A pestilence on him '. now will be be mocking : 
 
 1 shall have such a life, — 
 
 Fori. How now, how now? how go maidenheads 1 
 —Here, you maid! where's my cousin, Cressid 1 
 
 C>-«. Go haug yourself, you naughty mocking uncle ! 
 You bring me to do, and then you flout me too. 
 
 I'aii. To do what! todo what ?— let her say what: 
 what have I brought you to do ! ^ 
 
 CVcs.Come, come ; beshrew your heart : you U ne er 
 
 Nor suffer others. [be good, 
 
 Pan. Ha, ha ! Alas, poor wretch ! a poor capoc- 
 
 chia! hast not slept to-night? would he not, a 
 
 naughty man, let it sleep ? a bugbear take him ! 
 
 [Knocking. 
 Cres. Did I not tell you ?— 'would he were knock'd 
 o'lhe head! — 
 Who's Oiat at door? good uncle, go and see. — 
 Mv lord, come you again into my chamber : 
 Vou smile, and mock me, as if I meant naughtily. 
 Tro. Ha! ha! 
 
 Cres. Come, you are deceiv'd, I think of no such 
 thing.— [Knofking. 
 
 How earnestly. they knock ! pray you, come in; 
 I would not for half Troy have you seen here. 
 
 [Eieunt Troilus and CiiESSinA. 
 Pan. [Giiiiigt.nJierf.wi-.] Who's there? what's the 
 matter? will you beat down the door? How now? 
 what's the matter ! 
 
 Enter ^neas. 
 
 It doth import him much, to speak with me. 
 
 Pnn. Is lie here, say you ? 'tis more than I know, 
 I'll be sworn :— For my own part, I came in late ; 
 What should he do here ? 
 
 £nc. Wlio ! — nay, tlien : — 
 Come, come, vou'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware: 
 Vou'll be so true to him, to be false to him : 
 Do not you know of him, yet go fetch him hither ; 
 Go. 
 
 As Panpari'S is going out, enter Troilus. 
 Tro. How now ? what's the matter ? 
 .Ene. My lord. I scarce have leisure to salute you, 
 jMv matter is so rash : There is at hand 
 Paris your brother, and Dciphobus, 
 i The Grecian Diomed, and our .\ntenor 
 I Deliver'd to us ; and for him forthwith. 
 Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour. 
 We must give up to Diomedes' hand 
 The lady Cressida. 
 
 Tro. Is it so concluded ? 
 
 Xne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy : 
 They are at hand, and ready to effect it. 
 
 Tro. How my achievements mock me I 
 X will go meet them : and. my lord .^Jneas, 
 We met by chance ; you did not find me here. 
 
 ^Ene. Good, good, "my lord ; the secrets of nature 
 Have not more gift in taciturnity. [Ei.Troi.^-.^Lneas. 
 Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner got, but lost? The 
 devil take .\ntenor ! the young prince will go mad. 
 A pla?ue upon .\ntenor ! I would, they had broke's 
 neck' 
 
 Enter Cressida. 
 Cres. How now? what is the matter? Who was 
 Pail. Ah, ah! [here? 
 
 Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly ? where's my 
 Tell me. sweet uncle, what's the matter? [lord gone ? 
 Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as 
 I am above ! 
 
 Cres. () the gods! — what's the matter? 
 Pan. Pr'ythee. get thee in ; 'Would thou had'st 
 ne'er been born ! fknew, thouwould'st be his death: 
 — O poor gentleman ! — .\ plague upon .\ntenor I 
 Crps. Good uncle. I beseech you on my knees, 
 I beseech you, what's the matter? 
 
 Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be 
 gone ; thou art changed for .Antenor: thou must to 
 thv father, and be gone from Troilus ; 'twill be his 
 death ; 'twill be his bane ; he cannot bear it. 
 Cres. O you immortal gods ?— I will not go. 
 Pan. Thou must. 
 
 Cies. I will not, uncle : I have forgot my father ; 
 I know no touch of consanguinity ; 
 No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me. 
 As the sweet Troilus. — O you gods divine ! 
 Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehood. 
 If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and death, 
 Dj to this body what extremes you can ; 
 But the strong base and building of my love 
 Is as the very center of the earth. 
 Drawing all things to it. — I'll go in, and weep; — 
 Pan. Do, do. [cheeks ; 
 
 Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised 
 Crack ni\ clear' voice witli sobs, and break my heart 
 With sounding I'roilus. I will not go from Troy. [ Kz. 
 
 /T.ne. Good-morrow, lord, good-morrow. 
 P,ni. Who's there ? my lord .lineas ? By my troth, 
 I knew you not : what news with you so early ? 
 /Eii«. Is not prince Troilus here ? 
 P<iri. Here! what should he do here ? 
 £ne. Come, he is here, my lord, do not deny him ; 
 
 SCENE III. — The same. Before Pandarus' House 
 
 Enter Paris, Troilus, jEseas, Deh-hobus, 
 
 Antenor, and Diomedes. 
 
 Par. It is great morning ; .ind the hour prefix'd 
 Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 
 
ACT IV.^SCENE IV. 
 
 595 
 
 Comes fast upon : — Good my brother Troilus, 
 Tell you the lady what she is to do, 
 And haste her to the purpose. 
 
 Tro. Walk into her house ; 
 
 I'll bring her to the Grecian presently : 
 And to his hand when 1 deliver her, 
 Think it an altar ; and thy brother Troilus 
 A priest, there offering to it his own heart. [Eiit. 
 
 Far, 1 know what 'tis 1o love ; 
 And 'would, as I shall pity. I could help!— 
 Please you, walk in, ray lords. [Eiciint. 
 
 SCENE IV. — The same. A Room in Pandarus' House. 
 Knter Pandarus and Cressida. 
 
 Pan, Be moiierate, be moderate, 
 
 Crei. Why tell you me of moderation ! 
 The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste, 
 And violenteth in a sense so strong 
 As that which causcth it : How can I moderate if. 
 If I could temporize with my affection. 
 Or brew it to a weak and colder palate, 
 The like allayment could I give my grief: 
 My love admits no qualifying dross : 
 No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 Fan. Hltc, here, here he comes. — Ah, sweet ducks! 
 
 Cres. Troilus ! Troilus! [Embraci?tg him. 
 
 Pan. \\'hat a pair of spectacles is here I Let me em- 
 brace too: heart, — as the goodly saying is, 
 
 heart, heavy heart, 
 
 1(7(1/ ii^U'st thou. Kithout breaking? 
 where he answers again. 
 
 Because thou canst not ease thii smart. 
 By friendship, nor by sp'^aking. 
 There never was a truer rhyme. Let us cast away 
 nothing, for we may live to have need of such a verse ; 
 we see it, we see it. — How now, lambs? 
 
 Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strained a purity, 
 <rhat the blest gods— as angry with my fancy, 
 More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
 Cold lips blow to their deities, — take thee from me. 
 
 Cres. Have the gods envy ! 
 
 }'an. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 'tis too plain a case. 
 
 Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy? 
 
 Tro. A hateful truth. 
 
 Cres. What, and from Troilus too? 
 
 Tro. From Troy, and Troilus. 
 
 Cres. Is it possible ? 
 
 Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of chance 
 Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
 All time of pause, ru(lely beguiles our lips 
 Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents 
 Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows 
 Even in the birth of own labouring breath : 
 We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
 Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves 
 With the rude brevity and discharge of one. 
 Injurious time now, with a robber's haste. 
 Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how: 
 As many farewells as be stars in heaven. 
 With distinct breath and consign'd kisses to them. 
 He fumbles up into a loose adieu ; 
 And scants us with a single famish'd kiss. 
 Distasted with tlie salt of broken tears. 
 
 Jine. [Within.] My lord I is the iady ready 7 
 
 Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : Some say, the Genius so 
 Cries, Come! to him that instantly must die. — 
 liid them have patience ; she shall cone anon. 
 
 Pan. Where are my tears >. rain, to lay this wind, 
 or my heart will be blown up by the root I 
 
 [Exit Pandarus. 
 
 Cret. I must then to the Greeks t 
 
 Tro. No remedy. 
 
 Cres. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks' 
 VVhen shall we see again ? [heart, 
 
 Tra. Hear me, my love : Be thou but true of 
 
 Cres. I true I how now ? what wicked deem is this ? 
 
 Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindlv. 
 For it is parting from us ; 
 I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee ; 
 For I will throw my glove to death himself, 
 That there's no maculation in thy heart : 
 But, be thoit true, say I, to fashion in 
 My sequent protestation ; be thou true, 
 .-Vnd 1 will see thee. 
 
 Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, mv lord, to dangers 
 .\5 infiiiite as imminent ! but, I'll be true. 
 
 Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear this 
 sleeve. 
 
 Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you? 
 
 Tro. 1 will corrupt the Grecian sentinels. 
 To give thee nightly visitation. 
 But yet, be true. 
 
 Cres. O heavens ! — be true, again ? 
 
 Tro. Hear why I speak it, love ; 
 The Grecian youths are full of quality; 
 They're loving, well compos 'd, with gifts of nature 
 And swelling o'er with arts and exercise ; [flowing, 
 How novelty may move, and parts with person, 
 Alas, a kind of godly jealousy 
 (\\ hich, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,) 
 Makes me afeard. 
 
 Cres. O heavens ! you love me not. 
 
 Tro, Die I a villain then ! 
 In this 1 do not call your faith in question. 
 So mainly as my merit : I cannot sing. 
 Nor heel the hitch lavolt, nor sweeten talk. 
 Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all, 
 lo which the Grecians are most prompt and pregnant* 
 But I can tell, tliat in each grace of these 
 There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil. 
 That tempts most cunningly : but be not tempted. 
 
 Cres. Do you think, I will? 
 
 Tro. No. 
 But something may be done, that we will not : 
 And sometimes we are devils to ourselves, 
 \\ hen we will tempt the frailty of our powers. 
 Presuming on their changeful potency. 
 
 .'Eji«. [Within.] Nay, good my lord, 
 
 ^''0. Come, kiss ; and let us pait. 
 
 Par. [Within,] Brother Troilus ! 
 
 Trn. Good brother, come you hither ; 
 
 .'\nd bring JEiM-as, and the Grecian with you. 
 
 Cres. My lord, will you be true? 
 
 Tro. Who I ? alas, it is my vice, mv fault ; 
 While others fish with craft for great opinion, 
 I with great truth catch mere simplicity ; 
 \\ hilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns 
 Wiih truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 
 Feor not my truth ; the moral of my wit 
 Is— plain, and true, — there's all the reach of it. 
 
 Enter -Ineas, Paris, .'Vntenor, Deiphobus, 
 and DiOMEDEs. 
 Welcome, sir Diomed! here is the lady, 
 \\ iiich for Anterior we deliver you : 
 .\t the port, lord, I "11 give her to thy hand ; 
 And, by the way, possess thee what she is. 
 Entreat her fair ; and, by my soul, fair Greek, 
 If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword. 
 Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe 
 As Priam is in llion. 
 
 }'ti'. Fair lady Cressid, 
 
 2 P S 
 
596 
 
 TROILUS AND. CRESSIDA. 
 
 So please you, save the thanks this prince expects : 
 The lustre in your eye, heaven in youv cheek, 
 Pleads vour fair usage ; and to Diomed 
 You shall be mistress, and command him wholly. 
 
 Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously, 
 To shame the zeal of my petition to tliee. 
 In praising her : I tell thee, lord of Greece, 
 She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises. 
 As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. 
 I charge thee use her well, even for my charge ; 
 For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not. 
 Though the gr^at bulk Achilles be thy guard, 
 I'll cut thy throat. 
 
 Din. O, be not mov'd, prince Troilus : 
 
 Let me be privileg'd by my place, and message. 
 To be a speaker free ; when I am hence, ♦ 
 
 I '11 answer to my lust : And know you, lord, 
 I'll nothing do on charge : To her own worth 
 She shall be priz'd ; but that you say— be't so, 
 I '11 speak it in my spirit and honour, — no. 
 
 Tro. Come, to "the port. — I '11 tell thee, Diomed, 
 This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. — 
 Lady, give me your hand ; and, as we walk. 
 To our own selves bend we our needful talk. 
 
 [Eieunt Troilus, Crf.ssid.i. and Diomed. 
 [Trumj)et heard. 
 
 Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet. 
 
 JEne. How have we spent this morning ! 
 
 The prince must think me tardy and remiss, 
 Tliat swore to ride before him to the field. 
 
 Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault : Come, come, to field with 
 
 Dei. Let us make ready straight. [him. 
 
 JEne, Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity, 
 Let us address to tend on Hector's heels : 
 The glory of our Troy doth this day lie 
 On his fait worth, and single chivalry. [Kieimt. 
 
 SCENE v.— The Grecian Camp. Lists set out. 
 
 Enter Ajax, armed ; Ag.amemnon, Achilles, Pa- 
 TRocLUS, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, aHrfo(ftc?s. 
 
 Agam. Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair, 
 Anticipating time with starting courage. 
 Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
 Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air 
 May pierce the head of the great combatant, 
 And hale him hither. 
 
 Ajai. Thou, trumpet, there's ray purse. 
 
 Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe: 
 Blow, villain, till ihv spliered bias cheek 
 Out-swell the colic of pulFd Aquilon : 
 Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood ; 
 Thou blow':?t foi' Hector. [Trzunpet sounds. 
 
 Ulvss. No trumpet answers. 
 
 Achil. 'Tis but early days. 
 
 Again. Is not yon Diomed. with Calchas' daughter? 
 
 Vlifss. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his gait; 
 He rises on his toe: that spirit of his 
 In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 
 
 Enter Diomed with Cressida. 
 
 Agam. Is tills the lady Cressid? 
 
 Dio. Even she. [lady. 
 
 Agam. JMost dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet 
 
 Nest. Our general doth sahite you with a kiss. 
 
 Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular ; 
 'Twere better, she were kiss'd in general. 
 
 Kest. And very courtly counsel : I'll begin. — 
 So much for Nestor. 
 
 Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair lady: 
 Achilles bids you welcome. 
 
 Men. I had good argument for kissing once. 
 
 Pair. But that's no argument for kissing know: 
 For thus popp'd Paris in his hardiment ; 
 And parted thus you and your argument. 
 
 L'liiis. O deadly gall, and theme of all our scorns' 
 For which we lose our heads, to gild his horns. 
 
 Patr. The first was Menelaus' kiss ; — this, mice: 
 l?atroclus kisses you. 
 
 Men. O. this is trim ! 
 
 Patr. Paris, and I. kiss evermore foi him. 
 
 Men. I'll have my kiss, sir : — Lady, by your leave 
 
 Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive 1 
 
 Patr. Both take and give. 
 
 Cres, I'll make my match to live. 
 
 The kiss you take is better than you give ; 
 Therefore no kiss. 
 
 Men. I'll give you boot, I'll give you three for one. 
 
 Cres. You're an odd man ; give even or give none. 
 
 Men. An odd man, lady? every man is odd. 
 
 Cres. No, Paris is not ; for, you know, 'tis true. 
 That you are odd, and he is even with you. 
 
 Meti. You fillip me o' the head. 
 
 Cres. No, I'll be sworn. 
 
 Uliiss. It were no match, your nail against his 
 May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you I [horn. — 
 
 Cres. You may. 
 
 Ultiss, I do desire it. 
 
 Cres. ^Vhy, beg then. 
 
 Uliiss. Why then, for Venus' sake, give me a kiss, 
 When Helen is a maid again, and his. 
 
 Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis due. 
 
 Uiijss. Never's my day, and then a kiss of you. 
 
 Dio. Lady, a word ; — I'll bring you to your father. 
 [Diomed leads out Cressida. 
 
 Nest, A woman of quick sense. 
 
 Uluss. Eye, fye upon her ! 
 
 There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip. 
 Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out 
 .\t every joint and motive of her body. 
 O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue. 
 That give a coasting welcome ere it comes, 
 .\nd wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
 To every ticklish reader ! set them down 
 For sluttish spoils of opportunity, 
 And daughters of the game. [Trvmpet within. 
 
 AH. The Trojans' trumpet. 
 
 Agam. Yonder comes the troop. 
 
 Enter Hectop.. armed ; ^Eneas, Troilus, and other 
 Trojans, with .Attendants. 
 
 JF.ne. Hail, all the state of Greece ! what shall be 
 done 
 To him that victory commands I or do you purpose 
 .\ victor shall be known? will you, the knights 
 Shall to the edge of all extremity 
 Pursue each other ; or shall they be divided 
 By any voice or order of the field ? 
 Hector bade ask. 
 
 Agam. Which way would Hector have it? 
 
 £ne. He cares not, he'll obey conditions. 
 
 Acliit. 'Tis done like Hector ; but securely done, 
 .\ little proudly, and gr^at deal misprizing 
 The knight oppos'd. 
 
 JEne. If not Achilles, sir. 
 
 What is your name ? 
 
 .Mil. If not Achilles, nothing. 
 
 JEne. Therefore Achilles : But, whate'er, know 
 In the extremity of great and little, [this ;— 
 
 Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector ; 
 The one almost as infinite as all. 
 The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, 
 ,'\nd that, which looks like pride, is courtesy. 
 This .ijax is half made of Hector's blood : 
 
Ib love whereof, half Hector stavs at home ■ 
 Half heart, half hand, half Hectbr comes to 'seek 
 This blended knight, half Trojao, and half Greek 
 AchU. A maiden battle then!— 0, I perceive you 
 
 ACT IV._SCENE V. 
 
 597 
 
 Re-enter Dio.med, 
 Agam. Here is sir Diomed :-Go, gentle knight. 
 Stand by our Ajax : as >ou and lord .ineas 
 Consent upon the order of their fight. 
 So be it ; either to the uttermost, '^ 
 Or else a breath : the combatants being kin 
 Halt stints their strife before their strokes begin. 
 
 rr, T-. C-'^-'-'^ "'"^ Hector enter Me &(s, 
 
 Llyss. Ihey are oppos d already. 
 Agam. What Trojan is that same t'hat looks so heavyi 
 Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knic^ht ■ 
 ^o'yetmature, yet matchless: firm of word- ° ' 
 Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue'- 
 Jjot soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon ca'lm'd ■ 
 His heart and hand both open, and both free ; 
 For »;hat he has, he gives ; what thinks, he shews ; 
 \et gives he not till judgment guide his bounty, 
 Aor dignifies an unpair thought with breath : 
 Manly as Hector, but more dangerous • 
 *or Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 
 lo tender objects ; but he, in heat of action, 
 is more vindicative than jealous love: 
 ihey call him Troilus ; and on him erect 
 A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
 Jhus says .ineas ; one that knows the youth 
 tven to his inches, and, with private soul 
 iJ>d in great Ilion thus translate him to me. 
 
 A. „ Ti, C-J''"'"'''- Hectoh a.id AjA^fighl. 
 Agam. They are in action. * 
 
 ^est. Now, Ajax, hold thine own! 
 Awak;thee! Hector, thou sleep'st ; 
 
 ^^""1. His blows are well dispos'd :-there, Aiax ' 
 JJ-n. \ ou must no more. [Trumpets dase. 
 
 f"e. Princes, enouj,h, so please you. 
 
 Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again. 
 l>io. As Hector pleases. ° 
 
 Th^*"" . , . ^^'""y '■"="• ■»■'" I ■"> more :■ 
 
 Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son 
 
 A cousin-german to great Priam's seed • 
 
 1 he obligation of our blood forbids 
 
 A gory emulation twixt us twain • 
 
 Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so 
 
 1 hat thou could'st say-r/,is ka„d is Grecian ail, 
 
 ■■"fli's ts Trojan ; the sinews of tliis le<. 
 
 All Greek and this all Trov ; m„ ,„othePs blood 
 
 Uunsonthe dexter cheek, and tliis sinister 
 
 i^^ounds-mmj, fathers : by Jove multipotent, 
 
 1 hou should St not bear from me a Greekish member 
 
 \V herein my sword had not irapressure made 
 
 Of our rank tend : But the just gods gainsay. 
 
 That any drop thou borrow'st from thy mother 
 
 Wy sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword 
 
 Be dram d ! Let me embrace thee Ajax : 
 
 By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms ; 
 
 Hector would have them fall upon him thus : 
 
 cousin, all honour to thee! 
 
 Tl.n"?!'^',. , , I thank thee, Hector : 
 
 i hou art too gentle, and too free a man - 
 I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 
 A great addition earned iu thy death. 
 i/ec(. Not N'eoptolemus so mirable 
 (On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st O yes 
 Cries, Th> is he,) could promise to himself 
 A thought of added honour torn from Hector. 
 
 wt.Tt :^'^ " "P.«='^ce here from both the sides 
 W hat further you will do. 
 
 n..""'- . , We'll answer it; 
 
 Ihe issue is embracement:-Ajax, farewell. 
 
 Ajax I( I might in entreaties find success. 
 (As seld I have the chance,) I would desire 
 -Vly famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 
 
 Dw. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great Achilles 
 Doth loLg to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. 
 
 litct. .£neas, call my brother Troilus to me 
 And signify this loving interview 
 To the expecters of our Trojan part ■ 
 Desire them horae.-Give me thy hand, my cousin; 
 I will go eat with thee, and see your kni-^hts. 
 
 u"'''-../^"' •'^P'"<="">o° comes to meet us here. 
 
 i, 1, i ■^<^''.'"«S' my ""-D searching eves 
 Shatl find him by his large and portly size. 
 
 TI, ?"'"■ ,j °'"'y,°'' '"■ms ! as welcome as to one 
 
 1 hat would be rid of such an enemy • 
 
 But that's no welcome : understand 'more clear 
 
 U liat s past, and what's to come, isstrew'd with husks 
 
 And formless rum of obliviou ; 
 
 liut in this extant moment, fai'th, and troth 
 
 Mrain d purely from all hollow bias-drawing 
 
 bids thee, with most divine integrity 
 
 From heart of yeiy heart, great Hector, welcome. 
 
 Jiect. I thank thee, most imperious Agamemnon. 
 
 Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less loyo^. 
 
 ?\r..„ T . ,. [Tfl Troilus. 
 
 Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's crreet- 
 
 \ ou brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither! [ing • 
 
 "ect. \\ horn must we answer ? ■- 5 > 
 
 ff'"; „ 'ilie noble Menelaus. 
 
 Hcct. O you, my lord? by JIars his gauntlet 
 Mock not, that I affect the untraded oath; Cks 
 \y quondam wife swears still by Venu ' g o e 
 She . well, but bade me not commend her tl vou 
 Men >,ainehernotnow,sir; she's a deadly "theme 
 Hect. O, pardon ; 1 offend. ^ 
 
 ^est. I have thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft 
 Ubouring tor destiny, make cruel way ' 
 
 1 hrough raoks of Greekish youth : and I have seen 
 As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, fthee 
 Despising many forfeits and subduements ^ ' 
 V\ hen thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air 
 Jvot letting It decline on the declin'd • 
 Ihat i have said to some my standers-by 
 J^",J,,paer ,s yonder, dealing life ! 
 
 \\tl I'f ''^'' "'*^ P^^'-'^'^' ='"'1 'ate thy breath 
 
 But th?-?.'^'"^'' ^"'=^"'"? ■■ This have 1 seen ■ 
 But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel 
 I never saw till no;v. I knew thy grandsire 
 And once fought with him : he wafa sold er .ood - 
 But, by great .Mars, the captain of us al ° ' 
 
 Never like thee : Let an old man embrace thee ■ 
 And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents ' 
 ■*'«. 1 1S the old Nestor. 
 
 Thn,'? ■':" T ""'"''"^•^ "'«<^- good "Id chronicie 
 Mosr r '^'?? "•^"'■d t-^^d '« hand with tm _ 
 
 iV« Two" 1 ?'''"'• ^ "■" Slad to clasp the ' 
 
 iV«. I would my arms could match thee in c.n- 
 As they contend with tliee in courtesy Ttentlm 
 
 ^ect. 1 would they could. ^' ^ ' 
 
 Acsr. Ha ! 
 
 Wen 'wr/c'" '''''I' ^'^ '^g'" ^""' ''-'^e to-morrow. 
 
 f/ ;,r T ""'' r^'^"""^' 1 hav^seen the time- 
 When 11"°"^" T^ '"'^^ >'°"der city stands. 
 
 h1 t ^''^ ^^"^ •>" ^'''^ =">d pillar by us. 
 ii" ■ -1 ''"0"' your favour, lord Ulysses, well 
 
 ^i„'Jf rf ^ * "^"-'^ ^ ^«<''' a""! Trojan dead, 
 ^ince first I saw yourself and Diomed 
 in ilion, on your Greekish embassy. 
 
598 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Ulyss. Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue : 
 My prophecy is but half his journey yet ; 
 For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, 
 Yon towers, wiiose wanton tops do buss the clouds, 
 Must kiss their own feet. 
 
 Meet. I must not believe you : 
 
 There they stand yet ; and modestly I think, 
 The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost 
 A drop of Grecian blood: The end crowns all ; 
 And that old common arbitrator, time. 
 Will one day end it. 
 
 Ulyss. So to him we leave it 
 
 Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome ; 
 After the general, 1 beseech you next 
 To feast witli me, and see me at my tent. 
 
 Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thoi^ — 
 Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee: 
 I ha^e w'ith exact view perus'd tliee. Hector, 
 And quoted joint by joint. 
 
 Hect. Is this Achilles'! 
 
 Achil. I am Achilles. 
 
 Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee: let me look on thee. 
 
 Achil. Behold thy tilll 
 
 Hect. Nav, 1 have done already. 
 
 Achil. Thou art too brief; 1 will the second time. 
 As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 
 
 Hect. O, like a book of sport thou 'It read me o'er ; 
 But there's more in me, than thou understand'st. 
 '•\'hv dost thou so oppress me with thine eye ? [bodv 
 
 .ichit. Tell me. you heavens, in which part of his 
 Shall I destroy him! whethet there, there, or there! 
 That I may give the local wound a name ; 
 And make distinct the very breach whereout 
 Hector's great spiiit flew : Answer me, heavens I 
 
 Hect. Itwould discredit thebless'dgods, proud man. 
 To answer such a question : Stand again : 
 Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly, 
 As to prenominate in nice conjecture, 
 Where thou wilt hit me dead ! 
 
 .Jc/ii/. I tell thee, yea. 
 
 Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, 
 I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well ; 
 For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there ; 
 But. by the forge that stithied ^lars his helm, 
 I'll kill thee every where, yea. o'er and o'er. — 
 You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag. 
 His insolence draws folly from my lips ; 
 But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words, 
 Or may I never 
 
 Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin ; — 
 
 And you Achilles, let these threats alone. 
 Till accident, or purpose, bring vou to't ; 
 You may have every day enough of Hector, 
 If you have stomach ; the general state I fear. 
 Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 
 
 Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field ; 
 We have had pelting wars, since you refus'd 
 The Grecians' cause. 
 
 Achil. Dost thou entreat me. Hector'! 
 
 To-morrow, do I meet thee, fell as death ; 
 To-night, all friends. 
 
 Hect. Thy hand upon that match. 
 
 Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my tent; 
 There in the full convive we ; afterwards. 
 As Hector's leisure, and your bounties shall 
 Concur together, severally entreat him. — 
 Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets blow. 
 That this great soldier may his welcome know. 
 
 [Kieuut till hut TiioiLus <nui Uly.sses. 
 
 Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me. I beseech you. 
 In what place of the field doth Calchas keep I 
 Uli/ss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely rroilus : 
 
 There Diomed doth feast with him to-.iight ; 
 Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earlh, 
 But gives all gaie and bent of amorous view 
 On the fair (_:ressid. 
 
 Tro. Shall I , sw eet lord, be bound to you so muca. 
 After we part from Agamemnon's tent. 
 To bring me thither'! 
 
 Villus. You shall command ir.e, sir. 
 
 As gentle tell me, of what honour was 
 This Cressida in Troy! Had she no lover there. 
 That wails her absence! 
 
 Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting shew their scars, 
 A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord ! 
 .She was belov'd, she iov'd ; she is, and doth : 
 But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. 
 
 \^ExeuKt, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 The Grecian Camp. — Before Achilles' Tent. 
 Enter Achilles and Patroclus. 
 Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to- 
 night. 
 Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. — 
 Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. 
 Potr. Here comes Thersites. 
 
 Enter Thersites. 
 
 Achil. How now, thou core of envy' 
 
 Thou crusty batch of nature, wiial's the news? 
 
 Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, 
 and idol of idiot worshippers, here's a letter for thee. 
 
 Achil. From whence, fragment ! 
 
 Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy. 
 
 Patr. W ho keeps the tent now ! 
 
 Ther. The surgeon's box, or the patient's wound. 
 
 Pot)-. Well said. Adversity ! and what need these 
 tricks '! 
 
 Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy : I profit not by thy 
 talk : thou art thought to be Achilles' male varlet. 
 
 Patr. Stale varlet, you rogue ! what 's that ? 
 
 Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now the rotten 
 diseases of the south, the guts griping, ruptures, 
 catarrhs, loads o' gravel i'the back, lethargies, cold 
 palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, 
 bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i'the 
 palm, incurable bone-ach, and the rivelled fee-simple 
 of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous 
 discoveries ! 
 
 P<i(r. Why thou damnable box of envy, thou, what 
 meanest thou to curse thus ? 
 
 Ther. Do I curse thee ^ 
 
 Putr. W hy, no, you ruinous butt ; you whoreson 
 indistinguishable cur. no. 
 
 Ther. No! why art thou then exasperate, thou idle 
 immaterial skein of sleive silk, thou green sarcenet 
 flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse, 
 thou '! Ah. how tlie poor world is pestered with such 
 water-flies ; diminutives of nature ! 
 
 Patr. Out, gall ! 
 
 Ther. Finch egg ! 
 
 .ichil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted qui*e 
 From my great ]>\irpose in to-morrow's battle. 
 Here is a letter from queen Hecuba ; 
 .\ token from her daughter, my fair love ; 
 Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep 
 An oath that 1 have sworn. 1 will not break it : 
 Fall. Greeks: fail, fame ; honour, or go, or stay; 
 
 My major vow lies here, this 1 'II obey.- 
 
 Come, come, Thersites, help to trim iny tent ; 
 
ACT v.- SCENE II. 
 
 599 
 
 This night in banqueting must all be spent. — 
 Away, Patroclus. [Eieiiitt Achilles (T/irf Patroclus. 
 Tlier. With too much blood, and too little brain, 
 these two mav run mad ; but it' with too much brain, 
 and too little blood, they do, 1 'II be a curer of mad- 
 men. Here's Agamemnon, — an honest fellowenough, 
 and one that loves quails ; but he has not sq much 
 brain as ear-wax: And tile goodly transformation of 
 .lujilter there, his brother, the bull. — the primitive 
 statue, and oblique memorial of cuckolds ; a thrifty 
 shoeing-iiorn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg, 
 — to what form, but that he is, should wit larded with 
 malice, and malice forced with wit, turn him to 1 To 
 an ass, were nothing ; he is both ass and ox : to an 
 ox were nothing ; he is both ox and ass. To be a 
 dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, a lizard, an owl, 
 a pultock, or a herring without a roe, I would not 
 care ; but to be SMenelaus, — 1 would conspire against 
 destiny. Ask me not what I would be, if I were not 
 Thersites ; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, 
 so I were not Menelaus, — Hey-dey ! spirits and fires ! 
 
 Enter Hkctor, Tuoilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, Ulys- 
 ses, Nestor, IVIenelaus, ajid Diomed, tvith liglifs. 
 Agavi. We go wrong, we go wrong. 
 Ain\. ffo, yonder 'tis; 
 
 Tiif 't;, where we see the lights. 
 
 Ili-rl. I trouble you. 
 
 Aiiir. No, not a whit. 
 
 . Villus. Here comes himself to guide you. 
 
 Entei- Achilles. 
 
 Achii. Welcome, brave Hector j welcome, princes 
 all. [night. 
 
 Agant. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good 
 Aja.v commands the guard to tend on you. 
 
 Heft . Thanks, and good night, to the Greeks' general. 
 
 Mtn. Good night, my lord. 
 
 llect. Good night, sweet Menelaus. 
 
 Ther. S%veet draught : Sweet, quoth 'a ! sweet sink, 
 sweet sewer. 
 
 Arhit. Good night. 
 And welcome, both to those that go, or tarry. 
 
 Ai^atn. Good night. [Eieunt \G.\>iEyi, and JTeve. 
 
 Achi{. Old Nestor tarries ; and you too, Diomed, 
 Keep Hector company an hour or two. 
 
 Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important business. 
 The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great Hector. 
 
 Hert. Give me your hand. 
 
 Ultiss. Follow his torch, he goes 
 
 To Calchas' tent ; I '11 keep you company. 
 
 l^Aiide to Troilus. 
 
 Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me. 
 
 Hect. And so good night. 
 
 [Exit DiOMEn; Ulyss. and Tro* folLoiving. 
 
 Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. 
 
 [Eieunt Achil. Hector, Ajax, «nrf Nest. 
 
 Ther. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue, 
 a most unjust knave ; I will no more trust him when 
 he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses : he 
 will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler the 
 hound ; but when he performs, astronomers foretell 
 it ; it is prodigious, there will come some change ; the 
 Bun borrows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his 
 word, I will rather leave to see Hector, than not to 
 dog him : they say. he keeps a Trojan drab, and uses 
 the traitor Calchas' tent : I '11 after. — Nothing but 
 lechery! all incontinent varlets ! [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE II.— ne same. Before Calchas' Tent. 
 
 Enter Diomeoes. 
 Dio, Wha.j are you up here, ho ? epeak. 
 
 Cal. [Within.] Who calls? 
 
 Dli}. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — AVheie's your 
 daughter? 
 
 Cat. [H'i(/ii»] She comes to you. 
 
 Enter Troilus a7irf Ulysses, at a distajice ; 
 after them Thersites. 
 
 Uli/ss. Stand where the torch may not discover us 
 Enter Cressida. 
 
 Tro, Cressid, come forth to him ! 
 
 Dio. How now, my charge ' 
 
 Cres. Now my sweet guardian ! — Hark ' a word 
 with you. [Whispers, 
 
 Tro. Yea, so familiar ! 
 
 Uh/ss. She will sing any man at first sight. 
 
 Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can take 
 her cliff ; she's noted. 
 
 Din, Will you remember? 
 
 Cres, Remember? yes. 
 
 Dio. Nay, but do then , 
 
 .And let your mind be coupled with your words. 
 
 Trn, What should she remember? 
 
 Ulfiss. List! 
 
 Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to folly. 
 
 Thei\ Roguery ! 
 
 Dio, Nay, then, — 
 
 Ores. I'll tell you what : 
 
 Dio, Pho ! pho ! come, tell a pin : You are for- 
 sworn. — [me do ? 
 
 Cres. In faith, I cannot: What would you have 
 
 Ther. A juggling trick, to be— secretly open. 
 
 Dio. What did you swearyou would bestow on me? 
 
 Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath ; 
 Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek. 
 
 Dio, Good night. 
 
 Tro. Hold, patience ! 
 
 Uliiss, How now, Trojan? 
 
 Cres. Diomed. 
 
 Dio. No, no, good night : I '11 be your fool no more. 
 
 Tro. Thy better must. 
 
 Cres. Hark ! one word in your ear. 
 
 Tro. O plague and madness I 
 
 Uliiss. You are mov'd, prince ; let us depart, I pi av 
 Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself [you. 
 To wrathful terms ; this place is dangerous ; 
 The time right deadly ; I beseech you, go. 
 
 Tro, Behold, I pray you ! 
 _ Uliiss, Now, good my lord, go off: 
 
 Yoii flow to great destruction ; come, my lord. 
 
 Tro. I pr'ythee, stay. 
 
 Utyss, You have not patience ; come. 
 
 Tro. I pray you, stay ; by hell, and all hell's torments, 
 I will not speak a word. 
 
 Dio, And so good night. 
 
 Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. 
 
 Tro. Doth that grieve thee ? 
 
 wither'd truth ! 
 
 Uluss. Why, how now, lord? 
 
 Tro, ' Uy Jove, 
 
 1 will be patient. 
 
 Cres, Guardian ! — why, Greek I 
 
 Dio. Pho, pho ' adieu ; you palter. 
 
 Cres. In faith, I do not ; come hither once again. 
 
 CUiiss. You shake, my lord, at something; will you 
 You will break out. [go ? 
 
 Tro, She strokes his cheek ! 
 
 Utuss. Come, come. 
 
 Tro. Nay, stay ; by .Tove. T will not speak a word : 
 There is between my will and all offences 
 A guard of patience ; — stay a little while. 
 
 Ther, How the devil luxury, with his fat rump. 
 
600 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 
 
 Fry 
 
 and potatoe finger, tickles these together 
 lechery, fry ! 
 
 Dio. But will vou then % 
 
 C,«. In faith, I will, la ; never trust me else. 
 
 Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it. 
 
 Cm. I'll fetch you one. l^'"- 
 
 Ulvss. You have sworn patience. 
 
 y^^ Fear me not, my lord ; 
 
 I wiu'not be myself, nor have cognition 
 Of what I feel ; I am all patience. 
 
 Re-enter Cressida. 
 Tlier. Now the pledge ; now, now, now ! 
 Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. 
 Tro. beauty ! Where's thy faith ' 
 rr, ■' Mv lord, 
 
 Tio. I will be patient ; outwardly 1 wi 1- 
 Cres. You look upon that sleeve: Behold it well.— 
 He lov'd me— false wench!— Give 'I me again. 
 Dio. Whose was 'f! >. ,^:„ 
 
 Cres. No matter, now 1 have t again. 
 
 I will not meet with you to-morrow night: 
 I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more. 
 
 Ther. Now she sharpens :-Well said, whetstone. 
 Dio. I shall have it. 
 Crfs What, this ^ 
 
 Xj.^- Ay, that 
 
 Cres. O, all you gods !-0 pretty pretty pledge ! 
 Thv master now lies thinking in his bed 
 Of thee, and me ; and siglis, and takes my glove. 
 And ffives memorial damty kisses to it. 
 As I kiss thee.-Nay. do not snatch it from me ; 
 He, that takes that, must take my heart wilha. 
 Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 
 Tro. I did swear patience. 
 
 Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed ; fai h you 
 I '11 give you something else. . [shall not ; 
 
 Dio. I will have this ; Whose was it 1 
 7, 'Tis no matter. 
 
 Cres. 
 
 Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. 
 Cres. -Twas one's that loved me better than you will. 
 But, now you have it, take it. 
 
 jjj^, ■^ Whose was it '. 
 
 Ci'is. By all Diana's waiting-women, yonder, 
 And by herself, I will not tell you whose. 
 
 Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm ; 
 And crrieve his spiiit, that dares not challenge it. 
 
 r,o. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn, 
 It should be challeng'd- , . 
 
 Cres. Well, well, 'lis done, 'tis past ;-And yet it 
 I will not keep my word. Lis not , 
 
 £,;<,. Why then, larewell ; 
 
 Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. 
 
 Cres. You shall not go :-One cannot speat a word, 
 But it straight starts you. 
 
 jj;„. ° I do not like this fooling. 
 
 TlJr. Nor I, by Pluto : but that that likes not you, 
 pleases me best 
 
 Dio. What, shall I come? the hour? 
 
 Cres Ay,come:-O.Tove! 
 
 Do^come :-I shall be plagu'd. ^^^^^^^^ ^.^^ ^^^^_ 
 
 Cre;. Good night. Ipn^-.^^^VoioMEnEs 
 Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee ; 
 But with my heart the other eye doth see 
 
 Ah '. poor our sex 
 
 ! this fault in us 1 find. 
 
 •ITie error of our eye directs our mind : 
 
 What error leads, must err ; O then conclude, 
 
 Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of ^V^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 Ther. A proof of strength she could not publish more 
 
 Unless she said. My mmd is now turn'd whore 
 I'tuis. All's done, my lord, 
 m - It IS. 
 
 t;;'' Why stay we tnen^ 
 
 Tro To make a recordation to my soul 
 
 Of every syllable that here was spoke. 
 
 But if I tell how these two did co^act. 
 
 Shall I •not lie in publishing a truth-! 
 
 Sith vet there is a credence m my heart. 
 
 An esperance so obstinately strong. 
 
 Tliat cfoth invert the attest of eyes and ears ; 
 
 As if those organs had decepUous funcuons, 
 
 Created only to calumniate. 
 
 Was Cressii here ! . rj,^^;,„ 
 
 (_r,„ss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 
 
 Tro. She was not, sure. 
 ,-,' Jlost sure she was. 
 
 r, ;. Whv mv natation hath no taste of madness. 
 Vl.ss. Nor mine, my lord: Cressid was here but 
 
 Tro L^tTtnot be believ'd for womanhood! 
 Think, we had mothers ; do not give advantage 
 To stubborn critics-apt, without a theme. 
 For depravation,-to square the general sex 
 By Cressid's rule : rather think this not Cressid 
 Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soilou. 
 
 mothers ! , , - i,» 
 
 Tro. Nothing aH all, unless that this were she. 
 Ther. Will he swagger himselt out on s own eyes . 
 Tro This she ! no, this is Diomed s Cressida; 
 If beauty have a soul, this is not she ; 
 If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony. 
 If sanctimony be the gods' delight. 
 If there be rule in unity itself. 
 This was not she. O madness of discoui-se. 
 That cause sets up with and against itsel - 
 Bi-fold authority! where reason can ■'evolt 
 Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
 \^Hthout revolt : this is, and is not, Cressid ! 
 \Vithin my soul there doth commence a fight 
 Of this strange nature, that a thing mseparate 
 Divides more wider than the sky and earth ; 
 \nd yet the spacious breadth ol this division 
 \draits no orifice for a point, as subtle 
 \s is Arachne's broken wool, to enter._ 
 instance, O instance ! strong as P uto s gates ; 
 cTessid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven : 
 Instance O instance! strong as heaven itselt ; 
 T°ie bomis of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos d. 
 And with another knot, five-finger-tied, 
 The fractions of her faith, orts of her love, 
 T le fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy rel.ques 
 
 Of her o'er-eaten faith, =^f« bo-jn^u «,"o1?d 
 Uhss. May worthy Tro.lus be half attach d 
 With that which here his passion doth express . 
 
 Tro. Ay, Greek; and that sliall be divulged well 
 In characters as red as Mars his heart 
 Inflal^'d with Venus : never did young man fancy 
 With so eternal and so hx da soul. 
 Hark, Greek ; As much as I do Cressid love, 
 So much bv weight hate 1 her Diomed: 
 Th^"leeve is mine, that he'll bear on his helm ; 
 Wc'l ta casque compos'dby Vulcan's skill. 
 My sword should bite it : not the dreadful spout. 
 Which shipmen do the hurncano call 
 Conslring'd in mass by the almighty sun, 
 ^hall dizfy with more clamour Neptune s ear 
 in his descent, than shall my prompted sword 
 Falling on Diomed. 
 
 Thet: He'll tickle it for his concupy- 
 Tro Cres.id I false Cressid ! false, false.false, 
 Let ail untruths stand by thy stained name, 
 
ACT V. -SCENE III, 
 
 601 
 
 And they '11 seem glorious. 
 
 Utys. 0, conlain yourself ; 
 
 Your passion draws ears hither. 
 Enter ^£n'£as. 
 
 ^ne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord : 
 Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ; 
 Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home. 
 
 Tro. Have with you, prince : — .My courteous lord, 
 adieu : — 
 Farewell, revolted fair! — and, Diomed, 
 Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! 
 
 Ulyss. I '11 bring you to the gates. 
 
 Tro. Accept distracted thanks. 
 
 [Exeunt TROiLf.i, JEhzm, and Ulysses. 
 
 Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomed! 
 I would croak like a raven ; I would bode, I would 
 bode. Patroclus will give me any thing for the in- 
 telligence of this whore : the parrot will not do more 
 for an almond, than he for a commodious drab. 
 Lechery, lechery ; still, wars and lechery ; nothing 
 else holds fashion: A burning devil take them. [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE III.— Troy. Before Priam's Palace. 
 E)tter Hector and Andromache. 
 
 j4n(/. When was my lord so much ungently temper'd. 
 To stop his ears against admonishment? 
 Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. 
 
 Hect. You train me to offend you , get you in : 
 By all the everlasting gods, 1 'II go. 
 
 And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the 
 
 Hect. No more, I say. [*l*iy. 
 
 Enter Cassandra. 
 
 Cat. Where is my brother Hector 1 
 
 And. Here, sister ; arm'd, and bloody in intent. 
 Consort with me in loud and dear petition. 
 Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd 
 Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night 
 Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter. 
 
 Cast. O, it is true. 
 
 Beet. Ho ! bid my trumpet sound ! 
 
 Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet bro- 
 ther. 
 
 Meet. Begone, I say : the gods have heard me swear. 
 
 Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows ; 
 They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
 Than spotted livers in the sacrifice. 
 
 And. O! be persuaded : Do not count it holy 
 To hurt by being just : it is as lawful, 
 For we would give much, to use violent thefts, 
 And rob in the behalf of charity. 
 
 Cas. It is the purpose, that makes strong the vow : 
 But vows to every purpose must not hold : 
 Unarm, sweet Hector. 
 
 Hect. Hold you still, I say ; 
 
 Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate ; 
 Life every man holds dear ; but the dear man 
 Holds honour far more precious dear than life. — 
 
 Enter TnoiLus. 
 How now, young man 1 mean'st thou to fight to-day? 
 
 .ind. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. 
 
 [Exit Cassandra. 
 
 Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus ; doff thy harness, 
 I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry : [youtli. 
 
 Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong, 
 And terapt not yet the brushes of the war. 
 Unarm thee, go ; and doubt thou not, brave boy, 
 I'll stand to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy. 
 
 Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, 
 Which better fits a lion, than a man. 
 
 Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus ? chide m<> 
 
 for it. 
 
 Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall, 
 Even in the fan and wind of your fair sw ord. 
 You bid them rise and live. 
 
 Hect. O, 'tis fair play. 
 
 jfro. Fool's play, by heaven. Hector. 
 
 Hect, How now ? how now 1 
 
 Tto. For the love of all the gods, 
 
 Let's leave the hermit pity with our mother ; 
 And when we have our armours buckled on. 
 The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords ; 
 Spur them to rulhful work, rein them from ruth. 
 
 Hect. Fye, savage, fye ! 
 
 Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. 
 
 Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day 
 
 Tro. W'ho should withhold me? 
 Nor fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars 
 Beckoning with fiery truncheon luy retire ; 
 Not Priamus, and Hecuba on knees. 
 Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ; 
 Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn, 
 Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way. 
 But by my ruin. 
 
 Re-enter Cassandra, uith Priam. 
 
 Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast : 
 He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay. 
 Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee. 
 Fall all together. 
 
 Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back : 
 
 Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had visions ; 
 Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself 
 Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt. 
 To tell thee — that this day is ominous : 
 Therefore, come back. 
 
 Hect. ^neas is a-field ; 
 
 And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks, 
 Even in the faith of valour, to appear 
 This morning to them. 
 
 P"- But thou shall not go. 
 
 _ Hect. I must not break my faith. 
 You know me dutiful ; therefore, dear sir. 
 Let me not shame respect ; but give me leave 
 To take that course by your consent and voice. 
 Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 
 
 Cas. O Priam, yield not to him. 
 
 ^"^- Do not, dear father. 
 
 Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you : 
 Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 
 
 . _ [Exit Andromache. 
 
 7)0. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl 
 JIakes all these bodements. 
 
 '-'"*• O farewell, dear Hector. 
 
 Look, how thou diest ! look, how thy eye turns pale ! 
 Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents ! 
 Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hecuba cries out ! 
 How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth ! 
 Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement. 
 Like witless antics, one another meet. 
 And all cry— Hector! Hector's dead ! O Hector ! 
 
 Tro. Away ! — Away ! 
 
 Cas. Farewell.— Yet, soft. — Hector, I take my 
 leave : 
 Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive [Kxlt. 
 
 Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim : 
 Go in, and cheer the town, we'll forth, and fi;^lit ; 
 Do deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night. 
 
 Pri. Farewell : the gods with safety stand about thee! 
 [Eieunt sererally Pria.m and Hector. Alarums. 
 
 Tro. They are at it ; hark ! Proud Diomed, believe, 
 I come to lose my arm, or wm my sleeve. 
 
602 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA 
 
 As Thoilus is going out, enter, from the other side, 
 Pandarus. 
 
 Pan. Do you hear, my lord ! do you hear ? 
 
 Tro. What now ] 
 
 Pan. Here 's a letter from yon' poor girl. 
 
 Tro. Let rae read. 
 
 Pan. A whoreson ptisic, a whoreson rascally ptisic 
 so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of this girl ; 
 and what one thing, what another, that I shall leave 
 you one o' these days : And I have a rheum in mine 
 eyes too ; and such an ache in my bones, that, unless 
 a man were cursed, I cannot tell what to think on't. 
 — What says she there? 
 
 Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from the 
 heart ; [^Tearing the Letter. 
 
 'ITie effect doth operate another way. — 
 Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. — 
 My love with words and er'ors still she feeds ; 
 But edifies anotherwith her deeds. [Eieimt severalli/. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Between Troy and the Grecian Camp. 
 Alarums: Excursions. Eiiier Thersites. 
 Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another; 
 I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable var- 
 let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish 
 young knave's sleeve of Troy there in his helm : I 
 would fain see them meet ; that that same young 
 Trojan ass, that loves tlie whore there, might send 
 that Gieekish whoiemasterly villain, with the sleeve, 
 back to the dissembling luxurious drab, on a sleeve- 
 less errand. O' the other side. The policy of those 
 crafty s vearing rascals, — that stale old mouse-eaten 
 dry cheese, Nestor; and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, 
 — is not proved worth a blackberry : — They set me 
 up, in policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that 
 dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : and now is the cur 
 Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm 
 to-day ; whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim 
 barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. 
 Soft I here come sleeve, and t' other. 
 
 Enter Diomedes, TROu.vsfotlowitig. 
 
 Tro. Fly not ; for, shouldst thou take the river Styx, 
 3 would swim after. 
 
 Via. Thou dost miscall retire • 
 
 t do not fly ; but advantageous care 
 Withdrew me from the odds of multitude : 
 Have at thee ! 
 
 Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! — now for thy 
 whore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the sleeve 1 
 [£aeii7(( Tii-:)iLvs and Uio:^iKDhS,Jighting. 
 
 Enter Hector. 
 
 Hect. What art thou, Greek, art thou for Hector's 
 Art thou of blood, and honour? [match ? 
 
 Ther. No, no ; — I am a rascal ; a scurvy railing 
 knave ; a very filthy rogue. 
 
 Hect. I do believe thee ; — live. [Eaif. 
 
 Ther. Godamercy, that thou wilt believe me ; 
 But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me. 
 What's become of the wenching rogues ? 1 think, 
 they have swallowed one another : I would laugh at 
 that miracle. Yet, in a sort, lechery eats itself. I'll 
 seek them. [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE v.— The same. 
 
 Enter Diomedes and a Servant. 
 
 Dill. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse ; 
 Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid : 
 Fellow, commend ray service to her beauty ; 
 
 Tell her, I have chistis'd the amorous Trojan, 
 And am her knight by proof. 
 
 Serii. 1 go, my lord. [Exit Servant 
 
 Enter Agamemnon. 
 
 Agam. Renew, renew 1 the fierce Polydamus 
 Hath beat down IMenon : bastard ISIargarelou 
 Hath Doreus prisoner ; 
 And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam. 
 Upon the pashed corses of the kings 
 Epistrophus and Cedius : Polixenes is slain ; 
 Amphimacus, and Thoas, deadly hurt ; 
 Patroclus ta'en, or slain ; and Palamedes 
 Sore hurt and bruis'd : the dreadful Sagittary 
 Appals our numbers ; haste we, Diomed, 
 To reinlorcement, or we perish all. 
 
 Enter Nestor. 
 
 Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to .\chilles ; 
 And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame.- 
 There is a thousand Hectors in the field : 
 Now here he fights on Galathe his horse. 
 And there lacks work ; anon, he's there afoot. 
 And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls 
 Before the belching whale ; then he is yonder. 
 And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge. 
 Fall down before him, like the mower's swath : 
 Here, there, and every where, heleaves, and takes ; 
 Dexterity so obeying appetite, 
 That what he will, he does ; and does so much. 
 That proof is call'd impossibility. 
 
 Enter Ulysses, 
 
 Ulijss. courage, courage, princes ! great ."Vchille? 
 Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance ; 
 Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood. 
 Together with his mangled INlyrmidons, 
 That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to 
 Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend, [him, j 
 And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it, .1 
 
 Roaring for Troilus ; who hath done to-day 
 ]Mad and fantastic execution ; 
 Engaging and redeeming of himself. 
 With such a careless force, and forceless care. 
 As if that luck, in very spite of cunning. 
 Bade him win all. 
 
 Enter Ajax. 
 
 Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus ! [Exit. 
 
 Dio. Ay, there, there. 
 
 Nest. So, so, we draw together. 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 Achil, V\ here IS this Hector ? 
 
 Come, come, thou boy-queller, shew thy face ; 
 Know what it is to meet Achilles angry. 
 Hector ! where's Hector 1 I will none but Hector. 
 
 \_Exeuut. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Enter Ajax. 
 
 4;rii. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, shew th^ head 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 
 Dio. Troilus, 1 say ! where's Troilus ? 
 Ajax. What would'st thou ? 
 
 Dio. I would correct him. [office 
 
 Ajax. Were 1 the general, thou should'st have my 
 Ere that correction: — Troilus, Isay! what, Troilus! 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 Tro. traitor Diomed! — turn thy false face, thou 
 traitor. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE XI. 
 
 603 
 
 And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse ! 
 Dill. Ha ! art thou there ! 
 
 Ajus. I'll fight with him alone : stand, Diomed. 
 Dio. He is my prize, I will not look upon. 
 Tro. Come both, you cogging Greeks ; have at you 
 both. [Exeunt Jightiitg. 
 
 Enler Hectob. 
 
 Hect. Yea, Troilus? well fought, my youngest 
 brother ! 
 
 Enter Achilles. 
 
 Achil. Now do I see thee : — Ha! — Have at thee, 
 
 Htct. Pause, if thou wilt. [Hector. 
 
 Acliil. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan. 
 Be happy, that my arms are out of use : 
 Mv rest and negligence befriend thee now, 
 But thou anon shalt hear of me again ; 
 Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. 
 
 Hect, Fare thee well : — 
 
 I would have been much more a fresher man. 
 Had 1 expected ihee. — How now, my brother 1 
 
 * Re-enter TnoiLus. 
 
 Tro. Ajax hath ta'en ^^neas ; Shall it be 1 
 No, by the flame ol yonder glorious heaven. 
 He shall not carry him ; I'll be taken too. 
 Or bring him otT: — Fate, hear me what I say, 
 1 reck not though I end my life to-day. [Exit. 
 
 Enter one in sumptuous armour. 
 
 Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek; thou art a goodly 
 mark : — 
 Nol wilt thou not? — I like thy armour well ; 
 I'll flush it, and unlock the rivets all. 
 But I'll be master of it : — Wilt thou not, beast, abide 1 
 Why then, fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide. [E.ieunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— TJie same. 
 
 Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. 
 
 ylc)ii(. Come here about me. you my Myrmidons; 
 Mark what I say. — Attend me where I wheel : 
 Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath ; 
 And wlien I have the bloody Hector found. 
 Empale him with your weapons round about ; 
 In fellest manner execute your arms. 
 Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye : — 
 It is decreed — -Hector the great must die. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Vni.— The same. 
 
 Enter Menelaus and VAtiii.Jighting : 
 then TuEitsiTES. ^ 
 
 Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold- maker are at 
 it 1 Now, bull ! now-, dog ! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo ! now 
 my double-henned sparrow • 'loo, Paris, 'loo ! The 
 bull has the game : — 'ware horns, ho I 
 
 \_E3.eunt P.\ius and BIenelaus. 
 
 Enter Margarelon. 
 
 Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. 
 
 Ther. W' hat art thou 1 
 
 JVfin-. A bastard son of Priam's. 
 
 Ther. I am a bastard too : I love bastards : I am 
 a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bastard in mind, 
 bastard in valour, in every thing illegitimate. One 
 bear will not bile another, and wherefore should one 
 bastard ? Take heed, the quarrel's most ominous to 
 ns : if the son of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts 
 judgment : Farewell, bastard. 
 
 Mur. The devil take thee, coward ! [Eieuiit. 
 
 SCENE IX.- A7wther Part of the Field. 
 
 Enter Hector. 
 
 Hect. Most putrified core, so fair without. 
 
 Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life. 
 
 Now is my day's work done : I'll take good breath : 
 
 Rest, sword : thou hast thy fill of blood and deatli ! 
 
 [Futs o^' his helvtet, and hangs his shield behind him. 
 
 Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. 
 
 Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to set ; 
 How ugly night comes breathing at his heels : 
 Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun. 
 To close the day up. Hector's life is done. 
 
 Hect. I am unarm'd; forego this vantage. Greek. 
 
 .■ichil. Strike, fellows, strike ; this is the man I seek. 
 
 [HECT0Ry«//5. 
 
 So, Ilion, fall thou next ; now, Troy, sink down; 
 Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. — 
 On, Myrmidons ; and cry you all amain, 
 Achilles hath the miglity Hector slain. 
 
 [A retreat sounded, 
 HarK ! a retreat upon our Grecian part. 
 
 Miir. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my lord. 
 
 Achil, The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the 
 And, stickler-like, the armies separate. [earth. 
 
 My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would have fed, 
 Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. — 
 
 [Sheathes his swoi-d. 
 Come, tie his body to my horse's tail : 
 Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE X.—The same. 
 
 Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor, 
 
 Diomedes, and others, marching. Shouts within. 
 
 Agam, Hark, hark, what shout is tiiat ? 
 
 A'e«f. Peace, drums. 
 
 [Within.] Achilles! 
 
 Achilles ! Hector's slain ! Achilles ! 
 
 Dii). The bruit is — Hector's slain, and by Achilles. 
 
 Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ; 
 Great Hector was as good a man as he. 
 
 Agam. March patiently along: — Let one be sent 
 To pray Achilles see us at our tent. — 
 If in his death the gods have us befriended, 
 Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended. 
 [Exeunt, marching. 
 
 SCENE XI.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Enter .-Eneas and Trojans. 
 
 jEne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field : 
 Never go home ; here starve we out the night. 
 
 Enter Troilus. 
 
 Tro. Hector is slain. 
 
 All. Hector?— The gods forbid! 
 
 Tro. He's dead ; and at the murderei's horse's tail. 
 In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful field. — 
 Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed ! 
 Sit gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy ! 
 I say, at once, let your brief plagues be mercy. 
 And linger not our sure destructions on ! 
 
 .-Eiie. My lord, you do discomfort all the host. 
 
 Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so ; 
 I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ; 
 But dare all imminence, that gods and men. 
 Address their dangers in. Hector is gone 
 Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba 1 
 Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd. 
 Go in to Troy, and say there — Hector's dead ; 
 
604 
 
 TIMOS OF ATIIESS. 
 
 C'.\. : 
 
 r^- Li.:.- 
 
 it'i-^i - 'J -iz^ -b iiV :i40:% v... taT. 
 
 _:i-,^ 'jiiT tiro iuiiu ; 
 ^i.«d esacdeDce mD, 
 « ift as {teanr rtn»t^hli — 
 -rr ' — «itfa oaatet ^ : 
 
 *':m^ Mm^ iij: 
 
 .^nilT ^ immUe-im ia& Kag, 
 '. bam UM iif b tmcf , aa4 fas >>-..^^ : 
 
 --tlil. — 
 
 I As leaoT u tie itere ti faaeert laii, 
 ^^ y vcr vttx, iaH out, «eef 0«t at Paadat'* fej/ : 
 
 t."«»^ ■***»*««' Tiejam. Or, if vtm csaaot ««ep, •« prt •«« gram' , 
 
 r^MjuKss. S'.>B«t»exa0Btfa(b»eEagjr«j]1 dkaB tesske ma^ 
 
 Pan. 2ia bear 7«a,kar7Mi! , It ihtaJd be aw. bet that nr fezr » t^, — 
 
 Tn. Heaee. hnlEer lack^! i^Dcarjraal diame , hrjme ^iSlkd fMse «f WiiirfwiBw -mvaii fam - 
 
 Pcisue tirjrHe.aiidBsei^'wmil^Basie. HH <b«a ITD'nreal, asd «eek 4mt iar eaxet - 
 
 ^£(» Tfvonxx. ! Aai, at tbat ^ue, fawpwaA «<>■ sjr iHnima, [E«t. 
 
 TIMOX OF ATHENS. 
 
 J 
 
 PEBS05S REPEESEyTEL 
 
 jfic - .-Ji 
 
 Tornaom. •».! i- j ^mvii t f»jte fneait. 
 
 f tajtnsn. lAxum*. Scensais. TisMi'c 
 CATva^ Taca^nXy Trzvt. l>Dcan^ SavzBMWi^ 
 
 ig natt « Tamtui't traiatn. 
 Tvm Strvma a^Taraft. 
 Re Ji i i — ^lawge- 
 
 CmfiAmai %airxn. 
 
 Turn Ara^ssnu 
 
 FjMU frittrr. JaaCju. Xtrwiae. 
 
 FaSKRU, Tnur^u. -mixreaa u lli'ftialin. 
 
 ACT L 
 
 1 £«» P«t> Faisaa. i««dSer. IfaRjhiM. aarf m4«- . 
 
 ' P«a.C^ft9.«K. 
 
 '•«•' I an |lad ym aa« n*^ 
 
 P««, It wvm, ta.ma. pmmt. Xm^y. 
 
 : B«* viae }w^evlar xan)^ tfirgt vaa^, 
 VmAmaakAittioatlaim.mmii^r See, 
 X^^twMf! ««&eaeap«iiilfarf>nwr 
 i&ifti OMk*'^ ^. -^-'>^.' T ~rt7««rrtiiirT 
 
 PbU, I fcu-. i^t a yoD^i^. 
 
 J{«rj|flas«3iK»i^«!^>saa; Uadi%a*Jti«e:' 
 
 OAvUHt. 
 
 fJfan.U^m.'Oima 
 
 i \aeyK & .*?»»: 
 
 ii>^t» 
 
 tCgB;>— Aj — ; niAtvvin^vmn^ 
 
 
ACT I.--SCENE I. 
 
 605 
 
 "t jtiiiiij thf glorti in that happy verie 
 Which aptlil sings thi- good. 
 
 Mer. Tis a good form. ILiiokiiig at tha jewel. 
 
 Jdi'. AnJ rich here is a water, look you. 
 
 J'niii. ^ou are rapt, sir, in some work, some dedica- 
 To till- great lord. [t'on 
 
 ]'ori. -A. thing slipp'd idly from me. 
 
 Our poesy is as a gum. which oiizes 
 From \vhenc8 'tis nourished : Tlie lire i'the flint 
 Shews not, till it be struck ; our gentle (lame 
 Provokes itself, and, like the current. Hies 
 Kaoh bound it chafes. What have you there ] [forth '. 
 
 Vain. -\ picture, sir. — And when comes your book 
 
 Voct. Upon the heels of my presentment, sir. 
 Let's see your piece. 
 
 Pain. 'Tis a good piece. 
 
 Pmi. So 'tis: this comes oil' well and excellent. 
 
 I'liin. Indifferent. 
 
 Poet. Admirnble : How this grace 
 
 Speaks his own standing ! whiil a mental jiower 
 'I'nis eye shoots forth ! how big imagination 
 Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the gesture 
 One mi|;ht interpret. 
 
 Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life. 
 Here is a touch ; Is't good ! 
 
 /'"«(. I'll say of it, 
 
 It tutors nature : artificial .strife 
 IJvcs in these touches, livelier than life. 
 
 Unter certain Senators, and pass over. 
 
 Pain. How this lord's follow'd ! 
 
 l\iet. The senators of .Alliens : — Happy men ! 
 
 Pain. Look, more ! 
 
 JWl. Vou see thisconflucnco. this great Hood of visi- 
 I have, in lliisro\igh work, shap'd out a nian, [tors. 
 Whom this beneath woild doth embru;'e and hug 
 With amplest entertainment : I\ly free drift 
 Halts not particularly, but moves itself 
 In a wide sea of wax : no levell'd mulico 
 Infects one comma in the course I hold ; 
 Hut Hies an eagle (light, bold, and forth on, 
 Leaving no tract Ijchind. 
 
 Pain, How shall 1 understand you ? 
 
 Potl. 'I'll unbolt to you. 
 
 You sec how all conditions, how all minds, 
 (As well of glib ami slippery creatures, as 
 Of grave and austere i|\iality,) tender down 
 Their services to lord Tinion ; his hirge fortune, 
 Upon his good and gracious nature hanjiing, 
 Subdues anil properties to his love and temlanco 
 All sorts of hearts ; yia, from the glassfac'd llatlercr 
 To Apemantus, that few things loves better 
 Than to abhor himself; even he drops down 
 'I'hc knee before him, and returns in peace 
 Molt rich in Timon's nod. 
 
 Pain. 1 saw them speak together. 
 
 . PmI. Sir, I have upon a high anil pleasant hill. 
 Foign'd Fortune to be throu'd : The base o' the mount 
 Is rank'il with all deserts, ail kinds of natures. 
 That labour on the hoioin of llii» s|ihc're 
 To propagate their slates : almmg^l lliem all. 
 Whose eyes are on this sovereign lady fix'd. 
 One do 1 pel senate of lord Tiiiion's frame. 
 Whom Fortune with her ivory hand wafts to her ; 
 Whose present grace to present slaves and servants 
 Translates his rivals. 
 
 '*<ii't. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope. 
 
 This throne, this I'ortune, and this hill, methink.4, 
 AVith one loitu beckon'il t'rom the rest below, 
 Uowin^; his head against the sleepy mount 
 To climb his happiness, would be well express'd 
 lu our condition. 
 
 Pii8(. Nay, sir, but hear me cui . 
 
 All those which were his fellows but of late, 
 (Some better than his value,) on the moment 
 Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance 
 Rain sacriticial whisperings in liis ear. 
 Make sacred even his stirrop, and tlirough liiin 
 Drink the free air. 
 
 Paiu. Ay, marry, what of these 1 
 
 I'liel. When Fortune, in her shift and change of mood, 
 Spurns down her late bclov'd, all his dependants, 
 \V'hich labour'd after him to the mountain's top, 
 F'.ven on their knees and hands, let him slip down. 
 Not one accompanying his declining foot. 
 
 Puin. 'Tis common : 
 A thousand moral paintings I can shew. 
 That shall demonstrate these ipiick blows of fortune 
 More jiregnantly than words. Vet you do well. 
 To shew lord Timon, that mean eyes have seen 
 T'he foot above tlic head. 
 
 Tnnnjit'ts stunul. Entt'r Timon, attended; the Ser- 
 vant ()/' Ventidius talliini^ with him. 
 
 Tint. Imprison 'd is he, say you' 
 
 Pen. Serf. .-Xy, my good lord : live talents is hisJebt ; 
 His means most short, his creditors most strait : 
 Your honourable letter he desires 
 To those have shut him up ; which failing to him. 
 Periods his comfort. 
 
 Tim. Noble Ventidius I Well ; 
 
 I am not of that feather, to shake off 
 .My friend wlum be must need me. I do know hiin 
 A genlleniiin, that well deserves a help, 
 Wliicli he shall have: I'll pay the debt, and free him. 
 
 IV/i. .Serv. Voiii lordship evei binds him. 
 
 Tim. Commend inetn him : 1 will send hisransomo; 
 ;\nd, being eiifi.inchis'ii, ijid him come to me: — 
 "lis not enough 10 help the feeble up, 
 but to support him after. — Fare you well. 
 
 Ven, Serv All happiness to your honour I [Exit. 
 I'.ntcr an old .Athenian. 
 
 t)ld Ath. I.oid Timon, hear me speak. 
 
 '''""• I'reely, good father. 
 
 Old .iih. Thou hast a servant nam'd l.ueilius. 
 
 Tim. I have so : What of him ! 
 
 0/f/.'l</;. Most noble Timon, call the man before thee. 
 
 Tim, Attends he here, or no I — l.ueilius ! 
 
 Kntei' I.ucii.ius. 
 
 l.uc. Here, at your lordship'.s service, 
 
 ()W.l(/i. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy crca- 
 By night freipients my house. 1 am a man [lure, 
 Tliat from my first liavo been inclin'd to thrift ; 
 .'\iul my estate deserves an heir more rais'd. 
 Than one which holds a trencher. 
 
 Tim. Well ; what further 1 
 
 Old .Uh. One only daughter have I, no kin else. 
 On whom I may confer what I have got : 
 The maid is fair, o'tho youngest for n bride, 
 .\iid I have bred her at my dearest cost. 
 Ill ipmlities of the best. This man of thine 
 .Allempis her love: 1 pr'ythee, noble lord, 
 .loin witli mu to forbid him her resort ; 
 Mysidf have spoke in vain. 
 
 Tim. The man is honest. 
 
 Old Alh. Thoreforo ho will be. Timon : 
 His lionesty rewards him in itself. 
 It must not bear my daughlor. 
 
 Tim. Does she love him I 
 
 Old Alh. She is young, and apt : 
 Our own precedent passions do instruct us 
 What levity's in youth. 
 
 Tim. [7'c) L.ceu,ui8.J Love you the nmid '1 
 
606 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Luc. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it. 
 
 Old Ath. If in Her marriage my consent be missing, 
 I call the gods to witness, 1 will choose 
 IMine heir from forth tiie beggars of the world, 
 And dispossess her all. 
 
 Tim* How shall she be endow'd, 
 
 If she be mated with an equal husband? 
 
 Old Ath. Three talents, on the present; in future, all. 
 
 Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'dme long; 
 To build his fortune I will strain a little. 
 For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter ; 
 \\ hat you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise, 
 And make him weigh with her. 
 
 Old .ith. Most noble lord. 
 
 Pawn me to this your honour, she is his. 
 
 Tim. My hand to thee ; mine honour on my promise. 
 
 Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship : Never may 
 That state or fortune fall into my keeping. 
 Which is not ow'd to you ! [Et. Luc. l^ old .\th. 
 
 I'oet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your lord- 
 ship '. 
 
 Tim. I thank you ; you shall hear from me anon: 
 Go not away. — What have you there, my friend! 
 
 Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech 
 Your lordship to accept. 
 
 Tim. Painting is welcome. 
 
 The painting is almost the natural man ; 
 For since dishonour traffics with man's nature. 
 He is but outside : These pencil'd figures are 
 Even such as they give out. I like your work ; 
 And you shall find, I like it: wait attendance 
 Till you hear further from me. 
 
 Pain. The gods preserve you ! 
 
 Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen: Givemeyourhand: 
 We must needs dine together. — Sir, your jewel 
 Hath suflfer'd under praise. 
 
 Jew. What, my lord? dispraised 
 
 Tim. A meer satiety of commendations. 
 If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoU'd, 
 Tt would unclew me quite. 
 
 Jew. My lord, 'tis rated 
 
 As those, which sell, would give: But you well know, 
 Things of like value, differing in tiie owners. 
 Are prized by their masters : believe't, dear lord, 
 Vou mend the jewel by wearing it. 
 
 7"™. Well mock'd. 
 
 Mer. No, my good lord ; he speaks the common 
 Which all men speak with him. [tongue, 
 
 Tim, Look, who comes here. Will you be chid? 
 
 Enter Apemantus. 
 
 Jew, We will bear with your lordship. 
 
 Mer. He'll spare none. 
 
 Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus ! 
 
 Apem. Til] I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow ; 
 When thou arlTimon'sdog, and these knaves honest. 
 
 Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves ? thou know'st 
 
 Afem. Are they not Athenians ? [them not. 
 
 Tim. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then I repent not. 
 
 Jew. You know me, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. Thou knowest, I do; I call'd thee by thy 
 name. 
 
 Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus. 
 
 <4pCTn. Of nothing so much, as that I am not like 
 Timon. 
 
 Tim. Whitlier art going ? 
 
 Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains. 
 
 Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for. 
 
 Apem. Kiglit, if doing nothing be death by the law. 
 
 Tim. How likest thou this picture, Apemantus? 
 
 Apetn. I'he best, fc the innocence. 
 
 Tim. Wrought he not well, that painted it l 
 
 Appm. lie wrought better, tliat made the painter; 
 and yet he's but a filthy piece of work. 
 
 Pain. You are a dog. 
 
 Apem. Thy mother s of my generation ; What's 
 she, if I be a dog ? 
 
 'iim. Wilt dine with me, Apemantus? 
 
 Apem. No ; I eat not lords. 
 
 Tim. An thou should'st, thou'dst anger ladies. 
 
 Apem. O they eat lords; so they come by great bellies. 
 
 Tim. That's a lascivious apprehension. 
 
 Apem. So thou apprehend 'st it: Take it for thvlabour. 
 
 Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apenjantus? 
 
 Apem. Not so well as plain-dealing, which will 
 not cost a man a doit. 
 
 Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth ? 
 
 Apem. Not worth my thinking. — How now, poet? 
 
 Poet. How now, philosopher ? 
 
 Apem. Thou liest. 
 
 Poet, Art not one 1 
 
 Apem. Yes. 
 
 Poet. Then I lie not. 
 
 Apem. Art not a poet? 
 
 Poet. Yes. 
 
 Apem. Then thou liest : look in thy last work, 
 where thou hast feigned him a worthy fellow. 
 
 Poet. That's not feign 'd, he is so. 
 
 Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay thee 
 for thy labour: He, that loves to be flattered, is wor- 
 thy o' the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a lord ! 
 
 Tim. What wouldst do then, Apemantus ! 
 
 Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a lord 
 with my heart. 
 
 Tim. What, thyself? 
 
 Apem. Ay, 
 
 Tim, Wherefore ? 
 
 Apem. That I had no angry yt^i to be a lord. — Art 
 not thou a merchant ? 
 
 Mer. .\y, Apemantus. 
 
 Apem. TraflSc confound thee, if the gods will not ! 
 
 Mer, If traffic do it, the gods do it. 
 
 Apem, Traffic's thy god, and thy god confound thee ! 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant. 
 
 Tim. What trumpet's that? 
 
 Sen). 'Tis Alcibiades, and 
 
 Some twenty horse, all of companionship. 
 
 Tim, Pray entertain them ; give them guide to us. — 
 l^Kxeuitt some Attendants. 
 You must needs dine with me : — Go not you hence. 
 Till I have thank'd you; and. when dinner's done. 
 Shew me this piece — -I am joyful of your sights. 
 
 Enter Ai.cibiades, u-ith his company. 
 
 Most welcome, sir. [_They salute, 
 
 Apem. So, so ; there ! — 
 
 .'\ches contract and starve your supple joints ! — 
 That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet 
 
 knaves, 
 And all this court'sy ! The strain of man's bred out 
 Into baboon and monkey. 
 
 Alcib. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed 
 Most hungrily on your sight. 
 
 Tim, Right welcome, sir ; 
 
 Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time 
 In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in. 
 
 [Exeunt all but Apemantus 
 
 Enter T'.ro Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. What time a day is't, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem, Time to be honest. 
 
 1 Ijord. That time serves siill. 
 
ACT I. -SCENE II. 
 
 607 
 
 Apem. The most accursed thou, that still omit'st it. 
 2 Lord, Thou art going to lorJ Tiraon's feast. 
 Apem. Ay ; to see meat fill knaves, and wine heat 
 2 Ijord. Fare thee well, fare thee well. [fools. 
 Apem. Thou art a fool, to bid me farewell twice. 
 2 Lord. Why, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I mean 
 lo give thee none. 
 
 1 Lord. Hang thyself. 
 
 Apem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding ; make 
 tliy requests to thy friend. 
 
 2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn thee 
 hence. 
 
 Apem. I will fly, like a dog, the heelsof an ass. [Exit. 
 
 1 Lord. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall we 
 And taste lord Timon's bounty ? he outgoes [in. 
 The very heart of kindness. 
 
 2 h^rd. He pours it out ; Plutus, the god of gold, 
 I.s but his steward : no meed, but he repays 
 Sevenfold above itself; no gift to him. 
 
 But breeds the giver a return exceeding 
 All use of quittance. 
 
 1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries, 
 That ever govern'd man. 
 
 2 Lord. Long may he live in fortunes I Shall we in 7 
 1 Lord. I'll keep you company. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The tame. A Room of State in Timon's House. 
 
 Hautboifs playing hud music. A great banquet 
 sei^ved in; Fl.wius and others attending; then 
 «7iterTiMoN, Alcibiades, Lucius, Lucullus, Sem- 
 pnoNius, and other Athenian Senators, with Ven- 
 xroius, and Attendants. Then comes, dropping 
 after all, .'Vpemantus, discontentedly. 
 
 Ven. Most honour'd Timon, 'thath pleas'd the gods 
 remember 
 My father's age, and call him to long peace. 
 He is gone happy, and has left me rich : 
 Then, as in grateful virtue I am bound 
 To your free heart, 1 do return those talents. 
 Doubled, with thanks, and service, from whose help 
 I deriv'd liberty. 
 
 Tim. O, by no means, 
 
 Honest Ventidius : you mistake my love ; 
 I gave it freely ever -, and there's none 
 Can truly say, he gives, if he receives : 
 If our betters play at that game, we must not dare 
 To imitate them ; Faults that are rich, are fair. 
 
 Ven. A noble spirit. 
 
 [They all stand ceremoniimslu looking on TrMON. 
 
 Tim, Nay, my lords, ceremony 
 
 Was but devis'd at first, to set a gloss 
 On faint deeds, hollow welcomes. 
 Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shewn ; 
 But where there is true friendship, there needs none. 
 Pray, sit ; more welcome are ye to my fortunes. 
 Than my fortunes to me. [They sit. 
 
 1 I^'rd. IMy lord, we always have confess'd it. 
 
 Apen. Ho, ho, confess'd it 1 hang'dit, have you not? 
 
 Tim. O, Apemantus I — you are welcome. 
 
 Apem. No. 
 
 You shall not make me welcome ; 
 I come to have thee thrust me out of doors. [there 
 
 Tim. Fye, thou art a churl ; you have got a humour 
 Does not become a man, 'tis much to blame : — 
 They say, my lords, that ira furor brevis est. 
 But yond' man 's ever angry. 
 Go, let him have a table by himself; 
 For he does neither affect company. 
 Nor is he fit for it, indeed. 
 
 Apem. Let me stay at thine apperil, Timon ; 
 I come to observe ; I give thee warning on't. 
 
 Tint. I take no heed of thee ; thou art an Athe- 
 nian ; tlierefore welcome : I myself would have no 
 power : pr'ythee, let my meat make thee silent. 
 
 Apem. I scorn thy meat ; 'twould choke me, for I 
 should 
 Ne'er flatter thee. — O you gods ! what a number 
 Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not ! 
 It grieves me to see so many dip their meat 
 In one man's blood ; and all the madness is. 
 He cheers them up too. 
 
 I wonder men dare trust themselves with men : 
 Methinks, they should invite them without knives ; 
 Good for their meat, and safer for their lives. 
 There 's much example for 't ; the fellow, that 
 Sits next him now, parts bread with him, and pledges 
 The breath of him in a divided draught. 
 Is the readiest man to kill him ; it has been prov'd. 
 If I 
 
 Were a huge man, I should fear to drink at meals ; 
 Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes ; 
 Great men should ilrinkwith harness on tiieir throats, 
 
 Tim. My lord, in heart ; and let the health go round. 
 
 2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord. 
 
 ■ipem. Flow this way! 
 
 A brave fellow! — he keep nis tides well. Timon, 
 Those healths will make thee, and thy state look ill. 
 Here's that, which is too weak to be a sinner. 
 Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire : 
 This, and ray food, are equals ; there's no odds. 
 Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods. 
 
 ApEMiMTUs's Grace. 
 Immortal gods, I crave no pelf, 
 I pray for 710 man but myself: 
 Grant I may never prove so fond, 
 To trust man on his oath or bond ; 
 Or a harlot, for her weeping ; 
 Or a dog, thai seems a sleeping ; 
 Or a keeper with my freedom ; 
 Or my friends, if I should need 'em, 
 Amen, Sofaltto't 
 Rich men sin, and I eat root. 
 
 [Eats and drinhs. 
 
 Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus ! [now. 
 
 Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field 
 
 Alcih. My heart is ever at your service, my lord. 
 
 Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of enemies, 
 
 than a dinner of friends. 
 
 .ilcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord, there's 
 no meat like them ; I could wish my best friend at 
 such a feast. 
 
 .ipem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine ene- 
 mies then ; that then thou might'st kill 'em, and bid 
 me to 'em. 
 
 1 Lord. Might we but have that happiness, my 
 lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby 
 we might expre.ss some part of our zeals, we should 
 think ourselves for ever perfect. 
 
 Tim. no doubt, my good friends, but the gods 
 themselves have provided that I shall have much help 
 fiom you : how had you been my friends CISC'! why 
 have you that charitable title from thousands, did you 
 not chiefly belong to my heart '. I have told more of 
 you to myself, than you can with modesty speak in 
 your own behalf ; and thus far I confirm you. O, 
 you gods, think I, what need we have any friends, if 
 we should never have need of them ? they were the 
 most needless creatures living, should we ne'er have 
 use for them ; and would most resemble sweet in- 
 struments hung up in cases, that keep their sounds to 
 
60S 
 
 TIMOX OF ATHENS. 
 
 themselves. Why, Ihave often wished myself poorer 
 that I might come nearer to you. We are born to do 
 benefits : and what better or properer can we call our 
 own than the riches of our friends! 0, what a pre- 
 cious comfort 'tis, to have so many like brothers, 
 commanding one another's fortunes ! joy, e'en 
 made away ere it can be born I Mine eyes cannot 
 hold out water, methinks ; to forget their faults, I 
 drink to you. 
 
 Apem. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon. 
 
 2 Lord. .Toy had the like conception in our eyes, 
 And, at that instant, like a babe sprung up. 
 
 Apem. Ho, ho ! I laugh to think that babe a bastard. 
 
 3 Lord. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me much. 
 Apem, Much. [Tucket sounded. 
 Tim. What means that trump'! — How now 1 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies 
 most desirous of admittance. 
 
 Tim. Ladies'! What are their wills? 
 
 Seni, There comes«'ilh them a forerunner, my lord, 
 which bears that office, to signily their pleasures. 
 
 Tim. 1 pray, let them be admitted. 
 
 Enter Cupid. 
 
 Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon ; — and to all 
 That of his bounties taste !— The five best senses 
 Acknowledge thee their patron ; and come freely 
 To congratulate thy plenteous bosom : Tile ear, 
 Taste, touch, smell, all pleas'd from thy table rise; 
 They only now come but to feast thine eyes. 
 
 Tim. They are welcome all ; let them have kind 
 admittance, 
 Music, make tireir welcome. [Eiit Cupid. 
 
 1 Lord. Vou see, my lord, how ample you are belov'd. 
 
 Music. Re-enter Cupid, with a masgue of Ladies, 
 as Amazons, with hiU in their hands, dancing, and 
 playing. 
 
 Apem. Hey dav, what asweop of vanity comes this 
 They dance ! they are mad women. [way ! 
 
 Like madness is the glory of this life, 
 As this pomp shews to a little oil, and root. 
 We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves ; 
 And spend our flatteries, to drink those men, 
 Upon whose age we void it up again. 
 With poisonous spite, and envy. \\" ho lives, that's not 
 Depraved, or depraves! who dies, that bears 
 Not one spurn to their graves of their friends' gift ? 
 I should fear, those, that dance before me now, 
 Would one day stamp upon me ; It has been done : 
 Men shut their doors against a setting sun. 
 
 The Lords rise from table, tcith much adoring (i/fiMON ; 
 and, t(» iiiieu their loves, each singles out an Amazon, 
 and all dance, men with women, a lofty strain or tuo 
 to the hautboys, and cease, 
 
 Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace, fair 
 Set a fair fashion on our entertainment, [ladies, 
 Which was not half so beautiful and kind ; 
 "V'ou have added worth unto't, and lively lustre. 
 And entertain'd me with mine own device ; 
 I am to thank you for it. 
 
 1 Ld./y. My lord, you take us even at the best. 
 
 Apem, 'ftdtii, for the worst is filthy ; and would not 
 hold taking, 1 doubt me. 
 
 Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet 
 Attends you ; Please you to dispose yourselves. 
 
 Alt Lad, Most thankfully, ray lord. 
 
 [Eicunt Cupid, arid Ladies 
 
 Tim. Flavins, 
 
 Flm; My lord. 
 
 Tim. The little casket bring me hither. 
 
 Flat: Yes, my lord. — More jewels yet I 
 There is no crossing him in his humour ; [.dsirfe. 
 Else I should tell him, — Well,— i'faith, I should, 
 When all's spent, he'd be cross'd then, an he could. 
 Tis pity, bounty had not eyes behind ; 
 That man miglit ne'er be wretched for his mind. 
 
 [E.vif, ajid returns with the caskets 
 
 1 Lord. Where be our men ! 
 
 &ri-. Here, my lord, in readiness. 
 
 S Lord. Our horses. 
 
 Tim. my friends, I have one word 
 
 To say to you ; — Look you, my good lord, I must 
 Entreat you, honour me so much, as to 
 .\dvance this jewel ; 
 Accept it, and wear it, kind my lord. 
 
 1 Lord. I am so far already in your gifts, — 
 All. So are we all. 
 
 Enter a Sen'ant. 
 
 Sf rii. My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate 
 Newly alighted, and come to visit you. 
 
 Tim. They are fairly welcome. 
 
 Flai'. 1 beseech your honour, 
 
 Vouchsafe me a word ; it docs concern you near. 
 
 Tim. Near; why then another time I'll hear thee: 
 I pr'ythee, let us be provided 
 To shew them entertainment. 
 
 Flav. I scarce know how. lAside, 
 
 Enter another Servant. 
 
 S Serv. May it please your honour, the lord Lucius, 
 Out of his free love, hath presented to you 
 Four milk-white horses, trapp'din silver. 
 
 Tim. I shall accept them fairly . let the presents 
 
 Enter a third Sen'ant. 
 
 Be worthily entertain'd. — How now, what news? 
 
 3 Sen: Please you, my lord, that honourable 
 gentleman, lord LucuUus, entreats your company to- 
 morrow to hunt with him ; and has sent your honour 
 two brace of greyhounds. 
 
 Tim. I'll hunt with him; andlet thembe receiv'd. 
 Not « ithout fair reward. 
 
 Flav. lAside.l What will tliis come tot 
 
 He commands us to provide, and give great gifts, 
 -■Vnd all out of an empty coffer. — 
 Nor will he know his purse ; or yield me this. 
 To shew him what a beggar his heart is. 
 Being of no power to make his wislies good ; 
 His promises tly so beyond his state, 
 That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes 
 For every word ; he is so kind, that he now 
 Pays interest fort ; his lands put to their books. 
 \Vell, 'would I were gently put out of office, 
 Before I were forc'd out ! 
 Happier is he that has no friend to feed, 
 Than such as do even enemies exceed. 
 I bleed inwardly for my lord. [ Exit. 
 
 Tim, Y'ou do yourselves 
 
 Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits ; 
 Here, my lord, a trifle of our love. 
 
 -2 Lord. With more than common thanks I will re- 
 
 3 Lord. 0, he is the very soul of bounty ! [ceive it, 
 
 Tim. And now I remember me, my lord, you gave 
 Good words the other day of a bay courser 
 I rode on : it is yours, because you lik'd it ! 
 
 2 Lm-rf. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in that 
 Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; 1 know 
 
 no man 
 Can justly praise, but what he does affect : 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 609 
 
 r wei(;h my friend's afleclion with mine own ; 
 I'll tell you true. I'll call on you. 
 
 All Lords. None so welcome. 
 
 rim. I take all and your several visitations 
 So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give ; 
 Methinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends. 
 And ne'erbe weary.— Alcibiades, 
 Thou art a soldier, therefore seldoVn rich. 
 It comes in charity to thee : for all thy living 
 Is 'mong!.t the dead ; and all the lands thou hast 
 Ije in apilch'd field. 
 
 Alcib. Ay, defiled land, ray lord. 
 
 1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound, 
 
 Tim. And so 
 
 Am I to yon. 
 
 t Lord. So infinitely endear 'd 
 
 Tim. All to you. — Lights, more lights. 
 
 1 Lord. The best of happiness. 
 
 Honour, and fortunes, keep with you, lord Timon ! 
 
 Tim. Ready for his friends. 
 
 [Eieunt ALCTBtADES, Lords.ic. 
 
 Apem. What a coil's here ! 
 
 Serving of becks, and jutting out of bums ! 
 I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums 
 That are given for 'era. Friendship's full of dregs : 
 Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs. 
 Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies. 
 
 Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen 
 I'd be good to thee. 
 
 Apem. No, I'll nothing : for 
 
 If I should be brib'd too. there would be none left 
 To rail upon thee ; and then thou would'st sin the 
 Thou giv'st so long, Tiraon. I fear me, thou [faster. 
 Wilt give away thyself in paper shortly: 
 What need these feasts, pomps, and vain glories 7 
 
 Tim. . ^'ay. 
 
 An vou begin to rail on society once, 
 I am sworn, not to give regard to you. 
 Farewell; and come with belter music. [£ii(. 
 
 Apem. So;— [lock 
 
 Thou'lt not hear me now,— thou shalt not then, I'll 
 Thy heaven from thee. 0, that men's ears should be 
 To "counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I — The same. A Room in a Senator's Hottse. 
 
 Enter n Senator, with papers in his hajid. 
 
 Sen, .'Vnd late, five thousand to A'arro ; and to 
 Isidore 
 He owes nine thousand ; besides my former sum. 
 Which makes it five and twenty. — Still in motion 
 Of raging waste 7 It cannot hold ; it will not. 
 If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog. 
 And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold : 
 If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more 
 Better than he. why, give ray horse to Tiraon, 
 Ask nothing, give it him, it foals me, straight, 
 And able horses ; No porter at his gate; 
 But rather one that smiles, and still invites 
 All that pass by. It cannot hold ; no reason 
 Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho I 
 Caphis, I say ! 
 
 Enter Caphis. 
 
 Capk. Here, sir ; What is your pleasure? 
 
 &n. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lordTi- 
 ImD6rtune him for my monies; benotceas'd [mon ; 
 With slight denial ; nor then silenc'd, when — 
 
 Commend me to your master — and the cap 
 
 Plays in the right hand thus : — but tell him, sirrah, 
 
 My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn 
 
 Oiit of mine own ; his days and times are past. 
 
 And my reliances on his fracted dates 
 
 Have smit my credit : I love, and honour him ; 
 
 liut must not break my back, to heal his finger : 
 
 Immediate are my needs ; and my relief 
 
 Must not be toss'd and turn'd to me in words, 
 
 But find supply immediate. Get you gone : 
 
 Put on a most importunate aspect, 
 
 A visage of demand ; for, I do fear. 
 
 When every feather sticks in his own wing. 
 
 Lord Timon will be left a naked gull. 
 
 Which Bashes now a phoenix. Get you gone. 
 
 Ctiph, 1 go, sir. 
 
 Sen. I go, sir ^ — take the bonds along with you. 
 And have the dates in compt. 
 
 Caph. I will, sir. 
 
 Sen. Go. [Ex. 
 
 SCENE II. — Tlie same. A Hall in Timon's House. 
 
 Enter Flatius, vnth many bills in his hand. 
 
 Flav. No care, no stop ! so senseless of expense. 
 That he will neither know how to maintain it. 
 Nor cease his flow of riot ; Takes no account 
 How things go from him ; nor resumes no care 
 Of what is to continue ; Never mind 
 Was to be so unwise, to be so kind. 
 What shall be done 1 He will not hear, till feel : 
 I must be round with him, now he comes from bunt- 
 Fye, fye, fye, fye ! [ing. 
 
 Enter Caphis, and (Ae Servants o/'IsinOREanrfVARno 
 
 Caph. Good even, Varro : What, 
 
 You come for money ? 
 
 Var. Sent. Is't not your business too ? 
 
 Caph. It is ; — and yours too, Isidore ? 
 
 hid. Seni. It is so. 
 
 Caph. 'Would we were all discharg'd ! 
 
 Var. Serv. I fear )t. 
 
 Caph. Here comes the lord. 
 
 Enter Timon, Alcidiades, and Lords, S;c. 
 
 Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again. 
 My Alcibiades. — With me ; What's your will f 
 
 Caph. !My lord, here is a note of certain dues. 
 
 Tim. Dues ? whence are you ? 
 
 Caph. Of Athens here, my lord. 
 
 Tim Go to my steward. 
 
 Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off 
 To the succession of new days this month ; 
 ^My master is awak'd by great occasion, 
 To call upon his own : and humbly prays you, 
 That with your other noble parts you'll suit, 
 In giving him his right. 
 
 Tim, Mine honest friend, 
 
 I pr'ythee, but repair to me next morning. 
 
 Caph. Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Tim. Contain thyself, good friend. 
 
 Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good lord, — 
 
 liid. Serv. From Isidore ; 
 He humbly prays your speedy payment, 
 
 Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's 
 wants, 
 
 Var. Serv. 'Twas due on forfeiture, my lord, six 
 And past, [weeks, 
 
 hid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, ray lord ; 
 And I am sent expressly to your lordship. 
 
 Tim. Give me breath : 
 
 I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ; . 
 
 [Exeunt AiciEiADES and Lords. 
 2 Q 
 
GIO 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 I'll wait upon you instantly. — Comehither, pray you, 
 
 [To Flavus. 
 How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'U 
 Witli clamorous demands of date-broke bonds, 
 And the detention of long-since due debts, 
 Against my honour ? 
 
 Fliiv. Please you, gentlemen, 
 
 The time is unagreeable to this business : 
 Your importunacy cease, till after dinner ; 
 That I may tnake his lordship understand 
 Wherefore you are not paid. 
 
 Tim. Do so, my friends : 
 
 See them well entertained. [Erit Timon. 
 
 Flat, I pray, draw near. 
 
 [Exit Flavius. 
 Enter Apemantus and a Fool. 
 
 Ctiph, Stay, stay, here eomes the fool with Ape- 
 mantus ; let's iiave some sport with 'em. 
 
 Va)\ Serv, Hang him, he'll abuse us. 
 
 J^id. Seru. A plague upon him, dog ! 
 
 Vnr. Serv. How dost, fool 1 
 
 Apem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow 1 
 
 Var, Serv. I speak not to thee. 
 
 Apem. No ; 'tis to thyself. — Come away. 
 
 [To the Fool. 
 
 Isid. Sen. [To Var. Serv.] There's the fool hangs 
 on vour back already. 
 
 Aprm. No, thou stand'st single, thou art not on 
 
 Caph. Where's the fool now 1 [him yet. 
 
 Apem. He last asked the question. — Poor rogues 
 and usurers' men ! bawds between gold and want ! 
 
 All Serv. What are we, Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem.. Asses. 
 
 All Serv. Why? 
 
 Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do not 
 know yourselves — Speak to em, fool. 
 
 Fool. How do you, gentlemen? [mistress? 
 
 All Serv. Gramercies, good fool : How does your 
 
 Fool. She's e'en setting on water to scald such 
 chickens as you are. '\\'ould we could see you at 
 Corinth. 
 
 Apem, Good ! gramercy. 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page. 
 
 Pdge. [To the Fool] ^Vhy, how now, captain? 
 what do you in this wise company ? How dost thou, 
 Apemantus ? 
 
 Apem, 'Would I had a red in my mouth, that I 
 might answer thee profitably. 
 
 Fuge. Pr'ythec. Apemantus, read me the super- 
 scription of these letters ; I know not which is which. 
 
 Apem, Canst not read 1 
 
 Poge. No. 
 
 Apem. There will little learning die then, thatday 
 thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon ; this to Al- 
 cibiades. Go; thou wast born a bistard, and thou'lt 
 die a bawd. 
 
 Page. Thou wast whelped a dog ; and thou shall 
 famish, a dog's death. Answer not, I am gone. 
 
 [Ejiit Page. 
 
 Apem. Even so thou out-run'st grace. Fool, I 
 will go with you to lord Timon's, 
 
 Fool, Will you leave me there? 
 
 Apem. If Timon stay at home. — You three serve 
 three usurers? 
 
 All Serv. Ay; 'would they served us! 
 
 Apem. So would I, — as good a trick as ever hang- 
 man served thief. 
 
 Fool. Are you three usurers' men? 
 
 All Seru. Ay, fool. 
 
 Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his ser- 
 
 vant: My mistress is one, and I am her fool. When 
 men come to borrow of your masters, they approach 
 sadly, and go away merry; but they enter my mis- 
 tress' house merrily, and go away sadly : The reason 
 of this? 
 
 Var, Serv. I could render one. 
 
 Apem. Do it then, tliat we may account thee a 
 whoremaster, and a knave ; which, notwithstanding, 
 thou shall be no less esteemed. 
 
 Var. Serv. What is a whoremaster, fool ? 
 
 Fool. A fool in good clothes, and something like 
 thee. 'Tis a spirit: sometime, it appears like a lord; 
 sometime, like a lawyer ; sometime, like a piiiloso- 
 pher, with two stones more than his artificial one : 
 He is very often like a knight; and, generally, in all 
 shapes, tliat man goes up and down in, from four- 
 score to thirteen, this spirit walks in. 
 
 Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool. 
 
 Fool, Nor thou altogether a wise man : as much 
 foolei-y as I have, so much wit thou lackest 
 
 Apem. Thatanswerniight have become Apemantus. 
 
 All Serv. Aside, aside ; here comes lord Timon. 
 
 Re-e7iter Timov and Flavius. 
 
 Apem, Come with me, fool, come. 
 
 Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother, 
 and woman ; sometime, the philosopher. 
 
 [Exeu/if Apemantus and Fool. 
 
 Flav. 'Pray you, walk near ; I'll speak with you 
 anon. [Exeiml Serv. 
 
 Tim. You make me marvel : Wherefore, ere this 
 Had you not fully laid my state before me ; [time, 
 That I might so have rated ray expense. 
 As I had leave of means? 
 
 Plav. You would not hear me, 
 
 At many leisures I propos'd, 
 
 Tim. Go to : 
 
 Perchance, some single vantages you took. 
 When my indisposition put you back ; 
 And that unaptness made your minister. 
 Thus to excuse yourself. 
 
 Flav. my good lord ! 
 
 At many times I brought in my accounts. 
 Laid them before you ; you would throw them off. 
 And say, you found them in mine honesty. 
 When, for some trifling present, you have bid me 
 Return so much, I have shook my head, and wept ■ 
 Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners pray'd you 
 To hold your hand more close : I did endure 
 Not seldom, nor no slight checks ; when I have 
 Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate. 
 And your great flow of debts. My dear-lov'd lard, 
 Though you hear now, (too late !) yetnow's a time J 
 The greatest of your having lacks a half 
 To pay your present debts. 
 
 Tim. Let all my land be sol4 
 
 Flat. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone; 
 And what remains will hardly stop the mouth 
 Of present dues: the future comes apace; 
 What shall defend the interim? and at length 
 How goes our reckoning? 
 
 Tim. To Lacedajmon did my land extend. 
 
 Flav. O my good lord, the world is but a word 
 Weie it all yours, to give it in a breath. 
 How quickly were it gone ! 
 
 Tim. You tell me true. 
 
 Flav. If you suspect my husbandry or falsehood! 
 Call me before the cxactest auditors, 
 .\nd set me on tlie proof. So the gods bless me. 
 When all our offices have been oppress'd 
 With riotous feeders ; when our vaults have wept ' 
 With drunken spilth of wine; when every room 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 611 
 
 Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd mth minstrelsy ; 
 I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock, 
 And set inine eyes at flow. 
 
 Tim. Pr'ythee, no more. 
 
 Flnv. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord ! 
 How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants. 
 This night enghitted ! Who is not Timon's ? 
 What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord 
 Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon ? [Timon's? 
 Ah ! when the means are gone, that buy this praise. 
 The breath is gone whereof this praise is made: 
 Feast-won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter showers. 
 These fiies are couch'd. 
 
 Tim. Come, sermon me no further ; 
 
 No villanous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart ; 
 Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given. 
 Whydost thou weep'! Canstthou the conscience lack, 
 To tliink I shall lack friends? Secure thy heart ; 
 If I would broach the vessels of my love. 
 And try the arguments of hearts by borrowing, 
 ^len, and men's fortunes could I frankly use, 
 As I can bid thee speak, 
 
 F.av. Assurance bless your thoughts ! 
 
 Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are 
 crown'd. 
 That I account them blessings ; for by these 
 Shall I try friends : You shall perceive, how you 
 Mistake my fortunes ; I am wealthy in my friends. 
 Within there, hoi — Flaminius! Servilius! 
 
 Enter Flaminius, Sebvilids, and other Servants. 
 
 Serv, My lord, my lord, [Lucius.— 
 
 Tim. I will despatch you severally. — You, to lord 
 To lord Lucullus you ; I hunted with his 
 Honour to-day; — You, to Sempronius -, 
 Commend me to their loves ; and, I am proud, say, 
 That my occasions have found time to use them 
 Toward a supply of money: let the request 
 Be fifty talents. 
 
 Fiam, As you have said, my lord. 
 
 Flav. Lord Lucius, and lord Luoullus ? humph ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Tim. Go you, sir, [toanotherSeif] to the senators, 
 (Of whom, even to the state's best health. I have 
 Deserv'd this liearing, ) bid 'em send o' the instant 
 A tlii)usand talents to me. 
 
 Flav. I ."lave been bold, 
 
 (For that I knew it the raosi general way,) 
 To them to use your signe;. and your name ; 
 I But they do shake tlieir heads, and I am here 
 
 No richer in return. 
 ; Tim. Is't true ? can it be 1 
 
 Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice. 
 That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot 
 Do what they would; are sorry — you are honour- 
 able. — • 
 But yet they could havewish'd — they know not — but 
 Soniething hath been amiss — a noble nature 
 Maycatch awrench — would all were well — 'tis pity — 
 And so, intending other serious matters 
 Aixer distasteful looks, and these hard fractions, 
 \1'ith certain half-caps, and cold-moving nods. 
 They froze nie into silence. 
 
 Tim. You gods, reward them! 
 
 I pr'ythee, man, look cheerly ; These old fellows 
 Have their ingratitude in them hereditary : 
 ' Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows ; 
 'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind ; 
 -\nd nature, as it grows again toward earth, 
 Is fashion'd for the journey, dull and heavy. — 
 Go to Ventidius, — [M a Serv.] 'Pr'ythee, [to Fla- 
 vins.] be not sad. 
 
 Thou art true, and honest ; ingeniously 1 speak. 
 No Wame belongs to thee ; — [to Serv.] Ventidius 
 
 lately 
 Buried his father ; by whose death, he's stepp'a 
 Into a great estate : when he was poor, 
 Imprison'd. and in scarcity of friends, 
 I clear'd him with live talents: Greet him from me, 
 Bid him suppose, some good necessity 
 Touches iiis friend, which craves to be rememoer'd 
 W'ith those five talents : — that had, — [in Fl.^v.] give 
 
 it tliese fellows 
 To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think. 
 That Timon's fortune 'mong his friends can sink. 
 Fluv. I would. I could not think it; That thought 
 
 is bounty's foe ; 
 Being free itself, it thinks all others so. [Ereunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — The same. A Room in LucuUus's House. 
 Fl.iminius tcfiiting. Enter a Servant to him. 
 
 Sen'. I liave told my lord of you, he is coming 
 down to you. 
 
 Flam. I thank you, sir. 
 
 Enter LucULLUS. 
 
 Serv. Here's my lord. 
 
 Lucid. [.4<irf(?.] Oneof lord Timon's men? a aft, 
 I warrant. Why, this hits right; I dreamt of a silver 
 bason and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest Flami- 
 nius ; you are very respectively welcome, sir. — Fill 
 me some wine.— [Erit Servant",] And how does that 
 honourable, complete, free-hearted gentleman of 
 Athens, thy very bountiful good lord and master ? 
 
 Flam. His health is well, sir. 
 
 Lnc\il. I am right glad that his health is well, sir: 
 And what hast thou there under thy cloak, pretty 
 Flaminius? 
 
 Flam. 'Faith, nothing butan empty bo.'c, sir; which, 
 in my lord's behalf, I come to entreatyour honour to 
 supply ; who, having great and instant occasion to 
 use fifty talents, hatli sent to your lordship to furnish 
 him ; nothingdoubting your prescntassistance therein. 
 
 Luctil. La, la, la, la. — nothing doubting, says he ? 
 alas, good lord ! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he would 
 not keep so good a house. i\Iany a time and often I 
 have dined \vith him. and told him on't: and come 
 again to supper to him. of purpose to have him spend 
 less: and yet he would embrace no counsel, take no 
 warning by my coming. Every man has his fault, and 
 honesty is his ; I have told him on 't, but I could 
 never get him from it 
 
 Re-enter Servant, with tcine. 
 
 Sen. Please your lordship, here's the wine. 
 
 Liicul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise. 
 Here's to thee. 
 
 Flam, Your lordship speaks your pleasure. 
 
 Lund. I have observed thee always for atowardly 
 prompt spirit, — give thee thy due. — and one that 
 knows what belongs to reason ; and canst use the time 
 well, if the time use thee well : good parts in thee. — 
 Get you gone, sirrah. — [To the Servant, ulw goes 
 Old.]— Draw nearer, honest Flaminius. Thy lord's 
 a bountiful gentleman : but thou art wise ; and thou 
 knowest well enough, although thou coinest to me, 
 that this is no time to lend money ; especially upon 
 bare friendship, without security. Here's three soli- 
 dares for thee ; good boy, wink at me, and say, thou 
 saw'st me not. Fare thee well. 
 2 y :< 
 
612 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Aac w* alive, rbt: 
 
 - - xself! 
 
 3i mms in ies$ than tw'o mci.^'' voi: co^. 
 
 W hen be is tnrc c to jwusoo ": 
 
 O, mar diseases ojiIt vm^ uprrii'*?' 
 
 And, wbeo be is sick i, 
 
 X\'riirh ray lord paid Jo; 
 
 Tc expel sictness, but pr>.i.iBc i^s u.^tr • ;i.. 
 
 SCEXEH,— JVmbw. J)}wKfic^jj>»i. 
 Emct Lpnrrs, «vil TTnw Stnmgeis. 
 
 Li/c TVi^- saw- very rood 
 
 ^esd, ftDi. . 
 
 1 Sfran. ■' - -^ ■ ■ 
 
 bnt stra]^' - 
 ■y jord. »!!.. 
 
 no» lord Tiroon s oappy aoiir& a« oone and pa», asa i 
 iiis eszaxe skn&k$ iroia ^ixo. 
 
 Lw, F}-e o£s ^c ^<A believe it j be cassM vast 
 iar mouev. 
 
 s> ■ ^•- - "•-■ — ••- • ■ ■ -^ •"'• '-■ 
 
 *« b' ' ■ , c ■ 
 
 toT'*- ana sheweo ^^liai uvcus^^ily tx:j<ui^ w tu s ^^*^ 
 
 ya. was denied. 
 
 Luc Hot 2 
 
 SSmm. I tell Toa, ^nied. my lord. 
 
 tbe goes, 1 . 
 
 ahie mat ': . ■ > 
 
 For my own jaxx. 1 £tju»i iieeu> cuiiie^s, i ii&ve i>t- 
 
 ceh'pd son>« small Vindnessps from him. as jnoner. 
 
 'T, .- . 
 
 sbpwr. ■ 
 
 -I>- 
 
 . vv 
 
 »d. Jh!.: 
 
 ,• - , '^ ■;'* 
 
 
 pan. t. 
 
 -oat dpa4 of broiouT : — ^niiios. 
 
 flffWTt'. 
 
 JH-r >-, 
 
 » 1 STr T>r<t f>l?T(> <>«•>; tSf more 
 
 ■ 's 
 
 ^ >. 
 
 
 ■ t* 
 
 lu... 
 
 
 I 
 
 cause i ii*ve no power to be fc4nd: — A; :.is 
 
 from in*. 1 cotit^t iT M*e <?f tt*^ ctpj*:.' ^ . < j 
 
 say, th: ■ .TT.ile- 
 
 mas. , ~ i so fai . 
 
 astou^ ... .j^ » v .. .-..,-> 
 
 Spt. Yes. sir. 1 ihaU. 
 
 Lite. I «'iU loo): ^lya out a good tern, SernliiR. — 
 [Eris Ssuviuv*. 
 
 oe. as 'wn said, TimMt'is sbninV, indeed : 
 .^sd be, ibat''s once denici, irill bardiv speed. 
 
 1 .<)fr»ii!. Do yoB otiscTw (iiR, Hosblius 1 
 S irr/in, Ay, loo «'ell. 
 1 StTon. Why this 
 7s the wor]d''s sotj ; and jost of the same peoc 
 Is every flattenws spiiii- Who can call bin; 
 - - ' • ' " for, in 
 
 .."s fatber, 
 
 ^ .•■neT 
 
 ' . ; et drints, 
 
 Bu; i .riioii s Sthct ;.rea*.s t.j>Ou iiis iif ; 
 I -'.tid vex. ( O. sec the iconstrousness <a man 
 
 S i/run, Behgioa groans at it. 
 
 iSjpaa. F«r mine owa pi- 
 
 I never txstei Tmim in my life, 
 Xor came ar.y <,;• his 'bn^nJifs over roe, 
 I - "---I T-,. - . ., ._ ^.^. J protest. 
 
 .ilastnons Tiitae, 
 
 i-iaa l.is rtCvi > 
 1 •would ha^■! 
 
 -." of roe. 
 
 EmCTSravnjTS. 
 
 S«r. Set. by good hap, yonder "s my lord ; I bave 
 sweat TO see bis honour, — Mv bononred lord. — 
 
 [T ' . 
 
 Ziwu ^<en'iiins; yen jue idnaly met, si;. 
 
 iw31: — ComJnend Toe to thy beaoutahlv . : ■ 
 
 lord, my very evqiiisiie friend. 
 
 S<T, May it please yonr innonr, mj lord ht'^. 
 sent 
 
 Lut, Ha ! ^i4at bas be sent ? I an so innc>. - 
 
 my iord : reqnestujf your jor.isnip to snppij bis ia- 
 Etant nse with -^o rria-^.r tp.^erTs. 
 
 ijirf. 1 1,1 i "sat ineny wiA me ; 
 
 He cannot ..red talenK. 
 
 Sr-. ':- ■ .- - -.-rs less, ror lord, 
 
 lfh> 
 1 sJir . - - y. 
 
 lite Dost iliou sue&i, !*riouiiy, Sen-ilias ! 
 
 Sk. I'pon my seal, "as triie, s«. 
 
 1*0. Wbai a wicteu beast was T. to " ' 
 mvstif araias' sach a good time. wntL I •■. 
 
 If or poh^ sals ibew coaststsce. 
 
 [JEwi'. 
 
 SCENT Til, 
 Tht same. A T..\ym in Sempronjus's Hnuw. 
 Enier Srsnso>.-iTi*, ana e Sen-a« vf Tiaon's, 
 Sfw, Mas; be neeis troaVie ae in\! B«m;>. ' 
 "RoA-e all others 1 
 Hert;;r>;l hT.vt :r;>-.^ l.^r,-! T -^.-ias, « LacnUas ; 
 - • :•■«, 
 
 ■ All tbest tbt*t 
 
 -*'e^ . O my lord, 
 
 rhey bavt all "beer. toticlMU aad found bast metftl ; (e, 
 Thef bave all detued Un ! 
 
 &», K<-w' V.Ts'T r^cT .Ifnicd bim" 
 
 "RasW - 
 And d.-»4 ^ - — 
 
 ~s, 
 ■„et 
 
 He tia> 
 
 Thatir... 
 
 T^n: his c-.-c.si.tcs ;.ii,>.i 
 
 : 01, in my conscience I 
 
 ! .~.«n anjTj .^t him. 
 .1 see no sense fori, 
 c woo d roe trst ; 
 itic &-st man 
 
ACT III. -SCENE IV, 
 
 613 
 
 That e'er received gift from him : 
 And does he think so backwardly of me now, 
 That I '11 requite it last ! No ; So it may prove 
 An arguic<;nt of laughter to the rest, 
 And I amongst the lords be thought a fool. 
 I had rather "than the worth of thrice the sum. 
 He had sent to me iirst, btit for my mind's sake ; 
 1 had such a courage to do hmi good. But now return, 
 And with their faint reply this answer join ; 
 Who bates mine honour, shall not know my coin. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Serv. Excellent! Your lordship's a goodly villain. 
 The devil knew not what he did, when he mtde man 
 politic; he crossed himself by 't: and I cannot think, 
 but, in the end, the villanies of man will set him 
 clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear foul ? 
 takes virtuous copies to be wicked ; like those that, 
 under hot ardent zeal, would set whole realms on fire. 
 Of such a nature is his politic love. 
 This was my lord's best hope ; now all are fled, 
 Save the gods only : Now his friends are dead. 
 Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards 
 Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd 
 Now to guard sure their master. 
 And this is all a liberal course allows ; 
 Who cannot keep his wealth, must keep his house. 
 
 [Ejit. 
 
 SCENE IV. — The same. A Hall in Timon's House. 
 
 Enter Two Ser\'ants of Varro, and the Servant of Lu- 
 cius, meeting Titus, Hoktensius, and other Ser- 
 vants to Timon's creditors, waiting his coming out. 
 
 Var. Serv. Well met ; good-morrow, Titus and 
 Hortensius. 
 
 Tit. The like to you, kind Varro. 
 
 Hor, Lucius 1 
 
 What, do we meet together "i 
 
 Luc. Hero. Ay, and, T think. 
 
 One business doth command us all ; for mine 
 Is money. 
 
 Tit. So is theirs and ours. 
 
 Enter Philotus. 
 
 Luc. Serv. And sir 
 
 Philotus too! 
 
 Phi. Good day at once. 
 
 Xjuc. Serv, Welcome, good brother, 
 
 What do you think the hour 1 
 
 Phi. Labouring for nine. 
 
 Luc, Serv, So much t 
 
 Phi. Is not my lord seen yet t 
 
 Luc. Serv, Not yet. 
 
 Phi. Iwonderon't; he was wont to shine at seven. 
 
 Luc Serv. Ay, but the days are waxed shorter with 
 You must consider, that a prodigal course [him ; 
 Is like the sun's ; but not, like his, recoverable. 
 I fear, 
 
 'Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse ; 
 That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet 
 Find little. 
 
 Phi. I am of your fear for that. 
 
 Tit. X 'II shew you how to observe a strange event. 
 Your lord sends now for money. 
 
 Hor. Most true, he does. 
 
 Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift. 
 For which I wail for money. 
 
 Hor. It is against my heart. 
 
 Luc. Serv.. Mark, how strange it shews, 
 
 Timon in this should pay more than he owes : 
 And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels, 
 And send for money for 'em. 
 
 Hor. I am weary of this charge, the gods can wit- 
 ness : 
 I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth, 
 ■A.nd now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth. 
 
 1 Var. Seri\ Yes, mine's three thousand crowns: 
 What's yours 1 
 
 Luc. Serv, Five thousand mine. 
 
 1 Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep : and it should seem by 
 Your master's confidence was above mine ; [the sum. 
 Else, surely, his had equall'd. 
 
 Enter Flaminius. 
 
 Tit. One of lord Timon's men. 
 
 Lite. Serv. Flaminius! sir, a word: 'Pray, is my lord 
 ready to come forth ? 
 
 Flam. No, indeed, he is not. 
 
 Tit. We attend his lordship; 'pray, signify so much. 
 
 Flam. I need not tell him that ; he knows, you ai*e 
 too diligent. [Ea-it Flaminius 
 
 Enter Fl.wivs, in a cloak, miijjied. 
 
 Lite. Serv- Ha! is not that his steward muffled so' 
 He goes away in a cloud : call him, call him. 
 
 Tit. Do you hear, sir 1 
 
 1 Var. Serv. By your leave, sir, 
 
 Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend 1 
 
 Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir. 
 
 Fill v. Ay, 
 
 If money were as certain as your waiting, 
 'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not 
 Your sums and bills, when your false masters eat 
 Of my lo'd's meat? Then they could smile, and fawn 
 Upon his debts, and take down th' interest 
 Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves but 
 To stir me up ; let me pass quietly : [wrong. 
 
 Believe 't, my lord and 1 have made an end ; 
 I have no more to reckon, he to spend. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve. 
 
 Flav. If 'twill not serve, 
 
 'Tis not so base as you ; for you serve knaves. [Eiit. 
 
 1 Var. Serv, How ! what does his cashier'd worship 
 mutter 1 
 
 2 Var. Serv. No matter what ; he's poor, and that's 
 revenge enough. W'ho can speak broader than he 
 that has no house to put his head in ! such may rail 
 against great buildings. 
 
 Ejiter Servilius. 
 
 Til. O, here's Servilius ; now we shall know 
 Some answer. 
 
 Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen. 
 
 To repair some other hour, I should much 
 Derive from it: for. take it on my soul. 
 My lord leans wond'rously to discontent. 
 His comfortable temper has forsook him ; 
 He is much out of health, and keeps his chamber. 
 
 Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers, are not 
 And, if it be so far beyond his health, [sick : 
 
 IMethinks, he should the sooner pay his debts, 
 .•\nd make a clear way to the gods. 
 
 Ser. Good gods : 
 
 Tit. We cannot take this for an answer, sir. [lord ! 
 
 Flam. [H'it/iiii.] Servilius, help! — my lord! my 
 
 EnterTiJdoy, in a rage; "FLAUtsitJs following. 
 
 Tim. What, are my doors oppos'd against my pas- 
 Have I been ever free, and must my house [sagel 
 Be my retentive enemy, my gaol ? 
 The place, which I have feasted, does it now, 
 Like all mankind, shew me an iron heart? 
 
 Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus. 
 
 Tit. My lord, here is my bill. 
 
cu 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Luc. Scry, Here 's mine. 
 
 Hor,SerL\ Ami mine, my lord. 
 
 Both Vitr. Serv. Andours, my lord. 
 
 Phi. Ail our bills. 
 
 Tim. Knock me down with 'em : cleave me to the 
 
 Luc. Serv, Alas ! my lord, [girdle. 
 
 Tim. Cut my heart in sums. 
 Tit. inline, fifty talents. 
 Tin3. Tell out my blood. 
 Luc. Sei~v. Five thousand crowns, my lord. 
 Tim. Five thousand drops pays that. — 
 What yours ? — and yours 1 
 
 1 Var.Sero. My lord, 
 
 2 Var. Serv. My lord. 
 
 Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon 
 you ! [Eiit. 
 
 Htrr. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw their 
 caps at their money ; these debts may well be called 
 desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Timon and Flavius. 
 
 Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me, the 
 Creditors ! — devils. [slaves : 
 
 Flav. My dear lord, 
 
 Tim. What if it should be so ? 
 
 Flav. My lord, 
 
 Tim. I '11 have it so : — My steward ! 
 
 Flav. Here, my lord. 
 
 Tim. So fitly t Go, bid all my friends again, 
 Lucius, LucuUus, and Sempronius ; all : 
 I'll once more feast the rascals. 
 
 Flav. O my lord. 
 
 You only speak from your distracted soul ; 
 There is not so much left, to furnish out 
 A moderate table. 
 
 Tim. Be 't not in thy care ; go, 
 
 1 charge thee ; invite them all : let in the tide 
 Of knaves once more ; my cook and 1 '11 provide. 
 
 \_Exeu7it, 
 
 SCENE v.— The same. Tlie Senate House. 
 The Senate sitting. Filter Alcibiades, attended. 
 
 1 Sen. My lord, you have my voice to it ; the fault's 
 Blood ; 'tis necessary he should die : 
 
 Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy. 
 
 2 Sen. Most true ; the law shall bruise him. 
 ^/c(6. Honour, liealth. and compassion to thesenate! 
 1 Sen. Now, captain t 
 
 Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues ; 
 For pity is the virtue of the law, 
 And none but tyrants use it cruelly. 
 It pleases time, and fortune, to lie heavy 
 Upon a friend of mine, who. in hot blood. 
 Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth 
 To those that, without heed, do plunge into it. 
 He is a man, setting his fate aside, 
 Of comely virtues : 
 
 Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice j 
 (An honour In him, which buys out his fault,) 
 But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit, 
 Seeing his reputation louch'd to death, 
 He did oppose his foe : 
 And with such sober and unnoted passion 
 He did behave his anger, ere 'twas spent, 
 As if he had but prov'd an argument. 
 
 1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox, 
 Striving to make an ugly deed look fair : 
 Y'our words have took such pains, as if they labour'd 
 To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling 
 Upon the head of valour ; which, indetd, 
 Is valour misbegot, and came into the world 
 
 When sects and factions were newly born: 
 
 He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer 
 
 The worst that man can breathe ; and make his wrongs 
 
 His outsides ; wear them like his raiment, carelessly ; 
 
 And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, 
 
 To bring it into danger. • 
 
 If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill, 
 
 What folly 'tis, to hazard life for ill ? 
 
 Alcib. My lord, 
 
 1 Sen. Y'ou cannot make gross sins look clear ; 
 To revenge is no valour, but to bear. 
 
 Alcib. My lords, then, under favour pardon me. 
 If I speak like a captain. — 
 Why do fond men expose themselves to battle. 
 And not endure all threatenings ? sleep upon it, 
 And let the foes quietly cut their throats. 
 Without repugnancy ? but if there be 
 Such valour in the bearing, what make we 
 Abroad \ why then, women are more valiant, 
 That stay at home, if bearing carry it ; 
 And th' ass, more captain than the lion ; the felon, 
 Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge. 
 If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords. 
 As you are great, be pitifully good : 
 Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood 1 
 To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gusl ; 
 But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just. 
 To be in anger, is impiety ; 
 But who is man, that is not angry ? 
 Weigh but the crime with this. 
 '2 Sen. Y'ou breathe in vain. 
 
 Alcib. In vain ? his service done 
 
 At Lacedsmon, and Byzantium. 
 Were a sufficient briber for his life. 
 iSen. What's that? 
 
 Alcib. Why, I say, my lords, h'as done fair service. 
 And slain in fight many of your enemies : 
 How full of valour did he bear himself 
 In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds? 
 
 ^2 Sen. Hfe has made too much plenty with 'em, he 
 Is a sworn rioter : h'as a sin that often 
 Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner: 
 If there were no foes, that were enough alone 
 To overcome him : in that beastly fury 
 He has been known to commit outrages. 
 And cherish factions : 'Tis inferr'd to us. 
 His days are foul, and his drink dangerous. 
 1 Sen. He dies. 
 
 Alcib. Hard fate ! he might have died in war. 
 My lords, if not for any parts in him, 
 (Though his right arm might purchase his own time. 
 And be in debt to none,) yet, more to move you, 
 Take my deserts to his, and join them both : 
 And, for I know, your reverend ages love 
 Security, I '11 pawn my victories, all 
 IMy honour to you, upon his good returns, 
 If by this crime he owes the law his life. 
 Why, let the war receiv't in valiant gore ; 
 For law is strict, and war is nothing more. 
 
 1 Sen. We are for law, he dies ; urge it no more. 
 On height of our displeasure : Friend, or brother. 
 He forfeits his own blood, that spills another. 
 
 Alcib. Must it be so ? it must not be. My lords, 
 I do beseech you, know me. 
 '2 Sen. How^ 
 
 Alcib. Call me to your remembrances. 
 3 Sen. What! 
 
 Aicib. I cannot think, but your age has forgot me; 
 It could not else be, I should prove so base, 
 To sue, and be denied such common grace ' 
 My wounds ache at ybu, 
 
 1 Sen. Do you dare our anger"? 
 
ACT III.-SCENE VI. 
 
 61; 
 
 Tis in few words, but spacious in effect ; 
 AVe banish thee for ever. 
 
 Aicib. Banish me"! 
 
 Banish your dotage ; banish usury. 
 That makes the senate ugly- 
 
 1 Sen. If, aftertwodays'shine, Athenscontain thee, 
 Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell 
 
 our spirit. 
 He shall be executed presently, [Exeunt Senators. 
 
 Alcib. Now the gods keep you old enough ; that 
 you may live 
 Only in bone, that none may look on you ! 
 I am worse than mad : I have kept back their foes, 
 While they have told their money, and let out 
 Their coin upon large interest ; 1 myself, 
 Rich only in large hurts ; — All those, for this"! 
 Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate 
 Pours into captains' wounds ? ha ! banishment? 
 It comes not ill ; 1 hate not to be banish'd ; 
 It is a cause worthy my spleen and fury, 
 That I may strike at Athens. I '11 cheer up 
 My discontented troops, and lay for hearts. 
 'Tis honour, with most lands to be at odds ; 
 Soldiers should brook as little wrongs, as gods. \_Eiit. 
 
 SCENE VI. — A magnificent Room in T'lmon^s House, 
 
 Music, Tables set out : Servants attending. Enter 
 divers Lords, at several doors, 
 
 1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir. 
 
 ^Lord. I also wish it to you. I think, this honour- 
 able lord did but try us this other day. 
 
 1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when 
 we encountered : 1 hope it is not so low with him, as 
 he made it seem in the trial of his several friends. 
 
 3 Lord. It should not be, by the persuasion of his 
 new feasting. 
 
 1 Lord. I should think so : He hath sent me an 
 earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did 
 urge me to put off; but he hath conjured me beyond 
 them, and I must needs appear. 
 
 2 Lord. In like manner was I in debt to my impor- 
 tunate business, but he would not hear my excuse. 
 I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me, that my 
 provision was out. 
 
 1 Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I understand 
 how all things go. 
 
 2 Lord. Every man here's so. What would he have 
 borrowed of you ? 
 
 1 Lord. A thousand pieces. 
 
 2 Lnrd. A thousand pieces ' 
 1 Lord, What of you ? 
 
 S Lord, He sent to me, sir,— Here he comes. 
 
 Enter Timon, and Attendants. 
 
 Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both : — And 
 how fare you ? 
 
 1 Lurd. Ever at the best, hearincr well of your lord- 
 ship. 
 
 \i Lord. The swallow follows not summer more 
 willing, than we your lordship. 
 
 Tim. [Aside.] Nor more willingly leaves winter; 
 such summer-birds are men, — Gentlemen, our dinner 
 will not recompense this long stay : feast your ears 
 with the music awhile ; if they will fare so harshly 
 on the trumpet's sound : we shall to't presently. 
 
 1 Lord. I hope it remains not unkindly with your 
 lordship, that I returned you an empty messenger. 
 
 Tim, O, sir, let it not trouble you. 
 
 tLord. My noble lord, 
 
 Tim, Ah, my good friend! what cheer? 
 
 [The banquet brought iu. 
 
 2 Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick 
 of shame, that, when your lordship this other day sent 
 to me, I was so uufortunate a beggar 
 
 Tim. Think not on't, sir. 
 
 2 Lord. If you had sent but two hours before, — 
 
 Tim. Let it not cumber your better remembrance. 
 — Come, bring in all together. 
 
 2 Lord, All covered dishes ! 
 
 1 Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 
 
 3 Lord. Doubt not that, if money, and the season, 
 can yield it. 
 
 1 Lord. How do you? What's the news? 
 
 3 Lord* Alcibiades is banished : Hear you of it ! 
 
 1 (Si" 2 Lord. Alcibiades banished ! 
 
 3 Lord. 'Tis so, be sure of it. 
 
 1 Lord. How? how? 
 
 2 Lord. I pray you upon what? 
 
 Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near? 
 
 3 Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble 
 feast toward. 
 
 2 Lord. This *s the old man still. 
 
 3 Lord, Will 't hold, will 't hold ? 
 
 2 Lord. It does ; but time will — and so 
 
 3 Lord. I do conceive.^ 
 
 Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he 
 would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall be 
 in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let 
 the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place : 
 Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks. 
 
 You great benefactors, spnnhle our society idtk thank- 
 fulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves praised: 
 hut reserve still to give, lest your deities be despised. 
 Lend to each 7nan enough, thttt one need not lend to an- 
 other : for, were your godheads to borrow of men, men 
 ■ivouLd forsake the gods. Make the meat be helovedf more 
 than the man that gives it. Let no assembly of twenty 
 be without a score of villains : If there sit twelve women 
 at the table, let a dozen of them be — as they are. — 2'he 
 ref:t of your J ees, gods, — the senators of Atliois, toge- 
 ther with the common lug of people, — what is ami^s in 
 them, you gods, make suitable for destruction. For the.^e 
 my present friends, — us they are to me nothing, so in 
 nothing bless them, and to nothing they are welcome. 
 
 Uncover, dogs, and lap. 
 
 [The dishes uncovered, are full of warm water. 
 
 Some speak. What does his lordship mean ? 
 
 Some other* I know not. 
 
 Tim. May you a belter feast never behold. 
 You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke, and luke-warm 
 Is your perfection. This is Timon's la^t ; [water 
 Who stuck and spangled you with flatteries, 
 Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces 
 
 [Throwing water in their ftu-es. 
 Your reeking villany. Live loath'd, and long, 
 I\Iost smiling, smooth, detested parasites. 
 Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears, 
 You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies, 
 Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks ! 
 Of man, and beast, tlie infinite malady 
 Crust you quite o'er ! — What, dost thou go ? 
 Soft, take thy physic first — thou too, — and thou ; — 
 [Throws the dishes at them, arid drives them out. 
 Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none. — 
 V\ hat, all in motion ? Henceforth be no feast. 
 Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest. 
 Burn, house ; sink, Athens ! henceforth hated be 
 Of Timon, man, and all humanity, [Exit, 
 
 Re-enter the Lords, with other Lords arui Senators, 
 
 1 Lord. How now, my lords ? 
 
 2 Lord. Know you the quality of lord Timon's fury ? 
 
616 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 3 Lord. Pish . did you see my cap ! 
 
 4 Lord I have lost my gown. 
 
 3 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and nought but hu- 
 mour sways him. He gave me a jewel the other day, 
 and now he has beat it out of ray hat :— Did you see 
 my jewel t 
 
 '4 Lord. Did you see my cap t 
 2 Lord. Here" 'tis. 
 
 4 Lord. Plero lies my gown. 
 
 1 Lord. Lef s make no stay. 
 
 2 Lird. Lord Timon's mad. 
 
 3 Lord. I feel't upon my bones. 
 
 4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day 
 
 stones. [EieuiU. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE J.— Without the Walls of Athens. 
 Enter TiMON. 
 Tim. Let me look back upon thee, O thou wall, 
 'I'hat girdlest in those wolves ! Dive in the earth, 
 And fence not Athens ! JMatrons turn incontinent ; 
 Obedience fail in children ! slaves, and fools. 
 Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench, 
 And minister in their steads ! to general filths 
 Convert 0' the instant, green virginity ! 
 Do't in your parent's eyes ! bankrupts, hold fast ; 
 Rather than render back, out with your knives. 
 And cut your trusters' throats ! bound servants, steal ! 
 I^arge-lianded robbers your grave masters are, 
 And pill by law ! maid, to thy master's bed ; 
 Thy mistress is o'the brothel ! son of sixteen. 
 Pluck the lin'd crutch from the old limping sire, 
 \Vitli it beat out his brains ! piety and fear. 
 Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth. 
 Domestic awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood, 
 Instruction,, manners, mysteries, and trades. 
 Degrees, observances, customs, and laws, 
 Decline to your confounding contraries, 
 And yet confusion live I — Plagues, incident to men 
 Your potent and infectious fevers heap 
 On Athens, ripe for stroke ! thou cold sciatica. 
 Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt 
 As lamely as their manners ! lust and liberty 
 Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth ; 
 That 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive. 
 And drown themselves in riot ! itches, btains. 
 Sow all the Athenian bosoms : and their crop 
 Be general leprosy ! breath infect breath ; 
 That their society, as their friendship, may 
 Be merely poison ! Nothing I'll bear from thee. 
 But nakedness, thou detestable town ! 
 Take thou that too, with multiplying banns ! 
 Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find 
 TTie unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. 
 The gods confound (hear me, you good gods all,) 
 'Hie Athenians both within and out that wall ! 
 And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow 
 To the whole race of mankind, high and low ! 
 Amen. [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE II. — Athens. A Room in Timon's House. 
 Enter Flavics, with Two or Three Servants. 
 
 1 Serv. Hear you, master steward, where's our 
 master? 
 Are we undone ? ca«t oflf! nothing remaining ? 
 
 Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to youl 
 Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, 
 I am as poor as you. 
 
 1 Serv. Such a house broke ! 
 
 So noble a master fallen ! All gone ! and not 
 One friend to take his fortune by the arm, 
 .\nd go along with him! 
 
 5; Serv. As we do turn our backs 
 
 From our companion, thrown into his grave ; 
 So his familiars to his buried fortunes 
 Slink all away ; leave their false vows with him. 
 Like empty purses pick'd : and his poor self, 
 A dedicated beggar to the air. 
 With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty, 
 Walks, like contempt, alone.— More of our fellows. 
 
 Enter other Servants. 
 
 Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house. 
 3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery, 
 That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still, 
 Serving alike in sorrow : Leak'd is our bark ; 
 And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck. 
 Hearing the surges threat : we must all part 
 Into this sea of air. 
 
 Fliw. Good fellows all. 
 
 The latest of my wealth I'll share araong'st you. 
 Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake. 
 Let's yet be fellows ; let's shake our heads, and say. 
 As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 
 We have seen better days. Let each take some ; 
 
 [Giving them money. 
 Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more : 
 Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor. 
 
 [Exeunt Servants. 
 O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us ! 
 Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt. 
 Since riches point to misery and contempt t 
 Who'd be so raock'd with glory 1 or to live 
 But in a dream of friendship ? 
 To have his pomp, and all what state compounds. 
 But only painted, like his varnish'd friends ? 
 Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart ; 
 Undone by goodness ! Strange, unusual blood, 
 When man's worst sin is, he does too much good! 
 Who then dares to be half so kind again 1 
 For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. 
 !\Iy dearest lord, — bless'd, to be most accurs'd, 
 Rich, only to be wretched — thy great fortunes 
 Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord ! 
 He's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat 
 Of monstrous friends : nor has he with him to 
 Supply his life, or that which can command it. 
 I'll follow, and inquire him out : 
 I'll ever serve his mind with my best will ; 
 Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— TAe Woods. 
 
 Enter Timon. 
 
 Tim. blessed bleeding sun, draw from the earth 
 Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb 
 Infect the air ! Twinn'd brothers of one womb,— 
 Whose procreation, residence, and birth, 
 Scarce is dlvidant, — touch them with several fortunes ; 
 The greater scorns the lesser : Not nature, 
 To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune. 
 But by contempt of nature. 
 Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord : 
 The senator shall bear contempt hereditary. 
 The beggar native honour. 
 It is the pasture lards the browser's sides, 
 The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares. 
 In purity of manhood stand upright, 
 And say. This man^s a flatterer ? if one be. 
 So are they all ; for every grize of fortune 
 Is smooth'd by that below : the learned pate 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 017 
 
 Ducks to the golden fool : All is oblique ; 
 There's nothing level in our cursed natures, 
 But direct viUany. Therefore, be abhorr'd 
 All feasts, societies, and throngs of men ! 
 His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains : 
 Destruction fang raanliiiid! — Earth, yield me roots ! 
 
 [Digging. 
 Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his pali^te 
 With thy most operant poison : What is here! 
 Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No. gods, 
 I ara no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens ! 
 Thusmuchof this, will make black, white ; foul, fair ; 
 Wrong, right ; base, noble ; old, youug ; coward, 
 
 valiant. [this 
 
 Ha, you gods! why this 1 What this, you gods? Why 
 W^ill lug your priests and servants from your sides ; 
 Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads ; 
 This yellow slave 
 
 W'ill knit and break religions ; bless the accurs'd j 
 Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves. 
 And give them title, knee, and approbation, 
 With senators on tlie bench : this is it. 
 That makes the wappen'd widow wed again ; 
 She, whom the spital-house, and ulcerous sores 
 W'ouid cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices 
 To the April day again. Come, damned earth. 
 Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds 
 Among the rout of nations. I will make thee 
 Do thy right nature. — [March afar ojf'.] — Ha '. a 
 
 drum ? — Thou'rt quick. 
 But yet I'll bury thee : Thou'lt go, strong thief. 
 When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand : — 
 Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some gold. 
 
 Enter Alcibiades, with drum and fife, in warlike 
 manner ; Phuynia and TiMANnRA. 
 
 Alcib, W'hat art thou there ? 
 
 Speak. 
 
 Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw thy 
 For shewing me again, the eyes of man ! [heart, 
 
 Alcib. What is thy name? Is man sohatefulto thee. 
 That art thyself a man ? 
 
 Tim. I am mimnt)irnpi^s, and hate mankind. 
 For thy part, 1 do wish thou wert a dog, 
 Thai 1 might love thee something. 
 
 Alcib. I know thee well ; 
 
 But in thy fortunes am unlearn'd and strange. 
 
 Tim. I know thee too -, and more, than that I know 
 I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ; [thee. 
 With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules : 
 Religious canons, civil laws are cruel ; 
 Then what should war be ? This fell whore of thine 
 Hath in lier more destruction than thy sword, 
 Tor all her cherubin look. 
 
 Phri/. Thy lips rot off! 
 
 Tim. I will not kiss thee ; then the rot returns 
 To thine own lips again. 
 
 Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change? 
 
 Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give : 
 But then renew I could not, like the moon ; 
 There were no suns to borrow of. 
 
 Alcib. Noble Timon, 
 
 What fiiendship may I do thee ? 
 
 Tim. None, but to 
 
 Maintain my opinion. 
 
 Alcib. What is it, Timon? 
 
 Tim. Promise me friendship, but per/orm none: If 
 Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for 
 Thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, confound thee. 
 For thou'rt a man ! 
 
 Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries. 
 
 Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity. 
 
 .ilcih. I see them now ; then was a blessed time. 
 
 Tim. As thine is now. held with a brace of harlots. 
 
 rin!rt7i.llthis theAlhenian minion, whom the world 
 Voic'd so regardfuUy ! 
 
 Tim. Art thou Timandra ? 
 
 Timan. Yes. [thee, 
 
 Tim. Be a whore still ! they love thee not, that use 
 Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust. 
 .Make use of thy salt hours : season the slaves 
 For tubs, and baths ; bringdown rose-cheeked youth 
 To the tub-fast, and the diet. 
 
 Timan. Hang thee, monster ! 
 
 Alcib. Pardon him, sweet Timandra ; for his wits 
 Are drown'd and lost in his calamities. — ■ 
 I have but little gold of late, brave Timon, 
 Tile want whereof doth daily make revolt 
 In my penurious band ; I have heard, and griev'd. 
 How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth, 
 Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states, 
 But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, — 
 
 Tim.. I pr'ythee. beat thy drum, and get thee gone. 
 
 .•itcib. I am tliy friend, and pity thee, de.ar Timon. 
 
 7*111!. How dost tliou pity him, whom thou dost 
 I had rather be alone. [trouble ? 
 
 Alcib. ^Vhy, fare thee well : 
 
 Here's some gold for thee. 
 
 Tim. Keep't, I cannot eat it. 
 
 Alcib. When I h,ave laid proud Athens on a heap, — 
 
 Tim. Warr'st thou 'gainst Athens ? 
 
 Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause. 
 
 Tim. The gods confound them all i'thy conquest; 
 Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd ! [and 
 
 Alcib. Why me, Timon? 
 
 Tim. That. 
 By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer 
 My country. 
 
 I'ut up thy gold ; Go on, — here's gold, — go on ; 
 Be as a planetary plague, when Jove 
 Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison 
 In the sick air : Let not thy sword skip one : 
 Pity not honour'd age for his white beard. 
 He's an usurer : Strike me the counterfeit matron ; 
 It is her habit only that is honest, 
 Herself's a bawd : Let not the virgin's cheek 
 Make soft thy trenchant sword , for those milk-paps, 
 That through the window -bars bore at men's eyes, 
 Are not within the leaf of pity writ. 
 Set them down horrible traitors : Spare not the babe, 
 Whosedimplud smiles from fools exhaust their mercy ; 
 Think it a bastard, whom the oracle 
 Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut. 
 And mince it sans remorse : Swear against objects ; 
 Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes ; 
 Whose proof, nor yells ot mothers, maids.' nor babes, 
 Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding. 
 Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers ; 
 Make large confusion ; and, thy furv spent, 
 ^onfounded be thyself! Speak'not, "be gone. 
 ^.■1/n/i. Hast thou gold yet! I'll take the gold thou 
 Not all thy counsel. [i^iv'st me, 
 
 Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse 
 upon thee ! 
 
 Pliv. iS' Timan. Give us some gold, good Timon: 
 Hast thou more ? 
 
 Tim. Enough to make a whore forswear her trade, 
 And to make whores a bawd. Hold up, you sluts. 
 Your aprons mountant : You are not oathable — 
 Although, I know, you'll swear, terribly swear. 
 Into strong shudders, and to heavenly agues. 
 The immortal gods that hear you, — spare your oaths, 
 I'll trust to your conditions : Be whores still ; 
 And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you. 
 
618 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 Be strong in whore, allure Inin, burn him up ; 
 Lei your close fire predominate his smok^, 
 And be no turncoats : Yetmay your pains, six months, 
 Be quite contrary : And thatch your poor thin roofs 
 IViih burdens of the dead: — some that were hang'd. 
 No matter: — wear them, betray with them: whore 
 Paint till a horse may mire upon your face : [still ; 
 A pox of wrinkles ! 
 
 Pkr. &i Timaiu Well, more gold ; — What then 1 — 
 Believe 't. that we'll do any thing for gold. 
 
 Tim. Consumptions sow 
 In hollow bones of man ; strike their sharp shins, 
 And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice. 
 That he may never more false title plead, 
 Kor sound his quillets shrilly : hoar the flamen. 
 That scolds against the quality of flesh. 
 And not believes himself: down with the nose, 
 Down with it fiat ; take the bridge quite away 
 Of him, that his particular to fore5-ee, [fians bald ; 
 Smells from the general weal : make curl'd-pate ruf- 
 And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war 
 Derive some pain from you : Plague all ; 
 7'hat your activity may defeat and quell 
 The source of all erection, — There's more gold: — 
 Do you damn others, and let this damn you, 
 And ditches grave you all ! [bounteous Timon. 
 
 Phr. S^ Timan. Wore counsel with more money, 
 
 Tim. JMore whore, more mischief hrst ; I have given 
 you earnest. [well, Timon ; 
 
 Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens. Fare- 
 If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again. 
 
 Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more. 
 
 Alcib. I never did thee harm. 
 
 Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me. 
 
 Alcib. Call'st thou that harm "* 
 
 Tim, Men daily find it such. Get thee away. 
 And take thy beagles with thee. 
 
 Alcib. We but oft'end him. — 
 
 Strike. \^Drum heats. Eieunt Alcieiades, 
 
 Phrvnia, and Timandra. 
 
 Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkindness, 
 Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou, 
 
 [Digging, 
 Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast. 
 Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle. 
 Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is pufF'd, 
 Engenders the black toad, and adder blue. 
 The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm, 
 With all the abhorred births below crisp heaven 
 AV hereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine; 
 Y'ield him, who all thy human sons doth hate. 
 From forth thy plenteous bosom, one poor root ! 
 Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb, 
 Let it no more bring out ungrateful man ! 
 Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears ; 
 Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face 
 Hath to the marbled mansion all above 
 Never presented "! — 0, a root, — Dear thanks ! ' 
 
 Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas ; 
 "Whereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts, 
 And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind. 
 That from it all consideration slips ! 
 
 Enter Apemantus. 
 
 More man? Plague! plague! 
 
 Apem. 1 was directed hither : Men report, 
 Thou dost ailect my manners, and dost use them. 
 
 Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog 
 Whom I would imitate : Consumption catch thee! 
 
 Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected ; 
 A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung 
 From change of fortune. Why this spade"! ihis place? 
 
 This slave-like hahit? and these looks of care? 
 Thy flatterers yet wear silk, diiuk wine, He sut't ; 
 Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot 
 That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods. 
 By putting on the cunning of a carper. 
 Be thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive 
 By that which has undone thee : hinge thy knee, 
 And let his very breath, whom thou' It observe. 
 Blow off thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain, 
 And call it excellent : Thou wast told thus : 
 Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid welcome. 
 To knaves, and all approachers : 'Tis most just, 
 That thou turn rascal ; hadst thou wealth again. 
 Rascals should have't. Do not assume my likeness, 
 
 Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away mvself. 
 
 Apem, Thou hast cast away thyself, being like thv- 
 A madman so long, now a fool: What, think'st [self; 
 That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain, 
 Will put thy shirt on wann? Will these moss'd trees. 
 That have out-liv'd the eagle, page thy heels. 
 And skip when thou point'slout? Will thecoldbrook. 
 Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste. 
 To cure thy o'er-night surfeit? call the creatures, — 
 Whose naked natures live in all the spite 
 Of wreakful heaven ; whose bare unhoused trunks. 
 To the conflicting elements exposed, 
 Answer mere nature, — bid them flatter thee ; 
 ! thou shalt find 
 
 Tim. A fool of thee : Depart. 
 
 Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did. 
 
 Tim. I hate thee worse. 
 
 Apem. Why? 
 
 Tim. Thou flatter'st misery. 
 
 Apem. I flatter not ; but say, thou art a caitiff. 
 
 Tim. Why dost thou seek me out 1 
 
 Apem. To vex thee. 
 
 Tijn. Always a villain's ofKce, or a fool's. 
 Dost please thyself in 't ? 
 
 Apem. Ay. 
 
 Tim. What ! a knave too ? 
 
 Apem. If thou didst put this sour-cold habit on 
 To castigate thy pride, 'twere well : but thou 
 Dost it enforcedly ; thou'dst courtier be again, 
 Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery 
 Outlives incertaia pomp, is crown'd before : 
 The one is filling still, never complete ; 
 The other, at high wish : Best state, contentless, 
 Hath a distracted and most wretched being. 
 Worse than the worst, content. 
 Thou should'st desire to die, being miserable. 
 
 Tim. Not by his breath, that is more miserable. 
 Thou art a slave, whom Fortune's tender arm 
 With favour never clasp'd ; but bred a dog. 
 Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath, proceeded 
 The sweet degrees that this brief world affords 
 To such as may the passive drugs of it 
 Freely command, thou would'st have plung'd thyself 
 In general riot ; melted down thy youth 
 In different beds of lust ; and never learn'd 
 The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd 
 The sugar'd game before thee. But myself, 
 Who had the world as my confectionary ; 
 The mouths, the tongues, the eyes, and hearts of men 
 At duty, more than 1 cculd frame employment ; 
 That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves 
 Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush 
 Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare 
 For every storm that blows ; — I, to bear this. 
 That never knew but better, is some burden : 
 Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time [meD? 
 Hath made thee hard iu 't. Why should'st thou hate 
 They never flatter'd thee; What hast thou given 1 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 019 
 
 If tliou wilt curse, — thy father, that poor rag, 
 Must be thy subject ; who, in spite, put stuff 
 To some she beggar, and compounded thee 
 Poor rogue hereditary. Hence! begone! — 
 If thou hadst not been born the worst of men. 
 Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer. 
 
 Aiic 
 
 Art thou proud yet ' 
 
 Tim. Ay, that I am not tliee. 
 
 Apem. I, that I was 
 
 No prodigah 
 
 Tim. I, that I am one now ; 
 
 Were all the wealtli I have, shut up in thee, 
 I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. — 
 That the whole life of Athens were in this ! 
 Thus would 1 eat it. [Eating a root. 
 
 Apem. Here ; I will mend thy feast. 
 
 lOjferlng him something. 
 
 Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself. 
 
 Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of 
 thine. 
 
 Tim. *Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd ; 
 If not, I would it were. 
 
 Ajjem. What would'st thou have to Athens'! 
 
 Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt. 
 Tell them there 1 have gold ; look, so I have. 
 
 Apein. Here is no use for gold. 
 
 Tim. The best, and truest : 
 
 For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm. 
 
 Apem. Where ly'st o' nights, Timon 1 
 
 Tini. Under that's above me. 
 
 Where feed'st thou o' days, Aperoantus ? 
 
 Apem. Where my stomach finds meat; or, rather, 
 where I eat it. 
 
 Tim. 'Would poison were obedient, and knew my 
 mind ! 
 
 Apem. Where would'st thou send it 1 
 
 Tim. To sauce thy disiies. 
 
 jlptm. The middle of humanity thou never knew- 
 est, but the extremity of both ends : When thou wast 
 in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked thee for too 
 inucli cuiiosity ; in thy rags thou knowest none, but 
 art despised for the contrary. There's a medlar for 
 tliee, eat it. 
 
 Tim. On what I hate, I feed not. 
 
 Apem. Dost hale a medlar 1 
 
 Tim. Ay, though it look like thee. 
 
 Apem. An thou hadst hated medlars sooner, thou 
 should'st have loved thyself better now. What man 
 didst tliou ever know unthrift, that was beloved after 
 his means ! 
 
 Tim. Who, without those means thou talkest of, 
 didst thou ever know beloved"! 
 
 Apem. iNIyself. 
 
 Ttm. I understand thee ; thou hadst some means 
 U) keep a dog. 
 
 Apem, What things in the world canst thou near- 
 est compare to thy flatterers " 
 
 Tim. Women nearest; but men, men are the 
 tilings themselves. What would'st thou do with the 
 world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power ^ 
 ;( Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men. 
 
 Tim. Would'st thou have thyself fall in the con- 
 fusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts ? 
 
 Apem. Ay, Timon. 
 
 Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant thee 
 .' to attain to! If thou wert the lion, the fox would 
 V beguile thee : if thou wert the lamb, the fox would 
 eat tJiee; if thou wert the fox, the lion would sus- 
 pect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused by 
 the ass : if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would tor 
 ment thee ; and still thou livedst but as a breakfast 
 ta the wolf: if thou wert the wolf, thy greediness 
 
 would afflict thee, and oft tliou shouldst hazard I'.iy 
 life for thy dinner : wert thou the unicorn, pride and 
 wrath would confound thee, and make thine own sell 
 the conquest of thy fury ; wert thou a bear, thou 
 would'st be killed by the horse : wert thou a horse, 
 thou would'st be seized by the leopard ; wert thou a 
 leopard, thou wert geraian to the lien, and the spots 
 of thy kindred were jurors on thy life : all thy safety 
 were remotion ; and thy defence, absence. What 
 beast could'st thou be, that were not subject to a 
 beast 1 and what a beast art thou already, that seest 
 not thy loss in transformation ! 
 
 Apem. If thou could'st please me with speaking to 
 me, thou might'st have hit upon il here : The com. 
 monwealth of .•Vthens is become a forest of beasts. 
 
 Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou art 
 out of the city ! 
 
 Apem. Yonder comes a poet, and a painter : I'he 
 plague of company light upon thee 1 I will fear to 
 catch it, and give way : When I know not what else 
 to do, I'll see thee again. 
 
 Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou 
 shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog. 
 than .-Vpemantus. 
 
 Apem. Thou art the csp of all the fools aiive. 
 
 Tijn. Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon. 
 
 Apem. A plague on thee, thou art too bad to curse. 
 
 Tim. All villains, that do stand by thee, are pure. 
 
 Apem. There is no leprosy, but what thou speak'st. 
 
 Tim. If I name thee.. — 
 L'll beat thee, — but I should infect my hands. 
 
 Ajtem. 1 would, my tongue could rot them oft'! 
 
 Tim. Away thou issue of a mangy dog ! 
 Choler does kill me, that thou art alive ; 
 I swoon to see thee. 
 
 Apem, 'Would thou would'st burst ! 
 
 Tim. Away, 
 
 Thou tedious rogue ! I am sorry, I shall lose 
 A stone by thee. [T/irous a sCoue at him. 
 
 Apem. Beast ! 
 
 Tim, Slave ! 
 
 Apem, Toad ! 
 
 Tim, Rogue, rogue, rogue! 
 
 [Apemantus retreats baci:uard, as ^oing. 
 I am sick of this false world ; and will love nought 
 But even the mere necessities upon it. 
 Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave ; 
 Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat 
 Thy grave-stone daily : make thine epitaph. 
 That death in me at others' lives may laugh. 
 O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce 
 
 [Looking on the gold. 
 "Twixt natural son and sire ! thou bright defiler 
 Of Hymen's purest bed ! thou valiant Mars ! 
 Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate wooer. 
 Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow 
 That lies on Dian's lap ! thou visible god. 
 That solder'st close impossibilities. 
 And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue, 
 To every purpose ! O thou touch of hearts ! 
 Think, thy slave man rebels ; and by thy virtue 
 Set them into confounding odds, that beasts 
 May have the world in empire ! 
 
 Apem. 'Would 'twere so ; - 
 
 But not till I am dead ! — I'll say thou hast gold: 
 Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly. 
 
 Tim. Throng'd to ? 
 
 Apem. -\y, 
 
 Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Apem. Live, and love thy misery ; 
 
 Tim. Long live so, and so die ! — I am quit. 
 
 [Elit Al'EMANTUS. 
 
620 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 More things like mea^— Eat.Tlmon, and abhor ihem. 
 Enter Thieves. 
 
 1 Thief. Where should he have this gold I It is 
 some poor fragment, some :>lenderortofhis remainder: 
 The mere want of gold, and the falUng-from of his 
 friends, drove him into this melancholy. 
 
 2 TInef- It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure. 
 
 3 Thief. Let us make the assay upon him ; if he 
 care not for't, he will supply us easily ; If he covet- 
 ously reserve it, how shall's get it 1 
 
 2 Thief. Tiue ; for hebearsit not about him, 'tis hid. 
 
 1 Thief. Is not this he 1 
 Thieves. Where'! 
 
 2 Thief. 'Tis his description, 
 
 3 Thief. He ; I know him. 
 Thieves. Save thee, Tiraon. 
 Tim. Now, thieves 1 
 Tliieves. Soldiers, not thieves. 
 Tim. Botli too ; and women's sons. [want. 
 Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that much do 
 Tim. Your greatest want is, you want much of meal. 
 
 Why should you wantl Behold, the earth hath roots ; 
 Within this mile break forth a hundred springs : 
 The oiiks bear mast, the briars scarlet hips ; 
 The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush 
 Lays her full mess before you. Want ? why want . 
 1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, water, 
 As beasts, and birds, and tishes. [fishes ; 
 
 Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the buds, and 
 You must eat men. Yet thauks I must you con. 
 That you are thieves profess'd ; that you work not^ 
 In holier shapes : lor there is boundless theft 
 In limited professions. Rascal thieves, 
 Here's gold : go suck the subtle blood of the grape, 
 Till the°high fever seeth your blood to froth. 
 And so "scape hanging ; 'trust not the physician ; 
 His antidotes are poison, and he slays 
 iMore than you rob: take wealth and lives together ; 
 Do villany,"do, since you profess to do't,_ 
 Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery : 
 The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
 Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, 
 And her pale fire she snatches from the sun : 
 The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
 The moon into salt tears : the earth's a thief. 
 That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen 
 From general excrement : each thing's a thief ; 
 The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power 
 Have unch'eck'd theft. Love not yourselves ; away ; 
 Rob one another. There's more gold ; Cut throats ; 
 All that jou meet aie thieves : To Athens,,go, 
 Break open shops ; nothing can you steal. 
 But thieves do lose it : Steal not less, for this 
 I o-ive you ; and gold confound you howsoever ! 
 Amen. [Timon retiresio his cave. 
 
 3 Thief. He has almost charmed me from my pro- 
 fession, by persuading me to it. 
 
 1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he thus 
 advises "us ; not to have us thrive in our mystery. 
 
 2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give over 
 my trade. 
 
 1 Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens: There 
 is no tinie so miserable, but a man may be true. 
 
 [Eieuiit Thieves. 
 Enter Flavius. 
 
 Ftav. you gods ! 
 Is von despis'd and ruinous man my lord 1 
 Full of decay and failing! monument 
 And wonder of good deeds evilly bestow'd ! 
 What an alteration of honour has 
 Desperate want made ! 
 
 What viler thing upon the earth, than friends, 
 Who can brinsr noblest minds to basest ends ! 
 How rarely do"es it meet with this time's guise, 
 When man was wish'd to love his enemies : 
 Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo 
 Those that would mischief me, tlian those that do ! 
 He has caught me in his eye : I will present 
 Mv honest grief unto him ; and, as my lord. 
 Still serve him with my life.— Jly dearest master ! 
 
 Timon comes forward from his cave. 
 
 Tim. Away! what art thou? 
 piav. Have you forgotten me, sir? 
 
 Tim. Why dost ask thatl 1 have forgot all men ; 
 Then, if thoiigrant'st thou art man, I have forgot thee. 
 FUv. An honest poor servant of yours. 
 Tim. Then 
 
 I know tliee not : I ne'er had honest man 
 About me, I ; all that I kept were knaves. 
 To serve in meat to villains. 
 
 fl^^_ The gods are witness. 
 
 Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief 
 For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you. 
 
 Tim. What, dost thou weep ?— Come nearer:— 
 then I love thee, ^ 
 
 Because thou art a woman, and disclaim st 
 Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give, _ 
 But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping : 
 Strange times, that weep with laughing, not with 
 weeping ! 
 Fhiv. I beg of vou to know me, good my lord. 
 To accept my°grief, and, whilst this poor wealth lasts. 
 To entertain me as your steward still. 
 
 Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now 
 So comfortable 1 It almost turns 
 My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold 
 Thy face. — Surely, this man was born of woman. — 
 Forgive my general and exceptless rashness. 
 Perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim 
 One honest man,— mistake me not,— but one ; 
 No more, I pray,- and he is a steward.— 
 How fain would I have hated all mankind. 
 And thou redeem'st thyself : But all, save thee, 
 I fell with curses. 
 
 Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise ; 
 For, by oppressing and betraying me. 
 Thou might' St have sooner got another service : 
 For many so arrive at second masters. 
 Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true, 
 (For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,) 
 Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous. 
 If not a usuring kindness ; and as rich men deal gifts. 
 Expecting in return twenty for one 1 
 
 F/iiti. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast 
 Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late ; 
 You should have fear'd false times, when youdid feast- 
 Suspect still comes where an estate is least. 
 That which I shew, heaven knows, is merely love. 
 Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind. 
 Care of your food" and living : and, believe it. 
 My most honour'd lord. 
 For any benefit that points to me. 
 Either "in hope, or present, I'd exchange 
 For this one wish. That you had power and wealth 
 To requite me, bv making rich yourself. 
 
 Tim. Look the'e, 'tis so! Thou singly honest man. 
 Here, take :— the gods out of my misery 
 Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy : 
 But thus condition'd ; Thou shalt build from men ; 
 Hate all, curse all : shew charity to none ; 
 But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone, 
 Ere thou relieve the beggar : give to dogs 
 
J^^^ 
 
 „_tp^<y6-- 
 
 
 t^Samuiii-';>...Kai.riW»'i'i.«ri^nj/llm,J;i.iimjia?jiaijMiirirnw 
 
 ^^fi'--''''~'-^[nv""''~-;'m\TT\ir'--ivvlll!r~vr«r'-'n^ 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 621 
 
 What ihou deny' St to men ; let prisons swallow them, 
 Debts wither tiiem : Be men like blasted woods. 
 And raav diseases lick up their false bloods ! 
 And so, farewell, and thrive. 
 
 f (at!. O, let me stay. 
 
 And comfort you, my master. 
 
 Tim. If thou hat'st 
 
 Curses, stay not ; fly, whilst thou rt bless'd and free: 
 Ne'er s«e thou man, and let me ne er see thee. 
 
 [Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I — The same. Before Timon's Cote. 
 Enter Poet and Painter ; Timon behind, unseen. 
 
 Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far 
 where he abides. 
 
 Pcet. What 's to be thought of him ? Does the ru- 
 mour nold for true, that he is so full of gold ? 
 
 Pain. Certain : Alcibiades reports it ; Phryniaand 
 Timandra had gold of him : he likewise enriched poor 
 straggling soldiers with great quantity : 'Tis said, he 
 gave unto his steward a mighly sum. 
 
 Poet, 'i'hen this breaking of his has been but a try 
 for his friends. 
 
 Pain. Nothing ehe : you shall see him a palm in 
 Athens again, and flourish with the highest. There- 
 fore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in 
 this supposed distress of his ; it will shew honestly 
 in us ; and is very likely to load our purposes with 
 what they travel for, if it be a just and true report 
 that goes of his having. 
 
 Poet, What have you now to present unto him 1 
 
 Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation : 
 only I will promise him an excellent piece. 
 
 Poet. 1 must serve him so too ; tell him of an in- 
 tent that 's coming toward him. 
 
 Pui«. Good as ihe best. Promising is the very air 
 o'the time ; it opens the eyes of expectation : perfor- 
 mance is ever the duller for his act ; and, but in the 
 plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying 
 is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and 
 fashionable : performance is a kind of will, or testa- 
 ment, which argues a great sickness in his judgment 
 that makes it. 
 
 Tim. E.\cellent workman ! Thou canst not paint a 
 man so bad as is thyself. 
 
 Pf'ti. 1 am thinking, what I shall say I have pro- 
 vided for him : It must be a personating of himself: 
 a satire against the softness of prosperity ; with a 
 discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow youth 
 and opulency. 
 
 Tim. .Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine 
 own work ! Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other 
 men 1 Do so, I have gold for thee. 
 
 Poet. Xay, let's seek him ; 
 Then do we sin against our own estate. 
 When we may profit meet, and come too late. 
 
 Pain. True ; 
 When the day serves, before black-comer'd night. 
 Find what thou want'st by free and ofier'd light 
 Come. 
 
 Tim. I '11 meet you at the turn. What a god's gold, 
 That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple, 
 Than where swine feed ! 
 
 lis thou that rigg'stthe bark, and plough'st the foam ; 
 Settlest admired reverence in a slave : 
 To thee be worship ! and thy saints for aye 
 Be crown'd with plagues, and thee alone obey ! 
 'Fit I do meet them. [.idvancing. 
 
 Poet. Hail, worthy Timon ! 
 
 Pain. Our late noble master. 
 
 Tim. Hive I once liv'd to see two honest men 1 
 
 Poet. Sir, 
 Having often of your open bounty tasted. 
 Hearing you were retir'd, your friends fall'n ofT, 
 Whose thankless natures — O abhorred spirits ! 
 Not all the whips of heaven are large enough — 
 What ! to you ? 
 
 Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence 
 To their whole being 1 I 'm rapt, and cannot cover 
 The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude 
 With any size of words. 
 
 Tim. Let it go naked, men mav see 't the better : 
 You, that are honest, by being what you are. 
 Make them best seen, and known. 
 
 Pain. He, and myself. 
 
 Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts, 
 .\nd sweetly felt it. 
 
 Tim. Ay, you are honest men. 
 
 Piiin. We are hither come to offer you our service. 
 
 Tim. Most honest men I Why, how shall I requite 
 Can you eat roots, and drink cold water 1 no. [you? 
 
 Both. What we can do, we 'II do, to do you service, 
 
 Tim. You are honest men : You have heard that I 
 have gold ; 
 I am sure, you have : speak truth : you are honestmen. 
 
 Pain. So it is said, my noble lord : but therefore 
 Came not my friend, nor I. 
 
 Tim.G ood honest men : — Thou draw'st a counterfeit 
 Best in all .\thens : thou art, indeed, the best ; 
 Thou counterfeit'st most lively. 
 
 Pain. So, so, my lord. 
 
 Tim. Even so, sir, as I say: — And, for thv fiction, 
 
 [To ihe Poet. 
 Why, thy verse swells with stufi' so fine and smooth, 
 That thou art even natural in thine art. — 
 But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends, 
 I must needs say, you have a little fault : 
 Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you ; neither wish I, 
 You take much pains to mend. 
 
 Both . Beseech your honour, 
 
 To make it known to us. 
 
 Tim. You'll take it ill. 
 
 Both. Most thankfully my lord 
 
 Tim. Will yon, indeed 1 
 
 Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord. 
 
 Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave. 
 That mightily deceives you. 
 
 Both. Do we, mv lord ? 
 
 Tim, Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dissemble. 
 Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him. 
 Keep in your bosom ; yet remain assur'd. 
 That he 's a made-up villain. 
 
 Pain. I know none such, my lord. 
 
 Poet. Vor I. 
 
 Tim. Look you, I love you well; I'll giveyougold. 
 Rid me these villains from your companies : 
 Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a drauglit 
 Confound them by some course, and come to me, 
 I 'II give you gold enough. 
 
 Both. Name them, mv lord, let's know them. 
 
 Tim. You that way, and you this, but two in com- 
 Each man apart, all single and alone, ^pany: — 
 Yet an arch-villain keeps him company. 
 If where thou art, hvo villains shall not be. 
 
 [To (te Painter. 
 Come not near him. — If thou would'st not reside 
 
 [To the Poet. 
 But where one villain is, then hita abandon. — 
 Hence! pack! there's gold, ye came for gold, yeslaves: 
 You have done work for me, there's pajinent : Hence ' 
 
6-2-2 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 
 You are an alchymist, make gold of that :— 
 
 Out, rascal dogs! [Ei;t, beating and driving them out. 
 
 SCENE n.—The same. 
 Enter Flavius and Two Senators. 
 Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with Timon ; 
 For he is set so only to himself, 
 That nothing but himself, which looks like man. 
 Is friendly with him. 
 
 1 Sen. Bring us to his cave: 
 It is our part, and promise to the Athenians 
 To speak with Timon. 
 
 2 Sen. At all times alike 
 Men are not still the same : 'Twas time, and griefs, 
 That fram'd him tlius : time, with his fairer hand. 
 Offering the fortunes of his former days. 
 The former man may make hira : Bring us to him. 
 And chance it as it may. 
 
 Flav. Here is his cave. — 
 
 Peace and content be here I Lord Timon ! Timon ! 
 Look out. and speak to friends : The Athenians, 
 By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee : 
 Speak to them, noble Timon. 
 
 Enter Timon. 
 
 Tim. Thou sun, thatcomfort'st, burn ! — Speak, and 
 be hang'd ; 
 For each true word, a blister ! and each false 
 Be as a caut'rizing to the root o' the tongue. 
 Consuming it with speaking ! 
 
 1 Sen. Worthy Timon, 
 
 Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon. 
 
 2ScH. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon. 
 
 Tim. I thank them ; and would send them back the 
 Could I but catch it for them. [plague, 
 
 1 Sen. O, forget 
 What we are sorry for ourselves in thee. 
 The senators, with one consent of love. 
 Entreat thee back to Athens ; who have thought 
 On special dignities, which vacant lie 
 For thy best use and wearing. 
 
 2 Sen. They confess. 
 Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross: 
 Which now the public body, — which doth seldom 
 Play the recanter, — feeling in itself 
 .\ lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal 
 Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon ; 
 And send forth us, to make their sorrowed render. 
 Together with a recompense more fruitful 
 Tlian their offence can weigh down by the dram ; 
 Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth, 
 As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs. 
 And write in thee the figures of their love, 
 Ever to read them tiiine. 
 
 Tim. You witch me in it ; 
 
 Surprize me to the very brink of tears : 
 Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes. 
 And I '11 beweep these comforts, worthy senators. 
 
 1 Sen. Therefore, so please thee to return with us, 
 And of our .\tliens (thine, and ours,) to take 
 The captain?liip, thou shalt be met with thanks, 
 Allow'd with absolute power, and thy good name 
 Live with authority : — so soon we shall drive back 
 Of Alcibiades the approaches wild ; 
 Who, Rke a boar too savage, doth root up 
 His country's peace. 
 
 2 Sen. And shakes his threat'ning sword 
 Against the walls of Athens. 
 
 I Sen. Tlierefore, Timon, — 
 
 Tim. Well, sir, I will ; therefore, I will, sir ; Thus, — 
 
 If Alcibiades kill my countrymen. 
 
 Let .■VlcibiaJes know this of Timon, 
 
 That— Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Atheni, 
 
 And take our goodly aged men by the beards, 
 
 Giving our holy virgins to the stain 
 
 Of contumelious, beastly, mad brain'd war ; 
 
 Then, let him know,— and tell him, Timon speaks it, 
 
 In pity of our ajred, and our youth, 
 
 1 cannot choose but tell him, that — I care not. 
 
 And let him tak 't at worst ; for their knives care not. 
 
 While you have throats to answer : for myself, 
 
 There 's not a whittle in the unruly camp, 
 
 But I do prize it at my love, before 
 
 1 he reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you 
 
 To the protection of tlie prosperous gods, 
 
 As thieves to keepers. 
 
 Flav. Stay not, all's in vain. 
 
 Tun. Why, I was writing of my epitaph, 
 It will be seen to-morrow : My limg sickness 
 Of health, and living, now begins to mend, 
 And nothing brings me all things. Go, live still , 
 He Alcibiades your plague, you his. 
 And last so long enough ! « 
 
 1 Sen. We speak in vain. 
 
 Tim. But yet I love my country, and am not 
 One that rejoices in the common wreck. 
 As common bruit doth put it. 
 
 1 Sen. That 's well spoke. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen,— 
 
 1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass 
 through them. 
 
 •2 Sen. And enterin our ears, like great triumphers 
 In their applauding gates. 
 
 Tim. Commend me to them ; 
 
 And tell them, that, to ease them of their griefs, 
 Their fears of hostile strokes, their aches, losses, 
 Their pangs of love, with other incident throes 
 That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain [them : 
 In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do 
 I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath. 
 
 2 Sen. I like this well, he will return again. 
 Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close, 
 
 That mine own use invites me to cut down. 
 And shortly must I fell it ; Tell my friends, 
 Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree. 
 From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
 To stop affliction, let him take his haste. 
 Come hither, ere my tree hath felt tlie axe, 
 And hang himself :— I pray you, do my greeting. 
 
 Flav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall 
 find hira. 
 
 Tim. Come not to me again : but say to Athens, 
 Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 
 Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ; 
 Which once a day with his embossed froth 
 The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come. 
 And let my grave-stone be your oracle.— 
 Lips, let sour words go by, and language end : 
 What is amiss, plague and infection mend ! 
 Graves, only be men's works ; and death, their gam! 
 Sun hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign. 
 
 ■^ [Exit Timon. 
 
 1 Sen. His discontents are unremoveably 
 Coupled to nature. 
 
 2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead : let us return, • 
 .\ nd strain what other means is left unto us 
 In our dear peril. 
 
 1 Sen. I' retiuires swift foot. [ticiint 
 
 SCEiXE III.— nc WalU of Athens. 
 Eiitci- Two Senators, and a Messenger. 
 1 Sen. Thou hast painfully dlscover'd; are his files 
 .is full as thy report. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 623 
 
 Mess. I have spoke the least : 
 
 liesides, his expedition promises 
 Present approach. [Timon: 
 
 ^Sen, We stand much hazard, if they bring not 
 Meis. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; — , 
 Whom, though in general part we were opposed, | 
 Yet our old love made a particular force, 
 And made us speak like friends : — this man was riding 
 From Alcibiades to Timon"s cave. 
 With letters of entreaty, which imported 
 His fellowship i' the cause against your city, 
 \a part for his sake mov'd. 
 
 Enter Senators from Timon. 
 1 Sen. Here come our brothers, 
 
 S Sen, No talk of Timon, nothing of him expect. — 
 The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring 
 Doth choke the air with dust : In, and prepare ; 
 Ours is the fall, 1 fear ; our foes the snare. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Woods. Timon's Cave, and a 
 Tomb-stone seen. 
 
 Enter a Soldier, seeking Timov. 
 Sold* By all description this should be the place. 
 Who's here? speak, ho! — No answer? — What is this? 
 Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span : 
 Some beast rear'd this ; there does not live a man. 
 Dead, sure ; and this his grave. — 
 What's on this tomb I cannot read; the character 
 I'll take with wax : 
 
 Our captain hath in every figure skill ; 
 An ag'd interpreter, though young in days : 
 Before proud Athens he's set down by this, 
 Whose fall tlie mark of his ambition is. [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE v.— Before the walls of Athens. 
 
 Trumpets sound- Enter Alcibiades and Forces, 
 
 Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town 
 Our terrible approach. [A parley sounded. 
 
 Enter Senators on the u-alls. 
 Till now you have gone on, and fiU'd the time 
 With all licentious measure, making your wills. 
 The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such 
 As slept within the shadow of your power, 
 Have wander'd with our travers'd arms, and breath 'd 
 Our sufferance vainly : Now the time is flush. 
 When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong, 
 Cries, of itself, jVo more : now breathless wrong 
 Siiall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ; 
 And pursy insolence shall break his wind, 
 With fear, and horrid flight. 
 
 1 Sen. Noble and young. 
 
 When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit. 
 Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear. 
 We sent to thee ; to give thy rages balm, 
 To wipe out our ingratitude with loves 
 Above their quantity, 
 
 t Sen. So did we woo 
 
 Transformed Timon to our city's love, 
 Hy humble message, and by promis'd means ; 
 We were not all unkind, nor all deserve 
 Thf common stroke of war. 
 
 1 Sen. These walls of ours 
 
 Were not erected by their hands, from whom 
 \ ou have receiv'd your griefs : nor are they such 
 That these great towers, trophies, and schools should 
 For private faults in them. [fall 
 
 Nor are they living, 
 
 I Sen. 
 
 Who were the motives that you first went out , 
 
 Shame that tiiey wanted cunning, in excess 
 
 Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord, 
 
 Into our city with thy banners spread : 
 
 By decimation, and a tithed death, 
 
 (If thv revenges hunger for that food. 
 
 \Vhit:li nature loaths,) take thou the destin'd tenth ; 
 
 And by the hazard of the spotted die. 
 
 Let die the spotted. 
 
 1 Sen. All have not off'ended ; 
 For those that were, it is not square, to take. 
 On those that are, revenges : crimes, like lands. 
 Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman. 
 Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage : 
 Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin, 
 Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall 
 
 W' ith those that have offended : like a shepherd, 
 Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth. 
 But kill not all together. 
 
 2 Sen. What thou wilt. 
 Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile. 
 Than hew to't with thy sword. 
 
 1 Sen. Set but thy foot 
 Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope ; 
 So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before, 
 
 To say thou'lt enter friendly. 
 
 2 Sen. Throw thy glove ; 
 Or any token of thine honour else, 
 
 That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress, 
 And not as our confusion, all thy powers 
 Shall make their harbour in our town, till we 
 Have seal'd thy full desire. , 
 
 Alcih. Theij tliere's my glove j 
 
 Descend, and open your uncharged ports ; 
 Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own. 
 Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof, 
 Fall, and no more : and, — to atone your fears 
 With my more noble meaning, — not a man 
 Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream 
 Of regular justice in your city's bounds, 
 But shall be remedied, to your public laws. 
 At heaviest answer. 
 
 Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken. 
 
 Alcib. Descend, and keep your words. 
 
 The Senators descend, aiul open the gates. 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 
 Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead ; 
 Entombed upon the very hem o' the sea : 
 And, on his grave-stone, this insculpture ; winch 
 With wax I brought away, whose soft impression 
 Interprets for my poor ignorance. 
 
 Alcib, [/ieflrfi.j Here lies a wretched corse, of 
 
 wretched soul bereft : [left! 
 
 Seek not mi/ name : A plague consume you icicked caitiffs 
 Here lie I Timon ; who, alive, all living men did hate: 
 Pass by, and Cnrse ihif fill ; but pass and stay not here 
 These well express in thee thy latter spirits: [thif gait. 
 Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs, 
 Scorn 'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets which 
 From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit 
 Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye 
 On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead 
 Is noble Timon ; of whose memory 
 Hereafter more. — Brin<r me into vour city. 
 And I will use the olive with my sword : 
 Make war breed peace ; make peace stint war ; make 
 Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. [each 
 
 Let our drums strike. [Eiennt, 
 
 The play of Timon is a domestic tragedy, and therefore strongly fastens on the attention of the reader. In the plm there is 
 not much art, but the incidents are natorat, and the characters various and exact. I lie catastrophe affords a very powerful 
 warniu? a'.r;iinst that ohtentatious liberality, which scatters bounty, but confers no benefits, and buys flattery, but not friend- 
 ship.— Johnson, 
 
CORIOLANUS 
 
 This iaimitable play was neither entered at StationerB* Hall, | from which hehastak^n many passages with only such sliffht 
 nor printed, till 1623. It was probably written in 160y, or | alt*;ratiori3 aa were necessary lo turow theui icto blank verse. 
 1610. ■ The iilaycompiehtudsaiterioa of about four years, conimencinif 
 
 The author derived his materials from Plutarch's Life of Co- 1 with the secession to ine il/cw-t Saccr in the year of Konie 2fi2, 
 riolanus, which he evidently read in ^North's translation ; and, ' and ending with the death of Coriolaoas, A. U. C. 366. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Caius Makcius Cobiolancs, a noble Roman. 
 Titos Lahtius, ) ^^^^^^^ -^j, (,,g Volscians. 
 
 COMINIUS, 5 ° ° 
 
 JIenenius Acrippa, fHend to Coriolanus, 
 
 , „ ' ;• tribunes of the people. 
 
 J UMUS Brutus, J ./ j i 
 
 I'oting Marcius, son to Coriolanus. 
 
 A Roman Herald. 
 
 TvLLus AuFiDius, general of the Volscians. 
 
 Lieiitenmtt to Aufidius. 
 
 Conspirators ^lith Aufidius. 
 
 A Citizen of Antium. 
 
 Two Volscian Guards, 
 
 VoLUMNiA, mother to Coriolanus. 
 ViRGiLiA, uij'e to Coriolanus. 
 A'aleria, friend to Virgilia. 
 Gentlewoman, attending Virg-ilia. 
 
 Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Sdiles, 
 Licturs, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to 
 Aufidius, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, — partly in Rome ; and partly in the territo- 
 ries of the Volscians and Antiates. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A Street. 
 
 Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with staves, 
 clubs, and other ueapons, 
 
 1 Cit. Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. 
 
 Cit. Speak, speak. [Several speaking at once. 
 
 ] Cit. Y'on are all resolved rather to die, than to 
 famish. 
 
 Cit. Resolved, resolved. 
 
 1 Cit First you know, Caius Marcius is chief ene- 
 my to the people. 
 
 Cit. We know't, we know't. 
 
 1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our 
 own price. Is't a verdict 1 
 
 Cit. Xo more talking on't : let it be done : away, 
 away. 
 
 2 Cit. One word, good citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens ; the patri- 
 cians good: What authority surfeits on, would relieve 
 us ; If they would yield us but the superfluity, while 
 it were wholesome, we might guess, they relieved us 
 humanely ; but they think, we are too dear: the lean- 
 ness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is an 
 inventory to particularize their abundance ; our suf- 
 ferance is a gain to them. — Let us revenge this with 
 our pikes, ere we become rakes : for the gods know, I 
 speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge. 
 
 2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against Caius 
 Marcius 1 
 
 Cit. Against him first; he's a very dog to the com- 
 nonalty. 
 
 2 Cif. Consider you what services he has done for 
 his country ! 
 
 1 Cit. Very well ; and could be content to give 
 him good report for't, but that he pays himself with 
 being proud. 
 
 2 Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously. 
 
 1 Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done famously, 
 he did it to that end ; though soft conscienc'd men 
 can be content to say, it was for his country, he did 
 it to please his mother, and to be partly proud ; which 
 he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. 
 
 2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you ac- 
 count a vice in him ; You must in no way say, he is 
 covetous. 
 
 1 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of accu- 
 sations ; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repe- 
 tition. [S'loi/lsicit/iiH.] What shouts are these'! The 
 other side o' the city is risen : Why stay we prating 
 here ? to the Capitol. 
 
 Cit. Come, come. 
 
 1 Cit. Soft ; who comes here 1 
 
 Enter Menenius Acrippa. 
 
 2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa ; one that hath 
 always loved the people. 
 
 1 Cit. He 's one honest enough ; 'Would, all the 
 rest were so ! 
 
 Men. What work 's, my countrymen, in hand ? 
 Where go you 
 With bats and clubsl The matter? Speak, I pray you. 
 
 1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the senate ; 
 they have had inkling, tliis fortnight, what we intend 
 to do, which now we '11 shew 'em in deeds. The>' say, 
 poor suitors have strong breaths ; they shall know, 
 we have strong arms too. 
 
 il/cn. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest 
 Will you undo yourselves ? [neighbours, 
 
 1 Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone already. 
 
 Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care 
 Have the patricians of you. For your wants. 
 Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well 
 Strike at the heaven with your staves, as lift them 
 Against the Roman state ; whose course will on 
 The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs 
 Of more strong link asunder, than can ever 
 Appear in your impediment : For the dearth. 
 The gods, not the patricians, make it; and 
 Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, 
 You are transported by calamity 
 Thither where more attends you ; and you slander 
 The helms o' the state, who care for you like fathers. 
 When you curse them as enemies. 
 
 1 Cit. Care for us ! — True, indeed! — They ne'er 
 cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, and their store- 
 houses crammed with grain ; make edicts for usury, 
 to support usurers ; repeal daily any wholesome act 
 established against the rich ; and provide more pierc- 
 ing statutes daily, to chain up and restrain the poor. 
 If the wars eat us not up, they will ; and there's all 
 the love they bear us. 
 
 Men. IJther you must 
 
ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 6-2b 
 
 Confess yourselves wondrous malicious, 
 Or be accus'J of folly. 1 shall tell you 
 A pretty tale ; it may be. you have heard it ; 
 l^ut, since it serves my purpose, I will venture 
 To stvile't a little more. 
 
 iCil. Well, I'll hear it, sir: yet you must not 
 think to fob oft" our disgrace with a tale ; but, an 't 
 please you, deliver. 
 
 il/iji. riiercwasatime.whcn all thebody'smembers 
 KcbcU'd asainst the belly ; thus accus'd it : — 
 That only Tike a gulf it did remain 
 T the midst o' the body, idle and inactive. 
 Still cupboaixlinj; the viand, never bearing 
 Like labour with the rest; where the other instruments 
 Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, 
 Anvt, mutually participate, did minister 
 I'nto the appetite and atlVclion common 
 Of the »hole body. The belly answered, — 
 
 1 Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the belly? 
 
 Men. Sir. 1 shall tell you. — Wiihakind of smile, 
 Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thvis, 
 t For. look you, 1 may niake the bellv smile. 
 As well as speak, ^ it tauntinglv repl"ied 
 To the discontented members, the mutinous ptu'ts 
 That envied his receipt ; even so most fitly 
 As you malign our senators, for that 
 They are not such as you. 
 
 lilt. Your belly's answer: What! 
 The kingly-crowned head, the\igilant eye, 
 The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier. 
 Our steed the leg. the tongue our trumpeter, 
 \\'ith other mununeuts and petty helps 
 lu this our fabric, if that they 
 
 Mm. What then? 
 
 'Fore me. this fellow* speaks! — what then! what then ! 
 
 1 t'i(. Should by the cormorant belly be lestrain'd, 
 Who is the sink o' the body, 
 
 Mfii. Well, what then ? 
 
 I Cit. The former agents, if they did complain, 
 \\ liat could the belly answer ! 
 
 Men. I will tell you : 
 
 If you'll bestow a small (of what yon have litlli'.) 
 Patience, a while, yon 'II hear the oelly's answt'r. 
 
 1 ('i(. You are long about it. 
 
 Men. Note me this, gotxl friend ; 
 
 Your most grave belly was deliberate. 
 Not rash like his accusers, and thus aas«er'd. 
 IVuit 1:1 it. mv inctnfhn-iiteJ'rientiSi quoih he, 
 Thut I reifivf thi ^eneittlj'^h\i atjir^t. 
 M'hieh uixi do /tiy i^Hm; ttiid^tit h" is: 
 /v'.MKSe i iim tfig stoir-httusf, uwd the shop 
 0/ the uhole Ihilii : tint it' uou do remember, 
 I send ii thiongh (*« ricers of' uour hUvd, 
 Kien to the e\<uit, the he^trt, — to the stat o' the bniiii ; 
 iml, thivugh the iviinfo (i>i(< offieet of man. 
 The ^tronge^t nerres, omi smalt inferior reins. 
 From me neeiiv that nuturat eompetfncit 
 \yherebv !he}i live: .-ind thongh that ail at oncv, 
 r.i«,rayx"''<',''''<'"''s, ithissavs the belly), inarkrec, — 
 
 1 Cit. .\y, sir ; well, well. 
 
 Men. Tkottgh all at one* ciinnot 
 
 See ithat I do detirer out to each ; 
 Yet I can make mij audit up, that all 
 f"rt»?H me do hook receire thejiou-er of all. 
 And lean me but the bran. What say you to 't ; 
 
 1 Cil. It was an answer : Ilow apply you this ? 
 
 Men. I'he senntore of Koine are this good belly. 
 And you the mutinous members ; F'or cviunine 
 Their counsels, and their cares ; digest things; rightly. 
 Touching the weal o' the common ; you shall find, 
 No public beuelil, which you receive. 
 But it proceeds, or coiues, from them to you. 
 
 I And no way from yourselves. — What do you think ' 
 
 ! Y'ou, the great toe of this assembly ! — 
 
 I 1 lit. 1 the great toe ! Why the great toe ! 
 
 I .Mi-u. For that being oneo'the lowest, basest, poorest. 
 
 Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost ; 
 
 Thou rascal, that art worst in blood, to run 
 
 Lcad'sl first, to win some vantage. — 
 
 l^ut make you ready vour stirt' bats and clubs ; 
 
 Uoiuc and her rats are at the point of battle. 
 
 The one side must have bale. — Hail, noble iVIarcius ! 
 
 Enter Caics M.\RCti'S. 
 
 Mar. Thanks. — What 's the matter, you dissen- 
 tious rogues. 
 That rubbin; the poor itch of your opinion, 
 Make yourselves scabs • 
 
 1 Cit. \\'e have ever your good word. 
 
 Mar. lie that will give good words to lliee, will 
 flatter 
 Beneath abhorring. — What would you have, you cui5. 
 That like nor peace, nor war! the one aft'rights you, 
 i he oilier makes you proud. He that trusts you, 
 ^\'here he shoulikfind you lions, finds you hares ; 
 Where foxes, geese : Y'ou are no surer, no. 
 Than is the coal of fire upon the ice. 
 Or hailstone in the sun. Y" our virtue is, 
 Fo make him worihv, whose ofl'ence subdues him. 
 And curse that justice did it. \Vho deserves great- 
 Oeserves your hate ; and your aflections are [ness, 
 .\ sick man's appetite, who desires most tliat 
 Which would increase his evil. He that depends 
 Vpcn your I'avours, swims with fins of lead. 
 And hews dow n oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust 
 \Mtli every minute you do change a mind : [ye ! 
 And call him noble, that was now your hate. 
 Him vile, that was your garland. What "s the matter. 
 That in these several places of the city 
 Y on cry against the noble senate, who, 
 I'nder the "0<.ls, keep you in awe, which else 
 Would feed on one another! — What's their seeking ! 
 
 -1I.-II. For corn at tlieirown rates ; whereof, they say, 
 The city is well stor'd. 
 
 .tl.»-.' Hang 'em ! They say 1 
 
 They'll sit by the fire, and presume to kiiow" 
 Wiiat 's done i' the I'apitol : who 's like to rise. 
 Who thrives, and who declines : side factions, and 
 
 give out 
 Conjectural marriages ; m.iking parties strong. 
 And feebling such "as stand not in their liking, 
 IhIow theii cobbled shoes. They say. there's grain 
 Would the nobility lay aside their ruth, [enough! 
 And let me use my swoixl. I 'd make a quarry 
 With thousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high 
 .Vs 1 could pick my lanee. 
 
 ^ Alt-'i. Nay. these are almost thoroughly persusided ; 
 For though abundantly they lack discretion. 
 Vet are they piissing cowaixllv. But, 1 beseech you. 
 A\liat says the other troop ! 
 
 Mar. They are dissolved : Ilang 'em ! 
 
 They said, they were an-huugty ; sigh'd forth pro- 
 verbs; — 
 That, hunger broke stone \%-alIs; that, dogs must eat ; 
 That, meat was made for mouths : that, the go»ls 
 
 'sent not 
 Corn for the rich men only : — With these shreils 
 riieyvente»ttheircomplainings;whichbeinganswer'd, 
 -Viid a (letition granted them, a strange one, 
 ^ I'o break the bean of generosity, 
 .\iid make l<old powerlook p^lle.^theythrew■theircaps 
 As they would hang them on the horns o' the moon. 
 Shouting their emulation. 
 
 Men. What is granted then) 1 
 
 iK 
 
626 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Mar. F,ve tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms. 
 Of their own choice: One's Junius Bru us 
 Sicimus Vclutus, and 1 know not- fedeath 
 The rabble should have first unroof d the city, 
 Fre so prevail'd with me ; it wiU in time 
 Wm uifun power, and throw forth greater themes 
 For insurrection's arguing. ^^.^.^ 
 
 Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments . 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess Where 's Cuius Marcius t , .. , 
 
 Mess, w ^^^^ ^ ^^,^^^ ,^ ^^^ ^^,j3^ , 
 
 Mess'. The news is, sir, the Voices are in arms. 
 Ml- I am glad on't; then we shall have means to 
 Ou. miisty superfluity :-See, our best elders, [vent 
 
 Enter Cominius, Titus Lautios, aud othe,- Senators ; 
 Junius Brutus, and Sicinihs Velutus. 
 lSen.Marcius,'tis true that youhavelatelytold us; 
 
 The Voices are in arms. 
 
 If I . They have a leader, 
 
 TullusAufidius, that will put you t» 't. 
 
 I sin in envying his nobility ; 
 
 And were I any thing but what I am, 
 
 I would wish me only he.^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^^^^^_ 
 
 Mar Were half to half the world by the ears, and 
 Upon my party, I M revolt, to make fe 
 
 Only my wars with him : he is a lion 
 
 ^\' Se,r ^'""'^ '° '""''■ Then worthy Marcius, 
 Attend upon Cominius to these wars. 
 
 Com. It is your former promise. _ 
 
 And'l 'am constant. Titus Lartiustliou _ 
 Shalt see me once more strike at luUus lace . 
 What, art thou stiff 1 stand'st oijt 1^ ^^.^^ ^^^^^.^^ . 
 
 I'll I'ean upon one crutch, and fight with the other 
 Ere stay behind this business. ^ ^^^^ ^^^^ , 
 
 iSen. Your company to the Capitol ; where,Iknow 
 Our^greatest friends attend us. ^^^^ ^^^ ^^ _ 
 
 Follow, Cominius ; we must follow you ; 
 Right worthy you priority. ^^^^^^^^^.^^, 
 
 is™. Hence! To your homes, be^gone. ^,^.^^_^^_ 
 
 ^ Nay, let them follow : 
 
 The Voices have much corn ; take these rats thither. 
 To gnaw their garners :_Worshipfu mutineers, 
 Your valour puts well forth : pray, iol ow. 
 
 [Eieunt Senators, Com. Mau. It. aiift 
 JIi-NEN. Citizens sicni amay. 
 Sic. Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius! 
 Bru He has no equal. LP'e, 
 
 Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the peo- 
 Br«. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes "! 
 c- Nay, but his taunts. 
 
 Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird the gods. 
 Sic Be-mock the modest moon. • 
 
 B,-,i. I'he present wars devour him : he is grown 
 Too proud to be so valiant. 
 
 e- Such a nature. 
 
 Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow 
 Which he treads on at noon : But 1 do wonder, 
 His insolence can brook to be commanded 
 
 Under Cominius. , ■ , u • 
 
 Bru. Fanie. at the which he aims.— 
 
 In whom already he is well grac d.-cannot 
 Better be held, nor more attain d, than by 
 A nluce below the first ; for what miscarries 
 Shall be the general's fault, though he perform 
 To the utmost of a man ; and giddy censure 
 
 Will then cry out of Marcius, 0, if he 
 
 Had barne the biMJiess ! 
 
 g.^ Besides, if things go well 
 
 Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall 
 
 Of Ids demerits rob Cominius. 
 
 T, , Come: 
 
 Half ail Cominius' honours are to Marcius, 
 
 ThouBh Marcius earn'd them not; and all his faults 
 
 To JIarcius shall be honours, though, indeed, 
 
 In aught he merit not. 
 
 g;^. Let s hence, and hear 
 
 How "the despatch is made ; and in what fashion. 
 
 More than in singularity, he goes 
 
 Upon his present action. rr . 
 
 *£,.u. Let s along. [E:ei(ii«. 
 
 SCENE II.— Corioli.— T/ie Senate-House. 
 Enter Thllcs Aufidius, and certain Senators. 
 1 Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius, 
 That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels, 
 And know how we proceed. 
 
 ^„r Is it not yours T 
 
 What ever hath been thought on in this state, 
 That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome 
 Had circumvention ! 'Tis not four days gone. 
 Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think, 
 I have the letter here ; yes, here it is : [Reads. 
 
 The>i have press'd a fnwer, but it is not knojjn 
 Whether for east, or west: The dearth is great; 
 The people mutiimts : and it is rumour'd, 
 Cominius, IMarcius your old enemy, 
 'Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,) 
 Avd Titus Lartius, u most valiant Roman, 
 rkse three lead on tlus preparation 
 Wluther 'tis bent : most likely, 'tis for you : 
 Consider of it. 
 
 1 .Sen. Our army's in the field: 
 
 We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready 
 To answer us. 
 
 Aiif. Nor did you think it folly. 
 
 To keep yout great pretences veil'd, till when 
 They needs must shew themselves ; which in the 
 
 liatchi\i£r, 
 It seem'd, appear'd*oRome. By the discovery. 
 We shall be sliorten'd in our aim ; which was, 
 To take in many to%vns, eve. almost, Rome 
 Should know we were afoot. 
 
 2 Se;i. Noble Aufidius, 
 
 Take your commission; hie you to your bauds : 
 Let us alone to guard Corioli : 
 If they set down before us, for the remove 
 Bring up your army ; but, I think, you'll find 
 They have not prepar'd for us. 
 
 ^1,*; O, doubt not that ; 
 
 I speak from certainties. Nay, more. 
 Some parcels of their powers are forth already, 
 And only hitherward. I leave your honours. 
 If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,_ 
 'Tis sworn between us, we shall never strike 
 Till one can do no more. 
 
 jll_ The gods assist you! 
 
 Auf. And keep yon- honours safe I 
 
 1 Sen Farewell. 
 
 2 Sen. Farewell. 
 All. Farewell. [Lieunt. 
 
ACT I.~SCENE IV. 
 
 627 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Rome. — An Apartment in Blarcius' House, 
 
 Enter Volumnia and Virgilia : They sit down 
 on two low stoaU, and &eir. 
 
 Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing; or express your- 
 self in a more comfortable sort: If my son were my 
 husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence 
 wherein he won honour, than in the cmbracements 
 of his bed, where he would shew most love, ^^'hen 
 yet he was but tender-bodied, and the only son of my 
 \vomb ; when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze 
 his way ; when, for a day of kings' entreaties, a mo- 
 tiier should not sell him an hour from her beholding ; 
 I, considering how honour would become such a per- 
 son ; that it was no better than picture-like to hang 
 bj' the wall, if renown made it not stir, — was pleased 
 to let him seek danger where he was like to find fame. 
 To a cruel war I sent him ; from whence he returned, 
 his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, — 
 I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a 
 man-child, than now in first seeing he had proved 
 himself a man. 
 
 Vir. But had he died in the business, madam ? how 
 then? 
 
 VnU Then his gt)od report should have been my 
 son ; I therein would have found issue. Hear me 
 profess sincerely : — Had I a dozen sons, — Each in 
 my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my 
 good Blarcius, — I had rather had eleven die nobly for 
 their country, than one voluptuously surfeit out of 
 action. 
 
 Enter a Gentlewoman. 
 
 Gent, Madam , the lady \'aleria is come to visit you . 
 
 Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. 
 
 Vol. Indeed, vou shall not. 
 Methinks, 1 hear hither your husband's drum; 
 See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair; 
 As children from a bear, the Voices shunning him : 
 Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus, — 
 Come on, you cowards, you were got in tear, 
 Thinrgh you were horn in Rome : His bloody brow 
 With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes ; 
 Like to a harvest-man, that's task'd to mow 
 Or all, or lose his liije. 
 
 Vir. His bloody brow ! O, Jupiter, no blood ! 
 
 Vol. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a man, 
 Than gilt his trophy : The breasts of Hecuba, 
 When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier 
 Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood 
 At Grecian swords' contending. — Tell Valeria. 
 We are fit to bid her welcome. \E.ut. Gent. 
 
 Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell .\ufidius ! 
 
 r "/. He'll beat Aufidius head below his knee, 
 .\nd tread upon his neck. 
 
 Re-enter Gentlewoman, with Valeria and her Usher. 
 
 Vat. My ladies both, good day to you. 
 
 Vol. Sweet madam, 
 
 Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship. 
 
 r<i/. How do you both ? you are manifest house- 
 keepers. What, are you sewing here 1 .\ fine spot in 
 good faith. — How does your little son 1 
 
 Vir. I thank your ladyship ; well, good madam. 
 
 Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a drum, 
 than look upon his school- master. 
 
 Vol. O' my word, the father's son: I'll swear, 'tis 
 a very pretty boy. O' my troth, 1 looked upon him 
 o' ^^'ednesday half an hour together : he has such a 
 confirmed countenance. I saw liim mn after a gilded 
 bntterHy ; and when he caught it, he let it go again; 
 
 and after it again ; and over and over he comes, and 
 up again ; catched it again : or whether his fall en- 
 raged him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth, and 
 tear it ; 0, I warrant, how he mammocked it! 
 
 Vol. One of his father's moods. 
 
 Vol. Indeed, la, 'tis a noble child. 
 
 Vir. A crack, madam. 
 
 Val. Come lay aside your stitchery ; I must have 
 you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon. 
 
 Vir. No, good madam ; I will not out of doors. 
 
 Vul. Not out of doors I 
 
 Vol. She shall, she shall. 
 
 Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience : I will not over 
 the threshold, till my lord returns from the wars. 
 
 Vol. Fye, you confine yourself most unreasonably; 
 Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in. 
 
 f'ir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her 
 with my prayers ; but I cannot go thither. 
 
 Vol. Why, I pray you? 
 
 Vir. 'Tis not to s,ave labour, nor that I want love. 
 
 ]'al. You would be another Penelope: yet, they 
 say, all the yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did 
 but fill Ithaca full of mollis. Come ; I would, your 
 cambric were as sensible as your finger, that you might 
 leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go svith us. 
 
 Vir. No, good madam, pardon me ; indeed, I will 
 not forth. 
 
 Vol.. In truth, la, go with me ; and I'll tell you 
 excellent news of your husband. 
 
 Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet. 
 
 Val. \''erily, I do not jest with you ; there came 
 news from him last night. 
 
 Vir. Indeed, madam? 
 
 Val. In earnest, it's true ; I heard a senator speak 
 it. Thus it is : — The Voices have an army forth ; 
 againstwhom Cominius the general is gone, with one 
 part of our Roman power : youi-lord, and Titus Lar- 
 tius, are set down before their city Corioli ; they no- 
 tliing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars. This 
 is true, on mine honour ; and so, I pray, go with us. 
 
 Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; 1 will obey 
 you in every thing hereafter. 
 
 Vol. Let her alone, lady ; as she is now, she will 
 but disease our better mirth. 
 
 Val. In troth, I think, she would : — Fare you well 
 
 then. — Come, good sweet lady Pry'thee, Virgilia, 
 
 turn thy solemnness outo'door, and go along with us. 
 
 Vir. No ; at a word, madam; indeed, I must not. 
 I wish you much mirth. 
 
 Val. Well, then farewell. [Ei«i«t. 
 
 SCENE IV.—Before Corioli. 
 
 Enter, with drums and colours, March's, Tims Lar- 
 Tius, Officers, and Soldiers. To them a IVlessenger. 
 
 Mar. Yonder comes news : — A wager, they have 
 
 Lart. My horse to yours, no. [met. 
 
 lHar. 'Tis done. 
 
 Eart. Agreed. 
 
 Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy ? 
 
 Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke as yet. 
 
 Eart. So, the good horse is mine. 
 
 Mar. I'll buy him of you. 
 
 Lart. -No, I'll nor sell, nor give him: lend you 
 him, I will, 
 For half a hundred years. — Summon the town. 
 
 Mar. How far off lie these armies? 
 
 Mess. Within this mile and a half. 
 
 Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum and theyours. 
 Now, Mars, I pr'ythee, make us quick in work ; 
 That we with smoking swords may march from hence. 
 To help our fie'ded friends ! — Come, blow thy blast. 
 2R 2 
 
628 
 
 CORIOLANUS 
 
 They sound a jnirJey. Enter, on the u-alls, some 
 Senators, and others* 
 TuUus Aufidius, is he -within your walls'! 
 
 1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he, 
 That's lesser than a little. Hark, our drums 
 
 [^Alanwis afar off'. 
 Are bringing forth our youth : We'll break our walls. 
 Rather than they shall pound us up : Our gates, 
 Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with rushes; 
 They'll open of themselves. Hark you, afar off; 
 
 [Other alarums. 
 There is Aufidius ; list, what work he makes 
 Amongst your cloven army. 
 
 Mar. O, they are at it ! 
 
 Lart. Theirnoisebeourinstruction. — Ladders, ho ! 
 
 The Voices enter, and pass over the stage. 
 
 Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city. 
 Now put your shields before your hearts, and figlit 
 With hearts more proof than shields. — Advance, 
 
 brave Titus : 
 They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, 
 Which makes rae sweat with wrath. — Come on, my 
 He that retires, I'll take him for a Voice, [fellows ; 
 And he shall feel mine edge. 
 
 Alarums, and exeunt Romans and Voices, Jighting. 
 The Romans are beaten back to their trenches. Re- 
 enter Maucius. 
 
 Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you, 
 You shames of Rome! — you herd of — Boils and 
 Plaster you o'er ; that you may be abhorred [plagues 
 Further than seen, and one infect another 
 Against the wind a mile ! You souls of geese. 
 That bear the shapes of men, how have you run 
 From slaves that apes would beat ! Pluto and hell ! 
 All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale 
 With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home. 
 Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe. 
 And make my wars on you ; look to't ; Come on ; 
 If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives, 
 As they us to our trenches followed. 
 Another alarum. The Voices and Romans re-enter, 
 
 and thejight is renened. The Voices retire into 
 
 Corioli, and ^Iarcivs follows them to the gates. 
 So, now the gates are ope : — Now prove good seconds : 
 *Tis for the followers fortune widens them, 
 Not for the fliers : mark me, and do the like. 
 
 [He enters the gates, and is shut in. 
 
 1 Sol. Fool-hardiness ; not I. 
 
 •2 Sol. Nor I. 
 
 3 Sol. See, they 
 
 Have shut him in. [Alarum continues. 
 
 All. To the pot, I warrant him. 
 
 Enter Titus Lartius. 
 Lart. What is become of Marcius 1 
 All. Slain, sir, doubtless. 
 
 1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels, 
 With them he enters ; who, upon the sudden, 
 Clapp'd-to their gates ; he is himself alone. 
 To answer all the city. 
 
 Lart. noble fellow ! 
 
 Who, sensible, outdares his senseless sword, 
 And, when it bows, stands up ! Thou art left, Mar- 
 A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, [cius 
 
 Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier 
 Even toCato's wish, not fierce and terrible 
 Only in stiokes ; but, with thy grim looks, and 
 The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds, 
 Thou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world 
 Were feverous, and did tremble. 
 
 2{e-ente- Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy. 
 
 1 Sol. Look, sir. 
 
 Lart. 'Tis Marcius: 
 
 Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike. 
 
 [Theyjight, and all enter the city. 
 
 SCENE v.— Within the Town. A Street. 
 Enter certain Romans with spoils. 
 
 1 Bom. This will I carry to Rome. 
 
 2 Rom. And I this. 
 
 3 Rom, A murrain on't ! I took this for silver. 
 
 [Alarum continues still afar off. 
 
 Enter Mahcius and Titus Lartius, with a trumpet. 
 
 MdJ-.See here these movers, that do prize their hours. 
 At a crack'd drachm I Cushions, leaden spoons. 
 Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would 
 Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, 
 Ere yet the fight be done, pack up: — Down with 
 
 them. — 
 And hark, what noise thegeneral makes ! — To him : — 
 There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius, 
 Piercing our Romans: Then, valiant Titus, take 
 Convenient numbers to make good the city ; 
 Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste 
 To help Cominius. 
 
 Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st ; 
 
 Thy exercise hath been too violent for 
 A second course of fight. 
 
 Mar. Sir, praise me not : 
 
 My work hath yet not warm'd me : Fare you well. 
 The blood I drop is rather physical 
 Than dangerous to me : To Aufidius thus 
 I will appear, and fight. 
 
 Lart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune, 
 
 Fall deep in love with thee ; and her great charms 
 Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gentleman. 
 Prosperity be thy page ! 
 
 Mar. Thy friend no less 
 
 Than those she placeth highest ! — So, farewell. 
 
 Lart- Thou worthiest Marcius ! — [£x. JNIakcius. 
 Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place ; 
 Call thither all the oflicers of the town, 
 VVhere they shall know our mind : Away. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE VI. — Near the Camp of Cominius. 
 
 Enter Cominius and Forces, retreating. 
 
 Com. Breathe you, my friends ; well fought : we 
 are come oft" 
 Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands. 
 Nor cowardly in retire : believe me, sirs. 
 We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck. 
 By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard 
 The charges of our friends : — The Roman gods. 
 Lead their successes as we wish our own ; [•ng> 
 That both our powers, with smiling fronts encounter- 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 May give you thankful sacrifice ! — Thy news 1 
 
 Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued, 
 And civen to Lartius and to Blarcius battle : 
 I saw our party to their trenches driven, 
 And then 1 came away. 
 
 Com. Though thou speal'st truth, 
 
 Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long i'st 
 
 Mess. Above an hour, my lord. _ [since ? 
 
 Com. 'Tis not a mile ; briefly we heard their drums : 
 How could'st thou in a mile confound an hour, 
 
ACT I.— SCENE IX. 
 
 629 
 
 And bring thy news so late 1 
 
 Mess. Spies of the A^olces 
 
 Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel. 
 Three or four miles about ; else had I, sir. 
 Half an hour since brought my report. 
 
 Enter JIarcius. 
 
 Com, Who's yonder, 
 
 That does appear as he were flayd ? O gods ! 
 He has the stamp of Marcius ; and I have 
 Before-time seen him thus. 
 
 Mar. Come I too late f 
 
 Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor, 
 More than I know the sound of Marcius tongue 
 From every meaner man s. 
 
 Mar. Come I too late 1 
 
 Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, 
 But mantled in your own. 
 
 Mar. O ! let me clip you 
 
 In arms as sound, as when I woo'd ; in heart 
 As merry, as when our nuptial day was done. 
 And tapers burn'd to bedward. 
 
 Com. Flower of warriors. 
 
 How i'st with Titus Lartins ? 
 
 Mar. As with a man busied about decrees : 
 Condemning some to death, and some to exile ; 
 Ransoming him; or pitying, threat'ning the other ; 
 Holding Corioli in the name of Rome, 
 Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash. 
 To let him slip at will. 
 
 Com. Where is that slave. 
 
 Which told me they had beat you to your trenches 1 
 Where is he 1 Call him hither. 
 
 Mar. Let him alone, 
 
 'He did inform the truth : But for our gentlemen, 
 The common file, (A plague ! — Tribunes for them !) 
 The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge 
 From rascals worse than tiiey. 
 
 Com. i5ut how prevail'd vou ? 
 
 Mar. Will the time serve to tell ! I do not think — 
 Where is the enemy ' Are you lords o' the field ? 
 If not, why cease you till you are so ] 
 
 Com. ^larcius. 
 
 We have at disadvantage fought, and did 
 Retire, to win our purpose. 
 
 Mar. How lies their battle"? Know you on which 
 They have plac'd their men of trust! [side 
 
 Com. As I guess, Marcius, 
 
 Their hands in the vaward are the Antiates, 
 Of their best trust ; o'er tliera Aufidius, 
 Their very heart of hope. 
 
 Mcr. I do beseech you, 
 
 By all the battles wherein we have fought, 
 By the blood we have shed together, by the vows 
 We have made to endure friends, that you directly 
 Set me against .'^ufidius. and his Antiates : 
 And that you not delay the present ; but. 
 Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts, 
 We prove this very hour. 
 
 Com. Though I could wish 
 
 You were conducted to a gentle bath. 
 And balms applied to you, yet dare I never 
 Deny your asking ; take your choice of those 
 That best can aid your action. 
 
 Mar. Those are they 
 
 That most are willing : — If any such be here, 
 CAs it were sin to doubt,) thjt Inve this painting 
 Wherein you see me smear'd ; if any fear 
 JjCsser hib person than an ill report ; 
 If any think, brave death outweighs bad life, 
 And that his country's dearer than himself ; 
 Let him, alone, or so many, so minded, 
 
 Wave thus, [waving his hand.] to express his dispo- 
 And follow Marcius. [sition, 
 
 [Tliey alisliout, and uare their swords ; take him 
 vp in their arms, and cast up their caps. 
 me, alone ! JIake you a sword of me 1 
 If these shows be not outward, which of you 
 But is four Voices ? None of you, but is 
 Able to bear against the great .'Vulidius 
 A shield as hard as his. A certain number. 
 Though thanks to all, must I select : the rest 
 Shall bear the business in some other fight. 
 As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march ; 
 And four shall quickly draw out my command. 
 Which men are best inclin'd. 
 
 Com. Jfarch on, my fellows: 
 
 Make good this ostentation, and you shall 
 Divide in all with us. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE Vll.~The Gut-^s./ Corioli. 
 
 Titus Lahtius, having set a guard upon Corioli, 
 going u-ith a drum and a trurtipet toward CoMixins 
 uutl Caius Marcius, enters with a Lieutenant, a 
 party of Soldiers, and a Scout. 
 
 Lart. So, let the ports be guarded ; keep your 
 duties. 
 As I have set them down. If I do send, despatch 
 Those centuries to our aid ; the rest will serve 
 For a short holding : If we lose the field. 
 We cannot keep the town. 
 
 Lieu. Fear not our care, sir. 
 
 Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us. — ■ 
 Our guider, come ; to the Roman camp conduct us. 
 
 [Eteunt. 
 
 SCENE VIII.— .4 Field of Battle between theUoman 
 and the Volscian Camps. 
 
 Akrum. Enter llAncius and Aufidius. 
 Mar. I'll fight with none but thee ; for 1 do hate 
 Worse than a promise-breaker, [thee 
 
 ,^".f- We hate alike; 
 
 Not Afric owns a serpent, I abhor 
 More than thy fame and envy : Fix thy foot. 
 
 Utir. Let the first budger die the other's slave, 
 And the gods doom him after ! 
 
 -■''!/■ If I fly, Marcius, 
 
 Halloo me like a hare. 
 
 Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus, 
 
 Alone I fought in your Corioli walls. 
 And made what work I pleas'd ; 'Tis not my blood, 
 \\ herein thou seest me luask'd : for thy revenue. 
 Wrench up thy power to the highest. 
 
 ■^"f- Wert thou the Hector, 
 
 That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny. 
 Thou should'st not scape me here. — 
 
 [Theyfght, and certain Voices come to ll.e 
 aid o/' Aufidius. 
 Officious, and not valiant — you have sham'd me 
 In your condemned seconds. 
 
 [Exemitfghting, driven in by Marciu.'. 
 
 SCENE IX.— The Roman Camp. 
 
 .Varum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter al 
 one side, Cominuis, and Romans ; at the other side, 
 Marcius, wi(/i/n\>arm in a scarf, and other Romans. 
 
 Com, If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work, 
 Thou'lt not believe thy deeds: but I'll report it. 
 Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles ; 
 Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug, 
 a' the end, admire ; where ladies shall be frighted, 
 
630 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 where the dull Tii- 
 
 And, gladly quaUM, hear more 
 
 That wuh"hri'astv plebeians, hate thine honours, 
 ShaU say. against their hearts.-lKa ihank t/>.god.. 
 Our Kome liath such a soldier .— 
 Vet cam'st thou to a morsel ot this leasi. 
 Having fully dined before. 
 
 EnterTrvvs LiRTius, with his, jowcr, from the pursuit 
 Lart. O general, 
 
 Here is the steed, we the caparison : 
 
 Hadst thou beheld mnthpr 
 
 Who has a charter to extol her blood. 
 When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done. 
 As you have done : that's what I can ; indue d 
 As you have been; that's fur my country : 
 He that has but effected his good will 
 HiUhoverta'en mine act. ^.^^ ^,^^„ „„^ ^e 
 TheTr^ve of your deserving : Rome must know 
 T lie value of her own : 'twere a concealment 
 Worle than a theft, no less than a traducement, 
 To hide your doings ; and to silence that. 
 Which, W the spi?e and top of praises vouch d 
 Would seem but modest: Therelore, I beseech you 
 an si»n of what you are, not to reward 
 Wha vou have done,) before our army hear me. 
 
 m1^ I have some wounds upon me, and they smart 
 To^hear themselves remember d. ^^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ 
 
 WelTmight they faster 'gainst ingratitude 
 And tent'themsclves with death, /f all he horse- 
 ( Whereof we have ta'en good and good store,)ol 
 The treasure, in this field ach.ev d and city. 
 We render you the tenth ; to be ta en forth, 
 Before the common distribution, at 
 
 Your only choice. , 
 
 ]Vj„r I thank you, general , 
 
 But cannot make my heart consent to ta,;e 
 A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it . 
 Ind stand llpon ly common part with those 
 That have beheld the doing. M.,,.pi,is ' 
 
 U Ions nourish. They all cry, M.ucins . 
 Marcius! cost up their caps avd lauces : 
 CoMiNii's and Lartius stand bare. 
 Mar. May these same instruments, which youpro- 
 
 Never sound more! When dnims and trumpets shdl 
 V the field prove flatteiers, let courts and cit es be 
 Wade all of'^false-fac'd soothing! When steel grows 
 Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made ^ 
 An overture for the wars ! No more, I say • 
 For that 1 have not wash'd my "f.\'''='' °''^''' „,, 
 Or foil'd some debile wretch.-wh.ch «.thou note. 
 Here's many else have done,-you shout me lorth 
 In acclamatious hvperbohcal ; 
 As if I loved my little should be dieted 
 In praises sauc'd with lies. 
 ^„^ Too modest are you ; 
 
 More cniel to your good report, than grateful 
 
 To us that give you truly : by your patience 
 
 If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd. we 1 put you 
 
 (Like one that means his proper harm,).n manacles 
 
 Thenreasonsafelywithyoi.-Thereforebeitknown 
 
 As to us to all the world, that Cams Marcius 
 Wears this war's garland : in token o the which 
 Mv noble steed, known to the camp. I give him, 
 W^th all his trim belonging '.and from this time, 
 For what he did before Corioli. call him 
 With aU the applause and clamour of the host, 
 Caius Wahcius Cobiolanus.— 
 
 Rear the addition nobly ever ! , , , , 
 
 Bear aa ^^j^^_..^,^/ Trumrets sound, and drum. 
 
 All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus ! 
 
 Cor I will eo wash ; 
 And when my face is fair, you shall perceive 
 Whether 1 bfush, or no : Howbeit, t ank^you :- 
 I mean to stride your steed ; and, at all timts, 
 To undercrest your good addition, 
 .Textile fairness ot my power. ^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^^. 
 
 Where, ere we do repose us we will write 
 To Kome of our success.-You, l.tus Lartius, 
 Must to Corioli back : send us to Rome 
 The best, with whom we may articulate, 
 For^their own good, and ours. ^ ^^^j,_ ^^ ,„^a. 
 Cor The gods begin to mock me. I that now 
 Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg 
 Of my lord general.^^^^ .^ ,^.^ ,„„s.^What is't. 
 ' Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli, 
 \t a poor man's house ; he us d me kindly : 
 He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ; 
 But then Aufidius was within my view. 
 And wrath o'erwlielm'd my pity : 1 request you 
 To give my poor host freedom. ^^^^ 
 
 Com. ,' , ,f° 
 
 Were he the butcher of my son, he should 
 Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, i itus. 
 r.art. Marcius, his name 1 
 ^°" By .Tupiter, forgot :— 
 
 I am weary ; yea, my memory is tir'd— 
 
 "cL"""" "'"''"'" Go we to our tent: 
 
 TheTl'ood upon your visage dries : 'tis "-^'^ 
 
 It should be look'd too : come. \_hxeuut. 
 
 SCENE X.—The Camp of the Voices. 
 A flourish. Cornets. Enter Ti.LLUsAi.nDHJS, iioodi,, 
 •' with Two or Three Soldiers. 
 
 Auf. The town is ta'en ! 
 
 1 ill. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition. 
 
 Anf. Condition 1— 
 I would, I were a Roman ; for I cannot, 
 Bein- a Voice, be that I am.-Condition ! 
 What eood condition can a treaty hnd 
 
 • 'he part that is at mercy 1 Five times Marcus. 
 
 have lou-ht with thee ; so often hast thou beat me ; 
 And tould'st do so, I think, should we encounter 
 As often as we eat.-By the elements 
 If e'er a"ain I meet him beard to beard. 
 He is mtne, or I am his : Mine emulation 
 Hath not that honour in't, it had : for where 
 1 Iboueht to crush him in an equal force, 
 
 •rlue sword to sword,) I'll potch at himsomeway ; 
 Or wrath, or eraft, may get him. ^^^.^ ^^^ ^^^j, 
 
 \of. Bolder, thoughnotsosubtle : My valour's poi- 
 Wit only suffering stain by him; for him [son d. 
 Sha fly out of itsllf : nor sleep, nor sanctuary. 
 Being naked, sick : nor fane, nor Capitol 
 The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice. 
 Embarquements all of fury, shall l./t up 
 Their rotten privilege, and custom gainst 
 Mv 1 ate to Marcius : where I find him, were it 
 At'hm^e. upon my broUer's guard even there 
 Auiinst the hospitable canon, would 1 
 ulhniv tierce hand in his heart. Go you to the city 
 Learn how 'tis held ; and what they are, that must 
 
 '^tr^"'"''""" Will not you got 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 631 
 
 Auf. I am attended at the cypress grove ' 
 I pray you, 
 
 ('Tis south the city mills) bring me word thither 
 Ilmv the world goes ; that to the pace of it 
 1 may sjiur on my journey. 
 
 1 Sol. I shall sir. [Eieunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE T.— Rome. A public Place. 
 Enter Menenius, Sicinius, and Buutus, 
 
 Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news 
 to-night. 
 
 Brti. Good, or bad t 
 
 Men. Not according to the prayer of tlie people, 
 for they love not ^larcius. 
 
 Sic. Nature leacbes beasts to know their friends. 
 
 Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love 1 
 
 Sic. The lanib. 
 
 Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry plebeians 
 would the noble Marcius. 
 
 Bru, He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear. 
 
 Men. He's a bear, indeed, that lives like a lamb. 
 You two are old men ; tell me one thing that I shall 
 ask you. 
 
 Both Trib. Well, sir. 
 
 Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you 
 two !iave not in abundance 1 
 
 Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with all. 
 
 Sic. Especially, in pride. 
 
 Bru. And topping all others in boasting. 
 
 Men. This is strange now : Do you two know how 
 you are censured here in the city, 1 mean of us o' the 
 right hand file 1 Do you 1 
 
 Both Trib. Why, how are we censured? 
 
 Men. Because you talk of pride now. — Will you 
 not be angry ■* 
 
 Both Trib. Well, well, sir, well. 
 
 Men. Why, 'tis no great matter: for a very little 
 thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of pa- 
 tience : give yeur disposition the reins, and be angry 
 at your pleasures ; at the least, if you take it as a 
 pleasure to you, in being so. You blame Marcius 
 for being proud "! 
 
 Bru, We do it not alone, sir. 
 
 Men, I know you can do very little alone ; for 
 your helps are many; or else your actions would 
 grow wondr{fus single : your abilities are too infant- 
 like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride : O, 
 that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of 
 your necks, and make but an interior survey of your 
 good selves ! O, that you could! 
 
 Bru. What then, sir 1 
 
 Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of 
 iinmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias, 
 fools,) as any in Rome. 
 
 Sic. Menenius. you are known well enough too. 
 
 Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician, and 
 one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of 
 allaying Tyber in't ; said to be sometliing imperfect, 
 in favouring the first complaint : hasty, and tinder- 
 like, upon too trivial motion : one that converses more 
 with the buttock of the night, than with the forehead 
 of the morning. What 1 think, I utter ; and spend 
 my malice in my breath : Meeting two such weals- 
 men as you are, (1 cannot call you Lycurguses) if 
 tlie drink you give me, touch my palate adversely, I 
 make a crooked face at it. 1 cannot say, your wor- 
 ships have delivered the matter well, when I find tne 
 ass in compound with the major part of your syllables; ; 
 
 and though I must be content to bear with those thit 
 say you are reverend grave men ; yet they He deadly, 
 that tell, you have good faces. If you see this in the 
 map of my microcosm, follows it, that I am known 
 well enough too ? What harm can your bisson con- 
 spectuities glean out of this character, if I be known 
 well enough too? 
 
 Bru. Come, sir, CDme. we know you well enough. 
 
 Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any 
 thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves* caps and 
 legs ; you wear out a good wholesome forenoon, in 
 hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fosset- 
 seller ; and then rejourn the controversy of three- 
 pence to a second day of audience. — When you are 
 hearing a matter between party and party, if you 
 chance to be pinched with thecholic, you make faces 
 like mummers; set up the bloody flag against all 
 patience ; and, in roaring for a chamber-pot. dismiss 
 the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your 
 hearing : all the peace you make in their cause, is, 
 calling both the parties, knaves : You are a pair of 
 strange ones. 
 
 Bni. Come, come, you are well understood to be 
 a perfecter giber for the table, than anecessary bencher 
 in the Capitol. 
 
 Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if 
 they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you 
 are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is 
 not worth the wagging of your beards ; and your 
 beards deserve not so honourable a grave, as to stuff 
 a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's 
 pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is 
 proud ; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your 
 predecessors, since Deucalion ; though, peradventure, 
 some of the best of them were hereditary hangmen. 
 Good e'en to your w'orships ; more of your conver- 
 sation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of 
 the beastly plebeians : I will be bold to take my 
 leave of you. 
 [Brutus and Sicinius retire to the back of the scene. 
 
 Enter Vou'mnia, VinciLiA, and Valeria, <Sj"c, 
 How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and tlie moon, 
 were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you follow 
 your eyes so fast ? 
 
 Vol. Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius ap- 
 proaches ; for the love of Juno, let's go. 
 
 Men. Ha ! Marcius coming home ? 
 
 Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius ; and with most pros- 
 perous approbation. 
 
 Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee :— 
 Hoo ! Marcius coming home ! 
 
 Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis true. 
 
 Vol. Look, here's a letter from him ; the state hath 
 another, Iiis wife another ; and, 1 think, there's one 
 at home for you. 
 
 Men. I will make my very house reel to-night: — 
 A letter for me "! 
 
 Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you ; I saw it. 
 
 Men. A letter for me? It gives me an estate of 
 seven years' health ; in which time I will make a lip 
 at the physician : the most sovereign prescription in 
 Galen is but empiricutick, and, to this preservative, 
 of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not 
 wounded 1 he was wont to come home wounded. 
 
 Vir. O, no, no. no. 
 
 Vol. 0. he is wounded, I thank the gods for't. 
 
 Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : — Brings 
 'a victory in his pocket? — The wounds become him. 
 
 Viil. On's brows, Menenius : he comes the third 
 time home with the oaken garland. 
 
 Men. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly 1 
 
(>^ 
 
 CORWLAM^":- 
 
 TvC Title Lmc«? wrili^— A<y fantte »^ g« »i wr 
 
 Jftrw A»i \* i> ix-^ \v iIm ^.^^. Tt" 
 At: ii W 
 
 ■- -v . 
 
 'm4 
 
 
 rwrs^ 
 
 
 ;dt«atn«! 
 
 
 
 '. .^:. tctMW litis Wa MfttfittMi. tw(«'' 
 
 r - - - .-*» Iks. 
 
 J-, .. N. A k'^ tw« »« x-sw<»: ♦wpr 5*sk was ■■ 
 
 C«HJ»5S. 
 
 Ik!i^ Am ink spin:. « s » ■■ 
 
 »,'. •»•*!*» W Aw s«mM »• IB' '•4> , 
 
 
 
 rs; 1 
 
 
 
 L«4^ sir, jwtr «i*di«5-. 
 
 v:A«r. pcbwiaViiU As «i»ls 
 
 ^ ' -.-'-Str, Bjp ; 
 
 Aass Bttft I C4ll A«« ! 
 
 
 \\ , -AkrsjAwiMeHii^ . 
 
 riHiJ '««)p'st t» »« aw ln;'.-.-.;-r. a:;, ;. _\ o««r, 
 S«ek «\*s A« wicknrs w C«n«K *>s*r. 
 Aad (K^Aers A«t Uck sok^ 
 
 -V*». Xow die j^\Js f ro» a iIk* ! 
 
 Or. Aa4 tiTSjwi V!«1 — Oav'svpf--; '-,^. rii-- 
 
 Tit Ik»»w*»«*k««>o»ni; — 0-" 
 
 Mia. A tl«»ilK4l AoKUld 1ll^^«k«S : I CDwM ««W. 
 
 -«■ ! — Yon »ne tirw 
 ^ . - . . .: : y«,b» A* f»iti cf «»«, 
 
 r' V TV« ««r aiii(« anv. 
 
 r. 
 
 ^ '.V traasfott kfe V w n oi i wi 
 
 Lkw A«j« Aat tw l>*A «««. 
 ftm. 1,^.. .v.-., ..„.■._. 
 
 Sk^ IV>«tea««.A«(«aaa»*«t« 
 
 I Itmnl kirn swvair, 
 lout pat 
 
 - , .w*Ai. 
 
 Bm. U«*s ViVs w\<»v! ; O. Ve «v>«)d «a>«s »«, niW 
 TVas v-«nv it. Ivai t>Y tW »«it o'tW $«auy l« tiiia. 
 Aa<i tiM <J^i(« «f ik* B«Mi». 
 >\-. 1 wisk a*- lietiw. 
 
 Str» )mb WU tlMtl patpRst, aa<i M pat it 
 i!«a. 
 
 Tis n^ost V:k#, W will- 
 ^).^ Ii stall b« (o kiis tt>r3, as our joot «ilts; 
 A sart destntctiAB. 
 
 JVa. $0 it civst ^1 ««tt 
 
 1V> kua. or ear aaAan(>«s. Kcv aa «a<l. 
 We aast sajj««t liw jxopk, ic what k*a«4 
 
ACT II.-SCENE II, 
 
 fi'Mi 
 
 II* till) liaili t»i;U tli«n J thai, Ui hit j«w«f , lu; would 
 
 Have iri»!<; ilii-fii fii'jii-t, sikoe'd then \iWijii;i%, atwl 
 
 I// . i M.s; (i'<l<Ji(j^ tijwu, 
 
 I„ t)-, 
 
 <j! 1, /ji/i ii./..;.-» for the world, 
 
 'J ; , lh":i/ war ; wlio h»yK ihei/ provaod 
 
 (J, if l/urdeijs, awl w« blowii 
 
 A,<-, '1 hi» M vnu tay, «u({gt«t«d 
 
 /I ■ ■ ■•: 
 
 hi. ill iwA wa/jt. 
 
 1/ ... , -■.. . ,, 
 
 A '.ri 6llt;<;pj will \xi hi» hri; 
 
 'I o , <Uy ttuhhl': ; and tlt«ir hUz« 
 
 fehail lioUu luin (or «v«r, 
 
 £n(«r a M«>«:ug«r, 
 
 ;<r«. What's tlj« n<al>«r 1 
 
 W«M. Vou af« e<?nt for to tli« (y^ji'iuA, "I it timajgitt, 
 That Warciii» sluill h'; cfc/itul ; i liave otxu 
 1'Im duuh ia<:u tliioiiK to t«i; hiiu, a/Ki ti>« hiiiul 
 I'o licar him ii|>«iJ( : i li« matrons Hung tiicir gh/v^i, 
 I.4idi«« iitii uiaid^ thi:ir tcarf.^ arul haridlM:rchi«fe, 
 fpoft hno a* h'; j/.*^-''!; ihfc uohlcft \t*:fiAfA, 
 Ah ti> Jovo'.* ^UVii": , and ih'; coioi/ions ijia/l« 
 A tliowcr, aii>l thiwil«r, witli Ui«ir <.^{», aiul kliptilh: 
 I never rtaw tii« lifc«, 
 
 ISru, J/et'i to the Capitol ; 
 
 Arul r/airy with us cark aivl eye* {or tit* time, 
 IJut h<:art» for the event, 
 
 iU. Have with you, [Kxmnt. 
 
 WJK.M-, II,— 7/i«M»u!. 77i« Capitol, 
 t^Hler Tvio Qifuf.n, lo lay cuiliiuni, 
 
 1 Off. Coroe, com«, they a/e aliooit litre: How 
 Biaay tiand for co(iMiUbi|>i> '! 
 
 a (;^'. I hrw:, tliey »ay : hut 'tis thought of every 
 one, Ci<riolaiiu» will carry it. 
 
 1 Ojf. That's a hrave kilow ; hut he's vengeance 
 pro'id, aruj loves not the coujinon people. 
 
 t I'll 'Kai'li, there have heeu luany great men 
 liiat have'dauered llie ^-ajuIk, who ne'er loved ti,ein ; 
 arul theie he joaoy that tliey have loved, they Ino// 
 Kol wherefore : wj that, if they love they know not 
 why, ihey hate upon no Ijettiji a ground ; Therefore, 
 for Curiolanuk neither Ut can: whether tliey love, or 
 tiate hiui, maaifeote the true knov/Ledj;e he lias in their 
 dispu«iiion ; and, out of his nuhle careletsoeu, let's 
 tiieui plainly k<;e't. 
 
 1 (/[/. if lie did not care whe'h'.r he had tlieir 
 love, or no, he waved indilferenlly 'twixt doing them 
 fu:ither good, our harm ; but lie seek* their hate with 
 ^reatirr di;votion tliau llury can ren'lirr it hirn ; and 
 leaves nothing unilone, lliat may fully discover him 
 tiieii opjHisiti;, Now, to seern lo aflijct the malice 
 and di pleasure of the people, ii as had as that wfai/;h 
 he dislikes, to HziUtr them for their love. 
 
 t Oil', lie hath deserved worthily of bis country ; 
 And his ai>cent is not by such easy degrees as those, 
 who, having been supple and court«/jij» to the jKjople, 
 bonnetted, without uny further de'jd Ut lurave them 
 at all into their estimation and report: bit he bath 
 ko planuid bis honours in their eyes, and his actions 
 in their hearts, tliat for their tongues to be silent, 
 and not confess *o much, were a kind of ingrateful 
 injury ; to rejiort otherwise, were a malii:e, that, giv- 
 ing itself tli« lie, would jduck reproof and rebuke 
 from eve'y ear iliat heard it. 
 
 1 Of/. No more of him : he is a worthy man : ilalus 
 way, tliey are coaiing. 
 
 4 Heatun. KiiW, tulth lieufri before tl'*m,C'Jiiiant 
 lite Cuniul, Sit»t,»iVi, Coei'/i,*»cs, f/«iri»y oi/wr 
 htiunUin, 8k'|»>v» auH Huiyivt. 'Pie (ieoalore 
 Hike llieir pUee* I ili* Tribui»et f<Ji* thtiri hIm !/y 
 lhemwjt,f,t, 
 hUn, liavi/ig detcrmio'd of the Volrae*, and 
 
 'lo Nend f'j/ 'Ii'-jt I-^.'*';-. jt rt^ut^a*, 
 
 As tlie i« after-uieetia^, 
 
 To ;"8«)(y •»(»« 
 
 pleas* jott. 
 
 In ■, ,/rt 
 
 A li' ... -.'d 
 
 I5y f^ajos .ilarcius '.ori^iiai/ijs ^ whom 
 
 We meet liere, ixitii to tJiank, and to reniembei 
 
 '>\'itJi lioooun like hiioself, 
 
 1 ■')•:». Speai, good CoininiU' 
 
 l>aive ix^bing out for ]—■'<■■ ■-■■■' ■■ ■■'■■■ .js think, 
 Katturr our state's di;f' 
 
 'I'hao we to stret/;h it ■. ■ ■ •: yt-ji)y\)i, 
 
 We do rwpiTAt your kiiKlest ears ; awJ, afVr, 
 Vour loving uu^tion toward the common Uidy, 
 To yii;ld v.liat paj>se« here, 
 
 'Si«, We are converited 
 
 I.'pon a plirtiting treaty ; and have heart* 
 Ii»;iiiiable v> honour and advance 
 'I be tli«me of our assembly, 
 
 Krii. Which tW; ratlier 
 
 We shall be We»*'d to do, K be Ktaiixu\>ict 
 A Viiukr value of the people, than 
 I le hath iv-.nUt priz'd tb«m at. 
 
 «<■«, 'Ihaf* off; thaf» off, 
 
 f wouW you ral'rier liad been silent: X'leateyov 
 To hear Cominius speak? 
 
 /i<u. Most willingly : 
 
 Hut yet my caution was more peitinent, 
 'I hao tlie rebuk« you give it. 
 
 i/*-". He loves your people ; 
 
 liut tie him not to be tlieir liedfellow, — 
 Wortliy fjominius, speak, — Nay, keep your place. 
 [CoHioi.AKi-'S rii^i, aful ontn to ^o auau» 
 
 1 Sim. Sit, Cori<ilaout; never cbarne to hear 
 What you have nobly done. 
 
 C'l/r. Voor honours' pardon ; 
 
 I had rather have rny woonds to heal again, 
 Than hear say liow 1 got them. 
 
 Jir"' Sir, I hope. 
 
 My words dis-bench'd you not. 
 
 CffT. \o, sir : yet oft. 
 
 When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. 
 You liooth'd not, therefore hurt not; But, your people, 
 1 love tliero a* tliey weij^b. 
 
 Men. Pray now, sit down, 
 
 C'r/r. I had rather have one scratch rny liead i' the 
 When the alarum were strur;k, than idly sit [sun 
 To hear wy nothings monster'd, [KfitC'jBir,i.i)ivt. 
 
 Men. Ma.sV;r* o' the people, 
 
 Your multiplying spawn how can he (latter, 
 f Tliat's thousand to one good one, y wlien you now see. 
 He bad ratlier venture all his limbs for honour, 
 Than one of bis ears to hear it? — I'rocecl, Coraioiu*. 
 
 Cum. I shall la/:k voice : tlie d<*ds of Coriolanu* 
 Should not he utter'd feebly. — It is held. 
 That valour is the chiefest virtue, and 
 Most dignifies the haver : if it lie, 
 The man I speak of cannot in the world 
 I5e singly counti.-rpois'd. At sixteen yean. 
 When Tarquin rnaile a heail for Home, he fought 
 IJevond the m-irk of others ; our then dictator. 
 Whom with all praise I point at, saw bim fight, 
 When with his Amazonian chin be drove 
 
634 
 
 CORIOLAXUS. 
 
 The bristled lips before bim : he bestrid 
 
 An o'er press'd Uoraan, and I'the consul s view 
 
 Slew th'-ee opposers : Tarquin's self be met, 
 
 And struck hiin on his knee ; in that day's feats, 
 
 When he might act the woman in tlie scene. 
 
 He prov'd best man i" the field, and lor his meed 
 
 ■\Vas brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age 
 
 Jlan-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea ; 
 
 And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since. 
 
 He lurcb'd all swords o' the garland. For this last 
 
 Before and in Corioli, let me say, 
 
 I cannot speak him home : He stopp d the fliers ; 
 
 And. by his rare example, made the coward 
 
 Turn terror into sport : as waves before 
 
 A vessel under sail, so men obey'd. 
 
 And fell below his stem : his sword (death s stamp) 
 
 Where it did mark, it took ; from face to foot 
 
 He was a thing of blood, whose every motion 
 
 Was timed with dying cries : alone he enter d 
 
 The mortal gate o' the city, which he painted 
 
 With shunless destiny, aidless came off, 
 
 And with a sudden re-enforcement struck 
 
 Corioli, like a planet: Now all's his: ^ 
 
 When bv and by the din of war 'gan pierce ^ 
 
 His ready sense : then straight his doubled spirit 
 
 Re-quicken'd what in flesh was f^fga'^, 
 
 And to the battle came he ; where he did 
 
 Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if 
 
 'Twere a perpetual spoil : and, till we call d 
 
 Both field and city ours, he never stood 
 
 'Jo ease his breast with panting. 
 
 Men Worthy man ! 
 
 1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honours 
 
 Which we devise bim. 
 
 C,„„_ Our spoils he kick d at ; 
 
 And lo'ok'd upon things precious, as they were 
 The common muck o' the world ; he covets less 
 Than misery itself would give ; rewards 
 His deeds with doing them ; and is content 
 To spend the time, to end it. 
 
 jV^,,. He's right noble; 
 
 Let him be call'd for. 
 
 1 ie„. Call for Conolanus. 
 
 Off. He doth appear. 
 
 3j-j,„_ Do not stand upon 't. — 
 
 We recommend to you, tribunes of the people. 
 Our purpose to them ;— and to our noble consul 
 Wish we all joy and honour. 
 
 Sen. To Coriolanus come all Joy and honour . 
 
 [Fhitiisli. Then exeunt Senators. 
 
 Bru. You see how he intends to use the people. 
 
 Sic. Jlav they perceive his intent! He will recjuire 
 As if he did contemn what he requested [them. 
 
 Should be in them to give. 
 
 j;,.^. Come, we 11 inform them 
 
 Of our'proceedings here ; on the market-place, 
 1 know they do attend us. [Exennl. 
 
 lie-enter Coriolanus. 
 
 Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd 
 
 To make thee consul. 
 
 (>„,., I do owe them still 
 
 Wv life, and services. 
 
 'Men. It then remains, 
 
 That you do speak to the peojile. 
 
 (,J I do beseech you. 
 
 Let me o'erleap that custom ; for I cannot 
 
 Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, 
 
 Formy wounds' sake,to give their suffrage : please you. 
 
 That i may pass this doing. 
 
 Sie. Sir, the people 
 
 Jlust have their voices ; neither will they bate 
 One jot of ceremony. 
 
 jjj„. Put them not to t : — 
 
 Pray you, go fit you to the custom ; and 
 Take to you, as your predecessors have, 
 ■^'our honour with your form. 
 
 Cor. I' '^ * P"' 
 
 That I shall blush in acting, and might well 
 Be taken from the people. 
 
 3„, Mark you that 1 
 
 Cor To brag unto them,— Thus 1 did. and thus ;— 
 Shew them the unaking scars which I should hide, 
 As if 1 had receiv'd them for the hire 
 Of their breath only : 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. The Forum. 
 Enter several Citizens. 
 1 Oil. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought 
 
 not to deny him. 
 
 '.; Ci(. We may, sir, if we will. _ 
 
 3 at. We have power in ourselves to do it, but 
 it is a power that we have no power to do : for il he 
 shew us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we are to 
 put our tongues into those wounds, and speak tor 
 them ; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also 
 tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude 
 is monstrous: and for the multitude to be ingratelul, 
 were to make a monster of the multitude ; of the 
 which, we being members, should bring ourselves to 
 be monstrous members. 
 
 1 Cit And to make us no better thought of, a little 
 help will serve : for once, when we stood up about 
 the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many- 
 headed multitude. . .v . 
 S Cit. We have been called so of many ; not thai 
 our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn, 
 some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured 
 and truly I think, if all our wits were to issue out of 
 one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south ; 
 and their consent of one direct way should be at once 
 to all points o' the compass. 
 
 2 Cit. Think you so ? Which way, doyou judge, my 
 
 wit would fly ^ 
 
 S Ci'. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as an- 
 other man's will, 'tis strongly wedged up in a block- 
 head ; but if il were at liberty, 'twould, sure, south- 
 ward. 
 
 Si Cit. Why that way 1 
 Cit. To lose itself in a fog ; where being three 
 parts melted away with rotten dews, the lourth would 
 return for conscience' sake, to help to get thee a wfe. 
 
 2 Cit. You are never without your tricks :— You 
 may, you may. . . 
 
 3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices ? 
 But that 's no matter, the greater part carries it. I 
 say, if lie would incline to the people, there was never 
 a worthier man. 
 
 Elite- Coriolanus and WtsENius. 
 Here he comes, and in the gown of humility ; mark 
 his behaviour. We are not to stay altogether, but 
 to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, 
 and by threes. He 's to make his requests by parti- 
 culars • wherein every one of us has a single honour, 
 in .riving him our own voices with our own tongues ■ 
 therefore follow me, and I '11 direct you now you shall 
 
 £0 by him. t-r> a 
 
 Ah. Content, content. [E><"'«'- 
 
 Men. O sir, you are not ripht : have you not known 
 
 The worthiest men have done 't 1 
 
 P^. What must 1 say! — 
 
 , I pray sir,-Plague upon 't ! I cannot bring 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 63-5 
 
 My tongue to such a pace : — Look, sir ; — my wounds ; 
 1 got them in my countiy's service, wheu 
 Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran 
 From the noise of our own drums. 
 
 ]^en. me, the gods ! 
 
 You must not speak of that: you must desire them 
 To think upon you. 
 
 Cor. Thmk upon me 1 Hang 'eiu • 
 
 I would tliey would forget me, like the virtues 
 Which our divines lose by them. 
 
 Men. You'll mar all ; 
 
 I '11 leave you : Pray you, speak to them, I pray you, 
 In wholesome manner. [Erti. 
 
 Enter two Citizens. 
 
 Cor, Bid them vpash their faces, 
 
 And keep their teeth clean. — So, here conies a brace, 
 You know the cause, sir, of my standing here. 
 
 1 Cit. We do, sir ; tell us what hath brouglit you 
 Cor. Mine own desert. [to "t. 
 
 2 Cit. Your own desert ? 
 
 Cor, Ay, not 
 
 Mine own desire. 
 
 1 Cit, How ! not your own desire 1 
 
 Cor, No, sir : 
 'Twas never my desire yet. 
 To trouble the poor with beggino;. 
 
 1 Cit. You must think, if we give you any thing, 
 We hope to gain by you. 
 
 Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o'tlie consulship 1 
 
 1 Cit, The price is, sir, to ask it kindly. 
 
 Cor. Kindly ! 
 
 Sir, I pray, let me ha't : I have wounds to shew you, 
 Which shall be yours in private. — Your good voice, 
 What say you l [sir ; 
 
 2 Cit. You shall have it, worthy sir. 
 Cor. A match, sir : — 
 
 There is in all two worthy voices begg'd : — 
 I have your alms ; adieu. 
 
 1 Cit. But this is something odd. 
 
 2 Cit, An 'twere to give again, — But 'tis no matter. 
 
 [Exeunt two Citizens. 
 
 Enter two other Citizens. 
 
 Cor. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune 
 of vour voices, that I maybe consul, I have here the 
 customary gown. 
 
 3 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your country, 
 and you have not deserved nobly. 
 
 Cor. Your enigma ] 
 
 3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her enemies, 
 you have been a rod to her friends j you have not, 
 indeed, loved the common people. 
 
 Cor. You should account me the more virtuous, 
 that I have not been common in my love. 1 will, 
 sir, flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a 
 dearer estimation of them ; 'tis a condition they ac- 
 count gentle: and since the wisdom of their choice is 
 lather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise 
 the insinuating nod, and be off to them most counter- 
 feitly : that is, sir, 1 will counterfeit the bew itchment 
 of some popular man. and give it bountifully to the 
 desirers. Therefore, beseech you, 1 may be consul 
 
 4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend ; and there 
 fore cive you our voices heartily. 
 
 5 Cit. You have received many wounds for your 
 country. 
 
 Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with shewing 
 them. 1 will make much of your voices, and so 
 trouble you no further. 
 
 Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily! 
 
 [^Exeunt* 
 
 Cor. Most sweet voices ! — 
 Better it is to die, better to starve. 
 Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. 
 Why in this wolfish gown should I stand here, 
 To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear, 
 Their needless vouches? Custom calls me lo't: — 
 What custom wills, in all things shou}d we do't, 
 The dust on antique time would lie unswepi. 
 And mouQtaiuous error be too highly heap"d 
 For truth to over-peer, — Rather than fool it so, 
 Let the high office and the honour go 
 To one that would do thus. — I am half through j 
 The one part sufler'd, the other will 1 do. 
 
 Enter three other Citizens. 
 
 Here come more voices, — 
 
 Your voices : for your voices I have fought ; 
 
 Watch'd for your voices ; for your voices, bear 
 
 Of wounds two dozen odd, battles tlirice six 
 
 I have seen and heard of; for your voices, have 
 
 Done many things, some less, some more your voices 
 
 Indeed, I would be consul. 
 
 5 Cit. He has done nobly, and cannot go without 
 any honest man's voice. 
 
 6 Cit. Therefore let him be consul: The gods give 
 him joy, and make hira good friend to the people ! 
 
 All. Amen, amen. 
 
 God save thee, noble consul ! [Exeunt Citizens. 
 
 Cor. Worthy voices ! 
 
 Re-enter Menenius, with Brutus and Sicinius. 
 
 Me?!. You have stood your limitation ; and the 
 tribunes 
 Kndue you with the people's voice : Remains, 
 That, in the official marks invested, you 
 Anon do meet the senate. 
 
 Cor, Is this done? 
 
 .Sic. The custom of request you have discharg'd : 
 The people do admit you ; and are summon'd 
 To meet anon, upon your approbation. 
 
 Cor. Where? at the senate house ? 
 
 Sic. There, Coriolanus 
 
 Cor. May I then change these garments 1 
 
 Sic. You may, sir. 
 
 Cor. That I Ml straight do ; and, knowing myself 
 Repair to the senate-house. [again, 
 
 Men, I'll keep you company. — Will you along? 
 
 Bru. We stay here for the people. 
 
 'Sic. Fare you well. [Exeiutt Coriol. o/irf Menen. 
 He has it now ; and by his looks, methinKS, 
 'Tis warm at his heart. 
 
 Bvu. With a proud heart he wore 
 
 His humble weeds : Will you dismiss the people? 
 
 Re-enter Citizens. 
 Sic. How now, my masters? have you chose this 
 
 1 Cit. He has our voices, sir. [man? 
 Bru. We pray the gods, he may deserve your loves. 
 
 2 Cit. Amen, sir : To my poor unworthy notice. 
 He mock'd us, when he begg'd our voices. 
 
 3 Cit, Certainly. 
 He flouted us down-right. [us, 
 
 1 Cit. No, 'lis his kind of speech, he did not mock 
 y Cit. Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says, 
 Hci us'd us scornfully : he should have shew'd us 
 His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for his country. 
 Sic. Why, so he did. I am sure. 
 Cit. No ; no man saw 'era. [Several speak, 
 
 3 Cit. He said, he had wounds, which he could 
 shew in private ; 
 And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn 
 1 vould be consul, says he •■ aged custom. 
 But by your voices, will not so permit me ,~ 
 
636 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Your voices therefore: When we granted that, 
 Here was, — / thank tioufor your voices, — thank you, — 
 Your Jiiost sweet voices: — )tow you, have left your I'nices, 
 1 have no further with yon ; — Was not this mockery ? 
 
 Sic. Why, either, were you ignorant to see't? 
 Or, seeing it, ot' such childish friendliness 
 To yield your voices ? 
 
 Biu. Could you not have told him, 
 
 As you were lesson'd, — W hen he had no power, 
 But was a petty servant to the state, 
 He was your enemy ; ever spake against 
 Your liberties, and the charters that you bear 
 I' the body of tlie weal : and now, arriving 
 A place of potency, and sway o' the state. 
 If he should still malignantly remain 
 Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might 
 Be curses to yourselves? You should have said, 
 I'hat, as his worthy deeds did claim no less 
 Than what he stood for ; so his gracious nature 
 Would think upon you for your voices, and 
 Translate his malice towards you into love, 
 Standing your friendly lord. 
 
 Sic, Thus to have said, 
 
 As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit, 
 And try'd his inclination ; from him pluck'd 
 Either his gracious promise, which you might, 
 As cause had call'd you up, have held him to ; 
 Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature. 
 Which easily endures not article 
 Tying him to aught ; so. putting him to rage. 
 You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler. 
 And pass'd him unelected. 
 
 Bru. Did you perceive, 
 
 He did solicit you in free contempt. 
 When he did need your loves ; and do you think, 
 That his contempt shall not be bruising to you, 
 When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies 
 No heart among you ? Or liad you tongues, to cry 
 Against the rectorship of judgment 1 
 
 Sic. Have you, 
 
 Ere now, deny'd the asker? and, now again, 
 On him, that did not ask, but mock, bestow 
 Your su'd-for tongues ! 
 
 S Cit. He's not confirm'd, we may deny him yet. 
 
 2 Cit. And will deny him : 
 I'll have five hundred voices of that sound. 
 
 1 Cit. I twice five hundred, and their friends to 
 piece 'em. [friends, — 
 
 Bni. Get you hence instantly ; and tell those 
 They have chose a consul, that will from them take 
 Their liberties ; make them of no more voice 
 Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking, 
 As therefore kept to do so. 
 
 Sic. Let them assemble ; 
 
 And, on a safer judgment, all revoke 
 Your ignorant election : Enforce his pride, 
 And his old hate unto you : besides, forget not 
 With what contempt he wore the humble weed : 
 How in his suit he scorn'd you : but your loves, 
 Thinking upon his services, took from you 
 The apprehension of his present portance, 
 Which gibingly ungravely, he did fashion 
 After the inveterate hate he bears you. 
 
 Bra. La} 
 
 A fault on us, your tribunes ; that we labour'd 
 (No impediment between) but that you must 
 Cast your election on him. 
 
 Sic* Say, you chose him 
 
 More after our commandment, than as guided 
 By your own true afiections •, and that, your minds 
 Pre-occupied with what you rather must do 
 Than what you should, made you against the grain 
 
 To voice him consul : Lay the fault on us. 
 
 Bru. Ay, spare us not. Say, we read lectures to 
 How youugly he began to serve his country, [you. 
 How long continued : and what stock he springs of, 
 The noble house o'the Marcians ; from whence came 
 That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son, 
 Who, after great Hostilius, here was king : 
 Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, 
 That our best water brought by conduits hither ; 
 And Censorinus. darling of the people. 
 And nobly nam'd so, being censor twice, 
 Was his great ancestor. 
 
 Sic, One thus descended. 
 
 That hath beside well in his person wrought 
 I'o be set high in place, we did commend 
 To your remembrances : but you have found, 
 Scaling his present bearing with his past. 
 That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke 
 Your sudden approbation. 
 
 Biu, Say, you ne'er had done 't, 
 
 (Harp on that still,) but by our putting on : 
 And presently, when you have drawn your number, 
 Repair to the Capitol. 
 
 Cit. We will so : almost all [Several speaJc* 
 
 Repent in their election. [^Exeunt Citizens, 
 
 Bru. Let them go on j 
 
 This mutiny were better put in hazard, 
 Tiian stay, past doubt, for greater : 
 If, as his nature is, he fall in rage 
 \V'ith their refusal, both observe and answer 
 The vantage of his anger. 
 
 Sic. To the Capitol : 
 
 Come ; we'll be there before the stream o'the people ; 
 And this shall seem, as partly 'tis their own. 
 Which we have goaded onward. \_Eieunt, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE l.—The same. A Street. 
 
 Cornets. Eijfer Coriolanus, Menenius, C<JMiNirs, 
 Titus Lartius, Senators, and Patricians. 
 
 for. Tullus Avifidius then had made new head? 
 
 Lart. He had, my lord ; and that it was, which 
 Our swifter composition. [caus'd 
 
 Cor. So then the Voices stand but as at first ; 
 Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road 
 Upon us again. 
 
 Com. They are worn, lord consul, so, 
 
 That we shall hardly in our ages see 
 Their banners wave again. 
 
 Cor. Saw you Aufidius 7 
 
 Lart. On safe-guard he came to me ; and did curse 
 Against the Voices, for they had so vilely 
 Yielded the town : he is retir'd to Antium, 
 
 Cor. Spoke he of me t 
 
 Lart. He did, my lord. 
 
 Cor. How? what? 
 
 Lart. How often he had met you, sword to sword : 
 That, of all things upon the earth, he hated 
 Your person most: that he would pawn his fortunes 
 To hopeless restitution, so he might 
 Be call'd your vanquisher. 
 
 Cor. At Antium lives he ? 
 
 Lart. At Antium. 
 
 Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there, 
 To oppose his hatred fully. — Welcome honie- 
 
 [To Lahtivs 
 
 Enter SicrNius and Bnuxirs. 
 
 Behold ! these are the tribunes of the people. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 637 
 
 The tongues o*the common mouth. I dodespise them ; 
 For they do prank them m authority, 
 Against all noble sufierance. 
 
 Sic. -Pass no further. 
 
 Cor. Ha ! what is that t 
 
 Bru. It will be dangerous to 
 
 Go on : no further. 
 
 Cor. What makes .this change ? 
 
 Men. jfhe matter? 
 
 Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles, and the com- 
 
 Bra. Cominius, no. [mens 1 
 
 Cor. Have 1 had chiklrer/s voices 1 [place. 
 
 1 Sen. Tribunes, give way ; he shall to the market- 
 
 Bru. The people are incens'd against him. 
 
 Sic. Stop. 
 
 Or all will fall in broil. 
 
 Cor, Are these vour herd 1 — 
 
 Must these have voices, that can yield them now, 
 And straight disclaim their tongues I — What are your 
 
 offices ? 
 You being tlieir mouths, why rule you not their teeth ? 
 Have you not set them on 1 
 
 Men. Be calm, be calm. 
 
 Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot, 
 To curb the will of the nobility : 
 Suffer it, and live with such as cannot rule, 
 Nor ever will be rul'd. 
 
 Bru. Call 't not a plot : 
 
 The people cry, you mock'd them ; and, of late, 
 When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd ; 
 Scandal'd the suppliants for the people ; caii'd them 
 Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. 
 
 Cor. Why, this was known before. 
 
 Bru. Not to them all. 
 
 Cor, Have you inform'd them since ? 
 
 Bru, How ! I inform them ! 
 
 Cor. You are like to do such business. 
 
 Bru. Not unlike, 
 
 Each way, to better yours. 
 
 Cor. Why then should 1 be consul? By yon clouds, 
 Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me 
 Your fellow tribune. 
 
 Sic. Y'ou shew too much of that, 
 
 For which the people stir. If you will pass 
 To where you are bound, yon must inquire your way, 
 Which you are out of. with a gentler spirit ; 
 Or never be so noble as a consul. 
 Nor yoke with him for tribune. 
 
 Men. Let's be calm. 
 
 Com. The people are abus'd: — Set on. — Thispalt'r- 
 Becomes not Rome ; nor has Coriolanus [ing 
 
 Deserv'd this so dishonour'd rub, laid falsely 
 I' the plain way of his merit. 
 
 Cor. Tell me of corn ! 
 
 This was my speech, and I will speak't again ; — 
 
 Men. Not now, not now. 
 
 1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now. 
 
 Cm-. Now, as I live, I will. — My nobler friends, 
 I crave their pardons: — 
 
 For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them 
 Regard me as I do not flatter, and 
 Therein behold themselves : I say again, 
 In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate 
 The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, 
 Which we ourselves have ploughed for, sow'd and 
 
 scatter 'd, 
 By mingling them with us, the honour 'd number j 
 Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that 
 Which they have given to beggars. 
 
 Men. Well, no more. 
 
 1 Sen. No more words, we beseech you. 
 
 Cor How I no more 1 
 
 As for my country I have shed my blood, 
 Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs 
 Coin words til! their decay, against those meazels, 
 Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought 
 The very way to catch them. 
 
 Bru. You speak o' the people. 
 
 As if you were a god to punish, not 
 A man of their infirmity. 
 
 Sic. 'Twere well. 
 
 We let the people know't. 
 
 Men. What, what? his cholert 
 
 Cor. Choler! 
 Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, 
 By Jove, 'twould be my mind. 
 
 Sic. It is a mind. 
 
 That shall remain a poison where it is. 
 Not poison any further. 
 
 Cor. Shall remain ! — ■ 
 
 Hear you this Triton of the minnows I mark you 
 His absolute shall ? 
 
 Com. 'Twas from the canon. 
 
 Cor. Shall! 
 
 good, but most unwise patricians, why, 
 
 You grave, but reckless senators, have you thus 
 
 Given Hydra here to choose an officer, 
 
 That with his peremptory shall, being but 
 
 The horn and noise o' the monsters, wants not spirit 
 
 To say, he'll turn your current in a ditch, 
 
 And make your channel his? If he have power. 
 
 Then vail your ignorance : if none, awake 
 
 Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned, 
 
 Be not as common fools ; if you are not, 
 
 Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians. 
 
 If they be senators : and they are no less, 
 
 When both your voices blended, the greatest taste 
 
 Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate ; 
 
 And such a one as he, who puts his shall, 
 
 His popular s/ai//, against a graver bench 
 
 Than ever frown'd in Greece ! By Jove himself, 
 
 It makes the consuls base : and my soul akes. 
 
 To know, when two authorities are up, 
 
 Neither supreme, how soon confusion 
 
 May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take 
 
 The one by the other. 
 
 Cum. Well — on to the market-place. 
 
 Cor. Whoever gave that counsel to give forth 
 The corn o' the store- house gratis, as 'twas us'd 
 Sometime in Greece, 
 
 Men. Well, well, no more of that. 
 
 Cor. (Though there the people had more absolute 
 
 1 say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed [power,) 
 The ruin of the state. 
 
 Bru. Why, shall the people give 
 
 One, that speaks thus, their voice? 
 
 Cor. I'll give my reasons. 
 
 More worthier than their voices. They know, the corn 
 Was not our recompense; resting well assur'd 
 They ne'er did service for't : Being press'd to the war. 
 Even when the navel of the state was touch'd 
 They would not thread the gates: this kind of service 
 Did not deserve corn gratis : being i'the war. 
 Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they shew'd 
 Most valour, spoke not for them ; The accusation 
 Which they have often made against the senate, 
 All cause unborn, could never be the native 
 Of our so frank donation. Well, what then ? 
 How shall this bosom multiplied digest 
 The senate's courtesy? Let deeds express 
 What's like to be their woids: — M'edid request it ; 
 We are the greater poll, and in true fear 
 They gave ws our demands: — Thus we debase 
 The nature of our seats, and make the rabble 
 
638 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Call our cares, fears : which will in time break ope 
 The locks o' the senate, and bring in the crows 
 To peck the eagles — 
 
 McH. Come, enough. 
 
 Bnt. Enough, with over-measure. 
 
 Cur. No, take more : 
 
 What may be sworn by, both divine and human. 
 Seal what T end withal ! — This double worship, — 
 Where one part does disdain with cause, the other 
 Insult without all reason ; where gentry, title, wisdom 
 Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no 
 Of general ignorance, — it must omit 
 Real necessities, and give way the while 
 To unstable slightnes.s : purpose so barr'd, it follows, 
 Nothingisdone topurpose; Therefore, beseech you, — 
 You that will be less fearful than discreet ; 
 That love the fundamental part of state. 
 More than you doubt the change oft ; that prefer 
 A noble life before a long, and wish 
 To jump a body with a dangerous physic 
 That's sure of death without it, — at once pluck out 
 The multitudinous tongue, let them not lick 
 The sweet which is their poison : your dishonour 
 Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state 
 Of that integrity which should become it; 
 Not having the power to do the good it would, 
 For the ill which doth control it. 
 
 Bru. He has said enough. 
 
 Sic. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer 
 As traitors do. 
 
 Cor. Thou wretch ! despite o'el^vhelm thee ! — 
 What should the people do with these bald tribunes? 
 On whom depending, their obedience fails 
 To the greater bench: In a rebellion, 
 When what's not meet, but what must be, was law, 
 Then were they chosen ; in a better hour. 
 Let what is meet, he said, it must be meet. 
 And throw their power i' the dust. 
 
 Biu. JManifest treason. 
 
 Sic. This a consul ? no. 
 
 Bru, The .lEdiles, ho! — Let him be apprehended. 
 
 Sic. Go, call the people ; [ExitBRUTUS.J in whose 
 name, myself 
 Attach thee, as a traitorous innovator, 
 A foe to the public weal : Obey, I charge thee. 
 And follow to thine answer. 
 
 Cor. Hence, old goat ! 
 
 Sen. If Pat. We'll surety him. 
 
 Com. Aged sir, hands off. 
 
 Cor. Hence rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones 
 Out of thy garments. 
 
 Sic. Help, ye citizens. 
 
 Rc-enier Brutus, ivith- tlic .Ediles, and a rabble 
 of Citizens. 
 
 Hen. One both sides more respect. 
 
 Sic. Here's he, that would 
 
 Take from you all your power. 
 
 Bru, Seize him, i?5diles. 
 
 Cit. Down with him, down with him ! 
 
 [Several speak. 
 
 2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons ! 
 
 [Theu all hustle about ConioLANUS. 
 Tribunes, patricians, citizens ! — what ho I — 
 Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens ! 
 
 Cit. Peace, peace, peace ; stay, hold, peace ! 
 
 Men. What is about to be 1 — I am out of breath ; 
 Confusion's near : 1 cannot speak : — Vou, tribunes 
 To the people, — Coriolanus, patience : — 
 Speak, good Sicinius. 
 
 Sic. Hear me, people; — Peace. [speak. 
 
 Cit. Let's hear our tribune : — Peace. Speak, speak. 
 
 Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties; 
 Marcius would have all from you ; IMarcius, 
 M'hom late you have nam'd for consul. 
 
 Men. Fye, fye, fye ! 
 
 This is the way to kindle, not to quench. 
 
 1 Sen. l"o unbuild the city, and to lay all flat. 
 Sic. What is the city, but the people ! 
 
 Cit. True, 
 
 The people are the city. 
 
 Bru. By the consent of all, we were established 
 The people's magistrates. 
 
 Cit. You so remain. 
 
 Men. And so are like to do. 
 
 Cor. This is the way to lay the city flat ; 
 To bring the roof to the foundation ; 
 And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges. 
 In heaps and piles of ruin. 
 
 Sic. This deserves death. 
 
 Bru. Or let us stand to our authority. 
 Or let us lose it : — We do here pronounce, 
 I'pon the part o'the people, in whose power 
 We were elected their's, RIarcius is worthy 
 Of present death. 
 
 Sic. Therefore, lay hold of him ; 
 
 Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence 
 Into destruction cast him. 
 
 Bru. ^diles, seize him. 
 
 Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield. 
 
 Men. Hear me one n ord. 
 
 Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. 
 
 vSd;. Peace, peace. 
 
 Jlfe«. Be that you seem, truly, your country's friend. 
 And temperately proceed to what you would 
 Thus violently redress. 
 
 Bru. Sir, those cold ways, 
 
 That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
 Where the disease is violent : — Lay hanas upon him. 
 And bear him to the rock. 
 
 Cor. No ; I'll die here. [Drawing his sword. 
 
 There's some among you have beheld me fighting ; 
 Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen mc. 
 
 Men. Down with that sword ; — Tribunes, withdraw 
 
 Bru. Lay hands upon him. [a while. 
 
 Men. Help, help Marcius ! help. 
 
 You that be noble : help him, young and old ! 
 
 Cit. Down uith him, down with him! 
 
 [In this mutiny, the Tribunes, the iEdiles, 
 and the people, are all heat in. 
 
 Men. Go, get you to your house ; be gone, away. 
 All will be naught else. 
 
 2 Sen. Get you gone. 
 
 Cor. Stand fast ; 
 
 We have as many friends as enemies. 
 
 Men. Shall it be put to that 1 
 
 1 Sen. The gods forbid ! 
 
 I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house ; 
 Leave us to cure this cause. 
 
 Men. For 'tis a sore upon us. 
 
 You cannot tent yourself: Begone, 'beseech you. 
 
 Com. Come, sir, along with us. 
 
 Cor. I would they were barbarians, (as they are. 
 Though in Rome litter'd,)not Romans, (as they are 
 Though calv'd i' the porch o'the Capitol,) — [not. 
 
 Men. Be gone ; 
 
 Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ; 
 One time will owe another. 
 
 Cor. On fair ground, 
 
 I could beat forty of them. 
 
 Men. I could myself [bunes. 
 
 Take up a brace of tlie best of them ; yea, the two tri- 
 
 Cnm. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetic ; 
 And manhood is called foolery, when it stands 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 639 
 
 Against a falling fabric. — Will you hence. 
 Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend 
 Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear 
 What tliey are used to bear. 
 
 Men. Pray you. be gone : 
 
 I'll try whether my old wit be in request 
 With those that have but little; this must be patch'd 
 With cloth of any colour. 
 
 Cum. Nay, come away. 
 
 [F.teuvt CoRiot.ANUs, CoMiMius, and others. 
 
 1 Pat. This man has niarr'd his fortune. 
 
 Men. Mis nature is too noble for the world : 
 He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, [mouth: 
 Or .Tove for his power to thunder. His heart's his 
 '\Vhat his breast forges, that his tongue must vent ; 
 And, being angry, does forget that ever 
 He heard the name of deatli. [^4 noise tL-ithnt, 
 
 Here's goodly work ! 
 
 a Pat. I would they were a-bed ! 
 
 Men. I would they were in Tyber! — What, the 
 Could he not speak them fair 1 [vengeance, 
 
 lie-enter Bnuxus and SiciNius, with the rabble. 
 
 Sic. Where is this viper. 
 
 That would depopulate the city, and 
 Be every man himself? 
 
 Men. You worthy tribunes, 
 
 Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock 
 With rigorous hands ; he hath resisted law, 
 And therefore law shall scorn him further trial 
 Than tlie severity of the public power. 
 Which he so sets at nought. 
 
 1 Cit. Ho shall well know, 
 
 The noble tribunes are the people's mouths, 
 And we their hands. 
 
 Cit. He shall, sure on 't. [Several speak together. 
 
 Men. Sir, — 
 
 Sic. Peace. 
 
 Men. Do not cry, havoc, where you should but hunt 
 With modest warrant. 
 
 Sic. Sir, how comes it, that you 
 
 Have holp to make this rescue ? 
 
 JUcii. Hear me speak : — 
 
 As 1 do know the consul's worthiness, 
 So can I name his faults : 
 
 Sic. Consul ! — what consul 1 
 
 Men. The consul Coriolanus. 
 
 Biu. . He a consul ! 
 
 Cit, No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Men. If, by the tribunes' leave, and yours, good 
 I may be heard, 1 *d crave a word or two ; [people, 
 The which shall turn you to no further harm. 
 Than so much loss of time. 
 
 .Sic. Speak briefly then ; 
 
 For we are peremptory, to despatch 
 Tliis viperous traitor : to eject him hence. 
 Were but one danger ; and, to keep him here, 
 Our certain death ; therefore it is decreed. 
 He dies to-night. 
 
 Men. Now the good gods forbid. 
 
 That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude 
 Towards her deserved children is enroU'd 
 In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam 
 Should now eat up her own ! 
 
 Sic. He 's a disease, that must be cut away. 
 
 Men. 0, he 's a limb, that has but a disease ; 
 Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy. 
 What has he done to Rome, that 's worthy death 1 
 Killing our enemies! The blood he hath lost, 
 (Which, 1 dare vouch, is more than that he hath. 
 By many an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country: 
 And, what is left, to lose it by his country, 
 
 Were to us all, that do 't, and suffer it, 
 A brand to the end o' the world. 
 
 Sic. This is clean kam. 
 
 7j/ii. Blerely awry : When he did love his country, 
 It honour'd him. 
 
 Men. The service of the foot 
 
 Being once gangren'd, is not then respected 
 For what before it was 1 
 
 Brv. We '.11 hear no more : — 
 
 Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence ; 
 Lest his infection, being of catching nature, 
 Spread further. 
 
 Men. One word more, one word. 
 
 This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find 
 'I'lie harm of unscann'd swiftness, will, too late, 
 Tie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by process ; 
 Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out, 
 And sack great Rome with Romans. 
 
 Bru. If it were so. — 
 
 Sic. What do ye talk? 
 Have we not had a taste of his obedience ? 
 Our .-Ediles smote? ourselves resisted? — Come; — 
 
 Men. Consider this; — He has been bred i' the wars 
 Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd 
 In boulted language ; meal and bran together 
 He throws witliout distinction. Give me leave, 
 I 'II go to him, and undertake to bring him 
 Where he shall answer, by a lawful form, 
 (In peace) to his utmost peril. 
 
 1 Sen. Noble tribunes. 
 
 It is the humane way : the other course 
 ^^'ill prove too bloody; and the end of it 
 Unknown to the beginning. 
 
 Sic. Noble Blenenius, 
 
 Be you then as the people's officer : — 
 Masters, lay down your weapons, 
 
 Bru. Go not home. 
 
 Sic. Meet on the market-place : — We '11 attend 
 you there : 
 Where, if you bring not Marcius, we 'II proceed 
 In our first way. 
 
 Men. I '11 bring him to you ; — • 
 
 Let me desire your company. [To the Senators.] Ha 
 
 must come. 
 Or what is worst will follow. 
 
 iSen. Pray you, let 's to him. [Eiennt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Coriolanus's House. 
 
 Enter Coriolanus and Patricians. 
 Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears ; present me 
 Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels ; 
 Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock. 
 That the precipitation miglit down stretch 
 Helow the beam of sight, yet will I still 
 Be thus to them. 
 
 Enter Volumnia. 
 
 1 Pat. You do the nobler. 
 
 Cor. I muse, my mother 
 Does not approve me further, who was wont 
 To call them woollen vassnls, things created 
 To buy and sell with groats , to shew bare heads 
 In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder. 
 When one but of my ordinance stood up 
 To speak of peace, or war. I talk of you ; [To VoiVM. 
 Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me 
 False to my nature ? Rather say, I play 
 The man I am. 
 
 Vol. O, sir, sir, sir, 
 
 I would have had you put your power well on, 
 Before you had worn it out. 
 
 Cor, Let go. 
 
640 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Vol, Vou might have been enough the man you are. 
 With striving less to be so : Lesser had been 
 The thwartings of your dispositions, if 
 You had not shew'd them how yuu were dispos*d 
 Ere they lack'd power to cross jou. 
 
 Cof, Let them hang. 
 
 Vol. Af, and bum too. 
 
 Enter MEKExnjs and Senators. 
 
 Men, Come, come, you have been too rough, some- 
 thing too rough ; 
 Vou must return and mend it. 
 
 1 6e?i. There 's no remedy ; 
 
 Unless, by not so doing, our good city 
 Cleave ia the midst, and perish. 
 
 Vol. Pray be coansel'd: 
 
 I have a heart as little apt as yours. 
 But yet a brain, that leads my use of anger. 
 To better vantage. 
 
 Men. Well said, noble woman : 
 
 Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that 
 The violent foot o' the time craves it as physic 
 For the whole state, I would put mine armour on, 
 ^^ hicli I can scarcely bear. 
 
 Cor, What must 1 do ? 
 
 Men. Return to the tribunes. 
 
 Cor. WeU, 
 
 What then 1 what then ? 
 
 Men. Repent what you have spoke. 
 
 Cor. For them ? — I cannot do it to the gods ; 
 Must I then do 't to them ! 
 
 Vvl. You are too absolute ; 
 
 I'hougb therein you can never be too noble. 
 But when extremities speak. I have heard you say. 
 Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends, 
 1' the war do grow together : Grant that, and tell me. 
 In peace, what each of tlicm by th' other lose, 
 1 hat they combine not there. 
 
 Car. Tush, tush ! 
 
 Men. A good demand. 
 
 Vol, If it be honour, in your wars, to seem 
 The same you are not, (which, for your best ends. 
 You adopt your policy,) how is it less, or worse. 
 That it shall hold companionship in peace 
 With honour, as in war ; since that to both 
 It stands in like requests 
 
 Cor. Why force j'Ou this l 
 
 Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak 
 To the people ; not by your own instruction, 
 Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you to. 
 But with such words that are but roted in 
 Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables 
 Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth. 
 Now, this no more dishonours you at all. 
 Than to take in a town with gentle words, 
 Which else would put you to your fortune, and 
 The hazard of much blood. — 
 I would dissemble with my nature, where 
 My fortunes, and my friends, at stake, requir'd, 
 I should do so in honour : I am in this. 
 Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; 
 And you will rather shew our general lowts 
 How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon them. 
 For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard 
 Of what that want might ruin. 
 
 Men. Noble lady ! — 
 
 Come, go with us ; speak fair : you may salve so. 
 Not what is dangerous present, but the loss 
 Of what is past. 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee now, my son. 
 
 Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
 And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with them,) 
 
 I Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such tmsmeoi 
 Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
 More learned than the ears,; waving thy bead. 
 Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart. 
 Now humble, as the ripest mulberry. 
 That will not hold the handling : Or, sav to them. 
 Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils. 
 Hast not the soft way, which, thou dost confess. 
 Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim. 
 In asking their good loves ; but thou wilt frame 
 Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
 As thou hast power, and person. 
 
 Men. This but done. 
 
 Even as she speaks, why, all their hearts w ere yours : 
 For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free 
 As words to little purpose. 
 
 Vol. Pr'ythee now 
 
 Go, andberul'd: although. I know, thou had' st rather 
 Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf. 
 Than Batter him in a bower. Here is Cominius. 
 
 E«rer CoMiNics. 
 
 Com. I have been i'the market-place : and, sir, 'tis fit 
 You make strong party, or defend yourself 
 By calmness, or by absence ; all's in anger. 
 
 Men. Only fair speech. 
 
 Com. I think, 'twill serve, if he 
 
 Can thereto frame his spirit 
 
 Vol. He must, and will : — 
 
 Fr'j^^e, now, say, you will, and go about it. 
 
 flft Must I go shew them my unbarb'd sconce ? 
 
 ^^ Must I 
 With my base tongue, give to my noble heart 
 A lie, that it must bear ! Well, I will do't : 
 Yet were there but this single plot to lose. 
 This mould of Marcius, they lo dust should grind if. 
 And throw it against the wind. — To the market-place : 
 You have put me now to such a part, which never 
 I shall discharge to the life. 
 
 Com. Come, come, well prompt yon 
 
 Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son ; as thou hast said. 
 My praises made thee first a soldier, so. 
 To have my praise for this, perform a part 
 Thou bast not done before. 
 
 Cor. Well, I must do't: 
 
 Away, my disposition, and possess me 
 Some harlot's spirit ! My throat of wac be tum'd. 
 Which quired with my drum, into a pipe ' 
 Sn-.all as an eunuch, or tlie virgin voice 
 That babies lulls asleep ! The smiles of knaves 
 Tent in my cheeks ; and schoolboys' tears take up 
 The glasses of my sight ! A beggar's tongue 
 Make motion through my lips ; and my arm'd knees, 
 \Vho bow'd but in my stiiTOp, bend like his 
 That hath receiv'd an alms! — I will not do't 
 Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth. 
 And, by my body's action, teach my mind 
 A most inherent baseness. 
 
 Vol. At thy choice then : 
 
 To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour. 
 Than thou of them. Come all to ruin ; let 
 Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear 
 Thy dangerous stoutness ; for I mock at death 
 With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. 
 Thy valiantness was mine, thou Euck'dst it from mc ; 
 But owe thy pride thyself. 
 
 Cor, Pray, be content ; 
 
 Mother, I am going to the market-place ; 
 Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves. 
 Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov'd 
 Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going ; 
 Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul ; ■, 
 
ACT III.— SCENE HI. 
 
 641 
 
 hW 
 
 Or nevev trust to what my tongue can do 
 r the way of flattery, further. 
 
 Vnl. Do vour will. [Rri(. 
 
 Com. Away, the trihunes do atlencl you ; arm your- 
 To answer niildly ; for they are prepar'd [self 
 
 With accusations, as 1 hear, more strong 
 Than are upon you yet. 
 
 Cor. Theworcl is.'mildly : — Pray you, let us go : 
 Let them accuse me hy invention, I 
 M'ill answer iu mine honour. 
 
 Men. .Vy, hut mihlly. 
 
 Cor. Well, mildly he it tlien j mihlly. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.--7'/ic wmc. T/ir Forum. 
 
 Enter SiciNius a7td Biiurt'S. 
 
 Bra. In this point charge him home, that he affects 
 Tyrannical power : If he evade us theie, • 
 
 Enforce him with his envy to the people 1 
 And that tlie spoil, got on the Antiates, 
 Was ne'er distributed. — 
 
 Enter an iEdile. 
 What, will he come? 
 
 jf'.il. lie's coming. 
 
 }hu. llow accompanied 1 
 
 .■i."(i. With old Menenius, and those senators 
 That always favour'd him. 
 
 Sic. Have you a catalogue 
 
 Of all the voices that we have procur'd 
 Set down by the poll! 
 
 A'.it. I have ; 'tis ready, Ki 
 
 Sic. Have you collected them by tribes t 
 
 Md. 1 have. 
 
 Sic. Assemble presently the people hither : 
 And when they hear me say, U aludl he so 
 r the rJij/it and s(rc»^t/i o' llut eiiminons, he it either 
 Eor death, for tine, or banishment, then let them, 
 If I say, line, cry Jtne ; if death, cry dcnth ; 
 Insisting on the old prerogative 
 And power i'thc truth o'the cause. 
 
 jEd. 1 shall inform them. 
 
 lirn. And when such time they have hcgiiii to cry. 
 Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd 
 Enforce the present execution 
 Of what we chance to sentence. 
 
 JEd. Very well. 
 
 Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint. 
 When >ve shall hap to givo't them. 
 
 Bill. Go about It. — fE.iit /Edile. 
 
 Put him to choler straight : lie hath been us'd 
 Ever to conquer, and to have his worth 
 Of contradiction : Jieing once chaf'il, he cannot 
 lie rein'd again to temperance : then he speaks 
 What's in his heart: and that is there, which looks 
 With us to break his neck. 
 
 Enter Conioi.ANUs, MrNi^Nius, Cominius, Senators, 
 and Patricians. 
 
 Sic. Well, here he comes. 
 
 Mm. Calmly, I do beseech you. 
 
 Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the pooicst piece 
 AVill bear the knave by the volume. — The honour'd 
 Keep Home in safety, and the ciiairs of justice [gods 
 Supplied with worthy men ! plant love amongst us ! 
 Throng our large temples with the shows of peace. 
 And not our streets with war ! 
 
 1 Sen. Amen, amen I 
 
 Men. A noble wish. 
 
 Re-enter yEdile, viih Citizens. 
 Sic. Draw near, ye people. 
 £d. List to your tribunes; audience: Peace, I say. 
 
 Cur. First, hear m« speak. 
 
 Both Tri. Well, say.— Peace, ho. 
 
 Cor. Shall I bochargcd no furthcrthan this present^ 
 Must all determine here 1 
 
 Sic. I do demand. 
 
 If you submit you to the people's voices, 
 Allow their officers, and are content 
 To suffer lawful censure lor such faults 
 -•\s shall be prov'd upon you ! 
 
 Ccir. I am content. 
 
 Men. Lo, citizens, he says, he is content : 
 The warlike service he has done, consider ; 
 Think on the wounds his body bears, which shew 
 Like graves i' the holy churchyard. 
 
 C.ir. Scratches with briars. 
 
 Scars to move laughter only. 
 
 Men. Consider further, 
 
 Tiiat when he speaks not like a citizen. 
 You lind him like a soldier: Do not take 
 Mis rougher accents for malicious sounds. 
 But, as 1 say, such as become a soldier. 
 Rather than envy you. 
 
 Com. Well, well, no more. 
 
 Cor. What is the matter. 
 That being jiass'd for consul with full voice, 
 I am so dishotiour'd, that the very hour 
 Vou take it o/f again I 
 
 Sic. .Answer to us. 
 
 Ciir. Say then ; 'tis true, 1 ought so. 
 
 Sic. We charge you, that you have coiilriv'il to take 
 From Rome all season'd olhce, and to wiiul 
 Yourself into a power tyrannical ; 
 For which you are a traitor to the people, 
 
 ('ill', llow! traitor J 
 
 Mi'ii. N.iy ; temperately : your promise, 
 
 Ciir. The fires i' the lowest hell fold in the people 1 
 (^all me their traitor! — I'iiou injurious tribune ! 
 Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths. 
 In thy hands clutch 'd as many millions, in 
 'I'hy lying tongue both numbers, I would say. 
 Thou best, unto thee with a voice as free 
 As I do pray the gods. 
 
 Sic. Mark you this, peojile? 
 
 Cif. To the rock with him ; to the rock with luml 
 
 Sic, Peace. 
 We need not put new matter to Ins charge : 
 What you have seen him do, and heard him speak, 
 Beating your otiicers, cursing yourselves. 
 Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying 
 Those whose great power must try him ; even this. 
 So criminal, and in such capital kind, 
 Deserves the cvtremcst death. 
 
 lirn. • But since he bath 
 
 Sorv'd well for Rome, 
 
 Cor, What, do you prate of service ^ 
 
 lirn. I talk of that, that know it. 
 
 Ccir. Yon 1 
 
 Men. Is this 
 
 The promise that you made yotir mother! 
 
 Ciiiii. Know, 
 
 I pray you, 
 
 Cor. I'll know no further : 
 
 Lot them pronounce the steep Tarpeian dcnth, 
 A'agabond exile. Having ; I'ent to linger 
 But with a grain a day, I would not buy 
 Their mercy at the price of mie fair word ; 
 Nor check my courage for what they can give, 
 To havo't with saying, (jood morrow. 
 
 Sic. For that ho has 
 
 (As much as in him lies) from time to time 
 Envied against the people, seeking means 
 To pluck away their power ; as now at last 
 i S 
 
642 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Given liostile strokes, and that not in the presence 
 
 Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers 
 
 That do distribute it ; In the name o' tlie people, 
 
 And in the power of us the tribunes, we, 
 
 Even from this instant, banish him our city; 
 
 In peril of precipitation 
 
 From off the rock Tarpeian, never more 
 
 To enter our Home gates : I' the people's name, 
 
 1 say, it shall be so. 
 
 Cit. It shall be so, 
 
 It shall be so ; let him away: he's banish'd, 
 And so it shall be. 
 
 Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common 
 friends ; 
 
 Sic. He's sentenc'd ; no more hearing. 
 
 Com. Let me speak ; 
 
 I have been consul, and can shew from Rome, 
 Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love 
 My country's good with a respect more tender, 
 More holy and profound, thar mine own life, 
 My dear wife's estimate, her womb's increase, 
 And treasure of my loins, then if I would 
 Speak that ■ 
 
 Sic. We know your drift: Speak what t 
 
 Brit. There's no more to be said, but he is banish'd. 
 As enemy to the people, and his country: 
 It shall be so. 
 
 Cit, It shall be so, it shall be so. 
 
 Cor. You common cry of curs ! whose breath I hate 
 As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
 As the dead carcases of unburied men 
 That do corrupt my air, I banish you ; 
 And here remain with your uncertainty! 
 Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts ! 
 Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, 
 Fan you into despair ! Have the power still 
 To banish your defenders ; till, at length, 
 Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it feels,) 
 Making not reservation of yourselves, 
 (Still your own foes,) deliver you as most 
 Abated captives, to some nation 
 That won you without blows ! Despising, 
 For you, the city, thus I turn my back : 
 There is a world elsewhere. 
 
 [^Exeunt CnitioLANus, Cominius, Menenius, 
 Senators, and Patricians, 
 
 jEd. The people's enemy is gone, is gone ! 
 
 Cit. Our enemy's banish'd! he is gone! Hoo! hoo! 
 [^The jieopie shout, and throw up their caps. 
 
 Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him. 
 As he hath follow'd you, with all despite ; 
 Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard 
 Attend us through the city. , 
 
 Ci(. Come, come, let us see him out at gates; come: — 
 The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! — Come. 
 
 \_EieHnt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I — The same. Before a Gate of the City. 
 
 Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, 'Vrncit.iA, Mene- 
 Nius, CoMiNii'S, and several young Patricians. 
 
 Cor. Come, leave your tears ; a brief farewell :— 
 the beast 
 With many heads butts me away. — Nay, mother. 
 Where is your ancient courage? you were us'd 
 To say, extremity was the trier of spirits ; 
 That common chances common men could bear ; 
 That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike 
 Shew'd mastership in floating : fortune's blows. 
 
 Whenmost struck home, beinggenllo wounded, crave 
 A noble cunning : you were us'd to load me 
 With precepts, that would make invincible 
 The heart that conn'd them. 
 
 Vir. O heavens ! heavens ! 
 
 Cor. Nay, I pr'ythee, woman,— 
 
 Vol. Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, 
 And occupations perish ! 
 
 Cor. What, what, what! 
 
 I shall be lov'd, when I am lack'd. Nay, mother. 
 Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say. 
 If you had been the wife of Hercules, 
 Six of his labours you'd have done, and sav'd 
 Your husband so much sweat. — Cominius, 
 Droop not ; adieu : — Farewell, my wife ! my mother ! 
 I'll do well yet. — Thou old and true Meuenius, 
 Thy tears are Salter than a younger man's. 
 And venomous to thine eyes. — My sometime general 
 I nave seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld 
 Heart-hard'ning spectacles ; tell these sad women, 
 'Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes, 
 As 'tis to laugh at them. — My mother, you wot well 
 My hazards still have been your solace : and 
 Believe't not lightly, (though I go alone. 
 Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen 
 Makes fear'd, and taik'd of more than seen,) your son 
 Will, or exceed the common, or be caught 
 With cautelous baits and practice. 
 
 Vol. My first son, 
 
 Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius 
 Wjffl^ee a while : Determine on some course, 
 Mowthan a wild exposture to each chance 
 That starts i' the way before thee. 
 
 Cor. O the gods ! 
 
 Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee 
 Where thou shalt rest, that thou may'st hear of us, 
 And we of thee : so if the time thrust forth 
 A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send 
 O'er the vast world, to seek a single man ; 
 And lose advantage, which doth ever cool 
 r the absence of the needer. 
 
 Cor. Fare ye well ; — 
 
 Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art too full 
 Of the wars' surfeits, to go rove with one 
 That's yet unbruis'd : bring me but out at gate.— . 
 Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and 
 My friends of noble touch, when I am forth. 
 Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. 
 While I remain above the ground, you shall 
 Hear from me still ; and never of rae aught 
 But what is like me formerly. 
 
 Men. . That's worthily 
 
 As any ear can hear. — Come, let's not weep. — 
 If I could shake off but one seven years 
 From these old arras and legs, by the good gods, 
 I'd with thee every foot. 
 
 Cor, Give me thy hand : 
 
 Come. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.— The same. A Street near the Gate. 
 
 Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an iEdile. ' 
 Sic. Bid them all home ; he's gone, and we'll ne 
 further. — 
 The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sided 
 In his behalf. 
 
 Hru. Now we have shewn our power. 
 
 Let us seem humbler after it is done, 
 Than when it was a doing. 
 
 Sic. Bid them home : 
 
 Say, their great enemy is gone, and they 
 Stand in their ancient strength. 
 
 Bra, Dismiss them home. [Eiit.£dile. 
 
ACT IV.—SCENE IV. 
 
 fh atjfre n ! 
 
 Enfer VoLUMViA, Vircilu, and Menenius. 
 Here comes his mother. 
 ^'c. Let's not meet her. 
 
 B™. VVhy 1. 
 
 Sic. They say, she's mad. 
 . B'". They have ta'en note of us : 
 
 Keep on your way. 
 
 Vol. O, you're well met: The hoarded plague o'tlie 
 
 Rec|uite your love ! r»ods 
 
 ''•'«"■ Peace, peace ; be not so loud. 
 
 yot. If thatlcouldforweeping, you should hear 
 
 Nay, and you shall hear some. — Will you be gone >. 
 
 [To BnuTus. 
 Vtr. \ou shall stay too : {To Sicin.] I would, I 
 had the power I 
 
 To say so to my husband. 
 
 Sic. Are you mankind ? rfool.— 
 
 Vol. Ay,' fool ; Is that a shame ?— Note but this 
 Was not a man my father. Hadst thou foxship 
 To banish him that struck more blows for Rome, 
 Than thou hast spoken words > 
 f'; O blessed heavens ! 
 
 fol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise words ; 
 And for Rome's good.— I'll tell thee what ;— Yetgo ' 
 Nay, but thou shalt stay too :— I would my son 
 "ere m Arabia, and thy tribe before him. 
 His good sword in his hand. 
 ^'/- What then? 
 
 "■• What 
 
 He'd make an end of thy posterity. 
 
 Vol. Bastards, and all 
 
 Good man, the wounds that he does bear for 
 Men. Come, come, peace. 
 Sic. I would he had continu'd to his country 
 As he began ; and not unknit himself 
 The noble knot he made. 
 
 Bru. I would he had. 
 
 Vol. r. would he had! 'Twas you incens'd 
 Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth, [rabble : 
 As I can of those mysteries which heaven 
 Will not have earth "to know. 
 
 5™. Pray, let us go. 
 
 _ Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you goiie : 
 You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this ; 
 As far as doth the Capitol exceed 
 The meanest house in Rome : so far, my son, 
 (This lady's husband here, this, do you see,) 
 Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all. 
 Brit. Well, well, we'll leave you. 
 Sic. Why stay we to be baited 
 
 With one that wants her wits 1 
 
 Vol. Take my prayers with you. — 
 
 I would the gods had notliing else "to do, 
 
 [£.r. Tribunes. 
 But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet them 
 But once a day, it would unclog my heart 
 Of what lies heavy to't. 
 
 ^f"i- You have told them home, 
 
 .\nd, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with 
 
 Vol. Anger's my meat ; I sup upon myself, [me 1 
 
 And so shall starve with feeding Come, let's go : 
 
 Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do. 
 In anger, .Tuno-like. Come, come, come. 
 
 Men. Fye, fye, fye ! [Exeunt. 
 
 643 
 
 the 
 
 •SCENE m. 
 
 A Highwai) beUceen Rome and Antium. 
 Enter a Roman and a Voice, meetin<'. 
 
 f ot. It is so, sir : truly, I have forgot you. 
 Rom. I am a Roman ; and my services are, as you 
 are, against them i Know you me yet? 
 Vol. Nicanor? No. 
 Rom. The same, sir. 
 
 Vol, You had more beard, when I last savf you - 
 but your favour is well appeared by your tongue! 
 V\ hat s the news in Rome ! I have a note from'the 
 Volscian state, to find you out there : You have well 
 saved me a day's journey. 
 I Rom. There hath been in Rome strange insurrec- 
 tion : the people against the senators, patricians, and 
 nobles. 
 
 Vol. Hath been ! Is it ended then ? Our state thinks 
 not so ; they are in a most warlike preparation, and hope 
 to come upon them in the heat of their division. 
 
 Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small 
 thing would make it flame again. For the nobles re- 
 ceive so to heart the banishment of that worthy Co- 
 riolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness, to take all 
 power from the people, and to pluck from them their 
 tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you. 
 and 13 almost mature for the violent bieakin<r out. 
 . t ol. Coriolanus banished ? ° 
 
 Rom. Banished sir. [Nicanor. 
 
 ^0/. \ ou will be welcome with this intelligence 
 Rom. The day serves well for them now. 1 liave 
 heard it said. The fittest time to corrupt a man's wife 
 IS when she's fallen out with her husband. Your 
 noble TuUus Aufidius will appear well in these wars 
 his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no re- 
 quest of his country. 
 
 Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate 
 thus accidentally to encounter vou : You have ended 
 my business and I will merrily'accorapany you home. 
 Kom. J shall, between this and supper, tell vou 
 most strange things from Rome ; all tending to the 
 good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready 
 say you ? J ji 
 
 Vol. A most royal one : the centurions, and their 
 charges, distinctly billeted, already in the entertain- 
 ment, and to be on foot at an hour's warning. 
 
 Rom. I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and 
 am the man, I think, that shall set them in present 
 action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most .^lad of 
 your company. ° 
 
 Vol. You take my part from me, sir; I have the 
 most cause to be glad of yours. 
 
 Rom. Well, let us go together. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Antium. Before Aufidius's House. 
 Enter ConioLANUs, in mean apparel, disguised 
 and mu^ed. 
 ,„.^"'"- ^ goodly city is this Antium : City 
 Tis I that made thy widows : many an heir 
 01 these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
 Have I heard groan, and drop : then know me not 
 i^est that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones. 
 
 Enter a Citizen. 
 
 In puny battle slay me.— Save you, sir. 
 
 Cit. And you. 
 
 Cor. Direct me, if it be your will, 
 
 Where great Aufidius lies : Is he in Antium 1 
 
 in. He IS, and feasts the nobles of the state. 
 At his house this night. 
 
 Cor. Which is his house, 'beseech you » 
 
 Cit. This, here, befoieyou. 
 
 Cor. Thank you, sir ; farewell [Exit Citizen. 
 
 P.m I i,„„,., II • J . I luaui^ you, sir ; larewea I iiK citizen. 
 
 ^on^ZilTlA ■ Ti'-'"'' ""* ^■°" ''"''^°'«= I "• ""'J. 'hy slippery turns! F.-iends now fast sworn, 
 lOur name, 1 think, is Adrian. j Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart, 
 
 2 S 2 
 
644 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, aud exercise, 
 
 Are still together, wlio twin, as 'twere, in love 
 
 Unseparable, shall within this hour, 
 
 On a dissention of a doit, break out 
 
 To bitterest enmity : So, fellest foes, 
 
 Whose passions andwhose plots have broke theii sleep 
 
 To take the one tlie other, by some chance, 
 
 Some trick not worth an egg, sliail grow dear friends, 
 
 And interjoin their issues. So with me : — 
 
 My birth-place hate 1, and my love's upon 
 
 This enemy town. — I'll enter : if he slay me, 
 
 He does fair justice ; if he give me way, 
 
 I'll do his country service. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE v.— The same. A Hall in Aufidius's House. 
 
 Music within. Enter a Servant. 
 
 1 Serv. Wine, wine, wine ! What service is here ! 
 1 think our fellows are asleep. [Eai(. 
 
 Enter another Servant. 
 
 ■9 Serv. Where's Cotus ! my master calls for him. 
 Cotus ! [Ejit. 
 
 Enter Coriolanus. 
 
 Cor. A goodly house : The feast smells well : but I 
 Appear not like a guest. 
 
 Reenter the first Servant. 
 
 1 Serv. Whatwould you have, friend? Whence are 
 you 1 Here's no place for you : Pray, go to the door. 
 
 Cor. 1 have deserv'd no better enteitaimnent. 
 In being Coriolanus. 
 
 Be-enter second Servant. 
 
 ? Serv. Vi'hence are you, sir? Has the porter his 
 eves in his head, that he gives entrance to such com- 
 panions ? Pray, get you out. 
 
 Cor. Away! 
 
 2 Seij). Away! Get you away. 
 
 Cor. Now thou art troublesome. [with anon. 
 
 2 iei-v. Are you so brave] I'll have you talked 
 
 Enter o third Servant. The first meets him. 
 
 3 Serv. What fellow's this ? 
 
 1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on : I can- 
 not get him out o'the house : Pr'ythee, call my mas- 
 ter to him. 
 
 3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow ? Pray 
 you, avoid the house. 
 
 Cor. Letme but stand ; I will not hurt your hearth. 
 
 3 Serv. What are you 1 
 
 Cor. A gentleman. 
 
 3 Serv. A marvellous poor one. 
 
 Cor. True, so I am. 
 
 J Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some 
 other station ; here's no place for you ; pray you. 
 
 Cor. Follow your function, go! [avoid: come. 
 And batten on cold bits. [Tushes himaway. 
 
 3 Serv. What, will you not"? Pr'ythee, tell my 
 master what a strange guest he has here. 
 
 2 Serv. And I shall. [Exit. 
 
 3 Serv. Where dwellest thou"! 
 Cor. Under the canopy. 
 
 3 Serv. Under the canopy 1 
 Cm-. Ay. 
 
 3 Serv. Where's thatl 
 Cor. r the cily of kites and crows. 
 3 Serv. V the city of kites and crows ? — What an 
 aas it is ' —Then thou dwellest with daws too ! 
 Cor. No, I serve not thy master. 
 3 Serv. How, sir ! Do you meddle with my master? 
 
 Cor. Ay ; 'tis an honester service than to meddle 
 with thy mistress • 
 
 Thou prat'st, and part'st ; serve with thy trencher, 
 hence ! [Beats him awajf. 
 
 Enter Aufidivs and the second Servant. 
 
 Auf. Where is this fellow? 
 
 5! Serv. Here, sir ; I'd have beaten him like a dog, 
 but for disturbing the lords v.'ithin. 
 
 Auf. Whence comest thou ? what wouldest thou t 
 Thy name ? 
 Why speak'st not I Speak, man : What's thy name? 
 
 Cor. If, Tullus, [UniHUjfling. 
 
 Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not 
 Think me for the man I am, necessity 
 Commands me name myself. 
 
 Auf. What is thy name ? [Servants reiirt. 
 
 Cor. A name unmusical to the Volsciau's ears. 
 And harsh in sound to thine. 
 
 Auf. Say, what's thy name 1 
 
 Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face 
 Bears a command in't ; though thy tackle's torn. 
 Thou shew'st a noble vessel : What's thy name ? 
 
 Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown; Know't thou me 
 
 Auf. I know thee not: — Thy name? [y^t? 
 
 Cor. Mv name is Caius IMarcius, who hath done 
 To thee particularly, and to all the Voices, 
 Great hurt and mischief ; thereto witness may 
 My surname, Coriolanus : The painful service. 
 The ^ceme dangers, and the drops of blood 
 ShedBot^y thankless country, are requited 
 But wJlR that surname ; a good memory. 
 And witness of the malice and displeasure 
 Which thou should'st bear me , only that name re- 
 The cruelty and envy of the peop.'e, [mains. 
 
 Permitted by our dastard nobles, who 
 Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest ; 
 And suffered me by the voice of slaves to be 
 Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity 
 Hath brought me to thy hearth ; Not out of hope. 
 Mistake me not, to save my life ; for if 
 I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world 
 I would have 'voided thee : but in mere spite. 
 To be full quit of those my banishers. 
 Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast 
 A heart of wreak in ttee, that will revenge 
 Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims 
 Of shame seen through thy country,speed thee straight, 
 And make my misery serve thy turn ; so use it. 
 That my revengeful services may prove 
 As benefits to thee ; for I will fight 
 Against my canker'd country with the spleen 
 Of all the under fiends. But if so be 
 Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes 
 Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, 1 also am 
 Longer to live most weary, and present 
 My tliroat to thee, and to thy ancient malice : 
 Which not to cut, would shew thee but a fool ; 
 Since I have ever foUow'd tliee with hate. 
 Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast. 
 And cannot live but to thy shame, unless 
 It be to do thee service. 
 
 Aif. O Marcius, Marcius, 
 
 Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart 
 A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter 
 Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and say, 
 'Tis true; I'd not believe them more than thee, 
 All noble Marcius. — 0, let me twine 
 Mine arms about that body, where against 
 My grained ash an hundred times hatii broke, 
 And scar'd the moon with splinters! Hexe I clip 
 The anvil of my sword ; and do contest 
 
dMWUA^%WMifWlUiu*'iuuiSfrat>i^^ 
 
 kiimui 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE VI, 
 
 As hotly and as nobly with thy love, 
 As ever in ambitious strength I did 
 Contend against tliy valour. Know thou first, 
 I lov'd the maid I married ; never man 
 Sighed truer breath ; but that I see thee here, 
 lliou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart 
 Than when I first my wedded mistress saw 
 Be^tIide my threshold. Why, thou iNIars ! I tell thee 
 We have a power on foot ; and I had purpose 
 Once more to hew thy target from tliy brawn 
 Or lose mine arm for't : Thou hast beat me out 
 Twelve several times, and I have nightly since 
 Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and "me : 
 We have been down together in my sleep 
 Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat 
 And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius 
 Had we no quariel else to Rome, but that 
 Thou art thence banish'd, we would muster all 
 trom twelve to seventy ; and, pouring war 
 Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome 
 Tike a bold flood o'er beat. O, com'e, go in 
 And take our friendly senators by the hands ■ 
 Who now aie here, taking their leaves of me, 
 vvho am prepar'd against your territories, 
 1 hough not for Rome itself. 
 
 , ''■■ Ti. <• ^'°" ''•^ss me, gods. 
 
 Anf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have 
 i ne leading of thine own revenges, take 
 J he one half of my commission ; and set down — 
 As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st 
 ihy country s strength and weakness.-thine own 
 VV hether to knock against the gates of Rome, fways ■ 
 Or rudely visit them in parts remote, 
 To fnght them, ere destroy. But come in ■ 
 L^t me commend thee first to those, that shall 
 ^ay, wa, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes ! 
 And more a friend than e'er an enemy • 
 Vet, Marcius that was much. Your hand! Mostwel- 
 come! [£«««( Cokiolanus qhJ Avfidius. 
 
 1 ^erv. lAdvancmg.] Here's a stranse alteration i 
 
 h im »,th a cudgel ; and yet my mind gave me, his 
 clothes made a lalse report of him. 
 
 wiit''"',:^^'"" '"1 ^"" '"^ ^"-^ ■ ""^ '""ed "e about 
 wu^h las finger and his thumb, as one would set up 
 
 2 Sen. Nay, I knew by his face that there was 
 something in him : he had, sir, a kind of face, me- 
 tnought,— I cannot tell how to terra it. 
 
 1 &Ji). He had so ; looking as it were 'Would 
 
 1 were hanged, but I thought there was more in him 
 tlian I could think. 
 
 2 W So did I, ni be sworn : he is simply the 
 rarest man I'tiie world. ' •' 
 
 1 Serv. I think, he is : but a greater soldier than 
 lie, you wot one. 
 
 2 iierv. Who, my master? 
 
 1 Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that. 
 
 2 Serv. Worth six of him. 
 1 Serv Nay not so neither; but I take him to be 
 
 the greater soldier. 
 a Serv. 'faith, look you, one cannot tell how to 
 
 excellent. """ "'' * '""''' "" S^""^' '" 
 
 1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too. 
 
 615 
 
 1. 2. Serv. Wherefore ? wherefore ? 
 3 Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack our 
 general — Caius Marcius. 
 
 1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general ? 
 J Serv. I do not say thwack our general : but he 
 
 was always good enough for him. 
 
 2 Serv. Come, we are fellows, and friends : he 
 was ever too hard for him; I have heard him say so 
 himself. •" 
 
 1 Serv. He was too harU for him directly, to say 
 the truth on't : before Corioli he scotched him and 
 notched him like a carbonado. 
 
 a Serv. An he had been can'jlbally given, he might 
 nave broiled and eaten him too. 
 1 Serv. But, more of thy news ? 
 3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within as if 
 he were son and heir to Mars ; set at upper end o'the 
 table : no question asked him by any of the senators 
 but they stand bald before him: Our general himself 
 makes a mistress of him ; sanctifies himself with's 
 hand, and turns up the white o' the eye to his dis- 
 course. But the bottom of the news is, our general 
 IS cut i' the middle, and but one half of what he was 
 yesterday ; for the other has half, by the entreaty 
 and grant of the whole table. He'll go, he says, and 
 sowle the porter of Rome gate by the ears : He will 
 mow down all before him, and leave his passage polled 
 , 2 Serv. And he's as like to do't, as any man I can 
 imagine. ■' 
 
 3 Serv. Do't? he will do't: For, look you, sir he 
 has as many friends as enemies : which friends 'sir 
 (as it were,) durst not (look you, sir,) shew tiiem-' 
 selves (as we term it,) his friends, whilst he 's in 
 directitude. ■ 
 
 1 Serv. Directitude ! what's that ? 
 3 Sfrt,. But when they shall see. sir, his crest up 
 again, and the man in blood, they will out of their 
 burrows, like conies after rain, and revel all with liim. 
 1 Aerv. But when goes this forward ? 
 3 W To-morrow; to-day; presently. You shall 
 Dave the drum struck up this afternoon : 'tis as it 
 "■ere, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere 
 they wipe their lips. 
 
 ".^""■V'^^y' '''«" ^e shall have a stirrin<» world 
 again. Jhis peace is nothing, but to rust iron in- 
 crease tailors, and breed ballad-makers. 
 
 1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds peace, 
 as far as day does night ; it's spritely, waking, audible, 
 and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethar^ry ■ 
 mu led dea. sleepy, insensible ;' a getfer of mo^re 
 bastard ch.Mren, than wars a destroyer of men. 
 
 -terv. lis so: and as wars, in some sort, may 
 De said to be a ravisher ; so it cannot be denied, but 
 peace is a great maker of cuckolds. 
 
 1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another. 
 
 another. 1 he wars, for my money. I hope to see 
 
 Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising 
 
 they are rising. °' 
 
 Ml. In, in, in, in. j-jr.^.^t. 
 
 Re-enter third Servant. 
 
 ras^^s"' '^' ^'^''^*' ^ '^*° '*" ^"^ °^^^' ''^"'^' y" 
 
 \.'J. Serv. What, what, what? let's partake. 
 
 I I ^^'■''V "'u"''* ""' ^^ =" I^"""^"' of ^" "ations; 
 1 had as heve be a condemned man. 
 
 SCENE VI.-Rome. A public Place. 
 Enter Sicinius and Brutus. 
 Sic. We hear not of him, neither need we fear him 
 His remedies are tame i' the present peace 
 And quietness o'the people, which before 
 u ere m wild hurry. Here do we make his friends 
 Blush that the world goes well ; who rather had, 
 1 hough they themselves did suffer by't, behold 
 Dissentious numbers pestering the streets, than see 
 Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going 
 About their functions friendly. 
 
64e) 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 Kjiter Menenils. 
 
 Bra. We stood to't in good time. Is this Menenius ? 
 
 Hie. 'lis he, 'tis he : O he is growQ most kiad 
 Of late.— Hail, sir I 
 
 Men. Hail to you both ! 
 
 Sic. Your Coriolanus, sir, is not much miss'd, 
 But with his friends ; the common-wealth doth stand ; 
 And so would do, were he more angry at it. 
 
 Men. All'swell ; and might have been much better, if 
 He could have temporiz'd. 
 
 Sic. Where is he, hear you 1 
 
 Men. Nay, I hear nothing ; his mother and his wife 
 Hear nothing from him. 
 
 Enter Three or Four Citizens. 
 
 Cit. The gods preserve you both ! 
 
 Sic. Good-e'en, our neighbours. 
 
 Bru. Good e'en to you all, good e'en to you all. 
 
 1 Cit. Ourselves, our wives, ,and children, on our 
 Are bound to pray for you both. [knees. 
 
 Sic. Live and thrive I 
 
 Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours; We wish'd Co- 
 Had lov'd you as we did. [riolanus 
 
 Cit. Now the gods keep you ! 
 
 Bath Tri. Farewell, farewell. [i'jeiuit Citizens. 
 
 Sic. This is a happier and more comely time. 
 Than when these fellows ran about the streets. 
 Crying, Confusion. 
 
 Bru. Caius Marcius was 
 
 A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent, 
 O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking, 
 Self-loving, 
 
 Sic. And affecting one sole throne. 
 
 Without assistance. 
 
 Men. I think not so. 
 
 Sic, We should by this, to all our lamentation. 
 If he had gone forth consul, found it so. 
 
 Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome 
 Sits safe and still without him. 
 
 Enter jEdile. 
 
 jEd. Worthy tribunes. 
 
 There is a slave, whom we have put in prison. 
 Reports, — the Voices with two several powers 
 Are enter'd in the Roman territories ; 
 And with the deepest malice of the war 
 Destroy what lies before them. 
 
 Men. 'Tis Aufidius, 
 
 Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment. 
 Thrusts forth his horns again into the world ; 
 Which were inshell'd, when Marcius stood for Rome, 
 And durst not once peep out. 
 
 Sic. Come, what talk you 
 
 Of Marcius 1 
 
 Bru. Go see this rumonrer whipp'd. — It cannot be. 
 The Voices dare break with us. 
 
 Men. Cannot be ' 
 
 We have record, that very well it can ; 
 And three examples of the like have been 
 Within ray age. But reason with the fellow. 
 Before you punish him, where he heard this ; 
 Lest you shall chance to whip your information. 
 And beat the messenger who bids beware 
 Of what is to be dreaded. 
 
 Sic. I'ell not me . 
 
 1 know, this cannot be. 
 
 Bru. Not possible. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mas. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going 
 All to the senate-house : some news is come. 
 That turns their countenances. 
 
 Sic. 'Tis tliis slave ; — 
 
 Go whip him 'fere the people's eyes : — his raising 
 Nothing but his report ! 
 
 Mess. Yes, worthy sir. 
 
 The slave's report is seconded ; and more. 
 More fearful, is deliver 'd. 
 
 Sir. What more fearful ? 
 
 Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths, 
 (How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius, 
 Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome ; 
 And vows revenge as spacious, as between 
 The young'st and oldest thing. 
 
 Sic. This is most likely ! 
 
 Bru, Rais'd only, that the' weaker sort may wisb 
 Good Marcius home again. 
 
 Sic. The very trick on't, 
 
 Me7i. This is unlikely : 
 He and Aufidius can no more atone. 
 Than violentest contrariety. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Mess. You are sent for to the senate ; 
 A fearful army, led by Caius ftlarcius, 
 .Associated with Aufidius, rages 
 Upon our territories ; and have already, 
 O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, and toolt 
 Wliat lay before them. 
 
 Enter Cominius. 
 
 Com, O, you have made good work ! 
 
 Men. What news? what news ! 
 
 Com. You have holp to ravish your own daughters. 
 To melt the city leads upon your pates ; [and 
 To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses ; 
 
 Men. What's the news? what's the news? 
 
 Com. Your temples burned in their cement ; and 
 Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd 
 Into an augre's bore. 
 
 Men, Pray now, your news 1 — 
 You have made fairwork.I fear not: — Pray, your news? 
 If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians, 
 
 Com. If ! 
 
 He is their god ; he leads them like a thing 
 Made by some other deity than nature. 
 That shapes man better : and they follow him. 
 Against us brats, with no less confidence. 
 Than- boys pursuing summer butterflies. 
 Or butchers killing flies. 
 
 Men. You have made good work. 
 
 You, and your apron men ; you that stood so much 
 Upon the voice of occupation, and 
 The breath of garlic-eaters ! 
 
 Com. He will shake 
 
 Your Rome about your ears. 
 
 Men. As Hercules 
 
 Did shake down mellow fruit : You have made fair 
 
 Bru. But is this true, sir ? [work ? 
 
 Com, Ay ; and you '11 look pale 
 
 Before you find it other. All the regions 
 Do smilingly revolt ; and, who resist. 
 Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance. 
 And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him' 
 Your enemies, and his, find something in him. 
 
 Men. We are all undone, unless 
 The noble man have mercy. 
 
 Com. Who shall ask it ? 
 
 The tribunes cannot do't for shame ; the people 
 Deserve, such pity of him, as the wolf 
 Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if they 
 Should say. Be good to Rome, they charg'd him evea 
 As those should do that had deserv'd his hate, 
 I .And therein show'd like enemies. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 647 
 
 Men. 'Tis true : 
 
 If he were putting to my house the brand 
 That shoulJ consume it, I have not the face 
 To say, 'Baeerh you, cease.— You liave made fair 
 You, and your crafts ! you have crafted fair! [hands. 
 
 Com, Vou have brought 
 
 A trembling upon Rome, such as was never 
 So incapable of help. 
 
 Tri. Say not, we brought it. [beasts. 
 
 Men. How! Was it we! We lov'd him ; but, like 
 And cowardly nobles, gave way to your clusters, 
 Who did hoot him out o' the city. 
 
 Crni. But, I fear. 
 
 They 'U roar him m agajn. Tullus Aufidius, 
 The second name of men, obeys his points 
 As if he were his officer : — Desperation 
 Is all the policy, strength, and defence. 
 That Rome can make against tliera. 
 
 Enter a Ti-oop it/' Citizens. 
 
 Men. Here comes the clusters. — 
 
 And is Aufidius with him ? — You are they 
 That made the air unwdiolesome, when you cast 
 Y'our stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at 
 Coriolanus' exile. Now, he's coming ; 
 And not a hair upon a soldier's head. 
 Which will not prove a whip ; as many coxcombs, 
 As you threw caps up, will he tumble down, 
 And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter; 
 If he could burn us all into one coal, 
 We have deserv'd it. 
 
 Cit. 'Faith, we hear fearful news. 
 
 1 Citi For mine own part, 
 When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity. 
 
 2 Cit. And so did I. 
 
 3 Cit. And so did I ; and, to say the truth, so did 
 very many of us : That we did, we did for the best; 
 and though we willingly consented to his banish- 
 ment, yet it was against our will. 
 
 Com. You are goodly things, you voices ! 
 
 Men. Y'ou have made 
 
 Good worlt.you and your cry ! — Shall us to theCapitol ! 
 
 Com. 0, aye ; what else ! \^Ei€uiit Com. and Men. 
 
 Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay "d ; 
 These are a side, that would be glad to have 
 This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home, 
 And shew no sign of fear. 
 
 1 Cii. The gods be good to us ! Come, masters, 
 let's home. I ever said, we were i' the wrong, when 
 we banished him. 
 
 2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home- 
 
 [JEacunl Citizens. 
 Btu. 1 do not like this news. 
 Sic, Nor I. 
 
 Bru Let'sto theCapitol: — 'Would.half my wealth 
 Would buy this for a lie ! 
 
 .Sic. Pray, let us go. [EjeuiK^ 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 A Camp ; at a email distance frnm Rome. 
 
 Enter Aufidius, and hi& Lieutenant. 
 
 Anf. Do they still fly to the Roman 1 
 Lieu. I do not know what witchcraft's in him; but 
 Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat. 
 Their talk at table, and their thanks at end ; 
 And you are darken'd in this action, sir. 
 Even by your own. 
 
 Auf. I cannot help it now ; 
 
 Unless, by using means, I lame the foot 
 Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier 
 Ev«n to my person, than I thought he would, 
 
 When first I did embrace him : Y'et his nature 
 In that's DO changeling ; and I must excuse 
 What cannot be amended. 
 
 Lieu. Yet I wish, sir, 
 
 (T mean, for your particular.) you had not 
 Join'd in commission with him : but either 
 Had borne the action of yourself, or else 
 To hiui had left it solely. 
 
 Atif. I understand thee well ; and be thou sure, 
 When he shall come to his account, he knows not 
 What I can urge against him. Although it seems, 
 .\nd so he thinks, and is no less apparent 
 To the vulgar eye, that he bears all thmgs fairly, 
 And shews good husbandry for the Volscian state ; 
 Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon 
 As draw his sword : yet he hath left undone 
 That, which shall break his neck, or hazard mine, 
 Whene'er we come to our account. 
 
 -tieu. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry Ron;e' 
 Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits dow;i : 
 And the nobility of Rome are his : 
 The senators, and patricians, love him too : 
 The tribunes are no soldiers ; and tlieir people 
 Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty 
 To expel him thence. I think, he'll be to Rome, 
 As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it 
 By sovereignty of nature. First he was 
 A noble servant to them ; but he could not 
 Carry his honours even: whether 'twas pride. 
 Which out of daily fortune ever taints 
 The happy man ; whether defect of judgment, 
 To fail in the disposing of those chances 
 Which he was lord of; or whether nature, 
 Not to be other than one thing, not moving 
 From the casque to the cushion , but commanding peace 
 liven with the same austerity and garb 
 .-Vs he controU'd the war ; but, one of these, 
 ( .A-s he hath spices of them all, not all. 
 For I dare so far free him,) made him fear'd, 
 So hated, and so banish'd : But he has a merit, 
 To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues 
 Lie in the interpretation of the time : 
 .•\nd power, unto itself most commendable, 
 Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair 
 To extol what it hath done. 
 One fire drives out one fire ; one nail, one nail ; 
 Rights by rights founder,strengths by strengths do fail. 
 Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, 
 Thou art poor'st of all ; then shortly art thou mine. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Rome. A public Place. 
 
 Enter Menemus, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus, 
 and others. 
 
 Men. No, I'll not go : you hear, what he hath said, 
 ^Vhich was sometime his general ; who lov'd him 
 In a most dear particular. He call'd me, father : 
 But what o' that \ Go, you that banish'd him, 
 A mile before his tent fall down, and kneel 
 The way into his mercy : Nay, if he coy'd 
 To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home. 
 
 Com. He would not seem to know me. 
 
 Men. Do you hear 1 
 
 Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name : 
 I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops 
 That we have bled together. Coriolanus 
 He would not answer to : forbade all names ; 
 He was a kind of nothing, titleless, 
 
G48 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 ■nil he had forg'd himself a name 1' the fire 
 Of hunjxng Rome. 
 
 Men. Why so ; yon have made good work : 
 A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome, 
 To make coals cheap : A noble meinory ! 
 
 C-om, I minded him, how royal 'twas to pardon 
 JVhen it was less eicpected ; He replied, 
 It was a bare petition of a state 
 To one whom they had punish'd. 
 
 Men Very well ; 
 
 Could he say less I 
 
 0>m, I offer'd to awaken his regard 
 For his private friends : His answer to me was. 
 He could not stay to pick them in a pile 
 Of noisome mus^r chaif: He said, 'twas folly, 
 For one poor grain or two, to leave unbuml. 
 And still to nose tlie offence. 
 
 Men. Tot one poor grain 
 
 Or two ? I am one of tliose : his mother, n ife. 
 His child, and this brave fellow too, we are the grains 
 You are the musty chaff ; and you are smelt 
 Above the moon : We must be burnt for you. 
 
 Sic. Nay, pray be patient : If you refuse your aid 
 In this so never-heeded help, yet do not 
 Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure, if you 
 Would be vour countrj's pleader, your good tongue 
 Jtore than the instant army we can make, 
 ilight stop our countryman. 
 
 Mai. ' No ; ni not meddle. 
 
 Sic. I pray yoo, go to him. 
 Mm. What should I do ? 
 
 Bra. Only make trial what your love can do 
 For Rome, towards Slarcius. 
 
 Men. Well, and say that Marcius 
 
 Return me, as Cominius is retum'd 
 Unheard ; what then 1 — 
 But as a discontented friend, grief-shot 
 With his unkindness ! Say't be so 1 
 
 Sic. Yet your good will 
 
 ilust have that thanks from Rome, after tlie measure 
 As you intended well. 
 
 iff 11. I'll undertake it : 
 
 I think, he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip. 
 And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. 
 He was not liken well : he had not din'd : 
 The veins unfiU'd, our blood is cold, and then 
 We pout upon the morning, are unapt 
 To sive or to forgive ; but when we have stuflTd 
 These pipes, and these conveyances of our blood 
 With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls 
 Than in our priest- like fasts : therefore ill watch him 
 Till he be dieted to my request. 
 And then I'll set upon him. 
 
 J3ru. You know the very road into his kindness. 
 And cannot lose your vay. 
 
 Men. Good faith. I'll prove him. 
 
 Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledgej 
 Of my success. lEiit. 
 
 Com. He'll never hear him. 
 
 Sic. Not ? 
 
 Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye 
 Red as 'twould burn Rome ; and his injury 
 The gaoler to his pity. 1 kneel'd before him ; 
 'Twas very faintly he said, Rise ; dismissed nie 
 Thus with his speechless hand : What he would do. 
 He sent in writing after nie ; what he would not. 
 Bound with an oath, to yield to bis conditions ; 
 So, that all hope is vain. 
 Unless his noble mother, and his wife ; 
 Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him 
 For mercy to his country. Therefore, let's hence. 
 And with our fair entieaiies haste them on. [rrfuiit. 
 
 SCF-XE II. — in admnced Past nf t(« Volscian Cony 
 
 h<j\ire Rome. The Guard at their »atumt, 
 
 £nt/T to them Mesenivs. 
 
 1 G. Stay : Whence are you ! 
 
 3 (;. Stand, and go back. 
 
 Men. You guard like men; 'tis well: But, by your 
 I am an otiicer of sute. and come [leaye. 
 
 To speak withCoriolanus. 
 
 1 G. From whence ^ 
 
 Men. From Rome. 
 
 I G. Y»« may not pass, you must return ; our gene- 
 Will no more hear from thence. [ral 
 
 •i O. You'll see your Rome cmbrac'd with fire,before 
 You'll speak with CoriolanuS. 
 
 Meiu Good my friends, 
 
 If you have heard your general talk of Rome, 
 .\nd of his friends there, it is lou to blanks, 
 lly name hath touchd your ears : it is Menenius. 
 
 1 G. Be it so : go back : the virtue of your name 
 Is not here passable- 
 Men. I tell thee, fellow. 
 Thy general is my lover : I have been 
 The book of his good acts, whence men have read 
 His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplitied ; 
 For 1 have ever verified mv friends. 
 
 (Of whom he's chief,^ with all the size that verity 
 Would without lapsing suffer : nay. Sometimes, 
 Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground. 
 I have tumbled past the throw ; and in his praise 
 Have, almost, stamp'd the leasing : therefore, fellovr, 
 I must have leave to pass. 
 
 1 C. 'Faith, sir. if you have told as many lies in 
 his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, 
 you should not pass here : no, though it were as vir- 
 tuous to lie, as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. 
 
 Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name is Me- 
 nenius.always factionary on the party of your general. 
 
 2 G. How'soever you "have been his liar, (as yoa 
 say. you have,) I am one that, telling true under him, 
 must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back. 
 
 Jffii. Has he dined, canst thou tell! for 1 would 
 not speak with him till after dinner. 
 1 G. You are a Roman, are you? 
 Men. I am as thy general is. 
 
 1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can 
 you, when you have push'd out your gates the very 
 defender of them, and in a violent popu iar ignorance, 
 "iven your enemy your shield, think to front his re- 
 venges with the easy groans of old women, the vir- 
 irinal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied 
 intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem to 
 be \ Can you think to blow out the intended tire your 
 ciu- is ready to flame in, with such weak breath as 
 this ! No, you are deceived : therefore, back to Rome, 
 and prepare for your execution : you are condemned, 
 our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon, 
 
 Jtlfii. Sirrah. If thy captain knew I were here, he 
 would use me with estimation. 
 
 2 G. Come, my captain knows you not. 
 Alfti. I mean, thy general. 
 
 1 G. Sly general C^res net for you. Back, I say; 
 go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood ; — back, — 
 that's the utmost of your having ;— back. 
 
 Men. Xay, but fellow, fellow, — 
 
 Filter CoRioi ANvs and Aurini's. 
 
 Cot. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Men. Xow, you companion, I'll say an errand for 
 you ; you shall know now, that 1 am in estimation ; 
 you shall perceive that a jack gu;irdaul cannot office 
 me from my son Coriolanus : guess, but by my en- 
 tertainment with him, if thou staud'st not i' the state 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 649 
 
 of hanging, or of some death inore long in spec- 
 tatorship, and crueller in suffering ; behold now pre- 
 sently, and swoon for what's to come upon thee. — 
 The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy par- 
 ticular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy 
 old father Menenius does ! O, my son ! my son ! thou 
 aii preparing fire for us ; look thee, here's water to 
 queuch it, 1 was hardly moved to come to thee : but 
 being assured, none but myself could move thee, I 
 have been blown out of your gates with sighs: and 
 conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary 
 cointrymeu. Tlie good gods assuage thy wrath, and 
 turn the dregs of it upon this vailet here ; this, who, 
 like a block, hath denied my access to thee. 
 
 Cor. Away! 
 
 Men. How! away? 
 
 Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My aftaiis 
 Areservanted to others : Though I owe 
 My revenge properly, my remission lies 
 In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, 
 Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather 
 Than pity note how much.— Therefore, be gone. 
 Mine ears against your suits are stronger, than 
 Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee, 
 Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, [G'nesa tetter. 
 And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, 
 I will not hear tliee speak. — This man, Aufidius, 
 Was my beloved in Rome : yet thou behold'st 
 
 AuJ', You keep a constant temper. 
 
 [^Exeunt CouioLANUs and Aufid. 
 
 1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius. 
 
 2 G. *Tis a spell, you see, of much power: You 
 know the way home again. 
 
 1 G. Do you hear how we are shent for keeping 
 your greatness back ? 
 
 2 G. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon? 
 Men. I neither care for the world, nor your general: 
 
 for such things as you. I can scarce think there's any, 
 you are so slight. He that hath a will to die by him- 
 self, fears it not from another. Let your general do 
 his worst. For you, be that you are, long ; and your 
 misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I 
 was said to, Away ! [Exit. 
 
 1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him, 
 S G. The worthy fellow is our general : He is the 
 rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— T/ie Tent o/Coriolanus. 
 Enter Coriolanus, Aufidius, aiid others. 
 
 Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow 
 Set down our host. — My partner in this action, 
 You must report to t!ie Volscian lords, how plainly 
 1 have borne tliis business. 
 
 All/. Only their ends 
 
 You have respected ; stopp'd your ears against 
 The general suit of Rome ; never admitted 
 A private whisper, no, not with such friends 
 That thought them sure of you. 
 
 CV. This last old man, 
 
 Whom with a crack'd heart I h^ve sent to Rome, 
 Lov'd me above the measure of a father ; 
 Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge 
 Was to send him ; for whose old love, 1 have 
 (Though I shew'd sourly to him,) once more offer'd 
 The first conditions, which they did refuse. 
 And cannot now accept, to grace him ouly. 
 That thought he could do more ; a very little 
 I have yielded too : Fresh embassies, and suits, 
 Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter 
 Will 1 lend ear to. — Ha ! what shout is this ? 
 
 [S/n)u( within. 
 Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow 
 In the same time 'tis laade ! I will not. — 
 
 Enter^in mourning hahits,Vi'RGZLiA, Volumnia, lead' 
 
 ijig umuig Marci)^, Valeria, and Attendants, 
 My wife comes foremost ; then the honour'd mould 
 Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her iiand 
 The grand-child to her blood. But, out, affection! 
 All bond and privilege of nature break ! 
 Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. — 
 What is that curt'sy worth 1 or those doves' eyes, 
 Which can make gods forsworn? — I melt, and am not 
 Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows ; 
 As if Olympus to a molehill should 
 In supplication nod : and my young boy 
 Hath an aspect of intercession, which 
 Great nature cries, Den}f not. — Let the Voices 
 Plough Rome, and hanow Italy: Til never 
 Be such a gosling to obey instinct ; but stand, 
 As if a man were author of himself. 
 And knew no other kin. 
 
 Vir* ' My lord and husband I 
 
 Cor. Tiiese eyes are not the same 1 wore in Rome. 
 
 Vir. The sorrow, that delivers us thus chang'd. 
 Makes you think so. 
 
 Cor. Like a dull actor now, 
 
 I have forgot my part, and I am out, 
 Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh. 
 Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say, 
 For that, Forgive our Romans.' — O, a kiss 
 Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge ; 
 Now by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss 
 I carried from thee, dear ; and my true lip 
 Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods ! 1 prate. 
 And the most noble mother of the world 
 Leave unsaluted: Sink, my knee, i^ the earth j IKneeh. 
 Of thy deep duty more impression shew 
 Than that of common sons. 
 
 Vol. 0, stand up bless'd ! 
 
 Whilst, with no softer cushion than the tiiut, 
 1 kneel before thee ; and unproperly 
 Shew duty, as mistaken all the while 
 Between the child and parent. [Kneels, 
 
 Cor. What is this ? 
 
 Your knees to me? to your corrected son? 
 The let the pebbles on the hungry beach 
 Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds 
 Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun; 
 Murd'ring impossibility to make 
 What cannot b^ slight work. 
 
 Vol. Thou art mv warrior; 
 
 I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady 1 
 
 Cor. The noble sister of Publicola, 
 The moon of Rome ; chaste as tlie icicle. 
 That's curded by the frost from purest snow. 
 And hangs on Dian's temple: Dear Valeria! 
 
 Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours. 
 Which by the interpretation of full time 
 May shew like all yourself. 
 
 Cor. The god of soldiers. 
 
 With the consent of supreme Jove, inform 
 Thy thoughts with nobleness ; that thou may'st prove 
 To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars 
 Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, 
 And saving those that eye thee ! 
 
 Vol. Your knee, sirrah. 
 
 Cor. That's my brave boy. 
 
 Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself. 
 Are suitors to you. 
 
 Cor. I beseech you, peace : 
 
 Or, if you'd ask, remember this before ; 
 The things, I have forsworn to grant, may never 
 Be held by your denials. Do not bid me 
 Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate 
 Again with Rome's mechanics : — Tell me not 
 Wherein I seem unnatural : Desire not 
 
650 
 
 CORIOLAXUS, 
 
 To allay my rages and revenges, with 
 Your colder reasons, ^ 
 
 Vot. O, no more, no more .' 
 
 You have said, you will not grant us any thmg; 
 For we have nothing else to ask, but that 
 Whicli you deny already : Yet we will ask ; 
 That, if you fail in our request, the blame 
 Way hang upon your hardness-, therefore hear us. 
 Cur. Aufidius, and you Voices, mark ; for we'll 
 Hear nought from Rome in private. — Your request? 
 Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment, 
 And state of bodies would bewray what life 
 We have led since thy exile. Tliink with thyself. 
 How more unfortunate than all living women 
 Are we come hither : since that thy sight, which should 
 Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comfort, 
 Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and sorrow; 
 Making the mother, wife, and child, to see 
 The son, the husband, and the father, tearing 
 His country's bowels out. And to poor we. 
 Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us 
 Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort 
 That all but we enjoy; For how can we, 
 Alas! how can we for our country pray. 
 Whereto we are bound ; together with thy victory, 
 AVhereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose 
 The country, our dear nurse ; or else thy person. 
 Our comfort in the country. We must find 
 An evident calamity, though we had 
 Our wish, which side should win : for either thou 
 Must, as a foreign recreant, be led 
 With manacles through our streets, or else 
 Triumphantly treac^on tliy country's ruin; 
 And bear the palm, for having bravely sheJ 
 Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, 
 I purpose not to wait on fortune, til] 
 These wars determine : if I cannot persuade thee 
 Rather to shew a noble grace to both parts, ^ 
 Than seek the end of one, thou shall no sooner 
 March to assault thy country, than to tread 
 (Trust to't, thou shalt not,) on thy mother's womb, 
 That brought thee to this world. 
 
 Vir, Ay, and on mine. 
 
 That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name 
 Living to time. 
 
 Boy. He shall not tread on me ; 
 
 I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight. 
 
 Civ\ Not of a woman's tenderness to be. 
 Requires nor child nor woman's face to see. 
 1 have sat too long. [Rising. 
 
 Vol. Nay, go not from us thus. 
 
 If it were so, that our request did tend 
 To save the Romans, thereby to destroy 
 The Voices whom you serve, you might condemn us. 
 As poisonous of your honour ; No; our suit 
 Is, that you reconcile them : while the Voices 
 May say, Tliis mercy we have shew'd ; the Romans, 
 This we received ; and each in either side 
 Give the all-hail to thee, and cry Be bless'd 
 For jnakhig up this peace! Thou know'st great son, 
 The end of war's uncertain ; but this certain. 
 That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit 
 Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name. 
 Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses; 
 Whose chronicle thus writ, — The manwas noble, 
 But with his hst attempt he wip'd it out ; 
 Destroq^d his country ; and his name remains 
 To the ensuing age, ahhorrd. Speak to me, sou : 
 Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour. 
 To imitate the graces of the gods ; 
 To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o'lhe air, 
 And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt 
 That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak 1 
 
 Think'it thou It honourable fur a noble man 
 
 Still to remember wrongs? — Daughter, speak you. 
 
 He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy: 
 
 Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more 
 
 Than can our reasons. — There is no man in the world 
 
 More bound to iiismother; yet here he lets me prate. 
 
 Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life 
 
 Shew'd thy dear mother any courtesy ; 
 
 When she. (poor hen !) fond of no second brood. 
 
 Has cluck'd tliee to the wars, and safely home, 
 
 Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unjust. 
 
 And spurn me back : But, if it be not so. 
 
 Thou art not honest ; and the gods will plague thee. 
 
 That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which 
 
 To a mother's part belongs. — He turns away : 
 
 Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees. 
 
 To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more piide, 
 
 Than pity to our prayers. Down ; An end : 
 
 This is the last ; So we will home to Rome, 
 
 And die among our neighbours. — Nay, behold us; 
 
 This boy, that cannot tell what he would have. 
 
 But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship. 
 
 Does reason our petition with more strength 
 
 Than thou hast to deny't. — Come, let us go : 
 
 This fellow had a Volscian to his mother ; 
 
 His wife is in Corioli, and his child 
 
 Like him by chance : — Yet give us our despatch ; 
 
 I am hush'd until our city be afire, 
 
 And then I'll speak a little. 
 
 Cor. O mother, mother ! 
 
 [Holding VoLUMNiA by the hands, silent. 
 What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope. 
 The gods look down, and this unnatural scene 
 They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! ! 
 You have won a happy victory to Rome : 
 But, for your son, — believe it, O, believe it. 
 Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd. 
 If not most mortal to him. But, let it come ;— 
 Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, 
 I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius^ 
 Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard 
 A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius 1 
 
 AuJ\ I was mov'd withal. 
 
 Cor. I dare be sworn, you were : 
 
 And, sir, it is no little thing, to make 
 Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, 
 W^hat peace you'll make, advise me : for my part, 
 I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you ; and pray you. 
 Stand to me in this cause. — O mother! wife ! 
 
 Auf. I am glad, thou hast set thy mercy and thy ho- 
 
 At difference in thee : out of that I'll work [nour 
 
 Myself a former fortune. [Aside. 
 
 [The Ladies mahe signs to Coriolanus. 
 
 Cor. Ay, by and by ; [To Volumnia, Virgilia, S^c, 
 But we will drink together ; and you shall bear 
 A better witness back than words, which we, 
 On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd. 
 Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve 
 To have a temple built you ; all the swords 
 In Italy, and her confederate arras, 
 Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt., 
 
 SCENE IV.— Rome. A public Place. 
 Enter Menenius and Sicinius. 
 
 Men. See you yond' coign o' the Capitol ; yond* 
 corner-stone ? 
 
 Sic. Why, what of that? 
 
 Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with 
 your little finger, there is some hope tne ladies uf 
 Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. 
 But I say, there is no hope in't; our throats are sen- 
 tenced, and sta^ upon execution. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 (J51 
 
 Sic. Is't possible, that so short a time can alter the 
 coiidition,of a man 7 
 
 Men. There is differency between a grub, and a 
 butterfly ; yet your butterfly was a grub. I'his Mar- 
 cius is grown from man to dragon : lie has wings ; 
 he's more than a creeping thing. 
 
 Sic. He loved his mother dearly. 
 
 Men. So did he me : and he no more remembers 
 his mother now, than an eight-year old horse. The 
 tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When bewallis, 
 he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks be- 
 fore his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with 
 his eve; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. 
 He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. 
 \Vhat he bids be done, is finished with his bidding. 
 He wants nothing of a god, but eternity, and a hea- 
 ven 40 throne in. 
 
 Sic. Ves, mercy, if you report him truly. 
 
 Men. I paint him in the character. Jlark what 
 mercy his mother shall bring from him : There is no 
 more mercy in him, than ihere is milk in a male tiger ; 
 that shall our poor city find: and all this is 'long of you. 
 
 Sic. The gods be good un*.<i us I 
 
 Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be good 
 into us. When we banished him, we respected not 
 tlicm : and, lie returni:ig to break our necks, they re- 
 spect not us. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house ; 
 The plebeians have got your fellow-tribun", 
 And hale him up and down ; all swearing, if 
 The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, 
 They'll give him death by inches. 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 
 Sic. What's the news? [prevail'd. 
 
 Mess. Good news, good news ; — The ladies have 
 The Voices are dislodg'd, and JIarcius gone : 
 A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, 
 No, fot the expulsion of the Tarquins. 
 
 Sic. Friend, 
 
 Art thou certain this is true 1 Is it most certain 1 
 
 Mess, As certain, as I know the sun is fire ; 
 Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of if! 
 iVe'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide. 
 As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you; 
 \T) umpels and hautboiis sounded, and drnms 
 beaten, all together. Shouting also within. 
 The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, 
 Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans, 
 Wake the sun dance. Hark you ! [Shouting again. 
 
 Men. This is good news : 
 
 I will go meet the ladies. This A'olumnia 
 (s worth of consuls, senators, patricians, 
 A city full ; of tribunes, such as you, 
 A sea and land full : You haVe pray'd well to-day; 
 This morning, for ten thousand of your throats 
 I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy ! 
 
 [iS'')')nrii(^ and music. 
 
 Sic. First, the gods blessyou for their tidings: next. 
 Accept my thankfulness. 
 
 Mess. Sir, we have all 
 
 Great cause to give great thanks. 
 
 Sic. They are near the city ? 
 
 Mess. Almost at point to enter. 
 
 Sic. We will meet tiiem. 
 
 And help the joy. [Going. 
 
 EiKcT the Ladies, accompanied b\i Senators. Patri- 
 cians, and People. Theu jmss over the Stage. 
 1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome : 
 
 Call all your tribes together, praise the gods. 
 And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before tiiem: 
 Unshout the noise that banish'd Marcius, 
 Repeal him with the welcome of his mother ; 
 Cry, — Welcome, ladies, welcome ! — 
 
 All. ' Welcome, ladies ! 
 
 Welcome ! [A flourish with drums and trnmjiets. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Antium. A public Place. 
 Enter TuLLt'S AunDius, utth Attendants. 
 Anf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here : 
 Deliver them this paper : having read it, 
 Bid them repair to the market-place ; where I, 
 Even in theirs and in the commons' ears, 
 Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse. 
 The city ports by this hath enter'd, and 
 Intends to appear before the people, hoping 
 To purge himself with words : Despatch. 
 
 [Eieu?it Attendants. 
 
 Enter Tlireeor Four Conspirators o/'Aufidius'/actio«. 
 jNIost welcome ! 
 
 1 Con. How is it with our general ? 
 
 Auf. Even so. 
 
 As with a man by his own alms empoison'd. 
 And with his charity slain. 
 
 2 Can. Most noble sir. 
 If you do hold the same intent wherein 
 Vou wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you 
 
 Of your great danger. 
 
 Auf, Sir, I cannot tell ; 
 
 We must proceed, as we do find the people. 
 
 '6 Con. The people will remain uncertain, whilst 
 'Twixt you there's diff'erence ; but the fall of eillier 
 Makes the survivor heir of all. 
 
 A uf. I know it ; 
 
 And my pretext to strike at him admits 
 A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd 
 Mine honour for his truth : A\'ho being so heighten 'd, 
 He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery. 
 Seducing so my friends : and, to this end, 
 He bow'd his nature, never known before 
 But to be rough, unswayable, and free. 
 
 3 Con. Sir, his stoutness. 
 
 When he did stand for consul, which he lost 
 By lack of stooping, 
 
 Auf. That I would have spoke of: 
 
 Being banish'd for 't, he came unto my hearth ; 
 Presented to my knife his throat : I took him ; 
 Made him joint servant with me ; gave him way 
 In all his own desires ; nay, let hiin choose 
 Out of my files, his projects to accomplish. 
 My best and freshest men ; serv'd his designments 
 In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame. 
 \\ hich he did end all his ; and took some pride 
 To do myself this wrong : till, at the last, 
 I seem'd his follower, not partner ; and 
 He wag'd me with his countenance, as if 
 I had been mercenary. 
 
 1 Con. So he did, my lord : 
 The army marvcll'd at it. And, in the last. 
 When he had carried Rome ; and that we look'd 
 For no less spoil, than glory, 
 
 Anf. There was it ; — 
 
 For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him. 
 At a few drops of women's rheum, which are 
 As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour 
 Of our great action ; Therefore shall he die. 
 And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark ! 
 
 [Drums and Irnmiiets sound, with great 
 shouts of the people. 
 
6SS 
 
 CORIOLAXrS. 
 
 '^.'o'ar MttTC Mnrm ;f«« «Bter'<L lik* « past, 
 
 ^ :«a Iw luitk stuB, &w base dniwcs t«i»t, 
 
 S C«. " " ' TWrefore, at y»»r ruttage, 
 Ere He exj»BS M»self, or awire d>e s«0)>)e 
 With wi»t be ■wvwiki saj% Wi fci« teel^fww smwiL 
 WMck we will s«c«»ii. " WWa befies a)o*jr< 
 AiW xvar wav kb xx\f pnvaoaac'd sball bvrr 
 His TCSSOOS wiUi i»is b»iy, 
 
 ivt'. ' ^y o« taore : 
 
 He?e cooae tbe I<»iv^.&. 
 
 E%:tT f4« 1 >• 
 
 But,xtv«tbT iords.. kvre y«« witb beed peras'd 
 \Vb« I bare TOUen » jwi S 
 Lmit. We b*v«. 
 
 1 ZjmvJ. Aihi jtieve to heir it, 
 
 VTbit f»\ills he r.5»de beftae the i»st, I ihiaV. 
 Mijiiit hit* t"ou!>J e»5y titles : bat there to eaJ, 
 \\ h*re he uras to ki«in. and ctve away 
 The benefit of our letjcs. SKswerias: us 
 Widi oar own cha;^ ; — • ■ •~aty. whfuf 
 There was a yieUinc ; >> excuse. 
 
 Amf. He aj>j«v>achcs. _ i-u hitu. 
 
 Emt4T CoRiousrs, triti •jrwats «»<i <vibwn ; a 
 
 emr-a M Cititens irirt W». 
 Cr-. Hail, lonls ! I am rettim'J your soWi« ; 
 Xo more infected with my c««ntiv"s love. 
 Than when I parted hence, but soil subsisting 
 Voder T<>ur srre.<ii cx'miniand. You are to kuow. 
 
 That i\rv>>-jXTv^'.islv 1 h.i\ , .;. and 
 
 ^Vi:h b"..xv.v jMssacx-, '. >. ex"Ou to 
 
 The■ga;es^^!'Roil>e,\'^u:!.. . . ,.\e brought hotne, 
 r>o nsore Uian counterpoise, a tuii tJiird part. 
 The charges of the aouon. We hare made peace. 
 With no less honour to the Anliates. 
 Than shaase to the Koiuaus ; and we here dcUT«r, 
 Subscribed by the consuls and patricians. 
 Together with the seal o" the senate, what 
 We have compounded oa. 
 
 Jut. Read it not. noble loids ; 
 
 But iell the traitor, in the highest degree 
 Ue hath abus'd your powers. 
 Cor. Trutor ! — How now ! — 
 Avf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 
 
 C<v. ' Marcius! 
 
 Jtit'. \y. Marcius, Caius Marcius ; Dost thou think 
 I'll grace" thee with that robbeiy, thy stoln name 
 Coriolanus in Corioli ? 
 
 You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously 
 He has betray "d j-our business, and clven up. 
 Tor certain droits of salt, your city Ivome 
 t^I sav, your citii-.> to his wife and motlier ; 
 Breakinjj his oath and resolution, like 
 A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting 
 Counsel o" the war ; but at his nurse's tears 
 He whin'd and roar'd away your victor)- ; 
 That pages blush'd ,it him, and men of heart 
 Look'd wondering each at otlier. 
 
 Cor. llear'st thou. Mars ! 
 
 Anf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears, — 
 Cvr. " Ha! 
 
 - reltss liar, ihou hast made tuv Iteart 
 1 _ what c\iatains it. l^y ' O* ia« ! — 
 
 Paiww we. hMids, 'tis the irst ti»ie that evei 
 1 was MVd wv<vW, Vo»T iudjTiwnts «nv crave lorda, 
 M - ' . ■■.".■'-■' 
 
 .... .-.St 
 
 ■■ >j ^•— ^.^.car 
 
 1 .lim. 
 
 Peace, both, and hear me speak. 
 C*w, Cut nw to peces. Yolces ; men ai;.! s - 
 Stain a!! >'oHr e-l«^ or nw — Boy '. False i, 
 : : .-.e. 'tis there. 
 :c, 1 
 
 idiiiu— B^y;^ 
 
 Why. noble lords, ^ 
 \\ iii'vou be put in mit»d of its blitKi fortune, 
 Whiclti was vxvir shame, by this unholy braj^art, 
 'Fore TOur ,^" ' oars • 
 
 Ci«, Lei [SetYTwJ ^NaSj M ;»•.■«. 
 
 do it presonilv. He kiUcvi mv sou -, — m\ daujhter ; 
 — He killed' my cousin Marcus; — He killed my 
 father, — 
 S Xy*vJ, Peace, ho ; — no oauag* ; — peace. 
 
 Vho ;va:i is ;\o;x:i-. A;;a ' '- ' "s in 
 
 \ ;;;< ,.;;,,,• ;i.. i,-.;r;. T- ,~e tO US 
 
 S4-.i'.'i have j,.,U,-i,v.-.s hci...... ^ ., AuSdius, 
 
 .\ad trouble not the peace. 
 
 C.w, O. that I had him. 
 
 With six .\utkliuses. or more, his tribe. 
 To use mv lawful swotJ ! 
 .1m/. " Insolent viUuB ! 
 
 C.W. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him. 
 [.icnntcs ^l*J i»* Coospjmtors o'mie, & HHCorio- 
 uisus, «■■*« f««s, <i»<l .\rrit>ii's majmIs .<« Urn. 
 Lertli. ' Hold, hold, hold, bold. 
 
 Jut'. Mv noMe masters, let me speak, 
 1 lofiJ.O tuUus,— ['***.?• 
 
 a Loni. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will 
 S L.inl. Tread not upon him. — Masters all. be <fiict ; 
 Put up vour sworiis. 
 
 At. f . Ntv lorvls. whenwu sh,\ll know (as in this rage, 
 Pr«vok'd bv him, you cannot,'* the great danger 
 ' Which this" man's "life did o\ve you, jMu'U rejoice 
 I That he is thus cut off. Please it j-our honouij, 
 , To call me to \xiur senate, I'll deU»-er 
 , Mvself \Mur lo_\-al servant, or endure 
 1 Your heaviest censure. 
 
 ) 1 L„ru'. Bear fi\im hence his bodVi 
 
 And mourn you for him : let him be regatvlcd 
 j As the most noble corse, that ever herald 
 ! Did follow to his urn. 
 ! a I.mm". His own impatience 
 
 Takes from Autidius a great part \)f blame. 
 Let's make tl>e best of it. 
 
 Aiit. My rage is gone, 
 
 And I am struck witit sorrow. — Take him up : — 
 Help, thi\>e o' llie chiefest soldiers ; I'll be one, — 
 Tveat thou the drum, that it siieak mournluUv ; 
 Trail vour steel pikes.— Though in this city ho 
 Hath 'widow "d aud uuohilJci many a one. 
 I W hich to this hour bewail the injury. 
 j Yet he shall have a noble memory.— 
 -Vssisu [Eietm!, frAiriHg thf h.'dy ./ CoRioiasvs, 
 
 A dMlt MOrcA MMHiM. 
 
 •M. Kid tpo liiUe is lh« last-— Jou»so^. 
 
JULIUS C^SAli. 
 
 Oj It 
 
 
 vU</>, JtUiJ 
 
 
 J 'T to hn; /fif 
 
 y!*ui,K *«ii»of , ihba wouiti w Jiy lUTeVrDinrwijHto that eircC, ( 
 
 lite rJvrr 1' ; 
 dcleaictl ne«r Pliilij^! 
 
 ht of 
 :"w*; >\l>>>ut 
 
 -r '..■ ' JftMf, 
 
 ^r 17. 
 
 I'I'R.SONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 OfMVlII* C'«IIAI(, 
 
 M*«c.n Amo-111,1, ' <rmmOTMff/(«r theJeath of 
 
 Cicf.iio, I'cjiit.im, I'oiMi.n,'* Lkna ; uruitort. 
 Mabcuj IJftvTvt, C*ii<;>i, 1 
 
 ci>niplrator$ agaimt 
 JuliiM Csiar, 
 
 i^icciio, I'cjiit.im, I'oiMUi,'* L 
 Mabcuj IJftvTvt, C*ii<;>i, J 
 
 I)iciu«l5iii;ii'ii, J.ioAKiiin, } 
 
 MkTKI.M-II (Jimki;!,, (JivVA, J 
 
 Fi.Aviin and Makvuvh, Irilmnet. 
 Ani«»!ii,oi.i;«, a nrrphiit of Cniiim. 
 A Smthtuyer. Cinna, a pwl, ylnoi/isr Poet. 
 Lvai.w%, 'J'lTiMiuj, Mk»ai.a, y»«"« Cato, and Vo- 
 
 i.iiMvii'd; friaiilt to iirutus aiid Ca»»iu». 
 V*Bp.o, Clitui, Ci,*i;diu», S^ihato, Lvi:iv», 1»ar- 
 
 DANIDH ; MTVautI (o J3rutu». 
 PiNnAnuj, lermni to CaJ.itiu». 
 
 Cai.i'iiuiijiia, wife to Cisar. 
 PoitTiA, wife to Bnitua. 
 
 Senator; Ciliieru, Ouardt, Attendantt, ire. 
 
 SCKSJ,— during a great part of the Play, at Kome: 
 
 (fterwards at .Saiu^id ; and near P;iii,ii-f-i. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.-Romc. A Street. 
 Enter Fi.avius, Maiii;i,li-8, a,id a ralMe of CiliKm. 
 
 Flav. Ilcnce; home, you idle crcat.ircj, ifct vou 
 I« tl.i. a holiday 1 What ! know you not, Thorne • 
 l/cing mechanical, you ought not walk ' 
 
 Upon :i labouring day, without the sigi^ 
 Of your ijrofcHHion WSpeak, what tr^e art thou? 
 
 1 Ci(. Why, mr, a carpenter. 
 
 Mar Where n thy leather apron, and thy rulel 
 What do«t thou with thy host apparel on '— 
 Ifou, Mr ; what trade arc you 1 
 
 .™* .'''.'■ ''"'^' "'■■' '" "='P''«' "'■ " fine workman, 1 
 
 JVlar. Hut what trade art thou •; Answer medirectly. 
 z 0>i. A trade, Mr, that, I hotMi, I may u«e with a 
 
 bad ra""'"""' "'""''' '"• '"'''-''"'■ "''■' ^ "tender of 
 
 whaMralhl*'" "*^''' """^ "'"*'*' ''"'" ■^"^•"^ '"'^*"' 
 aCi Nay, I bccecJi you, »ir, be not out with 
 
 iBar. What meaneit Ihou by that? Mend me, 
 Uiou saucy fellow ? ' 
 
 * '"■ ^^'I'y. "ir, cobble you. 
 ri''v. Thou art a cohler, art thou ? 
 
 2 C.( Truly, .ir, all that I live by i», with the awl: 
 I meddle with no tra/le»man'« matter., nor worncn't 
 matter, but with awl. I am, in-ieed, sir, a surgeon 
 to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I reco- 
 ver them As proper men as ever trod upon neau- 
 Icather, have gone upon my handy-work. 
 
 /•te. I',ut whereff,re art not in thy shop to-day t 
 » hy dost thou lead these men about the streets' 
 
 2 Cii. 'Iruly, sir, to wear out their shoes, tji'm 
 myself intfi more work. JJut, iruleed, sir, we rjke 
 holiday, to sec Cffisar, and to rejoice in hi, triumph. 
 vvKfr; >7';"'^f"7 '*J°'7.^ What con.,aest brings he 
 \\ hat tributaries follow him to Rome, fhome' 
 
 1 o grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ' 
 1 ou blocks you stones, you worse than «en^ele^^ 
 U, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, f ihlnes i 
 Knew you not Pompeyi Many a time and oft 
 Have you dimb'd up to walls and battlemejn 
 io towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,' 
 your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
 ] he live-long day, witn patient expectation, 
 1 o see great Pompcy pa.ss the streets of Rome : 
 And when you saw hii chariot but appear 
 Have^ou not ma/ie an universal shout ' 
 1 hat I yber trembled underneath her banks 
 1 hear the replication of your sounds, 
 Made in her concave shores 1 
 And do you now put on your best attire? 
 .\nd do you now cull out a holiday ? 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way 
 I hat comes lo triumph over Pompey's blow] i 
 ise gone ; i j ■ 
 
 Run to your houses, fall utwn your knees 
 I ray to the gods to intermit the plague ' 
 I hat needs must light on this ingratitude. 
 
 Aol 11 I'l^'?'^"'"''^"'""'-™'-"- ""''.f"' this fault, 
 Anscmble all the poor men of your sort • 
 
 ; P^-v them u, Tybcr bank,, and weep your tear, 
 "to the channel, till the lowest stream 
 
 i'c wL'v .r""/'"'"-''' »'"'/'•''''■''"• [^'- Citizens, 
 htc, wher their basest metal be not moVd ; 
 
 They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
 
 Oo you down that way toward, the Capitol : 
 
 This way w. 1 r : Disrobe the im.iges, 
 
 Mar. May we do so ? 
 Vou know, It is the feast of Lupercal. 
 
 '•lav. It IS no matter ; let no images 
 i'd hung with Cajsar's trophies. I'll about. 
 And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 
 
 ho do Vflll i/lA UfkAr^. _^ - - ,1 _ _ .t - 1 
 
 wing, 
 
 ho do you too, where you perceSe them thick 
 
 I hese growing feathers j.luck'd from Cesar's 
 
 VV ill make him fly an ordinary pilch ; 
 
 Who else would soar above the view of men, 
 
 And keep us all in servile fcarfulncss. [Exeunt. 
 
654 
 
 scEXK n— n«j>«w. 
 
 JULIUS C-ESAR 
 Jp«MirP(M». 
 
 Eaur. r« _»nK»ssira, ctli K«tc Cjba» ; AvroxT, 
 jW :4* :v«rM; Ciuarssii. Poktu. Dicics, Cj- 
 
 fa'iimin' ; *mmg tk«m * Soothsavw. 
 
 C<5. C«h>httra», — 
 
 Casoi. Peace, ho I Cesar spea^ [JTwic CMMa;. 
 
 Cja. Calphuraia,- - 
 
 Cai. Here. BIT loid. 
 
 Ci-J. S«aa<l >-oe directly in Antooius" wav, 
 Wken be do'.aria his course. — Aatooius. 
 
 A<tt. Cxsar. mr lord. 
 
 0*5. F«).-p:t aot. ia your speed. Antonius. 
 To tocch Calphtiraia :'l\w oar eKiers saj. 
 The harrea. touche^i ia this holy chase, 
 Shaie off their steHl curse. 
 
 Jint. I shall remember: 
 
 Wbea CsBsar says, Dtf t*t», it is perfonu'd. 
 
 Crfs. Set cs. «3d leave no cereaioay out. [Afasic. 
 
 5«vt». Cssar. 
 
 C<s- Ha! WhocalU? 
 
 • i^Fioept uEdortal Cesar,) speikin^ of Bratu?, 
 
 .\Qd groaaicLjr uwierseath this a^e's yoke. 
 
 Have nish'd that aoble Bratus had hts eyes. 
 >v tt, lato what daiJ^ers would you lead lae, Casaiu? . 
 
 That voa would have me seek into mysell' 
 
 ' Fv :' '■■ is not in me ! 
 
 ' re. good Brutus, be srepar'd to hear : 
 
 .\ _ - .; know yo« cannot »se vouiseif 
 
 . So weii as bv redectioa, I, your glass, 
 j Will modestly discover to voktWIj" 
 . That of yourself »': ! Vaow not of. 
 
 .\nd be not jealous , Brutus • 
 
 Were I a ooniTnoa lA.-i.^ .- . , . -.c use 
 
 To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
 ; To everv new protester ; if vou know 
 j Thai I clo fawn on men. and hug them hard. 
 ' .\nd after scandal them ; or if you know 
 1 That 1 profe.55 myself in b»nijuetin| 
 
 To all Ute rout, then hold me danfeious. 
 I [l1<n<ruA. *»i Amtt. 
 
 I Kr«. What means this shouting ! 1 do fear, tha 
 1 Choose C«sar fox their king. [pfop** 
 
 "aj. At. do TOO feir it ! 
 
 Caau. Bid every noise be s»iU:—PMee yet again. , ,.,^ ,, - ^ - ■ 
 
 rJKKSC «usf,<. Then must I think you vould not have it so. 
 C«s, Who is it in the press, that calls on me I 
 I hear a toncue. shriller than all the music, 
 
 !l^ 
 
 Crv, C^sar :' Speak : Cesar is tnra'd to hear. . 
 
 Soot*. Beware the ides of March. i It it be augtit toward tie jeaerai good. 
 
 I 
 
 1 love him well • — 
 L-ne so long 1 
 °. to me ! 
 
 Os. What man is that I 
 
 Br-»Ji. soothsayer .bids you beware the ides of March. 
 CrtL Set him before ri^e, let me see his face. 
 CdJ.FeHow.coire - , ap LookupoaC.-esar. 
 
 C«s.Wfaatsay's: -v"! Speak once again. 
 
 S,wtJb. Beware i-t -=-- - -iirch. 
 Crfs. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him -.—pass. 
 
 [Sf^nfJ. E-r?iir if.' »iit Bec. oifci CiS. 
 C«». Will Tou go see the order of the course ! 
 Bru. Xot 1. 
 Cai. I pray yoo. do. 
 
 Bn- 1 am not gamesorce : I do lack soaae part 
 Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
 Let me not hittler, Cassins, your desires ; 
 lii leave yo«. 
 
 Cos. Bratas, I do observe yon now of late : 
 I have aot from your eyes that gentleness. 
 And show of We, as 1 was wont to have : 
 Yon bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
 Over vour bieitd that loves you. 
 
 B-u. ' Cassins, 
 
 Be not deceiT'd : If I have veiled my look, 
 T turn the Ooable of my countenance 
 Merely upoa myselt Veied I am. 
 Of li;e. with passions of some difference. 
 Conceptions only proper to myself, 
 WhicQ r^ve some soil, perha^. to my behaviours : 
 But let not therefore my |Ood ftieads be griev'd ; 
 (Among which number, Cassius, be you one ;) 
 JCor cocstree any further my neglect, 
 I1ian that poc- Brutas, with hii^sclf at war. 
 Forgets the shows of love to other men. [sion ; 
 
 C«. Then. Brutus. I have much mistook your pas- 
 Bt means whereof, this breast oi mine hath buried 
 Thoughts of jreat value, worthy cogitatioas. 
 Tell me, soo3 Brutus, can vou see your face ? 
 
 Bru. No. Cassias : for tile eye sees not itself. 
 But bv reflection, by some other things. 
 
 C«t Tisjust: " 
 And it is verv much lamented, Brutus. 
 That vou have no such minors, as will turn 
 Your 'hidden worthiness into your eye. 
 That von might see .our shadow. 1 have heard. 
 Where maav of the best respect in Roae, 
 
 Set honour in one eye. anS death i'the other, 
 .\nd 1 will look on both indiflerently : 
 For, let the gods so speed me. as 1 love 
 The name of honotir more than I fear death. 
 
 Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Bruius, 
 .\s »^ as I do know your out»a.Tl favour. 
 Weil, honour is the subject of my story. — 
 I cannot tell, what you and other mejj 
 Titink of this life : but. for my single self. 
 I had as lief not be. as live to be 
 la awe of such a thing as I myself. 
 I was bom free as Cssar : so were yon : 
 We bo'Ji have fed as well t and we can both 
 Endur^ the winter's cold, as well as he. 
 Tor once, upon a taw and gusty day. 
 The troubled Tyber chaifing with her shores, 
 
 j Cesar said to me, Ditr's: thcu. Cassius, mow 
 
 1 Leap IA Kith mu iR(t» this ari^yjijt.'vl^ 
 Ami sxim to mnder point .' — C^x-ia the ward, 
 Accouter'd as I was, I plunged in, 
 .\nd bade him follow : so. indeed, he did. 
 The torrent toar'd ; and we did bufiet it 
 
 I With lustv sinews ; throwing it aside 
 
 ; Aad steminiag it with hearts of controversy. 
 But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
 Cesar cry'd. Hgiv m^, Cassius, or i tiitic. 
 I. as .tineas, our great ancestor. 
 Did from the cames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 The old .\nchises bear, so.' from the waves of Tybef 
 Did I the tir'd Csesar : .ind tlus man 
 Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
 A wretched creature, and must bend his body. 
 If Cesar carelessly but nod on him. 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 .-Vnd. when the fit was on him, I did ir.ark 
 How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake - 
 His coward lips did from their colour fly 
 .\nd that same eye. whose bend doth awe the worid. 
 Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : 
 .\v, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romaos 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
 .\!as - it cried, Gir* me s^-fne drink, Titiaius, 
 .\s a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaie ae, 
 -i man of such a feeble temper should 
 
ACT I.-SCENE II. 
 
 655 
 
 So eel ihe start of the majestic world, 
 
 And bear the palm alone. [Shout. FlourUh. 
 
 liru. Another general shout ! 
 I do helieve, that these applauses are 
 For iome new honours that are heap'd on Csesar. 
 
 Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, 
 Like a Colossus ; and we petty men 
 Walk under bis huge legs, and peep about 
 To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
 Men at some time are masters of their fates : 
 I'he fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Brutus, and Caesar : What should be iu that CsEsar? 
 Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 
 Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with them, 
 Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Ca;sar. [i/iour. 
 Sow in the names of all tlie gods at once. 
 Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed. 
 That he is grow n so great ? Age, thou art sham'd • 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood. 
 But it was fam'd with more than with one man ■• 
 When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Home, 
 That her wide walks encompass'd but one man 1 
 Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 
 W'hen there is in it but one only man. 
 
 I you and I have heard our fathers say. 
 
 There was a Brutus once, that would have brook"d 
 The eternal devil to keep his state in Roipe, 
 .4s easily as a king. 
 
 Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
 W'hat you would work me to, 1 have some aim ; 
 How 1 have thought of this, and of these times, 
 
 1 shall recount hereafter ; for this present, 
 
 I would not, so with love I might entreat you. 
 Be any further mov'd. What you have said, 
 I will consider ; what you have to say, 
 I will with patience hear : and find a time 
 Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things. 
 Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this , 
 Brutus had rather be a villager. 
 Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
 Under these hard conditions as this time 
 Is like to lay upon us. 
 
 C'us. I am glad, that my weak words 
 Have struck but thus mucii show of fire from Brutus. 
 
 He-enter Cssar, and his Train. 
 
 Bru. The games are done, and Caesar is returning. 
 
 Cus. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ; 
 And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
 W'hat hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day. 
 
 Bru. I will do so: — But, look you, Cassius, 
 The angry spot doth glow on CiESar's brow, 
 And all the rest look like a chidden train : 
 Calphumia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero 
 Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes. 
 As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
 Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 
 
 Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 
 
 C(ts. Antonius. 
 
 Ant. Caesar. 
 
 C^5. Let me have men about me that are fat ; 
 Sleek-headed meu, and such as sleep o' nights : 
 Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 
 
 Ant. Fear him not, Casar, he's not dangerous ; 
 He is a noble Roman, and well given. 
 
 CiFs. ' Would he were fatter : — But I fear him not ; 
 Yet if my name were liable to fear. 
 
 I do not know the man I should avoid 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much , 
 He is a great observer, and he looks 
 Q'lite through the deeds of men : he loves no plavs, 
 .-Vb thou dost, .\ntonv ; he hears no music : 
 .S*;idom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort, 
 .\s if be mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit 
 That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease, 
 \V hiles they behold a greater than themselves ; 
 And therefore are they verj* dangerous, 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd. 
 Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar. 
 Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, 
 .\nd tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 
 [Exeuttt CiSAR atui his Train. Casca stays behind* 
 
 Casca. You pull'd me by the cloaik ; Would you 
 speak with me 1 
 
 "r«. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day, 
 That Caesar looks so sad 1 
 
 Casca. Why you were with him, were you not? 
 
 Bru. I shouldnot then ask Casca what hath chanc'd. 
 
 Casca. Why, there was a crown offered him : and 
 being offered him, he put it by with the back of his 
 hand, thus ; and then the people fell a' shouting. 
 
 Bru. What was the second noise for ! 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. 
 
 Cas. They shouted thrice ; Whatwas the last cry fori 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. 
 
 Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice 1 
 
 Casca. .\y, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice, 
 every time gentler than other ; and at every putting 
 by, mine honest neighbours shouted. 
 
 Cas. Who offer'd him the crown 1 
 
 Casca. W hy, Antony. 
 
 Bru. Tell us the manne' of it, gentle Casca. 
 
 Casca. I can as well be hanged, as tell the manner 
 of it : it was mere foolery. I did not mairk it. I saw 
 JIark Antony offer him a crown ; — yet 'twas not a 
 crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets ; — and, as 
 I told you, he put it by once ; but, for all that, to my 
 thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered 
 it lo him again ; then he put it by again : but, to 
 my thinking, he was ver)' loath to lay his fingers 
 off it. -And then be offered it the third time : he put' 
 it the third time by ; and still as he refused it, the 
 rabblement hooted , and clapped their chopped hands, 
 and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered 
 such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refused 
 the crown, that it had almost choaked Caesar ; for he 
 swooned, and fell down at it : And for mine own part, 
 I durst not laugh, for fear of opening mv lips, and 
 receiving the bad air. [swoon ? 
 
 Cas. But, soft, I pray you: Whatl Did Cassar 
 
 Casca. He fell down in the market-place, smd 
 foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 
 
 Bru. 'Tis very like : he hath the falling sickness. 
 
 Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you, and I, 
 And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness. 
 
 Casca. I know not what you mean by that; but, I 
 am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did 
 not clap hun, and hiss him, according aLS he pleased 
 and displeased them, as they use to do the players 
 m the theatre, I am no true man. 
 
 Bru. What^aid he, when he came unto himself ? 
 
 Casca. Marry, before be fell down, when he per- 
 ceived the common herd was glad he refused the 
 crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered 
 them his throat to cut. — .An I had been a man of any 
 occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, 
 I would I might go to hell among the rogues : — and 
 so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said. 
 
Go6 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 If he had done, or said, any thing amiss, he desired 
 their worships to thinlv it was his inlirniily. Three 
 or four wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas, giwd 
 soidf — and forgave him with ail their licarts: But 
 there's mo heed to be taken of ihem ; if Caisar had 
 stabbed their mothers, they wouUlliave done no less. 
 
 Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, awayl 
 
 Casca. Ay. 
 
 Cas. Did Cicero say any thing? 
 
 Casca Ay, he spoke Greek. 
 
 Cas. To what efii^ct J 
 
 Casca. Nay, an 1 tell you that, I'll ne'er look you 
 i' the face again : But those; that understood him, 
 smiled at one another, and shook their iieads ; but, 
 for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell 
 vou more news too: iMarullus and Flavins, for pull- 
 ing scarfs off ('assar's images, are put to silence. 
 Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I 
 could remember it. 
 
 Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Ca.'ica? 
 
 Casca. No, I am promised forth. 
 
 Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow 1 
 
 Cascu. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and 
 your dinner worth the eating. 
 
 Cas. Good ; I will expect you. 
 
 Casca. Do so: Farewell, both. [Eri( Casca. 
 
 tiru. WhcLt a blunt fellow is litis grown to be 1 
 He was quick mettle, when he went to school. 
 
 Cas. So is he now, in execution 
 Of any bold or noble enterpnze, 
 However he puts on this tardy form. 
 This rudeness is a sauce to his good witj 
 Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
 With belter appetite. 
 
 Bru. And so it is. For this time I mil leave you : 
 To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
 1 will come home to you ; or, if you will. 
 Come rome to me, and 1 will wait for you. 
 
 Gas. 1 will do so : — till then, think of tlie world. 
 
 [Ejit Brutus. 
 'Veil Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, 
 Thy honourable metal maybe wrought 
 From that it is dispos'd : Therefore, 'tis meet 
 That noble minds keep ever with their likes; 
 'For who so firm, that cannot he seduc'd ! 
 Csesar doth bear me hard : But he loves Brutus : 
 If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius, 
 He should not humour me. I will this night, 
 In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
 As if they came from several citizens, 
 Writings, all tending to the great opinion 
 That Home holds of his name ; wherein obscurely 
 Cffisar's ambition shall be glaac'd at: 
 And, after tliis, let Cffisar seat him sure ; 
 For we will shake him, orworse days endure. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— r/ie snmc. A Street. 
 
 Tkunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, 
 
 Casca, with his sword drawn, and CiCERO. 
 
 Cic. Good even, Casca : Brouglit you Ca;sar home? 
 Why are you breathless 1 and why stare you so 1 
 
 Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of 
 Shakes, like a thing unfirm ! O Cicero, [earth 
 
 I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
 Have riv'd the knotty oaks ; and I hare seen 
 The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 
 To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds : 
 But never till to-night, never till now. 
 Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 
 Either there is a civil strife in heaven ; 
 Or else the world, too saucy with the gods, 
 Incenses them to send destruction. 
 
 Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderful ? 
 
 Cdjca. Aconimon slave(you knowhim well by sight,} 
 Held up his left hand, which did Name, and bura 
 Like twenty torches join'd ; and yet his hand, 
 Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
 Besides, (I have not since put up my sword,) 
 Against the Capitol I met a lion. 
 Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by. 
 Without annoying nje: and there were drawn 
 Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women, 
 Transform'd with tlieir fear ; who swore, they saw 
 iMen. all in fire, walk up and down the streets. 
 And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit, 
 Even at noon-day, upon the market-place. 
 Hooting, and shrieking. When these prodigies 
 Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, 
 These are their reasons, — I'heu are natural ; 
 For, I believe, they aie portentous things 
 Unto the climate that they point upon. 
 
 Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
 But men may construe things after their fashion, 
 Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
 Comes Ca'sar to the Capitol to-morrow 1 
 
 Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius 
 Send word to you. he would be there to-moirow. 
 
 Cic. Good night then, Casca : this disturbed sky 
 Is not to walk iu. 
 
 Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit CicEno. 
 
 Enter Cassius. 
 
 Cas. Who's there 1 
 
 CiHca. A Roman. 
 
 Cas. Casca. by vour voice. 
 
 C(i5Cfl.Yourear isgood. Cassius, what night is this? 
 
 C<(s. A very pleasing night to honest men. 
 
 Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace sol 
 
 Cns.Those that have known the earth so full of faiilts. 
 For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, 
 Submitting me unto the perilous night ; 
 And, thus unbrac'd, Casca, as you see. 
 Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone : 
 And, when the cross-blue lightning seem'd to open 
 The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
 Even in the aim and very flash of it. 
 
 Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the 
 It is the part of men to fear and tremble, [heavens? 
 When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send 
 Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 
 
 Cas. You are dull, Casca ; and those sparks of life 
 That should be in a Roman, you do want. 
 Or else you use not : You look pale, and gaze. 
 And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder. 
 To see the strange impatience of the heavens : 
 But if you would consider the true cause, 
 Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 
 Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind ; 
 Why old men, fools, and children calculate : 
 ^Vhy all these things change, from their ordinance. 
 Their natures, and pre-formed faculties. 
 To monstrous quality ; why, you shall find. 
 That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits. 
 To make them instruments of fear, and warning, 
 Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca, 
 Name to thee a man most like this dreadful night ; 
 That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 
 As doth the lion in the Capitol : 
 A man no mightier than thyself, or me. 
 In personal action ; yet prodigious grown. 
 And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 
 
 Casca. 'TisCiEsar that you mean: Isitnot, Cassius? 
 
 Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 
 Have thewes and limbs like to their ancestors; 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 657 
 
 But, woe the while ! our fathers' minds are dead, 
 And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits ; 
 Our yoke and sufferance shew us womanish. 
 
 Casra. Indeed, they say, the senators to-morrow 
 Mean to establish Casar as a king : 
 And he shall wear his crown by sea and land. 
 In ev;;ry place, save here in Italy. 
 
 Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then ; 
 Cassius from bondage will deliver C'assius ; 
 Therein, yo gods, you make the weak most strong ; 
 Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat : 
 Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, 
 Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
 *Can be retentive to the strength of spirit : 
 But life, being weary of these worldly bars. 
 Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
 If I know this, know all the world besides. 
 That part of tyranny, that I do bear, 
 I can shake off at pleasure. 
 
 Casca. So can I : 
 
 So every bondman in his own hand bears 
 The power to cancel his captivity. 
 
 Cas. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then ? 
 Poor man ! I know, he would not be a wolf. 
 But that he sees, the Romans are but sheep : 
 He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
 Those that with haste will make a mighty fire, 
 Begin it with weak straws i What trash is Rome, 
 W' hat rubbish, and what offal, when it serves 
 For the base matter to illuminate 
 So vile a thing as Caesar? But, O grief! 
 Where hast thou led me 1 I, perhaps, speak this 
 Before a willing bondman ; then I know 
 My answer must be made : But I am arm'd. 
 And dangers are to me indifferent. 
 
 Cusca. You speak to Casca ; and to such a man, 
 That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand : 
 Be factious for redress of all these griefs ; 
 And I will set this foot of mine as far. 
 As who goes farthest. 
 
 Cas. There's a bargain made. 
 
 Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already 
 Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans, 
 To undergo with me an enterprize 
 Of honourable-dangerous consequence ; 
 And I do know by this, they stay for me 
 In Pompey's porch : For now, this fearful night. 
 There is no stir, or walking in the streets ; 
 And the complexion of the element 
 Is favour'd, lite the work we have in hand, 
 Host bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 
 
 Enter Cinva, 
 
 Crtscrt. Stand close a while, for here comes one in haste. 
 
 t'fts. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait ; 
 He is a friend. — (anna, where haste you so ? 
 
 Ciii. To find out you: Who's that ? Metellus Cimber ? 
 
 Ciis. Xo, it is Casca; one incorporate 
 To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna T 
 
 Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this ? 
 There's two or three of us have seen strange sights. 
 
 Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna 1 Tell me. 
 
 Cin. Yes, 
 
 You arc. 0, Cassius, if you could but win 
 The no'ole Brutus to our party 
 
 Cas. Be you content : Good Cinna, take this paper. 
 And look you, lay it in the prater's chair. 
 Where Brutus may but find it ; and throw this 
 In at his window : set this up with wax 
 I'ponold Brutus' statue : all this done. 
 Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. 
 Is Declus Brutus, and Trebonius, there ? 
 
 Cin. All but Metellus Cimber ; and he's gone 
 To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie. 
 And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 
 
 Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 
 
 [Exit Cinna. 
 Come, Casca, you and I will, yet. ere day. 
 See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
 is ours already ; and the man entire. 
 Upon the next encounter, yields him ours. 
 
 Casca. O, he sits high, in all the people's hearts : 
 -And that which would appear offence in us. 
 His countenance, like richest alchymy. 
 Will change to virtue, and to worthiness. 
 
 Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need of liim, 
 Y'ou have right well conceited. Let us go. 
 For it is after midnight ; and, ere day. 
 We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I.— The sarne. Bnitus's Orchard, 
 
 Enter Brutus. 
 
 Brn. What. Lucius ! ho ! — 
 I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
 Give g"uess how near to day- — Lucius, I say !— 
 I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. — 
 When, Lucius, when? Awake, 1 say: What, Lucius' 
 
 Enter Lucius, 
 
 Luc. Caird you, my lord ! 
 
 Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius: 
 W^hen it is lighted, come and call me here. 
 
 Luc. I will, my lord. [F.xtU 
 
 Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my part, 
 I know no personal cause to spurn at him. 
 But for the general. He would be crown'd : — 
 How that might change his nature,there's the question. 
 It is the bright day, that brings forth the adder ; 
 And that craves wary walking. Crownhim >. — That; — 
 And then. I grant, we put a sting in him, 
 That at his will he may do danger with. 
 The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
 Remorse from power: And to speak truth of Cajsar, 
 I have not known when his affections sway'd 
 More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof. 
 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
 Whereto the climber-upward turns his face : 
 But when he once attains the utmost round. 
 He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
 By which he did ascend : So Caesar may ; 
 Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
 Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
 Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented. 
 Would run to these, and these extremities : 
 And therefore think him as a serpent's e^e. 
 Which, hatch'd, would, ashis kind, growrarschievous, 
 And kill him in the shell. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. 
 Searching the window for a flint, I found 
 Thi.s paper, thus seal'd up ; and, I am sure. 
 It dia not lie there, when I went to bed. 
 
 Brn, Get you to bed again, it is not day. 
 Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March '. 
 
 Luc. I know not, sir. 
 
 Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 
 
 Lrtc. I will, sir. [firif, 
 
 3T 
 
^B 
 
 
 JULICS C RSaK. 
 A 9 
 
 Dk. Eir; &E U;J sis: 
 Cobs. N.r. 
 
 nA; 
 
 Stw.L y 
 
 e — 
 
 
 V- 
 
 BBtKesEsteasaii^af a&ea£fil - -^ 
 JL]■£tless■l■QBIl,aM^U9::; .. 
 Lss a fAoaSBBaL «S' s inienBS <cr3CiL ; 
 
 AaAeaiic— npi! ; aa£ Ac sax « antx, 
 lite a a lo^ loig^nB. so&s 3i£z 
 
 Zjbt- 5^. ^^ mil? mm ^ir*' Cy^nas aft oe a 
 
 W!bi> ana dsaxosesTTo. 
 S-T. Is fe iSme T 
 
 Ixg. X«. s;. •"»"•» i::^ muKM& ^c 
 Aa. Da taa buar oif - 
 
 Ljur. Xa.ss: ar- -> -'—i-JiSswi Aer*^- 
 
 »-inl h^ n^r ar;^ ST ~i."i£is, 
 
 Tins W a> la^ms 1 - _ . -: ' TVm 
 
 & EEJ TTiT-T nf irrnr. 
 ' »i-i.- 1^«: a>eii eofi^- flzi: Lccsrs. 
 
 Tier a:6 lae &CB; ^ ~ : ■ -btt ! 
 
 SSiEsi'a i&iw Has.; -z^zs K-i'« i^ a^^^fi* i it^^ 
 
 -^ — - i-en- Vt ia.T, — "— " 
 
 : Eri eoME» 
 Se*i ujcif, eaos: 
 
 ears «av 
 
 ~ Swrrmrv, 
 . .UC; 
 
 -r. 'Eiajf Aese, 
 
 -' u •sher baa^ 
 
 t3l£ niot (OKT •«&, 
 
 fTlif; 
 
 ~ :n&. a2ic >- 
 
 f jncsal af aas- saeae;. 
 - cyn*e^ aff web* pesfeEWsce, 
 -aaetcT toy rf th a i , 
 :^-r iifisaa aeoss. asbd aabir faeios, 
 .r" I seweiaJ kassaffr. 
 
 • -- 'rkssa* sua ve soaai Ws * 
 ^ Tsj- seao^ indi as. 
 : jsCTe io* cat. 
 
 Xoi.br a» 9sea£& 
 
 O >■: t; *««* kra ; fee 5^ sh«- lass 
 
 ; r? r.'.T'.TTigaiA attr : ■ 
 
 i>^ TXii a^c>£ar. 
 
 Gaoi- ■ - 2 -- _ 
 
 Cfli- Yes. *"^T ~-" '^ Uj:' - 
 Bad ijnamirs JOB ; Ea£ eresT «C!t i_ _ 
 Tea kaa vcu uai w iu Ba t «■ laose^' 
 ^TaseAeienr mi h ^aoiaa 'hees af Tv — 
 TUs B Tic^aaiBS. 
 
 Co. T^oSy Dacscs Srscss. 
 
 £r«. Heiswcioi 
 
 Ccx. nis;,C^sea: 6i5.Ciiii: 
 
 £r-u Tt=j scan 
 
 ■Wax: ^ rttgiB'fch'a 
 
 CfiL ^^K^ 1 f^TT^--' « K^".^ I 1^1 JUT KU«^. 
 
 Theakaniaaoal. 
 
 'jhrtoBif Cess?} 
 
 : =i ?! is a« =seeS. 
 
 &«. ^^aauUaa^.CaiBsCas- 
 
 Ta cm i^ i^ -^ i^ -i^ ki^*« B"fe ; 
 liks laA ia d*gli aad mtt aikaaaid^: 
 Ter Asoanr is tat a £=V r;" t«ar. 
 I^ cs te sacoBtas^ btn so bcxhos. Caics. 
 
 Aai Ml f.-'.-^'-/:^ w«ssj! Bat, alas. 
 
a- -. 5^.»<^«-._ , .^— . •JC— ~*^ — 
 
 .^^- ->.--W-W^.^' 
 
 
 
 ^r 
 
 ,t --^ 
 
 -^' 
 
 
 b>^j><-— ~ .^^ — 
 
ACT II.— SCENE L 
 
 659 
 
 r.i.,jr r,.i..i V.1>>M for h! And, pmtl« friend*, 
 
 j^ , 4i»h (it lot tSf. ffA», 
 
 S'A Ut,-ii !...;. SI a (;*/<;«»« (it f'/r (.oijwji: 
 At./) )«;t iMr h/rtiftt, M «tilrtl* mjuVrff do, 
 
 )-• •' . •• -:•• • ■■■' ■■' ■■ 
 
 P/'U. V'.f'h V, 
 It it tt'/t ? 
 V'/ur i»ti^ 
 
 fw. >',' !v;. 
 hrstta. 
 
 fit p.'is \o«t WW»efcre rm jtn 
 V, .'?;;•»>. .er. Y<m litre — Dfrn ly, 
 
 «.^ -.„-»■. 
 
 ••'t it 
 
 upper. 
 
 W tii'.ri v> ap- 
 W. ,i,,H 1,. . 
 
 
 1 
 
 ■1 Cfcia/* iTT/i, 
 
 f,-j4. V«t I d/) few him ; 
 y'lH in tke iB^tft«4 lore he Ixam to Carta/, 
 
 Wru. A!«<, ^'<"^ r»fiut. 4o not tliink '>f biin f 
 in* !(«« CKMr, .ill tiiat b< 'ran do 
 I . r ,<■ J,. 
 
 1. 
 
 '/'r«*. I here i« no iear m hiia ; let tiirn w/t die ; 
 For be will live, and Ua^ at tlii* berea/ter. 
 
 (C'tel: rtrifca, 
 
 iJrK, Peace, count the clock. 
 
 C'ai. 'Che clock hatb itricken three, 
 
 7V«t. Tu time to part. 
 
 Cm. But it i* doobtful yet, 
 
 Wlie'r Caeiar will cime forth to-day, or no ; 
 For lie i« »iJperttilioii« j^owo of late ; 
 Qfjite from th': rriairi ' : '.r,ce 
 
 <>f (iuU.\w, of drea' 
 It mav '.- •'••>■ •<• 
 
 Ih^i/:. .-.ight, 
 
 Ar,'l ir • r';r». 
 
 May Iw/lil iiiio f'oio ii.c Ciij.,Ujl to-day. 
 
 /J^c. Kever fear that ; If he be v> teaolr'd, 
 I . ' ' ' • '. to hear, 
 
 i iih ireei, 
 
 /, , . , » with holei, 
 
 i-ioQS wiiti toil*, and nien with tiaw^tn : 
 
 ii'if, ^hen I t/:ll hiin, he hatet (latt>:rer«, 
 
 II' .'^et i being llieo moil fiutered. 
 
 J 
 
 >■„ I • , ' ' - ■•!■ the true bent; 
 
 And 1 ■; C»;<itol. 
 
 Caj. 'f ut l,e tljcre to fetch him. 
 
 fSru. Jiy iiie eijfhlb ii'.ur: Ii that the titterniost? 
 
 tin. lie that the tit'-.nmm, and fail not then. 
 
 Met. fjkiut l.ijfariij* doth b'Ar Cse^ar hard, 
 Who rated him for sj,eakiri;^ w<:!l of I'omTt'-y ; 
 I wonder, none of yo'i have tho'ji^ht of hirn. 
 
 hni. Now, g'xjd .Meteilu», ^o iloti? by him ; 
 He love* me well, and I have given him reaioos ; 
 -'.'od him hut hitber, and I'll faihion him. 
 
 Col. The morninj^ cnuxtA uyta u* : Wc*Il leave 
 ■ ' • J s : — 
 Ar.'i. f »yoar«elve»: but all remember 
 
 W nat V. - .-- . ;. -jinathewyotirielventrueliomaaA. 
 
 hru. Good gentlemen, look fre«b and ttuemly } 
 Let not our look^ put on our furptne* : 
 Jiut l>ear it as our Komao acton do. 
 With untjr'd npints, and formal eoiutaocy : 
 And %o, g'iod'morrow to you every one. 
 
 IKi'.unt all hit Rr.VTCi. 
 Hoy'. I.uciui! — Faxtuleep^ It i«. no matter ; 
 f.rr.v ttie honey-heavy dew of ulumber : 
 'I U', A irdAt no figures, nor no fanlaAies, 
 \V hi':^i busy care drawn in the brains of men : 
 I'hereiore tnoo tleep'tt to uund. 
 
 Enter Poetja. 
 
 Bnitu, my lord '. 
 
 AiA »/*eo i a..! '>aa, 
 
 Vou •tar'd nyr • : 
 
 , ' J /oflJ.^r , • v:a vo j un-tu <1 jont h«ad, 
 .opatieotty Uaoip'd wHJi yav MM: 
 
 : - ^ . ...ttJOT, *e* *. O't antM-tf-r'd ri'/t '. 
 
 liut, with an 4' •), 
 
 tiave ti^ for:.' . . J ; 
 
 Fearir/jf t/, ttre- Jie, 
 
 Whi/rhVeai'd ; and, witbal. 
 
 Ho: • 
 
 W- 
 
 It / 
 
 An 
 
 A» 
 
 I V .■-(. 
 
 ;;.... , 
 
 I'oT. I- Mk, 
 
 He wo;j!'; ■ 
 
 Bru, \Vi,y, w, I *iit : — Good I'orlia, go U, u^ 
 
 far. I« BrWo» lick' and i« it phyu^ 
 To » • ■ ■ . ■ ■ 
 Of 
 
 Ai,-; - . 
 To dare ' 
 And ter;, : 
 
 To add ■: , ii:.iiai ; 
 
 You ha.' •. vonr mind, 
 
 Wh:-A, •.. v: ; • ' ■ ■ 
 
 lo ; :c:.'.-'. '<.'■ : 
 
 I '::.: -. r,y I/.y^.. ... ,.-■.. 
 
 }' ■ ■ '. >. of love, i-'i t.'.ai great row 
 
 V. TjMtatK ao'l r- •^": t. orje. 
 
 It ; to Bie, yo,- ilf, 
 
 W '.iVT ; an^ . -jight 
 
 Hare .p,. ■ •'. -vi: loi ..-.•: ..i..--. i/een 
 
 tent iiz ' ' '- ho did hide their fa>;et 
 
 Ev«a froa, ■; ; i-.^-. -.. 
 
 Btk. Kneel not, gentle Portia- 
 
 P«r, I «lMmM not need, if yon were gentle BnjtB*. 
 W' ■ ■ ' .'.arriage, tell roe, Bratai, 
 
 In - ■ . !d know r,o lecretj 
 
 llii'. ., .^ .... w . ..? Ami yountU, 
 Hut, at It were, in lort, or iiontatioQ ; 
 To keep with yoo at rneala, comfort roar bed. 
 And talk to yoa lometimet? Dwell I bntin the fub- 
 CM your good pleaiure ? If it be no more, [arbt 
 
 Portia i» li.ijtj*' hirlot, not bit wife. 
 
 /)ra. Vou hj". my trje ar.d honoorable wife ; 
 Aj dear to me i". a:e th<: ruddy dropt 
 Tbat viiit my tad heart. 
 
 For. If thii were true, then (honld I know this *<^ 
 I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal, [fret. 
 
 A woman tliat lord fcrutm took v, wife : 
 I grant, I am a woman ; bot, witiial, 
 A woman well reputed ; Cato'i dao^ter. 
 Think yon, I am no «tronzer than myiei, 
 Being lo father'd, and w< niwbandsd 1 
 'lell me yonr co'n«e!*, I will .Tft disclofe them : 
 I i '. ' .aitancy, 
 
 G. 
 
 He;.., .„ „,-. ...,.,-.. . u».. . ..-— . ..at with patjeoce. 
 And not my htuband'i wcrets ? 
 
 jBtu. O ye godi, 
 
 2 T 2 
 

 JCU13S CJESAR. 
 
 iiSWC ait wut hssBv. 
 
 » aide. 
 
 ^ iiMi:: 
 
 t"^3. t"".- 
 
 wrv*» «fl> >» »«vodo4. 
 
 T t^<t<«<$ Wtx^ sWir^toi^. 
 
 ■?^r. 
 
 A.1 
 
 
 V. 
 
 Tj «•^Ml. A 
 
 
 
 w~<>Amk » <yat9iBr£ it 
 
 ^ . . w SIC liiexk , - -'■ 
 
 
 
 tt 
 
 Eun- CAUwrKO*. 
 
 MS «! WT V»f* ■: -"i** Aij- S>>»1' ss - 
 
 -OSS, 
 
 .op tkwir as.' 
 
 . .■*. 
 
 ,is a >». 
 
 i>.'^ 
 
 ;v- 
 
 ;.-■!« «! iwk fc»rJea m uk t 
 
 J K.'^'- -i. K.MIJ PV*^ 
 
ACT HI.— SCENE I. 
 
 001 
 
 
 ^Vi. Awl Oiii w*y b«v«! y/j^j w^tj 'rjrrfmin/V^ (?, 
 
 I 
 
 'snuay; 
 
 ' • * fftiKk 
 
 IWmU vp Oi* Vfultt; liH nfiii'hfr tirn*^ 
 Whrn ' ^- - - ' -.h/iU nurt vHh hmrr irfimi, 
 I' f> "If, »liall 'Jiey »'»t »hitp«f, 
 
 /.«, r, , ' 
 
 l'*tlUm lar., (,»m/ : {or Bljf (!«af, /)«»» .'iws 
 ttt yimt ^nifit-t'/lo,'/^ ^/f'^1 ffi* »*fl| yfmth'tA'f 
 Ami r ■ . I: 
 
 ^« •■ «!em fi/rtf , Calptinr- 
 
 ' »"' * • ■ ■• • .'■• ..>™, - (ni*l 
 
 Oi»« fi»« my Kit<*,, fr/f 1 Mill ji[o ;— 
 
 £n««r Pm«i,ii,», Kfi-iv; Li«ji*fr.-4, Jf «»«.«;», 
 C*nc*, Tutumm, and Cixs/i. 
 Aiwl look wt>^<! PnbliiMi is iv<m« to fetch m«, 
 
 /'«/<. OowJ anirnrw, C.xmu. 
 
 '■'"■ Wtkmnt, PnhUtti. — 
 
 'Vhat, fJrntm, »« ym utifr'd w) *4rljr too ? — 
 '/wxl n,i,iiir«, Cusj-Ji. — (;ain»l,ijifiirii>», 
 <;»-.«»/ w»« fw'ftf «> miifili ymir (rnerny, 
 A« tUat tarrifi »i(ii<! ^birji hath ma/i* yon l*an. — 
 Wdst i) 't o'cIkIc ? 
 
 /'"'■ Ca»ar, 'lU ttrocken tiijdt. 
 
 C//^i. I tli^nk ytm for ywir paid* tuA eoaittxy. 
 
 Enter Amour. 
 
 Ve ! Anf/.ny, il.at rerelt \(mtit/ night*, 
 
 Oo</*l nifitujv/, AtAouy. 
 
 Ant. Ho to mo«t nobl« Cswar. 
 
 C'*», Bid ihMn pritpare williin ; — 
 I »m to hlarne to l»« tliij* waited for. — 
 Now, Cinna :— Now, Hcttllus ;— What, Tieiionni' 
 I have, an liour'« talk in «tore for you ; 
 V.i-.ini-.ml^T rhat you 'all oo m". i/,.<lay : 
 /i<! o'Kir m<:, that J may f<^Of:Tol<<;r yon, 
 
 TrtI,, <',TK\»r, I will : — and >« r«»a/ will I U„ [/(.i/ie. 
 That your Ixnt ft\kiA% tfiall wi»l. I ha/I l^/rti further. 
 
 C«i. Ooo<l friend*, go in, an/1 ta»te lorae win* wit>i 
 rn*:; 
 Ad/I we. liks fri(.-ndi, will jtraii'titway ^o io,'<..rt„,r. 
 
 /Vi/. 'I hat evpry like, n not tii': >.aio»;, O < ;;iar, 
 I lie heart f»f l)rutu» yearns to think, upon ! [ l.itant. 
 
 SCENE lU. — The tame. A Strut near the Capitol. 
 
 F.nier Abtrjuijoscj, reading a paper. 
 Art. Ca»ar, heicare (rflimVa ; take heed >ff:»itin% ■ 
 ome mit ne/ir i'isu-^ ; lMt,e an eife tn Cinna ; (ri/«i nm 
 'irclioniu* ; mark icell .VJetellu* Cirolier ; iHniut 
 Iinitu« Unet IheenM ; thou hatt urimgitd Cain^ I.ijrariui. 
 There it htil me mind in all theie men, and it it hent 
 aiminll fjanar. If tluni hf'.l not imm/rrtat, look ahmU 
 you : Seeuriti/ pt.e% vMif Ui eanipiraeij. The mif^hti/ 
 eodtdefemlthee! Thti Inrer, Artimidorh. 
 
 Here will I utand, till C«»ar pass along. 
 And a» a «uitor will I ^i»e hin) thi«. 
 My h'lart la/net.ti, that virtue cannot live 
 Out 1,1 the t/;etli of emulation. 
 If thou rea/1 thi», Casiar, thon may'tt lire ; 
 if not, the fatoj vitfa traiUjr» do c«nlri»e. [Exit. 
 
 SCBJfB IV, — The vme. Aiuiiher »tn ^ thjt 
 name fllreet, hefnre the Umee if hntm. 
 Knler Vokti* and hKKiti*. 
 l'"r, ', ■ • • i/» the tetMtf^'iiossie : 
 ntAf ta,' ?';». thee ijone ; 
 Why ^.fKi u.'. i ^'Aj ■ 
 I'le. To kwrtc tttj tn^iA. rftada-n. 
 I'm-, t would have r.ir! u.^i- ■•,.... ir.d liere a^ajn, 
 f>e I <Mu (ell thee > da lh«<*, 
 
 'y»^rt»af!''v >,* ^«f. 
 
 >:' .•.,'t«=! 
 
 Art th«ii here y«t> 
 
 /-'«r. itadam, what th//old I do ' 
 
 Ron to tl«5 Capiiol. and o'/thin? el*ft? 
 Arj/I sio return »/» won. a'cl riftthtn./ eKe* 
 
 /'(W. V .<irell, 
 
 f w he - ' 
 
 Wl^tf. ,„. ^..,,, ,, ., ' 
 
 Ham, »,- -at? 
 
 />!«, i . : o. 
 
 ,.''*'-, , „ Pr;'thee,li*«)iw*a: 
 
 1 heafd ihtmtnnf^ nmumr, Kke a fra». 
 And tlie wiftd f/riru/s it from the f;at.(i/,l. 
 
 Lue.. Sooth, n>a/iam, I hea/ luMiiap 
 fitter Heotiitijei. 
 
 f'"- Come Wiher, fellow : 
 
 Which way hait thrm heen t 
 
 ■'"'fdh. A t mine own boiae, good lady, 
 
 I'or. What U 't o'clocit t 
 
 *"«'*• About ttie ninth hotir, lady. 
 
 for. U Cssar yet gone u, the Capitol T 
 
 .S/wm/.. StiAun, nr/t yet ; I ^o to tai« Bijf itand. 
 To lee hifo pa.w on to the CapitoL 
 
 '''"•'■ ' '=-.t thou not? 
 
 .!lr<«/.. ,,ea»e Cae-sax 
 
 10 l»e w, _ ., . ., .'^ 
 
 I »hall besieech him v, t(e»nerid birnjeif. 
 
 I'or. Why, know'»t tlion any harm '» intended to- 
 ward* him > fmay cliance. 
 
 .Vonf/i. Xone that I kriow will he, ntnch that I fear 
 Grxxl nuirrmr tit ywj. Here the 'treet is tAnow : 
 Tim throng that i'Miivii Catsar a', tr.e heela, 
 f.if tenasori, of pr^t'irt, rrommon %:iUj7», 
 Will crrrad a feeble rrdoj aloio»t to death : 
 I 'II get rne to a ^la/:e more »oid, and there 
 Speak u, jn'Ai. C«<ax a* he crtne« along. f Eiit, 
 
 I'rrr. I rnijit i;o in,— Ah me ! hfw weak a tidng 
 Hie Itfrart of woman i»! O iSrotat! 
 '( he liea*en« apeed tliee in thine enterprize '. 
 Sure, the l*y heard me: — Brutna hath a »nit. 
 
 That Cs;«ar will not grant — (). I grow faint- 
 
 Kun, Laciun, arid lummmnd me to my lord ; 
 
 ■'<ay, X am merry ; come to roe again. 
 
 And bring me word what he doth »ay to thee. Itieant. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 8CE.NE L 
 The mne. — Vie Opitol ; the itnaXjt tilting. 
 A ergud rf pf/pU in the itreet leading to the Capitol , 
 ammg them, AtntMinfiKvi, and the Hixith»aye». 
 Flimriih. Enter C>mak, fcuiiTi;*, Cami';». Cw.h, 
 hfavi, MKTi!i.i.i.-»,TKRBO)iti;», CmnA, AmoWT, 
 l.t.nbvt, Viiyti.tv%, Puin.rui, and otheri. 
 Cirt. The idei of March are r.ome. 
 Sooth. Ay, CxHr; bnt not gone. 
 
66a 
 
 JUUFS CJES^R. 
 
 jt^ 
 
 .1 M, 
 U'SO. 
 
 .■■. rn T,-,-,r> 
 
 r s» sae -jK 
 
 T: - - - ^ 
 
 CxK V^sat^ ^srsfi ytpt pmr peQcunifi *& toe > - - 
 Came a 3ie Captni. C«s. bwratu . Wij 
 
 ittA3aian«sr«- ' ^.^^ ^e*L 
 
 - " """^^ ""jtir eafETTcze iB^^jay sa^ suzvOk ^Ca^: - 
 
 l a-jL-ig . popiiins' ii/v 
 
 - ^.n. ~ Jmraaa 3r C.ZS13. Jt/i;- • 
 
 Ca& ^ : -ay Mil iiiininiirii iiiii^iinhpie. ' Cs. £: 21, Snca? — TVat &2L Cssa.". 
 
 Z iac <n: ririx^ s 'OseaasaA. IDia. Tim amuaa* aai f»pia rtan 
 
 Srv. TjiK, amv lie msKa^ v Css^ = iMffc rtfrF. 
 
 R-: oailaeaiBE 
 
 Ct i^isT aB»ar si:- 
 
 3K- Ca " " 
 
 F'. ~ : . ^qOKS ooc af « 
 
 I. -ifes a>& Cxsv daai ant <.-9ase«> 
 
 I. i-g fcprws T ^ ~;TTi^ ■'-■ ■ 1 .^: r.. 
 
 ^ijMiie Jtmnrr 
 .She W&oe s ](e dm. ^. S&>: . 
 
 Jbll£ .lll!,"*illi^ jHUlU - 
 
 3rm. ^eeatiBesE^ . 
 
 Til 
 
 X«Ei-3s .':nir- 2^^- 3a2T 
 
 Cbk. 
 
 X . Mtt n jT-^ iVa. " Tied )» Is 1 
 
 ji^ :I3;l:^^:. i^. X'Si. wrres. xsii «^£3cst. same, cri «a^ aai( m^ 
 
 T: -:bs SIC& s&d Moof, 3ni. F«Lts we val csmr jgar pieaeaoes :- 
 
 Tj._ - ■•■= — - -— "— Tbai-Besrv - ■"- t-Mut; tsW^ikctsse. 
 
 'Vu . . -Rris, Ajil«x^ :3alt sea sami 3C^>-.. 
 
 I-r« .-. - - --.:.^. Ci& Ti . . .s :f ro?m jeacs ji ji, 
 
 t-. 
 
 ** 
 
 ■-.ec 
 
 ..^(..e^acs 
 
 . -CV ~'- T-.t ^ <i^t:w *^t-'^ *»* «-■ 
 
 xi: 
 
 r mimitft 
 
 1 r^v T^-TiT^ il^'i- 
 
 *T *c3.:s^ trjmrrj. i^_ s;.-' 
 
 
 -««, 
 
 . lilaBeri 
 
 '-^■7 alt ii.i^ -stais; 
 
 2L^ XOCSXC Tlg.T Jfc ix:^! 
 
 Cic Si>«ft»M«diiriCW, 
 
 ?* fSsst ^sd Ae taaK «e k W atS^i 
 Tie ses iiaefaeaivaaaen'BkKf. 
 
 5)ku Tte;at^«efiiE&f 
 
 Cb. At. tmj ■■■ B » jj : 
 
ACT 11 1.- SCENE I. 
 
 603 
 
 Enttr a gervaut I 
 
 Srrv. 'I li<n. llruUn, (Ixi my matter biJ nj« kue«l ; 
 Tl.in iIm) Mark Aniooy )/i'i me fall (J<n*n ; 
 Ami, iMsin'j' |)r««l;»t«, lliu* lie l/'wie me say. 
 
 ('■ ' • ■f.'^, valiant, ari<J booea: 
 
 ( i>uld, f«yal, ari'J loving : 
 
 :., u>r] I honour him ^ 
 Say, i <cw'<l CK«lr, l/(ii>(/>Jr''J liini, and krv'd bim. 
 If flroiti* will vntirli^afe, that Aritr^riy 
 M . Iiim, and be rtiolv'd 
 
 J ■ i-jv'il U/ hi: in 'leath, 
 
 .'.i... J not love Cseiar <iea/l 
 
 Ho well at /SnJiut living ; Init will follrnr 
 'i li« foituneii amJ a(rair» of nolile liiutut, 
 Th«roui(h the ha74ifd« of thii untrod state, 
 With ail true failh. So ta¥» rny inai>t«r An'ony. 
 
 Wni. 7hy master i» awi«! and valiant lloman ; 
 I never tjtotjjjltt him worsie. 
 1'ell him, M |>leau.- him come onto this place, 
 He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honour, 
 Dei/arl untouch'd, 
 
 A«rt/. I'll fet/.h hirn presently. [T.tH Servant. 
 
 Htu. 1 knrrw that we shall have hirn well to friend. 
 
 Cm. I wish, we may: hut yet have I a mind. 
 That fears him inueh ; and my niisgiviog still 
 Falls khtewdly tJj the purpose. 
 
 Jle-enln AnTrmr. 
 
 liru. I'ut here come* Antony. — Welcome, Slark 
 
 Antony. 
 Am. O mighty Cxsar \ dost thou lie M low 1 
 Ate all thy con'iuests, glories, triumphf, spoils, 
 Shrunk to this little measure ? — fare thee well. — 
 I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 
 Who el* must hi; let bioiyl, who else ii rank: 
 if i myM:lf, there is no hour so fit 
 As C';eiar's death's hour ; nor no inttrument 
 Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich 
 With the most noble blowl of all this world. 
 I fio l^esecch ye, if you l>eaT rne hard, 
 ,\ow, uhitst your purpled hands do reek and smok£, 
 i ulfill your plea'iure. Live a thousand years, 
 1 i.hall not find myself so apt to die : 
 .No tilace will please me so, no mean of death. 
 As here by Ciesar, and by you cut off. 
 The choice and master spints of this age. 
 
 lini. O Antony ! beg not your death of us. 
 1 hough now we must ap(<ear bloody and cruel. 
 Ah, by our hands, and this our present act, 
 ^'oii see we do ; yet see you but our hands. 
 And this the bleeding business they have done : 
 Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful ; 
 And i,ity to the general wrong of Home 
 (As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity>> 
 Ilalli done this deed on Caisar. For your part, 
 'I'o you our swords have leaden poinli, .Maik Antony: 
 Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts. 
 Of brothers' tem{>er, do receive you in 
 With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 
 
 Cu«. V'uur voice shall be as strong as any mari's, 
 In the di^posing of new- dignities. 
 
 liru. Only be patient, till we have apficas'd 
 I'he multitude, beside them-selves with fear, 
 And then we will deliver you the cause, 
 V>\>y 1, that did love Caisar when I struck him. 
 Have thus proceeded. 
 
 Am. J doubt not of your wisdom, 
 
 I.<et each man render rne his bloody hand : * 
 
 First, .Marcul UrutuB, will 1 shake with you : 
 Next, (,'aius Cassius, do 1 take your hand ; 
 Mow, Deciui ISnilus, yours; — now yours jlctellus; 
 
 Yoiiw, Cinm i—ttti, my villaot Caiea, jimn ; — 
 
 'n ■. ■ ■ ' . ATitttuai^i. 
 
 <■/■ 
 
 M. ■ rr--. gn«na, 
 
 'Ihat one of two t/ad ways yoo most concert loe, 
 Kither a coward or a flatterer. — 
 'f hat I did lore tl<ee, CifcMU-, 0, 'tis troe : 
 If ttien thy spirit lo'jk Mym us iwrw, 
 
 Rf.all it ' '■ • ' m tJiy dealli. 
 
 To see • i';e, 
 
 .Sliaking . , foe?. 
 
 Most noble 1 in trte presence of thy cor3« ? 
 Had I as many eyes is •h'/^ lia^t wo»iDd.», 
 Weeping as fast as '• ' .rth tjiy lilood. 
 
 It would become ri,' u< close 
 
 I* tenns of friendshij/ - . ■ • ■ " ei. 
 
 I'ardonme.Julius! — Here 1 ,hnye}an; 
 
 Ihre didst tliou fall ; ari'i • , .-.'irs stand, 
 
 .Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimvon ci in thy lettie. 
 O world ! thou wast ttie forest to this hart ; 
 And this, indeed, O world, tl»e heart of thee. — 
 How like a deer, stricken by many prince*. 
 Dost thou here lie ! 
 
 Cos. Mark Antony, 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, Cahu Cuflu : 
 
 Tlie enemies of C»sar shall say this ; 
 'Ihen, in a friend, it is cold m'jdt%ty. 
 
 Cat. I hlarne y/n not for praising Cse'-ar so ; 
 But what comjiict mean you t/j have with u^ ^ 
 Will you be prick'd in number of our frietids ) 
 Or shall we on, and not depend on youH 
 
 Ant. 'Iherefore I took your hands ; butwa.s, indeed, 
 Sway'd from tlie ixjint, by looking down on Cssai. 
 Friends am I with you all, and love yon all ; 
 Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons, 
 W by, and wherein Ca:^r was rlangerous. 
 
 Jiru. Or else were this a savage spectacle : 
 Our reasons are so full of good regard. 
 That were you, Antony, the son of Cx^ar, 
 Vou should be satisfied. 
 
 Ant. That's alll seek- 
 
 And am moreover suitor, tliat I may 
 Produce his body to the marltet-place ; 
 And in the (lulfiit, as becomes a friend, 
 Sjicak in the order of his funeral. 
 
 liru. You shall, Mark Antony. 
 
 Coi. Brutus, a word with you, — 
 
 You know not what you do ; Do not consent, [.4sidt. 
 That Antony speak in his funeral : 
 Know you how much tlie people may be mov'd 
 By that which lie will utter? 
 
 liru. By your pardon ; — 
 
 I will myself into the pulpit first, 
 A nd shew the reason of our Casar's death : 
 What Antony hhull speak, I will protest 
 He sjieaks by leave and by permission ; 
 And that we are contented, Cssar shall 
 Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies. 
 It shall advantage more, tharf do us wrong. 
 
 Car. 1 know not what may fall ; I like it not. 
 
 liiu. Mark .Antony, here, take your dear's body. 
 You shall not in your funeral speech blame ns. 
 But speak all good you can devise of Caesar ; 
 And say, you do 't by our permission ; 
 Else shall you not have any hand at all 
 About his funeral : -And you shall spak 
 In (he same pulpit wheielo I am going. 
 After my speech is ended. 
 
 Ant, Be it so; 
 
 I do desire no more. 
 
 Bru, Prepare the body then, and follow ns. 
 
 [i'jejnt ull but Ajiiokv. 
 
664 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 Ant. O, pardon me, thou piece of bleeding earth, 
 That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
 Thou art the ruins of the noblest man. 
 That ever lived in the tide of times. 
 "Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
 Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, — ■ 
 Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 
 To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue j — • 
 A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; 
 Domestic fury, and tierce civil strife. 
 Shall cumber all the parts of Italy : 
 Blood and destruction shall be so in use. 
 And dreadful objects so familiar. 
 That mothers shall but smile, when they behold 
 Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war ; 
 All pity chok'd vvith custom of fell deeds : 
 And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 
 With At6 by his side, co. e hot from hell. 
 Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice. 
 Cry Havoc, and let slip tlie dogs of war ; 
 That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
 With carrion men groaning for burial. 
 
 Enter- a Servant. 
 You serve Octavius CiEsar, do you not 7 
 
 Serv. I do, Mark Antony. , 
 
 Ant. Ceesar did write for him, to come to Rome. 
 
 Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming : 
 And bid me say to you by word of mouth, — 
 OCcBsar! [Seeing tlie had ij. 
 
 Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. 
 Passion, I see is catching ; for mine eyes. 
 Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine. 
 Began to water. Is thy master coming 1 
 
 Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome. 
 
 Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath 
 chanc'd : 
 Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
 No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 
 Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay a while ; 
 Thou shalt not back, till I have borne this corse 
 Into the market-place : there shall I try. 
 In my oration, how the people take 
 The cruel issue of these bloody men ; 
 According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
 'I'o young Octavius ol the state of things. 
 Lend me your hand. [Eieunt, with Cjesau's body. 
 
 SCENE II.— r/.e same. The Forum. 
 Enter Brutus and C.assius, and a throng i)/* Citizens. 
 
 Cit. We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 
 
 Brn. Then follow me, and give me audience, 
 Cassius, go you into the other street, [friends. — 
 And part the numbers. — 
 
 Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here ; 
 Those tliat will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
 And public reasons shall be rendered 
 Of Cassar's death. 
 
 1 Cit. I.will hear Brutus speak. 
 
 2 Cit.IwillhearCassius; and compare their reasons, 
 When severally we hear them rendered. 
 
 [Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. 
 Brutus goes into the Rostrum. 
 
 3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence ! 
 Bru. Be patient till the last. 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my 
 cause; and be silent, that you may hear: believe me 
 for mine honour; and have respect to mine honour, 
 tliat you may believe : censure me in your wisdom ; 
 and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. 
 If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of 
 Cesar's, to him 1 say, that Brutus' love to Cfflsar was 
 
 no less than his. If then that friend demand, why 
 Brutus rose against Csesar, this is my answer, — Not 
 that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. 
 Had*you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves ; 
 than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men ^ As 
 Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate, 
 I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour him: but, 
 as he was ambitious, I slew hira : l*liere is tears, for 
 his love; joy, for his fortune; honour, for his valour, 
 and death, for his ambition. Who is here so base, 
 that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him 
 have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not 
 be a Roman ? If any, speak; for him have 1 offended* 
 W'ho is here so vile, that will not love his country ! 
 If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for 
 a reply. 
 
 Cit. None, Brutus, none. [Several speahingat once, 
 Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no 
 more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The 
 question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his 
 glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his 
 offences enforced, for which he suffered death. 
 
 Enter Antony and others, with Cesar's bodi). 
 
 Here comes his body, mourn'd by Mark Ant(Tny; who, 
 though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the 
 benetit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; 
 As wiiich of you shall not^ Witii tliis I depart ; That, 
 as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have 
 the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my 
 country to need my death. 
 Cit. Live, Brutus, live ! live ! 
 1 Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his house* 
 i2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 
 3 CiJ. Let him be Csesar. 
 
 4 Cit. Caesar s belter parts 
 Shall now be crown'd in Brutus. 
 
 1 Cit. We 'U bring him to his house with shouts and 
 BriL. My countrymen, [clamours. 
 
 2 Cit. Peace ; silence ! Brutus speaks. 
 1 Cit. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Brn. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
 .\nd, for my sake, stay here with Antony: 
 Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
 Tending to Caesar's glories ; which Mark Antony, 
 By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
 I do entreat you, not a man depart. 
 Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. f Exil. 
 
 1 Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 
 
 3 Cit. Let hira go up into the public chair ; 
 We'll hear him: Noble Antony, go up. 
 
 A}tt. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you. 
 
 4 Cit. What does he say of Brutus ' 
 
 3 Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake. 
 He finds himself beholden to us all. 
 
 4 Cit. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 
 
 1 Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 
 
 3 Cit. Nay, that 's certain : 
 
 We are bless'd, that Rome is rid of him. 
 
 2 Cit. Peace ; let us hear what Antony can say. 
 Ant, You gentle Romans, 
 
 Cit. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 
 
 A}it. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your 
 I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. [ears. 
 
 The evil that men do, lives after them ; 
 The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
 So let it be with Caisar. The noble Brutus 
 Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious : 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
 And grievously hatli Cffisar answer'd it. 
 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
 (For Brutus is an honourable man ; 
 
ACT III.-SCENE II. 
 
 665 
 
 So are they all, all honourable men ,) 
 
 Coine I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
 
 But Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 
 He hath brouglit many captives home to Rome, 
 
 AVhose ransoms did the general cotters fill : 
 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
 
 When that the poor have cried, Cssar hath wept : 
 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: 
 
 Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 
 You all did see, that on the Lupercal, 
 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown. 
 
 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition 1 
 
 Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; 
 
 AnJ, sure, he is an honourable man, 
 
 I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. 
 
 But here I am to speak what I^do know. 
 
 You all did love him once, not without cause ; 
 
 What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ; 
 
 judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts. 
 
 And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
 
 1 Cit. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings. 
 
 2 Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
 Czsar has had great wrong. 
 
 3 Cit. Has he, masters? 
 
 1 fear, there will a worse come in his place. 
 
 4 Cit. Mark'd ye his words ! He would not take 
 
 the crown; 
 Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious. 
 
 1 Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
 
 2 Cit. Poor soul \ his eyes are red as fire with weep- 
 
 ing. [Antony. 
 
 5 Cit. There 's not a nobler man in Rome, than 
 4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 
 Ant. But yesterday, the word of C^sar might 
 
 Have stood against the world : now lies he there. 
 And none so poor to do him reverence. 
 
 masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
 
 1 should do Brutus wronir, and Cassius wrong, 
 Who, you all know, are honourable men : 
 
 I will not do them wrong ; 1 rather choose 
 
 To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you. 
 
 Than I will wrong such honourable men. 
 
 But here's a parchment, with the seal of Ciesar, 
 
 I found it in his closet, 'tis his will : 
 
 Let but the commons hear this testament, 
 
 -(Which pardon me, I do not mean to read,) 
 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 
 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; 
 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills. 
 
 Bequeathing it. as a rich legacy, 
 
 Unto their issue. 
 
 4 Cit. We '11 hear the will : Read it, Mark Antony. 
 
 Cit. The will, the will J we will hear Csesar's will, 
 
 Aiit. Have patience, gentle friends. I must not read 
 It is not meet you know how Cffisar lov'd you. [itj 
 You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
 And. being men, hearing the %vill of Oasar, 
 It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
 *Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
 For if you should, O, what would come of it ! 
 
 4 Cit. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony j 
 You shall read us the will ; Cresar's will. 
 
 Ant. Will you be patient ? Will you stay a while? 
 I have o'ershol myself, to tell you of it. 
 I fear 1 wrong the honourable men. 
 
 Whose daggers have stabb'd C«sar : I do fear it. 
 
 4 Cit. They were traitors : Honourable men ! 
 
 Cit. The will! the testament ! 
 
 2 Cit. 'J'hey were villains, murderers : The will . 
 read the will ! 
 
 Ant. Vou will compel me then to read the will 1 
 Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
 And let me shew you him that made the will. 
 Shall I descend? And will you give me leave? 
 
 Cit. Come down. 
 
 2 Cit. Descend. [He comes down from the pul-jfit. 
 
 3 Cit. You shall have leave. 
 
 4 Cit. A ring ; stand round. 
 
 1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. 
 
 2 Cit* Room for Antony ; — most noble Antony. 
 Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
 Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 
 
 Aut. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
 You all do know this mantle : I remember 
 The first time ever Ccesar put it on ; 
 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent J 
 That day he overcame the Nervii : — 
 Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through: 
 See, what a rent the envious Casca made : 
 Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
 And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel awav, 
 Mark how the blood of Ca;sar follow'd it ; 
 As rushing out of doors, to be lesolv'd 
 If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Ccesar's angel : 
 Judge, O you gods, how dearly C^sar lov'd him ! 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all : 
 For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 Quite vanquish'd him; then burst his mighty hearty 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face. 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statue, 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 
 O, what a fall was there my countrymen ! 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
 Whilst bloody treason flouri?h"d over us. 
 0, now you weep ; and. I perceive. Sou feel 
 The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. 
 Kind souls, what weep you, when you but behold 
 Our CEBsarJs vesture wounded 1 Look you here. 
 Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
 
 1 Cit. O piteous spectacle I 
 ■ 2 Cit, noble C^sar ! 
 
 .S Cit. O woful day ! 
 
 4 Cit. O traitors, villains! 
 
 1 Cit, O most bloody sight I 
 
 2 Cit. We will be revenged: revenge; about, ^ 
 seek,— burn,— fire, — kill,— slay !— let not a traitor 
 live. 
 
 Ant. Stay^ countrymen. 
 
 1 Cit. Peace there: — Hear the noble Antony. 
 
 2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die 
 with him. 
 
 Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, letrae not stiryou 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny. [up 
 
 They, that have done this deed, are honourable ; 
 What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
 That made them do"t ; they are wise and honourable. 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer vou. 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; 
 1 am no orator, as Brutus is : 
 But as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 
 That love my friend ; and that they know full well 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth. 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech. 
 To stir men's blood : 1 only speak right on ; 
 
666 
 
 JULIUS CJESAR. 
 
 I td! TOB ftat, wWdi yoa j-ooTseives 3o hiov ; 
 Sbew Von swe*t Casir's wounds, poor, poor dumb 
 
 mOBlhs, 
 And Vii titrn spesi far me : BbI xrwe I Brstas, 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antooy 
 Would mffl* up your spirits, and pat a tosgne 
 la en- ' Cxsar. that -.bocld moA'e 
 
 The s: e to rise and mutiny. 
 
 Cl! i.2y. 
 
 1 Cit- We'll bum the house of Brntns. 
 
 S Cit. Away then, come, seek the consjriratoTS. 
 
 Jut. Yc-t hear loe, countiTraen ; yet bear roe spea!k. 
 
 du Peace, bo \ Hear AtitonT, most noble Antony. 
 
 An,. - . " '■ -.iotwhat; 
 
 WherL as! 
 
 Alas, ^ ,.,;-. ....=. „.. -;— 
 
 Vou have forgot the will! told yon of. [will. 
 
 Cii. Most true ; the will : — diet's stay, and hear the 
 
 Ajtt, Here is the will, and under Cesar's seal. 
 To evejy Roman citizen he gives. 
 To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 
 
 2 Cir.Mosl noble Ossar ! — ^we'U revenge his death. 
 S Cit. O royal Cjesar ! 
 
 Ant. Heaj lae with patience. 
 
 Cit. Peace, ho ! 
 
 J«. Moreover, he hath left you all his waits, 
 Kis private arbours, and new-planted orchards. 
 On this side Tyber : he hath left them yon. 
 And to vour heirs for ever ; common pleasures, 
 To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
 Here was a C«sar : When comes such another? 
 
 1 Ou Never, never : Come, away, away ; 
 We'll bam his body in the holy place. 
 And wiA the brands fire the traitors houses. 
 Taie up the body. 
 
 S Cit. Go. fetch fire. 
 
 3 Cit. Pluc's down benches. 
 
 4 Ciu Pluck down forms, windows, any thing. 
 
 [Ejfwnt Citijens, Kith tJie Mit. 
 
 Av!. Xow let it work : Mischief ; thou art afoot. 
 
 Take thou what course thou wilt ! — How now, fellow ! 
 
 Knter a Servant. 
 
 SiTT. Sir, Oetaiius is already come to Kome. 
 
 Ant. Where is he? 
 
 StTT. He and Lepidus are at Cassar's house. 
 
 AnU And thither will I straight to visit him: 
 Ke comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, 
 And in this mood will give us any thing. 
 
 &rv. 1 heard him say, Brutus and Cassius 
 Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome. 
 
 Jilt. Belike, they had some notice of the people. 
 How I had moved them. Bring me to Octavius. 
 
 [ijeiint. 
 
 SCENE HI.— T*« iamt. A Strtet. 
 L-nter Cts^.k, the Poet. 
 Cin. I dreamt to-night, that I did feast with Ca»ar, 
 And things unluckily charge mv fantasy : 
 I have no will to wander forth of doors. 
 Yet something leads me forth. 
 
 Unier Citizens. 
 
 1 Cit. What is your name ! 
 
 2 Cil. Whither are you going! 
 S CiJ. Where do you dwell 1 
 
 4 Cit. .Are you a married man. or a bachelor? 
 2 Cif. Answer everj- man directly. 
 1 Cit. Ay, and briefly. 
 
 4 Cit. Ay, and wisely. 
 
 5 Cit. .\y, and truly, yon were best. 
 
 Cin. What is my name 1 Whither am I going ? 
 
 Where do I dwell ? .Km I a married inan. or a ba- 
 chelor ? Then to answer e<«ry roan directly, and 
 briefly, wisely, and truly. Wisdy 1 say, 1 am a ba- 
 chelor. 
 
 S CiJ. That's as much as to say, they are fools that 
 roarty : You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Pro- 
 ceed ; directly. 
 
 Civ. BirecUy, I am going to C«sar's funeral. 
 
 I dt. .\s a fiiend, or an enemy ! 
 
 Ciii. -Vs a friend. 
 
 8 Cit. That matter is answered direclJy. 
 
 4 Cit. For your dwelling. — briefly. 
 Cin. Briefly. 1 dwell by the Cipitol. 
 
 5 Cij. Your name, sir, truly. 
 Cit. Truly, my name is Cinna. 
 
 1 Cil. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator. 
 Cin. I am Cinna the poet. I am Cinna the p r>ct. 
 
 4 Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for 
 his bad verses. 
 
 2 Cit. It is DO matter, his name's Cinna ; pluck but 
 his name out of his heart, and turn him g>nin;. 
 
 5 Cir. Tear him. tear him. Come, braids, ho ' 
 fire-brands. To Bnitus', to Cassius' ; bum all. Some 
 to Dccius" house, and some to Casci's ; some to li- 
 garius' ; away ; go. [ Eamnt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCEXE I. — Tke same. A Rxm in Antony's Hmise. 
 AsTONT, OcTAVivs, and Lr.riDcs, stated at a tnhit. 
 
 Am. These many then shall die ; th^r names r. . 
 
 prick'd. 
 Oft. Your brother too must die ; Consent you, 1 
 X-fp. I do consent. [pid ^ 
 
 Oa. Prick him down, .\ntony, 
 
 Lep. Upon condition PubUus shall not live, M 
 Who is your sister's son. Mark .Vntony. ^ 
 
 int. He shall not li>e ; look, with a spot I damn 
 But, Lepidus, go you to Cjesar's house ; [hiiu. 
 
 Fetch the will hither, and we will determine 
 
 How to cut off some char^ in legacies. 
 Lev. What, shall 1 find you here * 
 Oct. Or here, or at 
 
 The Capitol. [Erit Lia-iprs. 
 
 .int. This is a slight unmeritable man. 
 
 Meet to be sent on errands : Is it fit. 
 
 The three-foid world divided, he should stand 
 
 One of the three to share ii ! 
 Oit. So j-ou thought him ; 
 
 .\nd took his voice who should be prick'd to die, 
 
 In our black sentence and proscription. 
 
 .int. Octavius, 1 have seen more davs than you : 
 
 And though we lay these honours on this man, 
 
 I'o ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads. 
 
 He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold. 
 
 To groan and sweat under the business. 
 
 Either led or driven, as we point the way ; 
 
 .■Vnd having brought our treasure where we will, 
 
 I'hen take we down his load, and turn him otT, 
 
 Like to tlie empty ass, to shake his ears, 
 
 .\nd graze in commons, 
 
 Oct. You may do yonr will ; 
 
 But He's a tried and valiant soldier. 
 .int. So is my horse. Octavius ; and, for that, 
 
 1 do appoint him store of provender. 
 
 It is a creature that 1 teach to fight. 
 
 To wind, to stop, to run directly on ; 
 
 His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
 
 .\nd, in some taste, is Lepidus but so; 
 
He mtiit be taught, and train'd. and bid go forth 
 A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds 
 On ol.jectj, arti, and imiulioru ; 
 Which, out of n»«, and nuJd by other men 
 Ee^n hit fa»hion : Vo not talk of him, 
 But as a property. And now, OcUviua, 
 Luten ?reat things.— Hrutus and Cassiuj 
 Arc levying; pow.T! : we must straight make head 
 iherefore, let our alliance he comhin'd. 
 Our hejt friends made, and our best mjans stretch'd 
 And let us presently go sit in council. Tout • 
 
 How covert matters may be best disclosed. 
 And open perils jurest answered. " 
 
 Ort. Ut us do so : for we are at the stake, 
 Anrj t«y d about with many enemies ; 
 And some, that smile, have in their hearts, I fear 
 Alillions of mischief. [Eieart 
 
 ACT IV.^SCENE I. 
 
 607 
 
 Speak your gnefs »oftlv,-I do know you well -^ 
 ! iefore the eve. of bot^ our armies here, 
 "h.ch should perceive nothing but love from us 
 Let us not wrangle : Bid them move awav 
 fhen in my tent, Ca-«ius, enlarge your griks. 
 And I will give you audience. ° ■' » ' 
 p- 1 ,' , Pindaras, 
 
 I., i our commanders lead their charges off 
 A little from thi^'roond. 
 
 Bru. Luciliuflio you the like ; and let no man 
 Come u> our tent, t,ll we have done our co„fer"n« 
 Let Lucius and I it.nius guard our door [~L 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Bt/ore Brutus' Tent, in the Camp near Sardis. 
 
 i>r„m. Enter Brut«s, Lccilius, Luows. and Sol- 
 diers : TtT.Nirs and Plvoabus muting them. 
 Bru. Stand here. 
 
 Luc. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 
 Bru. What now, Lucilius ■>. is Cassius near' 
 I-uc. He IS at hand ; and Pindarus is come 
 1 do you saluuiion from his master. 
 
 [PiVDARos ghes a telt^ to Bruit's. 
 
 In K "«g'«^'« me well.-Your master, Pindarus 
 In h,s own change, or by ill officers, 
 Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
 Ihings done, undone : but, if he be at hand. 
 
 I shall be satisfied. 
 „ ''"'• I do not doubt, 
 Uut that my noble master will appear 
 Such as he is, full of regard, an<f Vonour. 
 
 liru lie is not doubled—A word, Lucilius- 
 How he receiv d you, let me be rcsolv'd 
 
 R„t „!:, ^^'.l'' "I'T-V; »°<1 "'i'h respect enough ; 
 
 But not with such familiar instances 
 
 Nor w,.h such free and friendly conference, 
 
 II he hath used of old. 
 
 A {*7r - 1 - ^'""' ■>*■" <ltscrib'd 
 
 A hot friend cooling: Ever note, Lucilius, 
 
 When love begins to sicken and decay 
 
 Jl useth an enforced ceremony. 
 
 1 here are no tricks in plain and simple faith : 
 
 But hollow men, like horses hot at hand. 
 
 Km, tf '^f ''T '',"<' P™""''' of "-eir mettle : 
 
 fhey fall their cre.ts, and, like deceitful ja^les 
 
 8.nk,n hetnal. Comes his army on ? ^ 
 
 Luc. I hey mean this night in .Sardis to bequarter'd • 
 rhe greater part, the horse in general ^ ' 
 
 Are come wnh Cassius. f.i;„,,,, „,„„.„, 
 
 .,"";• ., Hark, heisarriv-dr- 
 
 JJarch gently on to meet him. 
 
 Enter Cassius attd Soldiers. 
 Cos. Stand, ho! 
 
 W Stand, ho ! Speak the word along. 
 
 Within. SUnd. ^ 
 
 Within. Stand. 
 
 Within. Stand. 
 
 Co, Most noble brother, you have done me wron-. 
 
 liru Judge me, you gods ! Wrong I mine enemies ? 
 ^ml, If not so, how should I wronS a brother ? 
 
 C«i. lirulus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs • 
 
 ind when you do them ^' 
 
 Cassius be content. 
 
 SCENE m.~Within the Tent ofBmtxu. 
 
 Lucius and Titinins at Kme dUlancefrom it. 
 
 tenter Erutcs and Cassius. 
 
 Vn^"!',^*'^? '"'T?"™"?''! medoth appear in this • 
 You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardian, ' 
 
 "herein, my letters, praying on his side 
 Lecausel knew the man, were slighted off. 
 
 Bru. V „u wrong-d yourself, to write in such acas«. 
 
 tu: In such a time as this, it is not meet 
 
 Bru. I et me tell you, Cassius, you vour«elf 
 Are rjiuch condemn-d to have an iihinl^lm 
 fo sell and mart your offices for »old ° ^ ' 
 1 undeservers. ° ' 
 
 C"'- I an itching palm ? 
 
 Or K .r- ^^f y- "^ ''^'■"'"^ "h" speak this 
 Or by the gods, this speech were elseN^ur Ust'. 
 
 iTu. fhenameofCassiushonoursthiscorruDtinn 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide Ms head!'""'' 
 taj. ChastLsement ! 
 
 ni,f ?;. ^^"""^"^^^ '"^I"<:l'. «f'e ides of Jlareh remem- 
 D J not great Julius bleed for justice' sake^ 7b« p 
 An^fnn, ""■ '"''•''"' ^''' '"«ly. 'hat did stab, ^ ' 
 Thl T I J."''r • ^^'>="' '•'all one of us, 
 btt fn T "•^f"'*'""'" man of all this world, 
 Lut for supportin| robbers; shall we now 
 
 AnSrr "'"h^'^ *'"> base bribes 1 
 For ,^^ I !"'°1"^ "P^" °f O"' 'ar?e honours 
 I ha-Jr^, .'■''',• ^ "'^y be grasped thus 7- ' 
 
 ThP^^cral^mt!'^"''''^^'''^--' 
 
 nip. endure it: you foTg^'t'yc^^^^^^^^^ 
 I o hedge me in; I am a soldier, I 
 ■Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 lo make conditions. /"""eji 
 
 Ca»".' I am. ^° '" ' ^°'' ''^ "°'' Cassius. 
 
 ^ru. I say, you are not 
 
 ta,. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself- 
 
 "".r 't:^:s"^rt mtf ' **'"^' - - ^-^- 
 
 Cis. Is 't possible ? 
 M,,,. T ■ Hear me, for I will snpiV 
 
 c/ f. /if , ''' "*;"" =■ '"'«'™an stares ? 
 £ i; All , hi 7^' ^'"•'•i '''"^' ^ ^"''"'^ all this? 
 hiartt7k'-=^"''""'"= FrettiUyour proud 
 Ami ^!'T ^°" ^'a^-^'^'how choleric you are 
 
 Mu t i ohT" '"'"^^" '^'•■'"••'«- ^I"^' I budge 1 
 .Mu t I observe you ? Must 1 stand and crouch ° 
 
 Ynn Jm","''^ ''"""•"^ ■ J'-y 'be gods. 
 
 Tilth"! .''"'',-"'" ''"<'"' of your spleen. 
 
 1 hough It do sph, you • for, from this day forth, 
 
 \\h^^l ^°"' ^"^ '"y '"'"''' y^a. for my laughter, 
 n hen you are waspish. Jo, 
 
668 
 
 JULIUS CiESAR. 
 
 Cas. Is it come to this 1 
 
 Bru. You say, you are a better soldier : 
 Le» it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
 And it sliall please me well : For mine own part, 
 1 shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 ' Ctis. You wrong me every way ; you wrong me, 
 
 T said, an elder soldier, not a better : [Brutus ; 
 
 Did I say, better 1 
 
 Bni. If you did, I care not. [me. 
 
 Cas.When C?Esar liv'd, hedurstAt thus have mov'd 
 
 Bfu. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted 
 
 Cas, I durst not ■? [him, 
 
 Bvu. No. 
 
 Cas, What? durst not tempt him ? 
 
 Bru, For your life, you durst not. 
 
 Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love, 
 I may do that 1 shall be sorry for. 
 
 Bra. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; 
 For I am arm'd so strong in honesty, 
 That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 For certain sums of gold, which you deny'd me ; — 
 For I can raise no money by vile means : 
 By heaven, I had rather coin my heart. 
 And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash, 
 By any indirection. I did send 
 To you for gold to pay my legions, 
 Wiiich you denied me : Was that done like Cassius? 
 Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so 1 
 W'hen Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
 Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts, 
 Dash him to pieces ! 
 
 Cos, 1 denied you not. 
 
 Bra. You did. 
 
 Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool, 
 
 That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath riv'd my 
 A friend should bear his friend's infirmities ; [heart ; 
 But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 
 
 Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 
 
 Cas. You love me not. 
 
 Bni, I do not like your faults. 
 
 Cos. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 
 
 BriL. A flatterer's would not, though tiiey do appear 
 As huge as high Olympus. 
 
 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come. 
 Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
 For Cassius is aweary of the world : 
 Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother ; 
 Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd. 
 Set in a note-book, learu'd and conn'd by rote, 
 To cast into my teeth. 0, I could weep 
 My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger. 
 And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold: 
 If that thou be"st a Roman, take it forth ; 
 I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart: 
 Smke, as thou didst at Caisar ; for, I know, 
 When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him better 
 Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 
 
 Bru, Sheath your dagger : 
 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
 Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
 O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 
 That carries anger, as the flint bears fire ; 
 Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark. 
 And straight is cold again, 
 
 Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 
 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief, and blood ill-temper'd vexeth him? 
 
 Bi-u. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too, 
 
 Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand. 
 
 Bru. And my heart tuo. 
 
 Cas. O Brutus !— 
 
 Bill. What's the matter 1 
 
 Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, 
 When that rash humour, which my mother gave me. 
 Makes me forgetful 1 
 
 Bru, Yes, Cassius ; and, henceforth, 
 
 When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
 He'll thiuk your mother chides, and leave you so. 
 
 [iVoise within. 
 
 Pofit. l^Within. Let me go in to see the generals; 
 There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet 
 They be alone. 
 
 Luc. [iri(/un. You shall not come to them. 
 
 Poet. [IFiiftin.] Nothing but death shall stay me. 
 Eiiter Poet. 
 
 Cas. How now ? What's the matter ? 
 
 Poet. Forshame, you generals ; Whatdoyou mean? 
 Love, and be friends, as two such men should be ; 
 For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye. 
 
 Cas. Ha, ha; how vilely doth this cynic rhyme! 
 
 Bru. Get you hence, sirrah ; saucy fellow, hence. 
 
 Cas. Bear with him, Brutus; 'tis his fashion. 
 
 Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time : 
 What should the wars do with these jigging fools? 
 Companion, hence. 
 
 Cas. Away, away, be gone. [Exit Poet. 
 
 Enter Lucilius and Titinius. 
 
 Bru, Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders 
 Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. [you 
 
 Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with 
 Immediately to us. [Exeunt Lucir.ius and Titinius. 
 
 Bra. Lucius, a bowl of wine. 
 
 Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry. 
 
 Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
 
 Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use. 
 If you give place to accidental evils. 
 
 Bru. No man bears sorrow better: — Portia is dead. 
 
 Cas. Ha! Portia? 
 
 Bru. She is dead. ^ 
 
 Cas. Howscap'd I killing, when Tcross'd you so ■* — ■ ■ 
 
 insupportable and touching loss ! — 
 Upon what sickness? 
 
 Bru. Impatient of my absence ; 
 
 And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
 Have made themselves so strong; — for witli her death 
 That tidings came ; — With this she fell distract. 
 And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 
 
 Cas. And died so ? 
 
 Bru, Even so. 
 
 Cas. O ye immortal gods ! 
 
 Enter Lucius, with wine and tapers. 
 
 Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine : 
 In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. [Drinks, 
 
 Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge : — 
 Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ; 
 
 1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. IDrinks, 
 
 Re-enter Titinius ivith Messai.a. 
 
 Br». Come in, Titinius : — Welcome, good Messala 
 Now sit we close about this taper here, 
 And call in question our necessities. 
 
 Cas. Portia, art thou gone ? 
 
 Bru. No more, I pray you,— 
 
 Messala, I have here received letters, 
 I'hat young Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
 Comedown upon us with a niighty power, 
 Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 
 
ACT IV.-^ SCENE III. 
 
 669 
 
 ihs. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. 
 
 Bni. With what addition ! 
 
 Mes. That by proscription, and bills of outlawry, 
 ■Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
 Have put to death an hundred senators. 
 
 Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree ; 
 l\Iine speak of seventy senators that died, 
 By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 
 
 Cas. Cicero one ? 
 
 M«. Ay, Cicero is dead, 
 
 And by that order of proscription. — 
 Had you your letters from your wife, my lora ? 
 
 Bru* No, Messala. 
 
 Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ? 
 
 Bru. Nothing, Jlessala. 
 
 Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 
 
 Bn^t. Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours ? 
 
 Mes. No, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 
 
 Mes. Then like a Koman bear the truth I tell : 
 For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 
 
 -Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. — Wemustdiej^lessala: 
 With meditating tliat she must die once, 
 1 have the patience to endure it now. 
 
 Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. 
 
 Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, 
 But yet my nature could not bear it so. 
 
 Bru. Well, to ourwork alive. What do you think 
 Of marching to Philippi presently 1 ^ 
 
 Cits. I do not tiiink it good. 
 
 Bru. Your reason 1 
 
 Cas. This it is ; 
 
 'Tis better, that the enemy seek us : 
 So siiall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 
 Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still, 
 Are full of rest, defence, and ninibleness. 
 
 Bru. Good reasons must, offeree, give place to bet- 
 The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground, [ter. 
 Do stand but in a forc'd affection ; 
 For tlicy have grudg'd us contribution i 
 The enemy, marching along by them. 
 By them shall make a fuller number up, 
 Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encourag'd ; 
 From which advantage shall we cut him off, 
 If at Philippi we do face him there. 
 These people at our back. 
 
 Cas, Hear me, good brother. 
 
 Bru. Under your pardon. — You must note beside, 
 That we have try'd tlie utmost of our friends, 
 Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
 The enemy increaseth every day, 
 We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men. 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ] 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows, and in miseries 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat , 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 Or lose our ventures. 
 
 Cas. Then, with your will, go on ; 
 
 We'll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. 
 
 Brit. The deep of night is crept upon our talk. 
 And nature must obey necessity ; 
 W^hich we will niggard with a little rest. 
 There is no more to say 1 
 
 Cas. No more. Good night ; 
 
 Early to-inorrow will we rise, and hence. 
 
 BiH. Lucius, my gown. [L'ail Lucius.] Farewell, 
 good Messala ; — 
 Good night, Titinius . — Noble, noble Cassius, 
 Good night, and good repose. 
 
 Cos, O my dear brother ! 
 
 This was an ill beginning of the night : 
 Never come such division 'tweea our souls ! 
 Let it not, Brutus. 
 
 Bru, Every thing is well. 
 
 Cas. Good night, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Good night, good brother. 
 
 Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Farewell, every one. 
 
 [Exeunt Gas. Tit. and Mes. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius, with the gown. 
 
 Give me the gown. W'here is thy instrument? 
 
 I.uc. Here in the tent. 
 
 Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily? ^ 
 
 Poor knave, I blame thee not ; tiiou art o'er-watcb'd. 
 Call Claudius, and sonie other of my men ; 
 I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 
 
 Lac. Varro, and Claudius ! 
 
 Enter A^arro and CLAUnlus. 
 
 Var. Calls my lord ? 
 
 Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in ray tent, and sleep ; 
 It may be, I shall raise you by and by 
 On business to my brother Cassius. [pleasure. 
 
 Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your 
 
 Bru. I will not have it so : lie down, good sirs ; 
 It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me. 
 Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so : 
 I put it in the pocket of my gown. [Servants tie tlown. 
 
 Lac. I was sure, your lordship did not give it me. 
 
 Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. 
 Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
 And touch thy instrument a strain or two ? 
 
 Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you. 
 
 Brfi. It does, my boy: 
 
 I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 
 
 Lac. It is my duty, sir. 
 
 Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might ; 
 I know, young bloods look for a time of rest. 
 
 Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 
 
 Bru. It is well done ; and thou shall sleep again : 
 I will not hold thee long : if I do live, 
 I will be good to thee. [.Iliisic, and a song. 
 
 This is a sleepy tune : — O murd'rous slumber ! 
 Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy. 
 That plays thee music? — Gentle knave, good night; 
 I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee. 
 If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument; 
 I'll take it from thee; and, good boy, good night. 
 Let me see, let me see : — Is not the leaf tura'd down, 
 ^Vhere I left reading ? Here it is, I think. 
 
 \He sits down. 
 
 Enter the Ghost i;/'C.csar. 
 
 How ill this taper burns ! — Ha ! who comes here ? 
 
 I think, it is the weakness of mine eyes. 
 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 
 It comes upon me; — Art thou any thincr? 
 
 -•Vrt thou some god, some angel, or some devil. 
 
 That mak'stmy blood cold, and my hair to stare ? 
 
 Speak to roe, what thou art. 
 Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
 £'■«• Why com'st thou ' 
 
 Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi. 
 Bru. Well ; 
 
 Then I shall see thee again ? 
 
 Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. [Ghost vanishes 
 
 Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. — 
 
 Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest : 
 
 111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. — 
 
 Boy! Lucius! — Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake!— 
 
 Claudius! 
 
C70 
 
 Ljie. 
 Bru. 
 
 La::.- .: 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR- 
 
 ar !onL are felse. 
 -e KiB is s£ ] 
 
 Luc. Mj lord, I io sot ino-ar that I iid cry. 
 
 Zttc- Xotiuna:, nrr Icri. 
 
 Bnt, Steep ^Lr i""", Tt^'^'^ — Sfr^^, ClamHns ! 
 
 Srtt. - to err (mt, scs» ta your deep ? 
 
 • fV-. C - - : on" loni ? 
 
 5rtt. At ; 5stw yoa ^ar tfarr^? 
 
 Ftrr. XOf H^ loni, I saw actfiing- 
 
 C/oiu- Xir I, mv ferrf . 
 
 Bra. Go, Sfid i^nrEnuani me ^ hit bracfig' C^^sils 
 Eoi ?»"" set ao. ^ acwer* bernnes og f a rg , 
 Ajaii we wU. :*gOj'^. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Brti. O, jes, TTwf samuites tuo ; 
 
 : 'r^re stnl^B tksr bmzzB^, AsSBBf, 
 "' wise£^, thcaft fccfixv jrav scia^- 
 -.iBns.fUUffiirf iMtw, ■heuygrWIgqiggaB 
 Hacx d one sujdier bi tiK sdss of Cesar : [boodb, 
 v-ni ihi^TT 4 TOUT tEetit Eke spes. ami &wa'd Bte 
 i like bomimea. kisaa; Gzsxr's &ec ; 
 ^rzmed Casea. Ke z esr. behind, 
 r; ^3r OS tftc neck* O ftifZErds ^ 
 iritErers [ — Now, B^acas, tftmk jwnseV : 
 rii^ hsii oat offiHimni aw &p-4£aT, 
 il L, iiai'i:i HI ifj up IIJ29V mi ^ 
 
 Oct. Came^ eoae, tbe eaase : If jigniug aB&e as 
 Tliepniaf of itwill tuB tBBoida^ia^ [r 
 
 . .iat lite smni gas sp agsD T — 
 -isr's tfcaee aad tveocr maads 
 
 — -.L sian^oe^ to tbe stnti ai tEaitaa. 
 ^ -1.. Cssir. tiev aa'A nae £e W B Mail, 
 Uoles t&mc Etrstsst than wicfe Ibee.' 
 
 Obt. " SalWpe; 
 
 SCE5Z L — rS« PizEO -ifFSi^m. 
 'Enxgr OcTATnrs, Ayr^iTrr, trait tr'wir Artri. 
 Cisu X<rr. Ajiflurr, anr ixni:^ m» insTnij^i. : 
 fair sBiLr t^ den^ xisoiii ant ccme dews, 
 
 II paves aaeia: I&^&a3!esai° cr^asf : 
 XBernxeffli t» want 13 ic Fhilruc; 
 * ■ iwi I Tiij^ III ffii' I' 'ii 'i III I i' 
 
 in£^ Tax* I am ni Qaer aosoos. x2jX i. £:iC7 
 niuuejiiui iIk^ da ft; tfiey casK be *^'*"** 
 Ta vBtt aoKi ''i^***^ ; SK f awif «mva 
 Wica. EacGai Boy^rr. rmi'itu^^ bt t&xs Qce* 
 Ta ubSsl a a^ duu^jus xnac th^* ooc coaxa^ , 
 Bac "^BsacsiL 
 
 Upm die i^ fcanti. of ^ evoi. fieSL 
 Ax. CwB tbe Q^ &ami I, fcB>p Ar tie Eeft. 
 .jnc V^iafta. cram BBgaaliiit tifpiit l 
 Qd:. 1 ^ aoc ccQCB vaix ^ ^scXwS^ sa. ^JIoErwim 
 
 Omn. Ejoar SaBTUMr C-tSBam, aai titir Armg ; 
 
 Bm- '. uid waaU have farieT. 
 
 CtM.y-.^^~ .^ . I-UBis: Weaosaacaadaft, 
 
 Ox. 3£kX .A^Bar. ttd irr rfrrTinr rfh-Mrtr^ 
 
 OIec Set boc mzd lae 
 
 Os. 5ac *a£ «e Iotc sa 
 Jfca. C ■■ « aaa* i n' h ra 
 
 I was nflt bora tia £e as D&aCas* : 
 
 BrTi. O. if thaawerttbeaeMetiif tfarscaia, 
 T'Tiitr :::as. t&aa caidf st sot & moee hMMiiiilifii 
 
 Cu. A pem^sehaafiiojr, wanUes af sach haaamr, 
 J'sbx'i wck X "»»^»»' ^irf z cenBes. 
 
 (kt. Cane, .Aaeni^ ; xjnj. — 
 
 JDeoKKe. IrtHfrw V bid wc u jaar teeik : 
 if jaa ozzs fi^ l»4{in', cane >a Ike ieU ; 
 If not, wnea Taa bave iliaiiiii>ii 
 
 [Xieitiic Oci:mn> Jiyiafcr, airf dev Jif. 
 
 TfesaanB'B^,a9dafiisaBibekaaBi. [kaifc! 
 BncBa! 
 
 Locals; hiT-fci awaaivilk inc. 
 £«^ Jifybal. 
 
 CB.Tfc;ifili.— 
 
 ICac Wlacs^saf I 
 
 Co. 
 
 T^ss B a^Bct^nia^; as Ass veiy Jwr 
 Was Cjfwfl* bars. Give bk tfc^ hTin4. ^ 
 Be rfmi iiii aiiim n that, agnott ai^ wiB, 
 As FMBTEa- was, aai I caai^ff4 ts set 
 
 Tasfawv. (hat I MA EfKaxH «m^ 
 Aai l»afBM«; ayrl cfaageMyaai, 
 
 Am jBBBy oe fit wMy out 4 
 
 Twvaall^^eieiES Ul; aa< Aoe^'parii'^ 
 
 WW ta nSfpt hoe caasMSed as ; 
 Tb Bscaai^ n dh«^ fcd anp. 
 Airf»*jiM»ii^*»nnM, ca 
 
 flj* sTcr aar a r jwt, aan i 
 
 As we woe aekfj- ] 
 
 A mmysMitimi 
 
 Oxr acair fiesy aea^ IS pve as I 
 
 Jfcs. ftlfcll MttSL 
 
 Cou IhatkeScMkaadv; 
 
 F<r I as faA a( spcit. aail seasli'A 
 TanectsBfe' 
 
 Bra. fscaas^l 
 
 Tie gafc Is <«j aaai fcieaaty : 
 
 aaikiaea. 
 
 E^ao. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE IIL 
 
 671 
 
 {f liv do loie ftis faatde. Aeae :kis 
 
 The T«iT liA tbae ve skill spak useesker: 
 
 Wki: are too tl^a ikuiMKJ » ^ - 
 
 Bm. Eiea br tbe rale af tkit paiiosinibr. 
 Bj whidi I dirl'bbae Cam far ^ *saA 
 M'iucb ke dii gire UoBseif : — I ^bow Bot bov. 
 Bat 1 io Sad it covardlr <ad -n^. 
 For fear of vkat Migkt oJi, so u> prereot 
 The USX of life : — ainag nvself viiii piSp«>ct, 
 To tuj tiie frarideaee ef same i£%k powen. 
 That gvicm as belim'. 
 
 Co. TheB,ifwetosetksbaltl£, 
 
 Y<n are »— q'—'*^ to be led ia ciaaifb 
 TVwD'jgb tie streets of Boae ! 
 
 fin.Xo,Casaas,Qo: tSuatno^tboaBbbleBoaxa, 
 Thai erer BtbIes will go baaadta Base; 
 He beats too great a isiad. Bat this Gaae dar 
 SUst ckI that voct, iheaksar>Ianhbeg«B*; 
 Aad irheihe; «« shsM leeetagaia Icmr aot. 
 ThereSxe oar ererUsda^ bieaell tale: — 
 For erer, and for erer, ^:«»ell. Casscs J 
 Ifaedo neetxgaia, vbr ve shall saiile; 
 If act, vhr tfaea thk paitiB^ vas v^l aaile. 
 
 Cat. For erer, aad for rrer, fareve^, Biv^ss ! 
 [fwedoae^^aia. well aaiie iadeed ; 
 If Bot. 'tistiae, this nailiag was well aude. 
 
 BnuWhjthea.leado3.— So,thalaa»aT?ghttBnw 
 The ead of this iafs hisaess, ere it wane! 
 Bat it salBceth, t^t the dar wiZl ead. 
 AaA theo the ad is Lnowa, — Coatt, ho ! awar ! 
 
 [£i«a(. 
 
 SCENE IL— Tie i 
 
 TW FirU tfBMStk. 
 
 Altrmm. Ecttr Bams aarf liIisSAL.1. 
 
 Brm. Ride. iaie.Me5Eala,nde.aBdgiTe these bins 
 Cato the leginsoa the other side: [IsmitUnm. 
 Le* then set oa at «ace ; for I peiTe«« 
 Bat cold deaeaaoBT ia Octarias' wia^. 
 Aad saddea nash gires thes the orer^nnr. 
 BWle.fide,ll£ssaIa: hst thea ail eoee dowa. 
 
 SCEXE m.— TV sew. jMtdktr Pnt ^f a» FitU. 
 Alawm. Eater Cassivs tmi Tmxirsi 
 
 Cat. O, hwc Titiaias, look, the nliaias % * 
 Mrself hate to aiae owa tcia'd eaeaif : 
 Tniseasiga here of aiae was tsjuag back ; 
 I stew ibe coward, ^jid dki take it fioa hiia. 
 
 Tit. O Caisias. Bntes gave the vonl too eadj- : 
 Who hans^ scae adTaalage oa OnaTias, 
 To<^ it loo eagedj ; his soldieis fell to spail, 
 tVhilsi we bjr Aatoay are all eadas'd. 
 
 £»;«■ PsxcAsrsv 
 
 r ^' • iiei off, say lord, 5t fzriisr off; 
 52'- ^ '-a TO»r t^ns, ET :«d 1 
 
 F... ._. - Cisaas, &\ taic£ 
 
 '^■a. i ^iMaeh. 'Look. loot. Tiliaias; 
 
 Are lha>. " :«fe I pesceiie the ire ! 
 
 I^t. Ttej aft, Bij iwd. 
 
 Cm. Tioues. if ^o<a loi'st ae. 
 
 Moaal &0B bt horse, aad hide ihr S|w>s ia bia. 
 Till he hne biaeght thee i^ VtjneiSe* ttoaps. 
 And here agaia ; that I Bar rest asar'd. 
 Whether Toad' trooje are nWoi or eae-BT. 
 
 Ticlwillfaehereaiaia.erva ir::a aihsGght. [Enc 
 
 Cu. Go. Piadaias, •et higheroa thai hill; 
 Mt si^: wie erer thick ; r^aid TiCwas. 
 Aad tea as what thaa aai'si aboal the fidd. — 
 
 \£at PnoAsrs. 
 Tks iiT I biea&ed Sist : tiaae is eoae nwKi, 
 
 A;:>d w^e3« I did begia. AcR sbQ I eod ; 
 
 Mt life is ma bis eeaspasb — Suixh. whal se'ws ! 
 
 PiM. [Jhw.] O BJ hwi! 
 
 Cm. \rhataears1 
 
 Pta. TitiaiBii 
 S^dosedioeadahoatwi&hoiseaea, that 
 "Ciie Id hiB oa the ^rer : — ^res he sjkus os. — 
 >';w ther- are alBost oa hia ; aow.'TitiBss ! — 
 >'ow seoe 'Egbt :— O. be "Egbts taa:— he's U'ea : 
 — aadbiki [Skaz. 
 
 Tber Aoatfbrjo;. ' 
 
 Co. Case dova. bebaU M mme.— 
 
 O, oowaid thai I as, to E<e so loag;. 
 To see b j best iaesA ta'ea bs fo re n- bts ! 
 
 Eater Fek&ixes. 
 ConebiiheT. sinah: 
 la Patthaa^I take Aee { ai ai uaa ; 
 Aad thea I swotet^ee. savisgof ihrfife. 
 That whatsaerer 1 dad bad thee da, ' 
 Then shoald'ssaiaesptii. Ccweaov.keepta^iieoaa: 
 Xowbeafineaoa; aad. wish this gaod svoid. 
 That taa ihieagh Cesar's boveb. search this basMi. 
 Sfaad sot to asswes- : Here, take thaa the halls ; 
 Aad, wh^ BT face is ooier'd, as 'lis a*w. 
 Glide thoa the swosd.. — C^sar. ^>e« an reie^'d. 
 Erea with the sword ibi kill'd thee. [Dia. 
 
 Pis. So, I IB free : t«i wocjd aM sa brae beea. 
 Daist I bare daae iBT aalL OCassi^! 
 Far irae this cotxaaj PiaiSaivs shall raa. 
 Wbese weva Ramaa shall take aoae of hiB. [Eii^ 
 Sr-ewter Tinxtrs, ««& 3Is5Eai.&. 
 
 Ma. It is bst chai^. Tiliuiss ; n Oaaiiss 
 Is OTer:&:«>wa tnr ae4k!e Bratas* paver. 
 As Cassi_s" iegi-ccs t:^ ir Aaaar. 
 
 K:. Tiese ar.---ri wiU wefl cnisBt Cassos. 
 
 3ia. Waeie did jo« ieaxe Ub ! 
 
 Tct. An&OBBBlM!^ 
 
 With Kadauvs bis lnaa'iaii. •■ this hiB. 
 
 iUx. 1> BX &at he dot Ees lyoa the ^«a^I 
 
 !(£. He lies »x like the brag. Oajhean! 
 
 JIoL Uaoc thai he! 
 
 To. Ko. Aiswas be. MesaSa. 
 
 Bat Cassias is as aare. — O scoia^ s«a ! 
 As ia thj led i»is ihsa iest ask. r« ■lif.hl. 
 So la bk ted bteod Cassias' dav is set ; 
 Thesaa of Baneissei] Oar daT is g«ae : 
 Chads, dews, and >iaa^ess cuK : OCT ^e& aieliae! 
 3Jeaaet afar sacoess ha>^ doae this deed. 
 
 Its. Ukaast af geed SBicess hub ^w Ms ^ad. 
 O haleial oiar, Brh-arbnly's chiU! 
 Wbj dost thaa shew la lie a|t ihai^his af iKa 
 The'thisgs thai are aot! O emr. saea caaceiT'd. 
 Thva amer caa'st eaia a htj^r btnh. 
 Bra kiU'st ^ B«^aer lhases:eea>ia'4 ths- 
 
 Tic. What. Ka&urss! Whee anthoa. FSa&OB! 
 
 Mrs. Seek, baa, Ticheas : whilst I ga to ^eet 
 The aaUe Baaeas. thiasti^ this r»CEt 
 laatbisetis: I an s^. &nsii^ it ; 
 
 For peiaag steel, aad darts (i <B»it,. 
 
 Shall be as wekosae a the eaes « £ta:«s. 
 As tinags *f this s^^ht. 
 
 lis. ffie iroa. Messah. 
 
 AadlwillsaekfarFiadasw^wUe. [EticKB. 
 Whj Adst thaa »9d see M£tb, bsare Cb9bs 1 
 Did! cat aeei &j £ieads ! aad did aat i^r 
 INe; oa ay braws iis wt-i-i ,' lirisiy. 
 Aad bid ae pT .mH bev their 
 
 Aos, thaa h^: _ 'Jaag. [shaaas* 
 
 Ei: haid thee, aif --i-s ^!---iJ2; .-^ shy b » a », 
 T2T Bretars bid Be gi<e a dae, aad 1 
 'n^ d» bs boJi^JT-g. — ^&«K, reeie apace. 
 
G72 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR. 
 
 And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. — 
 
 By your leave, gods :■ — This is a Roman's part : 
 
 Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart. [Dies. 
 
 Alaritm, Re-enter Messai^a, with^ Brutus, young 
 Cato, Stuato, Vulumnius, and Lucilius. 
 
 Bru, Where, where, Messala, doth his body liel 
 
 Mes. Lo, yonder ; and Titinius mourning it, 
 
 Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 
 
 Cato. • He is slain. 
 
 Bru. O Julius Cffisar, thou art mighty yet ! 
 Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
 In our own proper entrails. [Low alarums. 
 
 Cato. Brave Titinius ! 
 
 Look whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius ! 
 
 Bru. Are vet two Romans living such as these? — 
 The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
 It is impossible, that ever Rome 
 Should breed thy fellow. — Friends, I owe more tears 
 To tins dead man, than you shall see me pay. — 
 I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. — 
 Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body; 
 His funeral shall not be in our camp, 
 Lest it discomfort us. — Lucilius, come ; — 
 And come, young Cato ; let us to the field. — 
 Labeo, and Flavins, set our battles on : — 
 I'is three o'clock ; and, Romans, yet ere night 
 We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Another Part of the Field. 
 
 Alarum. "Enter fighting. Soldiers of both Armies; 
 then Bnurus, Cato, LuciLits, and othors. 
 
 Bru. Yet, countrymen, 0, yet hold up your heads! 
 
 Citto. What bastard doth not? Who will go with me? 
 I will proclaim my name about the field ; — ■ 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ; 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! [Charges the enemy. 
 
 Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I ; 
 Brutus, my country's friend ; know me for Brutus. 
 [£ri(, ehargiiig the enemy. Cato is over- 
 powered, and falls. 
 
 Lnc. O young and noble Cato, art thou down ? 
 Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ; 
 And may'st be honour'd being Cato's son. 
 
 1 Sotd. Yield, or thou diest. 
 
 Luc. Only I yield to die* 
 
 There is so much, that thou wilt kill me straight ; 
 
 [Offeriiig moneij. 
 Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death. 
 
 1 Sold. We must not. — A noble prisoner. 
 
 2 Sold. Room, ho '. Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. 
 iSo/ii. I'll tell the news. — Here comes the general: — 
 
 Enter Antony. 
 
 Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Where is he? 
 
 Luc. Safe, Antony ; Brutus is safe enough ; 
 I dare assure thee, that no enemy 
 Sliall ever take alive the noble Brutus : 
 The gods defend him from so great a shame ! 
 When you do find him, or alive, or dead. 
 He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 
 
 Ajit. This is not Brutus, friend ; but, I assure you, 
 A prize no less in worth : keep this man safe. 
 Give him all kindness : I had rather have 
 Such men my friends, than enemies. Go on. 
 And see whe'r Brutus be alive, or dead : 
 And biing us word, unto Octavius' tent, 
 How every thing is chanc'd. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Knter BnuTus, Dardanius, Ciitos, Strato, and 
 
 VOLUMNIUS. 
 
 Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock. 
 
 Cli. Statilius shew'd tjie torch-light ; but, my lord. 
 He came not back ; he is or ta'en, or slain. 
 
 Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus : Slaying is the word; 
 It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. — 
 
 [Whispering. 
 
 Cli. What, I, my lord ! No, not for all the world. 
 
 Bru. Peace then, no words. 
 
 Cti. I'll rather kill myself. 
 
 Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius ! [Whispers Iiim. 
 
 Dar. I do such a deed I 
 
 Cti. O, Dardanius I 
 
 Dar. O Clitus ! 
 
 Cti. What ill request did Brutus make to thee ? 
 
 Dar. To kill him, Clitus ; Look, he meditates. 
 
 Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 
 That it runs over even at his eyes, 
 
 Bru. Come hither, good Votumnius : list a word. 
 
 Vol. What says my lord ? 
 
 Bru, Why, this, Volumnius ; 
 
 The ghost of Cffisar hath appeared to me 
 Two several times by night : at Sardis, once j 
 And, this last night, here in Philippi' fields, 
 I know, my hour is come. 
 
 Vol. Not so, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
 Thou see'st the world, Volumnius, how it goes , 
 Our enemies have beat us to the pit : 
 It is more worthy, to leap in our^^elves. 
 Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 
 Thou know'st that we two went to school together ; 
 Even for that our love of old, 1 pray thee. 
 Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. 
 
 VoL That's not an oifice for a friend, my lord. 
 
 [Alarum still, 
 
 Cli. Fly, fly, my lord ; there is no tarrying here. 
 
 Bru. Farewell to you — and you ; — and you, Volum- 
 Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ; [nius. — 
 Farewell to thee too, Strato. — Countrymen, 
 My heart doth joy, that yet, in all my life, 
 1 found no man, but he was true to me. 
 I shall have glory by this losing day, 
 ]\Iore than Octavius, and Mark Antony, 
 By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
 So, fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 
 Hath almost ended his life's history : 
 Night hangs upon mine eyes ; ray bones would rest, 
 That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 
 
 [Alai'um. Cry within ; Fly, fty, fly, 
 
 Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 
 
 Bru. Hence ; I will follow thee. 
 
 [Exeunt Ct.nvSf Dardanius. and VoLuajNirs. 
 I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord : 
 Tiiou art a fellow of a good respect ; 
 Thy life halh had some smatch of honour in it : 
 Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face. 
 While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato? 
 
 Stra. Give me your hand first; Fare you well, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Farewell, good Strato. — Cffisar, now be still: 
 I kill'd not thee with half so good a will, 
 
 [He runs on his sword, and dies. 
 
 Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony 
 Messala, Lucilius, and their army. 
 
 Oct. What man is that ? 
 
 Mm. My master'sman. — Strato.whereis thy master! 
 Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala; 
 The conquerors can but make a fire of him ; 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 673 
 
 For Brutus only overcame himself, 
 
 And no man else hath honour by his death. 
 
 Luc, So Brutus should fae found. — I thank thee, 
 That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying- true. [Brutus, 
 
 Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will enteHain them. 
 Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me? 
 
 Stra, Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 
 
 Oct. Do so, good Messala. 
 
 Mes, How died my master, Strato ? 
 
 Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 
 
 Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, 
 That did the latest service to my master. 
 
 Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all : 
 
 All the conspirators, save only he, 
 
 Did that they did in envy of great Csesar ; 
 
 He, only, in a general honest thought, 
 
 And common good to all. made one of them. 
 
 His life was gentle ; and the elements 
 
 So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up, 
 
 And say to all the world, This utts a man ! 
 
 Oct. According to his virtue let us use him. 
 With all respect, and rites of burial. 
 Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie, 
 Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. — 
 So, call the field to rest : and let's away, 
 To part the glories of this happy day, [Exeunt, 
 
 Of this trarrtdy many particular passages deserve regard, and the contention and reconcilement of Brutus and Cassias is 
 ttnivcrsally celebrated ; hut 1 have never been strongly agitated in iterusing it, and think it aoraewhal cold and unaffecting", 
 compared with some other of Shakspeare's plays: his adherence to the real story, and to Roman manners, seems to have im- 
 peded the natural vigour of his genius.— Johnson. 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 This play was entered in the Stationers' books, May C. 1608; and was, according to the conjecture of Malone, composed IQ 
 
 the same year. It was not. however, printed till the folio of 162;t. 
 
 The subject is taken from Plutarch's Life of Antony, which has been closely followed. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 M. Antony, 1 
 
 Octavius C^sar, j triumvirs. 
 M. ,(Emil. Lepidus, ) 
 Sextus Pompeius. 
 
 DoMiTius Enobarbus, VENTinius, Eros, Scarus, 
 
 Dercetas, Demetrius, Philo, /We/irfso/' Antony. 
 
 Mec^nas, Agrippa, Dolabella, Proculeius, Thy- 
 
 REus, Gallus, friends to Caesar. 
 Menas, Menecrates, Varrius, /Wends D/"Pompey. 
 Taurus, lieutenant-general to Ca'sar. 
 Canidius, lieutenant -general to Antony. 
 SiLius, an officer in Ventidius's armtt. 
 EuPHRONius, an ambassador from Antony (o Csesar. 
 Alexas, Mardian, Seleucus, and Diomedes j 
 
 attendants on Cleopatra, 
 A Soothsaifer. A Clown, 
 
 Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt. 
 
 Octavia, sister to Cffisar, and wife to Antony. 
 
 Charmian and Iras, attendants on Cleopatra. 
 
 Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, — dispersed ; in several parts of the 
 Roman Empire. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Alexandria. — A Romn in Cleopatra's Palace. 
 
 Enter Dewktrius ajid Piiilo. 
 Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's 
 O'erflows the measure ; those his goodly eyes, 
 That o'er the files and musters of the war 
 Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn. 
 The ofhce and devotion of their view 
 Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart. 
 Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst 
 The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper ; 
 And is become the bellows and the fan. 
 To cool a gipsy's lust. Look, where they come ! 
 
 Flourish, Enfer Antony and Cleopatra, with their 
 
 Trains; 'Eunuchs fanning iter. 
 Take but good note, and you shall see in hiin 
 The triple pillar of (he world transform "d 
 Into a strumpet's tool ; behold and see. 
 
 Clen. If it be love indeed, tell me how much. 
 
 ^«t. There's beggary in the love that can be reckon'd. 
 Cteo. I'll set a bourn how far to be belov'd. 
 Ant. Then must thou needs find out new heaven, 
 new earth. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Alt. News, my good lord, from Rome. 
 
 ^"'- Grates me : — The sum. 
 
 Cleo. Nay. hear them, Antony : 
 Fulvia, perchance, is angry ; Or, who knows 
 If the scarce-bearded Casar have not sent 
 His powerful mandate to you, Do this, or this; 
 Take in that kingdom, and enfranchise that; 
 Perform't, or else we damn thee. 
 
 Ant. How, my love ! 
 
 ^ Cleo. Perchance,— nay, and most like. 
 You must not stay here longer, your dismission 
 Is come from Ca!sar ; therefore hear it, Antony. — 
 Where's Fulvia's process 1 Cffisar's, I would say'— 
 
 Both ■>.— ^ 
 
 Call in the messengers.— As I am Egypt's queen. 
 Thou blushest, Antony ; and that blood of thine 
 Is Ca;sar's homager : else so thy cheek pays shame. 
 When shrill-tongu'd Fulvia scolds.— The messengers. 
 
 Ant. Let Rome in Tyber melt ! and the wide arch 
 Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space ; 
 Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike 
 Feeds beasts as man : the nobleness of life 
 Is, to do thus ; when such a mutual pair, [Embracing 
 And such a twain can do't, in which, I bind 
 On pain of punishment, the world to weel. 
 We stand up peerless. 
 
 f '<""■ Excellent falsehood ! 
 
 VV'hy did he marry Fulvia, and not love herl — 
 I'll seem the fool I am not ; Antony 
 Will be himself. 
 
 Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. — 
 
 Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours, 
 2 U 
 
674 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Let's not coufounil tiic time with conference harsh : 
 There's not a minute of our lives should stretch 
 Without some pleasure now : What sport to-night T 
 
 Cieo. Hear the ambassadors. 
 
 Ant, Fye, wrangling queen! 
 
 Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh. 
 To weep; whose every passion fully strives 
 To luake itself, in tliee, fair and admir'd ! 
 No messenger ; but tiiine and all alone. 
 To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and note 
 The qualities of people. Come, my queen ; 
 Last night you did desire it : — Speak not to us. 
 
 lEietuit Ant. and Cleop. with their Train* 
 
 Dein. Is Caisarwith Aiitonius priz'd so slight? 
 
 Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony, 
 He comes too short of that great property 
 Which still should go with Antony. 
 
 Dem, I'm full sorry, 
 
 That he approves the common liar, who 
 Thus speaks of him at Rome : But I will hope 
 Of better deeds to-moriow, Uest you happy ! [Ex. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. Another Room. 
 Enter CnAnjirAN, InAS, Alexas, and a Soothsayer. 
 
 Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing 
 Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the 
 soothsayer that you praised so to the queen i O, that 
 I knew this husband, which, you say, must change 
 his horns with garlands ! 
 
 Aler. Soothsayer. 
 
 Sooth. Your will 1 
 
 Char. Is this the man? — Is'tyou, sir, that know 
 
 Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy, [things 1 
 A little I can read. 
 
 Alei. Shew him your hand. 
 
 Enter Enobarbus. 
 
 Enii. Bring in the banquet quickly ; wine enough, 
 Cleopatra's health to drink. 
 
 Char. Good sir, give me good fortune. 
 
 Sooth. I make not, but foresee. 
 
 Char. Pray then, foresee me one. 
 
 Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are. 
 
 Char. He means, in flesh. 
 
 Iras. No, you siiall paint when you are old. 
 
 Char. Wrinkles forbid ! 
 
 Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive. 
 
 Char. Hush ! 
 
 South. You shall be nioi^e beloving, than beloved. 
 
 Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking. 
 
 Alex. Nay, hear him. 
 
 Char. Good now, some excellent fortune ! Let me 
 be married to three kings in a forenoon, and widow 
 them all : let me have a child at fifty, to whom He- 
 lod of Jewry may do homage ; find me to marry me 
 with Octavius Cfesar, and companion me with my 
 mistress. 
 
 Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. 
 
 Char. O excellent ! 1 love long life better than figs. 
 
 Sooth. Vou have seen and proved a fairer former 
 Than that which is to approach. [fortune 
 
 Char, Then, belike my children shall have no 
 names : Pr'ythee, how many boys and wenches must 
 I have? 
 
 Suo(/i. 'If every of your wishes had a womb, 
 And fertile every wish, a million. 
 
 Char. Out, fool ! I forgive tiiee for a witch. 
 
 .ilex, Y'ou think, none butyoursheets are privy to 
 Char, Nay, come, tell Iras hers. [your wishes. 
 
 Alex. We'll know all our fortunes. 
 Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-night, 
 shall be — drunk to bed. 
 
 Iras. There's a palm presages chastity, if nothing 
 else. [mii!e. 
 
 Char. Even as the o'erflowing Nilus presageth fa- 
 
 Iras. Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay. 
 
 Char. Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prog- 
 nostication, I cannot scratch mine ear. — Pr'ythee, 
 tell her but a worky-day fortune. 
 
 Sooth. Your foitunes are alike. 
 
 Iras. But how, but how 1 give me particulars. 
 
 Sooth. I have said. 
 
 Iras. Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? 
 
 Char. Well, if you were but an inch of fortuae 
 better than I, where would you choose it ? 
 
 Iras. Not in my husband's nose. 
 
 Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend ! Alex- 
 as, — come, his fortune, his fortune. — O, let him 
 marry a woman that cannot go , sweet Isis, I beseech 
 thee ! And let her die too, and give him a worse ! 
 and let worse follow worse, till the worst of all fol- 
 low him laughing to his grave, fifty-fold a cuckold ! 
 Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me 
 a matter of more weight ; good Isis, I beseech thee! 
 
 Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of 
 the people! for, as it is a heart-breaking to see a 
 handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly sorrow 
 to behold a foul knave uncuckolded ; Therefore, dear 
 Isis, keep decorum, and fortune him accordingly ! 
 
 Char. Amen. 
 
 Alex. Lo, now ! if it lay in their hands to make me 
 a cuckold, they would make themselves whores, but 
 they'd do't. 
 
 Eno. Hush ! here comes Antony. 
 
 Char, Not he, the queen. 
 
 Ei((er Cleopatra. 
 
 Cleo. Saw you my lord ? 
 Eno. No, lady. 
 
 Cleo, Was he not here ? 
 
 Char. No, madam. 
 
 Cteo. He wasdispos'd to mirth ; but on the sudden 
 A Roman thought hath struck him. — Enobarbus, — ■ 
 Eno. Madam. 
 
 Cleo, Seek him, and bring liim hither. Where's 
 
 Alexas ] [preaches. 
 
 Aler, Here, madam, at your service. — My lord ap- 
 
 Enter Antony, with a Messenger and Attendants* 
 
 Cieo, We will not look upon him; Go with us. 
 [Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alixas, Iras, 
 CuARMiAN, Soothsayer, and Attendant?. 
 
 Uless. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. 
 
 Ant, Against mj brother Lucius? 
 
 Mess. Ay : 
 But soon that war had end, and the time's state 
 Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst 
 Whose better issue in the war, from Italy, [Caesar; 
 Upon tlie first encounter, drave them. 
 
 Ant. Well, 
 
 What worst ? 
 
 Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller. 
 
 Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward. — On: 
 Things, that are past, are done with me. — 'Tis thus: 
 Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, 
 I hear him as he flatter'd. 
 
 Mess, Labienus 
 
 (This is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian force, 
 Extended Asia from Euphrates ; 
 His conquering banner shook, from .Syria 
 To Lydia, and to Ionia ; 
 Whilst 
 
 Ant. Antony^ thou would'st say,— 
 
 Mess, O, my lord ! 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 675 
 
 Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general 
 Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome : [tongue ; 
 Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase ; and taunt my faults 
 With such full licence, as both truth and malice 
 Have power to utter. O, then we bring- forth weeds, 
 When our quick mindslie still ; and our ills told us. 
 Is as our earing. Fare thee well a while. 
 
 Mess. At your noble pleasure. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. From Sicyon how the news'! Speak there. 
 
 1 Alt. The man from Sicyon. — Is there such an 
 -2 Att. He stays upon your will. [one } 
 ^,i(. Let him appear, — 
 
 These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, 
 
 Enter another Messenger. 
 Or lose myself in dotage.— What are you 1 
 
 2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead. 
 
 ji„i^ Where died she ? 
 
 2 Mess. In Sicyon : 
 Her length of sickness, with what else more serious 
 Importelh thee to know, this bears. [Gives a letter, 
 .int. Forbear me.— [Eiit Jlessenger. 
 
 There's a great spirit gone ! Thus did I desire it : 
 What our contempts do often hurl from us, 
 We wish it ours again ; the present pleasure. 
 By revolution lowering, does become 
 The opposite of itself: she's good, being gone ; 
 The hand could pluck her bark, that shov'd heron. 
 I must from this enchanting queen break oft'; 
 Ten thousand harms, more thau the ills I know. 
 My idleness doth hatch. — How now ! Enobarbus ! 
 Enter Enobahdus. 
 
 Eno. What's your pleasure, sir 1 
 
 Ant. I must with haste from hence- 
 Eno. Whv, then, we kill all our women : We see 
 how mortal an unkindness is to them ; if they suffer 
 our deparnire, death's the word. 
 
 Ant. I must be gone. 
 
 Eno, Under acompelling occasion, let women die: 
 It were pity to cast them away for nothing ; though, 
 between them and agreat cause, they should be esteem- 
 ed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of 
 this, dies instantly ; I have seen her die twenty 
 times upon far poorer moment : I do think, there is 
 mettle in death, which commits some loving act upon 
 her, she hath such a celerity in dying. 
 
 Ant. She is cunning past man's thought. 
 
 Eno. Alack, sir, no ; her passions are made of no- 
 thing but the finest part of pure love : We cannot 
 call her winds and waters, sighs and tears ; they are 
 greater storms and tempests thau almanacks can re- 
 port : this cannot be cunning in her; if it be, she 
 makes a shower of rain as well as Jove. 
 
 Ant. 'Would I had never seen her! 
 
 Emi. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful 
 piece of work ; which not to have been blessed with- 
 al, would have discredited your travel. 
 
 Ant. Fulvia is dead. 
 
 Eno. Sir! 
 
 Aiit. Fulvia is dead. 
 
 Eno. Fulvia? 
 
 Ant. Dead, 
 
 Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. 
 When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a 
 man from him, it shews to man the tailors of the 
 earth ; comforting therein, that when old robes are 
 worn out, there are members to make new. If there 
 were no more women but Fulvia, then had you in- 
 deed a cut, and the case to be lamented ; this grief 
 is crowned with consolation ; your old smock brings 
 forth a new jietticoat : — and, indeed, the tears live in 
 an onion, that should water this sorrow. 
 
 Ant. The business she hath broached in the slate. 
 Cannot endure my absence. 
 
 Fno. And the business you have broached here 
 cannot be without you ; especially thatof Cleopatra's, 
 which wholly depends on your abode. 
 
 Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers 
 Have notice what we purpose. I shall break 
 Tile cause of our expedience to the queen, 
 .'\nd get her leave to part. For not alone 
 i'lie death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches. 
 Do strongly speak to us ; but the letters too 
 Of many our contriving friends in Rome 
 Petition us at home ; Se.vtus Pompeius 
 Hath given the dare to CiEsar, and commands 
 The empire of the sea : our slippery people 
 ( Whose love is never link'd to the deserver, 
 Till his deserts are past,) begin to throw 
 Pompey the great, and all his dignities. 
 Upon his son ; who, high in name and power. 
 Higher than both in blood and life, stands up 
 For the main soldier: whose quality, going on, 
 The sides o'the world may danger : Much is breeding, 
 NVhich, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, 
 -■Viid not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure, 
 I'o such whose place is under us, requires 
 Our quick remove from hence. 
 
 Eno. I shall do't, [Exeunt. 
 
 SCEN'E IlL 
 Enter CLEOPATnA, Charmian-, Iras, and Alkxas. 
 
 Cleo. ^^'here is he ? 
 
 Char. I did not see him since. 
 
 Clea. See where he is, who's with him, what he 
 I did not send you ; — If you find him sad, [does : — 
 Say, I am dancing ; if in mirth, report 
 That I am sudden sick : Quick, and return. 
 
 [Erie Ai.EX. 
 
 Char. Madam.methinks, if youdidlove him dearly. 
 You do not hold the method to enforce 
 The like from him. 
 
 Cleo. What should I do, I do not 1 [thing. 
 
 Char. In each thing give him way, cross him in no- 
 
 Cleo. Thou teacliestlikeafool: the way to losehim. 
 
 Char. Tempt him not so too far : I wish, forbear; 
 In time we hate that which we often fear. 
 
 •Enter Antoxy. 
 But here comes Antony. 
 
 Cleo. I am sick, and sullen. 
 
 Ant. lam sorry to give breathing to my purpose: — 
 
 Cleo. Help me a.vay.dear Charmian, I shall fall; 
 It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature 
 Will not sustain it. 
 
 Ant. Now, my dearest queen, — 
 
 Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me. 
 
 Ant. What's the matter? 
 
 Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good 
 What says the married vvoman! — Vou may go; [news. 
 'Would, she had never given you leave to come ! 
 Let her not say, 'tis I that keep you here, 
 I have no power upon you ; hers you are. 
 
 Ant. The gods best know, — 
 
 Cleo. O, never was there queen 
 
 So mightily betray 'd I Yet, at the fiist, 
 I saw the treasons planted. 
 
 Ant. Cleopatra, — [true, 
 
 Cleo. Why should I think, you can be mine and 
 Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, 
 Who have been false to Fulvia ! Riotous madness, 
 To be entangled with those mouth-made vows. 
 Which break themselves in swearing ! 
 2 U 2 
 
076 
 
 AVEOXT ASD CLEOPATRA- 
 
 jst. Mia cwgel ^tif*, — K»i^ loeieu T««r ndgeet, I ihwM Uhe jaa 
 
 Cet. Tar. jtet toil f«i»««»4i«T far J««r8«»g, . Fur jtAwru ia«:i 
 
 Ti.»-t »-<ii --••i-a^fcr""*; SiaBBSf tins}— T* bar iad> i < B"WM m aeag it>e hean 
 I^-:-^~T -a-iit 3 ew Sfs, ssd ««» ;' I At Cktqeaa Hm. BaX, lat, iitrpn me -, 
 
 h^iaamratmr^iie^-, Maetmjaeumfom, Ssee wr kewMsp iiH ae, wfce» li«T d» sot 
 
 OiIml ti«:9ea»estHi£Er«ftte««U, ; Ttggfare he &af te ay — y rig j fajly, 
 
 .&AtKa'diteE»aKstfia 1 .4a4 all Ae s»* f* »Bfc yw» ! ^«i jww »iw»4 
 
 X-; BearBe,qMes: Our KnatiM ■> iiad«. aad fies, 
 
 TseEna^sacaa^aftaBeanBaaic Tba^ dUa len^^ fen, jo'it r^ indi aw, 
 
 Ossonesawlak; h«»rMIIcart 
 MB. OvJxa^ 
 e e'<7 ma or* >vaA : SeUas Paai 
 lf^£i in i^vandKS «• ae pKt (^ Booe 
 
 Z«Bi£cr«f tvaJaaeMie inniii 
 
 Isa* te hearti «r «(k 
 
 tn -ma ie. i >■ «* cfaa g t- )^ 
 Ant tiac wiod! 
 It f liHa'* ASM 
 
 It '.-*^ '-tni '-^- ■' ■*^'T*f¥ >— -O 
 
 
 [tstmn. 
 
 SCESEIT. 
 Bmk. — ji« JfsnaKu n Casar'* JHmik. 
 
 Ea««r OcTjnn C»<K, Lcnara. airf .^malili 
 Co. Tam »» KC lejifat. aai l«aee<Mk kaw. 
 
 Ill«>9 
 
 It » MC Caaa/* aaeioj vice «• late 
 Oae ^ea: vMBvestm : isvm IViiimIiIi 
 T>^ » ti« aevi ; He fahw, dnufa, aa4 
 Ttebayf a i gi ttiaaw^; imtaimmt 
 Tiam Ct. a fMit '; amAeifatemtt$ kmf 
 Titnae wiiirf/ Aa«>e; hj a Jj ;»»» tmittaat, m 
 jttia^dlfUmkiebUfmfma'. TMA^toi 
 . aaa «*» » d* Jatrirt rf ^ fariy 
 rutaBa«MiMr. 
 W. Ia.MMC-ia.ft. 
 
 ISb £aidt>, ib iaa, uamatikit fOUtif 
 
 - fi *- ihr^ AmiWtt im ; Baeaor ttBia yigefair'^ ; »lat te r maat ciMy, 
 
 Tiae liiag te ■A.w e* - 
 
 Aaa* Itnarite aa Ae imi vC VtiAimj i 
 T» g»« a 'aa^ttm Uh a ■irilii; I* lit 
 Aa« ]ac^ &e tam «<r tifigfii^ vUi a daw ; 
 Tv »>^ a« i«R«« at aMo.. i.-. : tiu<j d« tiJit 
 
 «(' tlaaiieeMb^ 
 
 ^ ^j4aa.ae«eacig>«3aaati>jstt:;ii%^ /«£■■■»■< Mill j 
 
 IS»gMat«d^aUa^Maai. IfbefiM 
 ; £E» aaeaBCfMb !■» aMaiftaMaaaay 
 , Fidl *■(<»••, add Ae Atom «f l» Wat*, 
 1 CiB 4, loik {n't; Met, t* taafaaiJ aaeh law, 
 ; TIat daaw kas faa )» (fwt, aarf a^Mfo a* laai 
 ' A* ka» «*a fSaafc, jeuc iuih< — '6> I* i« tiol 
 . .^ wt atft lam. ; win l«ng; ji i MIml ie iaiatni^ii, 
 J I'm A(s tijentsum «» dor fmaeml fii m— i. 
 
 track « «u iw» M -noes * S«v I Ke, I Kit. 
 Ix r itfnir* ^3*, bmr aiae »osr-4 Aai %e. 
 
 Tut;.: ' ' '^aae, 
 
 ii /u: -7 «» fae, 
 
 Tiae tiiijvi^i;. 
 
 Cm.mf^att, 
 -^l am ^ndd^at aa| «dl 
 
 ; peace! 
 
 ^i«. Tvi^ieiti^UMd; tmmam. 
 
 Cm. TaaeaaatWeen-viS: M Aift i> Miilj 
 
 '»«?*«. Mp 
 
 ', ivi- •Hamaa » » «»* Acaiav^ 
 
 .tic fc»*B» 
 
 J^ , ^T'Mit ' 
 
 Li». HcKTiaa . 
 
 Xmc iMife Oscar, itafc Jinn i«>* Rfwt IW>ar, 
 
 !!••• 'fc afavir' ■=- ■•— vj^fat»«; 
 
 ' Aa< it Wfo .- uUe 
 
 j TJsat «i^ les> - . a>«: ;i(«l» 
 
 iVut 4aiaia»ea»i nyia!, *.vi watt ftjfira 
 t^m MB maA wvn^'i. 
 
 ' >■ I iiirtfbf !«>«: kaawa •• Icm ; — 
 
 tSuiMii 
 
ACT 1— SCENE V. 
 
 677 
 
 G««l^«i4telt, Mbytes tkntma^oa;. I Cjmv O CWrwu. 
 
 T«> It* ilsdl" witk aotka. I WVw rh-.^k's: !!«'» ke is now T Sttn^ ke, er sas ks ' 
 
 Ms!f. C»ar, I lirias tkse word. Or <j,->fs h* wjill ' or is ko «s te kais»* 
 
 >! - ■ ■■ ■ - - 
 
 ■ -, 
 
 ^ii^x etSxsanxr 
 
 >i • u>d ■irovLS.: 
 
 
 ■ ''XtCvkMCtkMkMK'st! 
 
 W -,^»ds 
 
 
 ■•,-■ :-^ 
 
 T ■» 
 
 
 ■ .T 
 
 1.. - ■ .irSTOlt: 
 
 
 ■''"■ 
 
 Xo v**.«:* CAi; -• "* i* **xva 
 
 
 - »•.■ ; No« 1 Kt%i ;i\^: 
 
 Takfa »s swr ' s njuae sini<s «ik«. 
 
 
 ->«* KesOB -. — Tiial oai iw. 
 
 Tk«a <viiM his »tr rc>;>.!M. 
 
 
 - -^.-ijw k1»ci. 
 
 t\«^ AsKaiT, 
 
 
 -;":<vas«i C«str, 
 
 Le»Tf tkv Usc-niotts imsw'.s. When ;i*» iMKse 
 
 
 :-.■ 1 «S 
 
 \V»*! h(v>:» from M,v5f r.i, «rk«-i« tk«« $)«v°$i 
 
 At. 
 
 X'T 
 
 Hiitias Mid P»rs> <-.-?>.:;< s- tSr >w! 
 
 W, 
 
 ttT i**!*-; 
 
 PW iukiM Ki *! Ǥ^OSt. 
 
 
 :ui. ii^Mv:, i_i da 
 
 TV-Hi^ i»ia:; -c* aore 
 
 
 ■ ■>. 
 
 Tkia^t' " -• ..;:. . 1 1..-.. >..siM liiuk 
 
 
 £Mcr Atf XAS. 
 
 Wkirk ^. - . osi kc diy pulaie tk«> £d4^a 
 
 Ala. 
 
 J^.^^-j- -^Tj-v; liKl! 
 
 Ike KWjiK^ hcrnr i\n t\e nuVss be>ii« ; 
 
 Ot». Wmt 
 
 aw^cr y! 
 
 
 V; 
 
 ^o a;k:va «& ■«&). >i B\U. 
 
 Tl »s mnr M turn. 
 
 : twaia 
 i-jj. wduit <>«■.= 
 
 
 . q«j<a: k*, 
 
 r 
 
 IV . 
 
 A- 
 1 
 
 I sSi ; N# fitnuskM t» Saferw jva rijtilT 
 Kva w h»« ky SMI aod huiJ 1 o»a be »ki«. 
 To 'i:v>»t lki$ itrKval unte. 
 
 »""-t>^. T" xrkk'k «M««nter. 
 
 li 
 
 O' - 1 -.Ui;. ;\f-<xv:; xvw. sar, [oau 
 
 . . • IVsM IK'S, ssr : 
 
 1 taf XT ;t t.v IKT kdsj. ^ Vxn.< 
 
 SC.VISK v.— .\ki;»j>arii. A Sad* t« rW r*«.v 
 
 Ojftv l^t I «»ijkj sJ«y . . j»f •■«; "»w. 
 
 My .VsK«y is a««Y, 
 
 Tw> jcack. 
 
 Cinv 0. m«j»« ! 
 
 Oi*?-. >»»<■»»»». 1 iTttSJ ».■>« S.V 
 
 t%Av Tkoa, eaa». ' 
 
 
 vV Vwit »>i* <>>M - ke WW! -*r 5»* w» ' .. ■ : ' . .\ . 
 
 
 .^tt »y |V^^? 
 
 Ut*; \. 
 
 «k4b>i 4*<«^4i 4«M<V-«i«VM> . 
 
 .ia- fK\ <-4B ^ •odor.. 
 
 'W>i,-v'>s v«ra das diy 
 
 -, Otunauk — 
 
 •■- i Ckarxuas, 
 
 Cmm, 
 
 ^^e^^■^oaWs : > cv^; ^ ;v« 
 
 i"'*wv O tiait kniTt C«s«i ' 
 
 S»y. tiw kctx* A»?>wy. 
 
 Oiw. Ry Isis. T xr. .j<^. 
 
 If tkNt mdi Omstt JUL' :.. 
 My iMA«r> 
 
 OiMi^ 
 
 Bv v,N.;T o: r-KSjws !Mir3«i, 
 
 1 $j«$; Vat MkM VNt, 
 «"*-. ' Mys»l)»iA««. 
 
 ;k««! — ^t, («r 
 . . - . ...^ rNf"* ; ^ sk*'! i.j. . . 
 
678 
 
 AVTONY AND CLEOPATllA. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — Wessina. .-1 Room in Pompey's House. 
 Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas. 
 Pom. If the great gods he just, they shall assist 
 The deeds of justest men, 
 
 Me 
 
 And shall become you well, to entreat v'ur capta'o 
 To soft and gentle speech. 
 
 Eiio, I shall entreat him 
 
 To answer like himself: if Ciesar move him, 
 Let Antony look over Ciesar's head. 
 And speak" as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, 
 Were 1 the wearer of Antonius' beard, 
 
 That what they do delay, they not. deny 
 
 Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays 
 The thing we sue for. 
 
 Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves, 
 
 Beg often our own harms, whicli the wise powers 
 Deny us for our good ; so find we profit. 
 By losing of our prayers. 
 
 Pom. T shall do well : 
 
 The people love me, and the sea is mine ; 
 My power's a crescent, and my auguring liope 
 Says, it will come to the full, fliark Antony 
 In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make 
 No wars without doors : Cajsar gets money, where 
 He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both, 
 Of both is flatter'd ; but he neither loves, 
 Nor either cares for him. 
 
 Men. Cfesar and Lepidus 
 
 Are in the field ; a mighty strength they carry. 
 Pom. Wliere have you this 1 'lis false. 
 Men. From Silvias, sir. [gether. 
 
 Pom. He dreams ; I know, they are in Rome to- 
 Looking for Antony : But all charms of love. 
 Salt Cleopatra, soften tliy wan'd lip ! 
 Let witclicraft join with beauty, lust with both ! 
 Tie up tlie libertine in a field of feasts. 
 Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks. 
 Sharpen with cloyless sauce iiis appetite ; 
 That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour. 
 Even till a Lethe'd dulness. — How now, Varrius ? 
 
 Enter Varrius. 
 
 Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver : 
 Mark Antony is every hour in Rome 
 Expected ; since he went from Egypt, 'tis 
 A space for further travel. 
 
 Pom. 1 could have given less matter 
 
 A better ear. — Menas, 1 did not think. 
 This amorous surfeiler would have don'd his helm 
 For such a petty war : his soldiership 
 Is twice the'other twain : But let us rear 
 The higher our opinion, that our stirring 
 Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck 
 The ne'er lust-wearied Antony. 
 
 Men. I cannot liope, 
 
 Ciesar and Antony shall well greet together: 
 His wife, that's dead, did trespasses to Ciesar ; 
 His brother warr'd upon him ; although, I think, 
 Not mov'd by Antony. 
 
 Pom. I know not, Menas, 
 
 How lesser enmities may give way to greater. 
 Were 't not that we stand up against them all, 
 'Twere pregnant they should square between them- 
 For they have entertained cause enough [selves ; 
 To draw their swords : but how the fear of us 
 May cement their divisions, and bind up 
 The petty difference, we yet not know. 
 Be it as our gods will have it ! It only stands 
 Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands. 
 Come, Menas. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Rome. — A Room in the House n/' Lepidus. 
 Enter Enodaruus and Lepidus. 
 Lep. Good Enobaibus, 'tis a worthy deed, 
 
 Know, worthy Pompey, j would not shave 't to day. 
 
 'Tis not a time 
 
 Lep. 
 For private stomaching. 
 
 Eno. Every time 
 
 Serves for tlie matter that is then born in it_ 
 
 Lep. But small to greater matters must give way 
 
 Eno. Not if the small come first. 
 
 Lep. Your speech is passioi* t 
 
 But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes 
 The nobie Antony. 
 
 Enter Antony and Ventidius. 
 
 Eno. And yonder Casar. 
 
 Enter C;csAR, Mec/ENas, and Agrippa. 
 
 Aiu. If we compose well here, to Parthia : 
 Hark you, Ventidius. 
 
 Ciis. I do not knovir, 
 
 Mecttnas ; ask Agrippa. 
 
 Lep. Noble friends. 
 
 That which combined us was most great, and let not 
 A leaner action rend us. What's amiss. 
 May it be gently heard : When we debate 
 Our trivial difl'eronce loud, we do commit 
 fllurder in healing wounds ? Then, noble partners, 
 (The rather, for I earnestly beseech,) 
 Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms. 
 Nor curstness grow to the matter. 
 
 Aut. 'Tis spoken well: 
 
 Were we before our armies, and to fight, 
 I should do thus. 
 
 Vas. Welcome to Rome. 
 
 Ant. Thank you. 
 
 Ca-s. Sit. 
 
 Ant. Sit, sir! 
 
 C:es. Nay, 
 
 Then — 
 
 Ant. I learn, you take things ill, wliich ate not so ; 
 Or, being, concern you not. 
 
 Cas. I must be laugh'd at. 
 
 If, or for nothing, or a little, I 
 Should say myself oH'ended ; and with you 
 Chiefly i' the world : moie laugli'd at, that I should 
 Once name you derogately, when to sound your name 
 It not concern'd me. 
 
 Ant. My being in Egypt, C^sar, 
 
 What was 't to you 1 
 
 Cas. No more than my residing here at Rome 
 Might be to you in Egypt : Vet if you there 
 Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt 
 Might be my question. 
 
 Ant. How intend you, practis'd t 
 
 C(es. You may be pieas'd to catch at mine intent. 
 By what did heie belal me. Your wife, and brother. 
 Made wars upon rae ; and their contestation 
 Was theme for you, you were the word of war. 
 
 Ant. You do mistake your business ; my brother 
 Did urge me in his act : 1 did enquire it; [never 
 And have my learning from some true reports. 
 That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather 
 Discredit my authority with yours ; 
 And make the wars alike against my stomach, 
 Having alike your cause 1 Of this, my letters. 
 Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel. 
 As matter whole you have not to make it with. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE 11. 
 
 Il must nol be with this. 
 
 Cas. Vou praise yourself 
 
 By laying defects of judgment to me ; but 
 You patch'd up your excuses. 
 
 AnU Not so, not so ; 
 
 I kuow you could not lack, I am certain on 't, 
 Very necessity of this thought, that I. 
 Your partner in the cause 'gainst which iie fought. 
 Could not witJi graceful eyes attend those wars 
 AVhich 'fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, 
 I would you had her spirit in such another : 
 The third o' the world is yours; which with a snaffle 
 You may pace easy, but not such a wife. 
 
 Etio. 'Would we had all such wives, that the men 
 mi^ht go to wars with the women ! 
 
 Ant. So much incurable, her garboils, Ciesar, 
 Made out of her impatience, (which not wanted 
 Shrewdness of policy too.) 1 grieving grant, 
 Did you too much disquiet : for that, you must 
 But say, I could not help it. 
 
 Cas. I wrote to you, 
 
 When rioting in Alexandiia ; you 
 Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts 
 Did gibe my missive out of audience. 
 
 Ant. Sir, 
 
 He fell upon me, ere admitted ; then 
 Three kings 1 had newly feasted, and did want 
 Of what 1 was i' the morning : but, next day, 
 I told him of myself ; which was as much 
 As to have ask'd him pardon : Let this fellow 
 Be nothing of our strife ; if we contend. 
 Out of our question wipe him. 
 
 Cas. You have broken 
 
 The article of your oath ; which you shall never 
 Huve tongue to charge me with. 
 
 Lep, Soft, Cajsar. 
 
 AtU. No, Lepidus, let him speak ; 
 The honour's sacred which he talks on now. 
 Supposing that I lack'd it : But on, C'«sar ; 
 The article of ray oath, — 
 
 Cas. To lend me arras, and aid, when I requir'd 
 The which yon both denied. [them , 
 
 Aut. Xcglected, ratiier ; 
 
 And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up 
 From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may, 
 I 'U play the penitent to you : but mine honesty 
 Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power 
 Work without it : Truth is, that Fulvia. 
 To have me out of Kgypt, made wars here ; 
 For which myself, tlie ignorant motive, do 
 So far a^k pardon, as befits mine honour 
 To stoop in such a case. 
 
 Lep. 'Tis nobly spoken. 
 
 Mec. If it might please you, to enforce no further 
 The griefs between ye : to forget them quite. 
 Were to remember that the present need 
 Speaks to alone you- 
 
 Lep. Worthily spoke, IMecjenas. 
 
 Eiw. Or, if you borrow one another's love for the 
 instant, you may, wiiea you hear no more words of 
 Pompey, return it again : you shall have time to wian- 
 gie in, when you have nothing else to do. 
 
 Ant. Thou art a soldier only; speak no more. 
 
 £«o.Thaltruth should be silent, I had almost forgot 
 
 Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak no 
 
 £710. Go to then ; your considerate stone, [more. 
 
 Cas. I do not much dislike the matter, but. 
 The manner of his speech : For it cannot be, 
 M'e shall remain in friendship, our conditions 
 So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew 
 What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to edge 
 0' the world 1 would pursue it. 
 
 679 
 
 Give me leave, CiEsnr, — 
 
 Agr. 
 
 Cas. Speak, Agrippa. 
 
 Agr. 'lliou hast a sister by the mother's side, 
 Admir'd Octavia : great Mark Antony 
 Is now a widower. 
 
 Cifs. Say not so, Agrippa ; 
 
 If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof 
 Were well deserv'd of rashness. 
 
 Ant. I am not married, Csesar : let me hear 
 Agrippa fuitlter speak- 
 
 .igr. To hold you in perpetual amity. 
 To make you brothers, and to knit your h^.irts 
 With an unslipping knot, take Antony 
 Octavia to his wife : whose beauty claims 
 No worse a husband than the best of men ; 
 Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak 
 That which none else can utter. By this marriage. 
 All little jealousies, which now seem great. 
 And all great fears, which now import their dangers. 
 Would then be nothing : truths would be but tales. 
 Where now half tales be truths : her love to both. 
 Would, each to other, and all loves to both. 
 Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke : 
 For "tis a studied, not a present thought. 
 By duty ruminated. 
 
 Aut. Will Csesar speak ■? 
 
 Cccs. Not till he hears how Antony is touch 'd 
 With what is spoke already. 
 
 Ant. What power is in-Agrippa, 
 
 If I would say, Agrippa, be it so, 
 To make this good 1 
 
 Ca-s. The power of Caesar, and 
 
 His power unto Octavia. 
 
 Aut, IMay I never 
 
 To this good purpose, that so fairly shews. 
 Dream of impediment ! — Let me have thy hand • 
 Further this act of grace ; and, from this hour. 
 The heart of brothers govern in our loves, 
 -Vnd sway our great designs ! 
 
 Cifs. There is my hand. 
 
 A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother 
 Did ever love so dearly : Let her live 
 To join our kingdoms, and our hearts ; and never 
 Fly off our loves again ! 
 
 Lep. Happily, amen ! [pey ; 
 
 Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainstPom- 
 For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great. 
 Of late upon me : I must thank him only, 
 Lest my remembrance suffer ill report j 
 At heel of that, defy him. 
 
 Lep. Time calls upon us : 
 
 Of us must Pompey presently be sought, 
 Or else lie setks out us. 
 
 .-iut. And wliere lies he ! 
 
 Cits. About the mount Misenum. 
 Ant. What's his strength 
 
 By land 1 
 
 Ct£s. Great, and increasing : but by sea 
 He is an absolute master. 
 
 Ant. So is the fame. 
 
 'Would, we had spoke together ! Haste we for it : 
 Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we 
 The business we have talk'd of. 
 
 C<f«. With most gladness ; 
 
 And do invite you to my sister's view. 
 Whither straight 1 will lead you. 
 
 Ant. Let us, Lepidus, 
 
 Not lack your company. 
 
 Lep. Noble Antony, 
 
 Not sickness should detain me. 
 
 [Fhnirish. Eieant Cjs.iR, .AxT. and Lepidcs. 
 Mec. Welcome from Kgypt. sir. 
 
G80 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Ejw. Half tlie heart of Csesar, worthy Mecsnas ! — 
 my honourable friend, Agrippa ! — 
 
 J^r. Good Enobarbus ! 
 
 Jifo. AVe have cause to be glad, that matters are 
 so well digested. You stay'd well by it in Egypt. 
 
 Ell.'. .\y, sir ; we did sleep day out of counteuauce, 
 and made the night light with drinking. 
 
 Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, 
 and but twelve pensous there ; Is this true ! 
 
 Etuu This was but as a tly by an eagle : we had 
 much more monstrous matter of feasts, which wor- 
 thily deser\ed noting. 
 
 Slfc. She "s a most triumphant lady, if report be 
 square to her. 
 
 Eno. AVhen she first met Mark Antony, she pursed 
 up his heart, upon the river of Cydnus. 
 
 Agr. There she appeared indeed ; or my reporter 
 devised well for her. 
 
 Eno. I will tell you : 
 The barge she sat in, like a burnish 'd throne, 
 Burn'd on the » ater : the poop was beaten gold ; 
 Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that [silver : 
 The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were 
 Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
 The water, which they beat, to follow faster, 
 As amorous of their strokes. For her own person. 
 It beggar'd all description : she did lie 
 In her pavilion, (^ cloth of gold, of tissue,) 
 O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see. 
 The fancv out-work nature : on each side her. 
 Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
 With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem 
 To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool. 
 And what they undid, did. 
 
 jjoT. O. rare for .\ntony ! 
 
 Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
 So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes. 
 And made their bends adoruings : at the helm 
 A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackle 
 Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, 
 That \-arely frame the onice. From the baige 
 A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
 Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
 Her people out upon her ; and Antony, 
 Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone, 
 ^^"histling to the air ; which, but for vacancy. 
 Had "one to gaie on Cleopatra too. 
 And made a gap in nature. 
 
 Jf r. Rare Egyptian ! 
 
 £11.1. Upon her landing, Anionv sent to her. 
 Invited her to supper : she replied. 
 It should be better, he became her guest ; 
 Which she entreated : Our courteous .\ntony. 
 Whom ne'er the word of -Y<) woman heard speak, 
 Being barbar'd ten times o"er, goes to the feast ; 
 And, for his ordinary, pays his heart. 
 For what his eyes eat only. 
 
 Jot. RovtJ wench ! 
 
 She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed ; 
 He ploughed her, and she cropp'd. 
 
 £,„i. " I saw her once 
 
 Hop forty paces through the public street : 
 And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted. 
 That she did make defect, perfection. 
 And. breathless, power breathe forth. 
 
 Mtc. Now Antony must leave her utterly. 
 
 Eno. Never ; he will not ; 
 Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale 
 Her mSnite variety : Other women 
 Cloy th' appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry. 
 Where most she satisfies. For vilest things 
 Become themselves in her ; that the holy priests 
 
 Bless her, when she is riggisn. 
 
 Mec. If beauty, wisdom, mecesty, ian settle 
 The heart of .\ntony, Octavia is 
 -•k blessed lottery to him. 
 
 jigr. Let us go. — 
 
 Gooid Enobaibus make yourself my guest, 
 AVhilst you abide here. 
 
 Eiii'. Humbly, sir, I thank you. [EacuHj. 
 
 SCENE III. — 77i« same. A Room in Csesar's House. 
 
 Enter Cx.s.\r., Antony, Oct.wia betueenthem. 
 Attendants, ami a Soothsayer. 
 
 .•lilt. The world, and my great ollice, will sometimes 
 Divide me from your bosom. 
 
 Oct. -ill which time 
 
 Defore the gods my knee shall bow my prayers 
 To them for you. 
 
 Ant. Good night, sir. — My Octavia, 
 
 Read not my blemishes in the world's report ; 
 I have not kept my squai'e ; but that to come 
 Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear lady.— 
 
 Oct. Good night, sir. 
 
 Cas. Good night. [Eafuiit C.«s.4it and Oct.wtA. 
 
 Ant. Now. sirrah! youdo wish yourself in Egypt! 
 
 SiH'th. 'Would I had never come from thence, noryoG 
 Thither 1 
 
 Ant. If you can, your reason 1 
 
 Sooth. I see't in 
 
 My motion, have it not in my tongue : But yet 
 Hie you again to I^'pt. 
 
 Ant. Say to me. 
 
 Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's, or mine ' 
 
 Sooth. Cajsar's. 
 Therefore, O .-kntony. stay not by his side : 
 Thy daemon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is 
 Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, 
 Where Cffisar's is not ; but, near him, thy angel 
 Becomes a Fear, as being o'erponer'd ; therefore 
 Make space enough between you. 
 
 .int. Speak this no more. 
 
 SiwlA. To none but thee ; nomore, but when to thee. 
 If thou dost plav with him at any game. 
 Thou art sure to lose: and. of that natural luck. 
 He beats thee 'gainst the odds ; thy lusti'e thickens. 
 When he shines by : I say again, thy spirit 
 Is all afraid to govern thee near him ; 
 But, he away, 'tis noble. 
 
 Ant. Get thee gone : 
 
 Say to Ventidius, I would speak with him : — 
 
 [EjU Soothsayer. 
 He shall to Parthia. — Be it art, or hap. 
 He hath spoken true : The very dice obey him ; 
 And, in our sports, ray better cunning faints 
 Under his chance : if we draw lots, he speeds : 
 His cocks do win the battle still of mine. 
 When it is all to nought ; and his quails ever 
 Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds. I will to Egypt : 
 .-knd though I make this marriage for my peace, 
 
 Enter VENTimrs. 
 I' the east my pleasure lies : — O, come, Ventidius, 
 You must to Parthia ; your commission's ready : 
 Follow me, and receive it. [Ejfjiwf. 
 
 SCENE IV.—Tne same. A Street. 
 Enter LEPiors, ^Ihccnas, and Agrippa. 
 Lep. Trouble yourselves no further : pray you. 
 Your generals after. [hasten 
 
 .-1^. Sir, Mark Antony 
 
 Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we 'U follow. 
 
 Lep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress. 
 Which will become vou both, farewell. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE V. 
 
 G81 
 
 Of US tiiat trade in love. 
 Attend. 
 
 Mec. ^^'® shall. 
 
 As 1 conceive the journey, be at mount 
 Before you, Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Vour way is shorter. 
 
 My purposes do draw me much about ; 
 You'll will two days upon mc 
 
 Mec. yI«T. Sir, good success ! 
 
 Lep. Farewell. [Ejeunt. 
 
 SCENE y* — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Cleopatiia, Charmian, Iras, and Alrxas. 
 
 Cleo, Give me some music ; music, moody food 
 
 The music, ho ! 
 Enter jVIardian. 
 
 Cleo. Let it alone ; let us to billiards : 
 Come, ('liarmian. 
 
 Cluir. My arm is sore, best play with Maidian. 
 
 Cleo. As well a woman with au eunucli play'd, 
 As with a woman ; — Come, you'll play with me, sir"! 
 
 Mar. As well as 1 can, madum. [too short, 
 
 Cleo. And when good will is sliow'd, tiioiigli it come 
 The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now: — 
 Give me mine angle, — We'll to the liver: there, 
 Mv music playing far oft", I will betray 
 Tawny-Hnn'd fishes ; my bended hook shall pierce 
 Their slimy jaws ; and, as 1 draw them up, 
 I'll think ihem every one an Antony, 
 And say. Ah, ha! you're caught. 
 
 L'fuir. 'Twas merry, when 
 
 You wager'd on your angling ; when your diver 
 Did iiang a salt fi^h on his hook, which he 
 With fervency drew up. 
 
 Cleo. That time ! — O limes ! — 
 
 I laugh'd him out of patience ; and that night 
 I laugh'd him into patience ; and next morn, 
 Ere tiie ninth hour, 1 drunk him to his bed ; 
 'Ihcn put my tires and munties on him, whilst 
 1 wore his sword Phillipan. O ! from Italy ; 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, 
 That long time have been barren. 
 
 Mess. Madam, madam, — 
 
 Cleo. Antony's dead ? — 
 If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress : 
 But well and free, 
 
 If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here 
 My bluest veins to kiss ; a hand, that kings 
 Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing. 
 
 Mfi^s. First, madam, he's well. 
 
 Clcn, Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark ; 
 To say, tlie dead are well: bring it to that, [we use 
 The gold I give thee, will I mell, and pour 
 Down thy ill-uttering throat. 
 
 Mess. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Cleo. Well, go to, I will ; 
 
 But there's no goodness in thy face : If Antony 
 Be free, and healthful, — why so tart a favour 
 To trumpet such good tidings 1 If not well, 
 Thou should'st come like a fury crown'd with snakes_, 
 Not like a formal man. 
 
 Mess. WiU't please you, hear me? 
 
 Cleo. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou speak'st : 
 Vet. if thou say, Antony lives, is well, 
 Or friends with Cssar, or not captive to him, 
 I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail 
 Rich j)earls upon thee. 
 
 Mess. Madam, he's well. 
 
 Cleo. Well said. 
 
 Mess. And friends with Caesar. 
 
 Cleo. Thou'rt an honest man. 
 
 Mess, Cajsar and he are greater friends than ever. 
 
 Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me. 
 
 Mess. But yet, madam. — 
 
 Cleo. I do not like hut yet, it does allay 
 The good precedence ; fye upon but yet. 
 But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth 
 Some monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend. 
 Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear. 
 The good and bad together: He's friends with CiEsar; 
 In state of health, thou say'st ; and, thousay'st, free. 
 
 Mess. Free, madam ! no ; I made no such report: 
 lie's bound unto Uctavia. 
 
 Cleo, For what good turn 1 
 
 Mess. For the best turn i'the bed. 
 
 Cteo. I am pale, Charmian. 
 
 Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia. 
 
 Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee! 
 
 [6'(ri/(ej> hint down* 
 
 Mess. Good madam, patience. 
 
 Cleo W' hat say you ? — Hence, [Strikes him again. 
 Horrible villain I or I'll spurn thine eyes 
 Like bails before me ; I'll unhair thy head ; 
 
 [She hates him up o)id down. 
 Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine, 
 Smarting in ling'ring pickle. 
 
 Mess. Gracious madam. 
 
 I, that do bring the news, made not the match. 
 
 Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee, 
 And make thy fortunes proud: the blow tliou had'st 
 Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage ; 
 And 1 will boot thee with what gift beside 
 Thy modesty can beg. 
 
 Mess, He's married, madam. 
 
 Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long. 
 
 [Draws a dagger 
 
 Mess. Nay, then I'll run : — 
 W'hat mean yo», madam'? 1 havemade no fault. [Exit. 
 
 Char. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself; 
 The man is innocent. 
 
 Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt.— 
 Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures 
 Turn all to serpents I — Call the slave again ; 
 Though I am mad, I will not bite him : — Call. 
 
 Char. He is afeard to come. 
 
 Cleo. I will not hurt him: — 
 
 These hands do lack nobility, that they strike 
 A meaner than myself; since I myself 
 Have given myself the cause. — Come hither, sir. 
 
 Re-enter Messenger, 
 
 Thnugh it be honest, it is never good 
 To bring bad news : Give to a gracious message 
 An host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell 
 Themselves, when they be felt. 
 
 Mess. 1 have done my duty 
 
 Cleo. Is he married ? 
 T cannot hate thee worser than I do. 
 If thou again say, Yes. 
 
 Mess. He is married, madam. 
 
 Cleo. The gods confound thee 1 dost thou hold there 
 
 Mess. Should I lie, madam t [still 1 
 
 Cleo, O, I would, thou didst; 
 
 So half my Eg}*pt were submerg'd, and made 
 A cistern for scal'd snakes I Go, get thee hence : 
 Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me 
 Thou would'st appear most ugly. He is married 1 
 
 Mess. I crave your highness' pardon. 
 
 Cteo. He is married ? 
 
 Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend you; 
 To punish me for what you make me do. 
 
682 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Seems much unequal : He is mairieil to Octavla. 
 
 Cleo. O, that his fault should make a knave of tliee, 
 That art not !— What ? thou'rt sure oft ?— Get thee 
 
 hence : 
 Themerchandisewhich thou hasthrought from Rome, 
 Are all too dear for me ; lie they upon thy hand, 
 And be undone by 'em ! [Exit Messenger, 
 
 Char, Good your highness, patience. 
 
 Cleo, In praising Antony. I have disprais'd CiUiar. 
 
 Char, Many times, madam. 
 
 Cten. I am paid for't now. 
 
 Lead me from hence, 
 
 I faint : Iras, Charmian, — 'Tis no matter : — 
 Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him 
 Report the feature of Octavia, her years. 
 Her inclination ; let him not leave out 
 The colour of her hair : — bring me word quickly, — 
 
 Etii Ai.KXAS. 
 Let him for ever go : — Let him not — C'liarmian, 
 Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, 
 T'other way he's a Mars : — Bid you Alexas 
 
 [7"|) MATtniAN. 
 
 Bring me word, how tall she is. — Pity me, Charmian, 
 But do not speak to me. — Lead me to my chamber. 
 
 [£reu7i(. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Near Misenum. 
 
 Enter Pompey and Menas, at one side, u-ith drum and 
 
 tritmpet : at another, Cjes An, Lei'idus, Antony, 
 
 Enobargus, ]\Iec>enas, ivith Soldiers marching. 
 
 Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine ; 
 And we shall talk before we fight. 
 
 Cus. Most meet, 
 
 That first we come to words ; and therefore have we 
 Our written purposes before us sent ; 
 Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us know 
 If 'twill tie up thy discontented sword ; 
 And carry back to Sicily much tall youth, 
 That else must perish here. 
 
 Paw. To you all three, 
 
 The senators alone of this great world, 
 Chief factors for the gods, — 1 do not know. 
 Wherefore my father siiould revengers want. 
 Having a son, and friends ; since Julius Caisar, 
 Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, 
 There saw you labouring for him. What was it, 
 That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire ? And what 
 Made the all-honour'd, honest, Roman Brutus. 
 With the arm 'd rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom, 
 To drench the Capitol ; but that they would 
 Have one man but a man 1 And that is it, 
 Hath made me rig my navy ; at whose burden 
 The anger'd ocean foams ; with which T meant 
 To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Home 
 Cast on my noble father. 
 
 Co-s. Take your time. 
 
 Ant, Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails, 
 We'll speak with thee at sea : at land, thou know'st 
 How much we do o'er-count thee. 
 
 Pom, At land, indeed. 
 
 Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house ; 
 But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, 
 Bemain in't, as thou may'st. 
 
 Lep. Be plcas'd to tell us, 
 
 (Fcr this is from the present,) how you take 
 The offers we have sent you. 
 
 C(es, There's the point. 
 
 Ant, Which do not be entreated to, but weigh 
 What it is worth embrac'd. 
 
 CtTS. And what may follow, 
 
 To try a larger fortune. 
 
 Pom, You have made me offer 
 
 Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must 
 Rid all the sea of pirates ; then, to send 
 Measures of wheat to Rome : This 'greed upon, 
 To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back 
 Our targe undinted. 
 
 Cies. Ant. Lep, That's our offer. 
 
 Pom, Know then, 
 
 I came before you here, a man prepar'd 
 To take this offer : But Mark Antony 
 Put me to some impatience: — Though I !o<-e 
 The praise of it by telling, You must know, 
 When Cssar and your brothers were at blows. 
 Your mother came to Sicily, and did find 
 Her welcome friendly. 
 
 Ant. I have heard it, Pompey; 
 
 And am well studied for a liberal thanks, 
 Which I do owe you. 
 
 Pom. Let me have your hand : 
 
 I did not think, sir, to have met you here. 
 
 A^it, The beds i' the east are soft; and thanks to you, 
 That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither; 
 For I have gain'd by it. 
 
 Ctfs. Since I saw you last, 
 
 There is a change upon you. 
 
 Pom. Well, I know not 
 
 What counts harsh fortune casts upon my face ; 
 But in my bosom shall she never come, 
 To make my heart her vassal. 
 
 Lep. Well met here. 
 
 Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. — Thus we are agreeil : 
 I crave, our composition may be written, 
 And seal'd between us. 
 
 Cces. That's the next to do. 
 
 Pom, W'e'll feast each other, ere we part; and let us 
 Draw lots, who shall begin. 
 
 Ant. That will T, Pompey. 
 
 Pom. No, Antony, take the lot: but, first. 
 Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery 
 Sliall have the fame. 1 have heard, that Julius Cresar 
 Grew fat with feasting there. 
 
 Ant, You have heard much. 
 
 Pom. I have fair meanings, sir. 
 
 Ant. And fair words to them. 
 
 Pom, Then so much have 1 heard : — ■ 
 And 1 have heard, Apollodorus carried — 
 
 Eno. No more of that : — He did so. 
 
 Pom. What, I pray you ? 
 
 Eno. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. 
 
 Pom. I know thee now; How far'st thou, soldier? 
 
 E710. Well ; 
 
 And well am like to do ; for, I perceive. 
 Four feasts are toward. 
 
 Pom, Let me shake thy hand ; 
 
 I never hated thee: I have seen thee fight, 
 When I have envied thy behaviour. 
 
 Eno. Sir, 
 
 I never lov'd you much ; but I have prais*d you, 
 When you have well deserv'd ten times as much 
 As I have said you did. 
 
 Pom. Enjoy thy plainness, 
 
 It nothing ill becomes thee. — 
 Aboard my galley, 1 invite you all : 
 Will you lead, lords? 
 
 C<fs. Ant. Lep. Siiew us the way, sir, 
 
 Pom. Come. 
 
 [Exeunt Pompey, C^sar, Antony, Lepidus, 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 Men. Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have made 
 this treaty. — [i^sfde.] — You and I have known, sir. 
 
 Eno. At sea, I think. 
 
 Men, We have, sir, 
 
 Eno. You have done well by water. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE VII. 
 
 68:: 
 
 Mpu. And you by land. 
 
 Kno. 1 will praise any man that will praise me ; 
 tKoiii;li it cannot be denied what I have done by land. 
 
 M\-it. Nor what I have done by watcT. 
 
 Liio, Ves, something you can deny for your own 
 safety : you iiave been a great thief by sea. 
 
 Men. And you by land. 
 
 Euo, There I deny my land service. But give me 
 your hand, Menas: if our eyes had authority, here 
 they might take two thieves kissing. 
 
 Men, All men's faces are true, wliatsoe'er their 
 hands are. 
 
 Kno, But there is never a fair woman has a true 
 face. 
 
 Men. No slander ; they steal hearts. 
 
 Eno. We came hither to fight with you. 
 
 Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a drink- 
 ing, Pompey doth this day laugh away his fortune. 
 
 Eiw. If lie do, sure, he cannot weep it back again. 
 
 I^Jen. Vou have said, sir. We looked not for Mark 
 Antony here ; Pray you. is he married to Cleopatra ? 
 
 Eno. CsEsar's sister is calPd Octavia. 
 
 Men. True, sir; she was the wife of Caius Mar- 
 cel 1 us. 
 
 Eno. But she is now the wifeof Marcus Antonius. 
 
 Men, Pray you, sir I 
 
 Eno. 'Tis true. 
 
 Men. Then is Caesar, and he, for ever knit together. 
 
 Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, 1 
 would not prophesy so. 
 
 Men. I think, the policy of that purpose made 
 more in the marriage, than the love of the parties. 
 
 Eno. I think so too. But you shall find, the band 
 that seems to tie their friendship together, will be the 
 very strangler of their amity : Octavia is of a holy, 
 cold, and still conversation. 
 
 Men, Who would not have his wife so 1 
 
 Enn. Not he, that himself is not so; which is 
 JVIark Antony. He will to his Egvptian dish again : 
 then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in 
 Cffisar ; and, as I said before, that which is the 
 strengtii of their amity, shall prove the immediate 
 author of their variance. Antony will use his affec- 
 tion where it is; he married but his occasion here. 
 
 Men. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you 
 aboard ! I have a health for you. 
 
 Eno. I shall take it. sir : we have used our throats 
 in Egypt. 
 
 Men. Come; let*s away. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 On hoard Pompey's Galley, lying near Misenum. 
 
 Miaic, Enter Two or Three Servants, 
 with a banquet. 
 
 1 Serv. Here they 'II be, man ; Some o' their plants 
 are ill rooted already, the least wind i"the world will 
 blow them down. 
 
 2 Serv, l.epidus is high-coloured. 
 
 1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink. 
 
 2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the disposi- 
 tion, he cries out, no more ; reconciles them to his 
 entreaty, and himself to the drink. 
 
 1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between him 
 and his discretion. 
 
 2 Serv. Why, this it is to have a name in great 
 men's fellowship: I had as lief have a reed that will 
 do me no service, as a partizan I could not heave. 
 
 1 Sei-v. To be called into a huge sphere, and not to 
 be seen to move in't.arethe holes where eyes should 
 be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. 
 
 A sennet sounded. Enter C.*.sar, Antonv, Pompev 
 LFinnus, AGniprA,iMEC.tNA3,EN0BAUBUs, Menas, 
 with other captains. 
 
 Ant. Thus do they, sir: [I'o C^sar.] They take 
 the flow o'the Nile 
 By certain scales i' the pyramid ; they know, 
 By the height, the lowness. or the mean, if dearth, 
 Or foizon, follow: The liigher Nilus swells. 
 The more it promises : as it ebbs, the seedsman 
 Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, 
 And shortly comes to harvest. 
 
 Lep. Vou have strange serpents there. 
 
 Ayit. Ay, Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your 
 mud by the operation of your sun : so is your croco- 
 dile. 
 
 Ant. They are so. 
 
 Pom. Sit, — and some wine. — A health to Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. 1 am not so well as 1 should be, but I '11 ne'er 
 out. 
 
 Eno. Xot till you have slept; I fear me, you'll be 
 in, till then. 
 
 Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard, the Ptolemies' 
 pyramises are very goodly things ; without contra- 
 diction, I have heard that. 
 
 Men, Pompey, a word. [Aside, 
 
 Pom, Say in mine ear: what is'f? 
 
 Men, Forsake thy seat, 1 do beseech thee, captain, 
 
 [Aside, 
 And hear me speak a word. 
 
 Pom. Forbear me till anon. — 
 
 This wine for Lepidus. 
 
 Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile ? 
 
 Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as 
 broad as it hath breadth : it is just so high as it is, 
 and moves with its own organs; it lives by that 
 which nourisheth it: and the elements once out of 
 it, it transmigrates. 
 
 Lep. What colour is it of? 
 
 Ant. Of its ovVn colour too. 
 
 Lep, 'Tis a strange serpent. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis so. And tlie tears of it are wet. 
 
 Ctfs. Will this description satisfy him 1 
 
 Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him, else 
 he is a very epicure. 
 
 Pom. [To Mv.y AS aside.] Go, hang, sir, hang! Tell 
 nie of that? away ! 
 Do as I bid you. — Where 's this cup I call'd for ? 
 
 Men. If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me, 
 Rise from thy stool. [Asiile. 
 
 P'>m, I think, thou *rt mad. The matter? 
 
 [i?(ses", and walks aside. 
 
 Men. I have ever held my cap off" to thy fortunes. 
 
 Pom. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith : What's 
 Be jolly, lords. [else to say? 
 
 _ Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus, 
 
 Keep off* them, for you sink. 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world ? 
 
 ^'"»- What sav'st thou ? 
 
 Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world '. That's 
 
 Pom. How should that be? [twice? 
 
 ^^f"' But entertain it, and. 
 
 Although thou think me poor, 1 am the man 
 Will give thee all the world. 
 
 Pom, Hast thou drunk well ? 
 
 Men, No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. 
 Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove : 
 Whatever the ocean pales, or sky inclips, 
 Is thine, if thou wilt have 't. 
 
 Pom. Shew me which way. 
 
 Men, These three world-sharers, these competitors. 
 
684 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Are in thy vessel : Let me cut the cable ; 
 And, when we are put off, fall to their throats : 
 All there is thine. 
 
 Pom. Ah, this thou should'st have done, 
 
 And not have spoke on 't ! In me, 'tis villany ; 
 In thee, it had been good service. Thou must know, 
 'Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour ; 
 IMine honour, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue 
 Hath so betray'd thine act: Being done unknown, 
 I sliould have found it afterwards well done ; 
 But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. 
 
 Men. For this, [Aside. 
 
 I'll never follow thy pall'd fortunes more. — 
 Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis ofFer'd, 
 Shall never find it more. 
 
 Pom. This health to Lepidus. 
 
 Ant. Bear him ashore. — I'll pledge it for him, 
 
 Eno. Here's to thee, Menas. [Pompey. 
 
 Men, Enobarbus, welcome. 
 
 Pom. Fill, till the cup be hid. 
 
 Enn. There 's a strong fellow, ]\Ienas. 
 [Pointing to the Attendant who carries o/7'Lepidus. 
 
 Men, Why? 
 
 Eno. He bears 
 
 The third part of the world, man ; See'st not ? 
 
 Men. The third part then is drunk: 'Would it were 
 That it might go on wheels ! [all, 
 
 Etio. Drink thou ; increase the reels. 
 
 Men. Come. 
 
 Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. 
 
 Ant. Tt ripens towards it. — Strike the vessels, ho ! 
 Here is to Caesar. 
 
 Ca:s. I could well forbear it. 
 
 It's monstrous labour, when I wash my brain. 
 And it grows fouler. 
 
 Ant. Be a child o' the time. [fast 
 
 Cces. Possess it, I'll make answer: buti had rather 
 From all four days, than drink so much in one. 
 
 Eno. Ha, my brave emperor ! [To Antony. 
 
 Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, 
 And celebrate our drink 1 
 
 Pom. Let's ha't, good soldier. 
 
 Ant. Come, let us all take hands ; 
 'Till that the conquering wine hath steep'd our sense 
 In soft and delicate Lethe. 
 
 Eno. All take hands. — 
 
 Make batteiy to our ears with the loud music : — ■ 
 The while, I 'U place you : Then the boy shall sing; 
 The holding every man shall bear, as loud 
 As his strong sides can volley. 
 
 [Music plays, Enodarbus piaces them hand inhand. 
 
 SONG. — Come, thou monarch of the vine, 
 Plumpu Bacchus, with pink eyne: 
 In thy vats our cares he drown''d ; 
 With thy grapes our hairs be crowned ; 
 Cup us, tilt the world go round ; 
 Cup us, till the world go round! 
 
 Cics, What would you more 1 — Pompey, good night. 
 Good brother, 
 Let me request you off: our graver business 
 Frowns at this levity. — Gentle lords, let's part : 
 Vou see, we have burnt our cheeks: strong Enobaihe 
 Is weaker than tlie wine ; and mine own tongue 
 Splits what it speaks : the wild disguise hath almost 
 Antick'd us all. What needs more words ? Good 
 Good Antony, your hand. [night. — 
 
 Pom. I'll try you o' the shore. 
 
 Ant. And shall, sir: give's your hand. 
 
 Pom O, Antony, 
 
 You have my father's house, — But what t we are 
 Come, down into the boat. [friends: 
 
 Eno. Take heed you fall not.— 
 
 [Exeunt Pompey, C^.sar, Antony, and Attendants. 
 JVIenas, I '11 not on shore. 
 
 Men. No, to my cabin. — ■ 
 
 These drums ! — these trumpets, flutes ! what ! — 
 Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell 
 To these great fellows : Sound, and be hang'd, sound 
 out. [A flourish of trumpets, with drums, 
 
 Eno. Ho, says 'a ! — There 's my cap. 
 
 Mm. Ho I — noble captain ! 
 
 Come. [Exeunt. 
 
 ^ ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— .-i Plain in Syria. 
 
 Entfr VEXTinii's, as after conquest, jfith Sll.li'S, mtd 
 other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers ; the dead 
 hady n/"PvVconus bnrne before him. 
 
 FfK. Now, darting Parlliia, art thou struck ; and now 
 Pleas'd fortune does of llarcus Crassus' death 
 Make me revenger. — Bear the king's son's body 
 Before our army : Thy Pacorus, Orodes, 
 Pays this for Marcus Ciassus. 
 
 Sil. Noble Ventidius, 
 
 Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm. 
 The fugitive Parthians follo\v ; spur through IMcdia. 
 Mesopotamia, and the shelters wliilher 
 The routed fly : so thy grand captain Antony 
 Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and 
 Put garlands on thy head. 
 
 Veil, O Silius, Silius, 
 
 I have done enough; A lower place, note well. 
 May make too great an act : For learn this, Silius ; 
 Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire 
 Too high a fame, when him we serve's away. 
 Caesar, and Antony, have ever won 
 More in their officer, than person : Sossius, 
 One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, 
 For quick accumulation of renown, 
 AVhich he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favour. 
 \Vho does i' the wars more than his captain can. 
 Becomes his captain's captain : and ambition, 
 The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of lossj 
 Than gain, which darkens him. 
 I could do more to do Antonius good. 
 But 'twould ofi'end him ; and in his ofTence 
 Should my performance perish. 
 
 Sil, Thou bast, Ventidius, 
 
 That without which a soldier, and his sword. 
 Grants scarce distinction. Thou wiltwrite to Antony? 
 
 Vcn. I'll humbly signify wliat in his name, 
 That magical word of war, we have effected ; 
 How, with iiis banners, and his well-paid ranks. 
 The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia 
 We have jaded out o'the field. 
 
 Sil. Where is he now 1. [haste 
 
 Ven. He purposeth to Athens : whither with what 
 The weight we must convey with us will permit. 
 We shall appear before him. — On, there ; pass along. 
 
 \_Kxeuiit, 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Rome. — An Ante-Chumber in Caesar's House. 
 Enter Agrii'PA, a«d Enobarbds, meeting. 
 Agr. What, are the brothers parted t 
 Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey. he isgonc; 
 The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps 
 To part from Rome : Csesar is sad ; and Lepidus, 
 Since Pompey's feast, as iMenas says, is troubled 
 With the green sickness. 
 
 I 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 G85 
 
 jigr, 'Tis a noble Lepidus. 
 
 E;iD. A very fine one : 0, how he loves Casar ! 
 
 Agy. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony ! 
 
 Luo. Ca;sar! Why, he's the Jupiter of men. 
 
 Agr. What's Antony ! The god of Jupiter. 
 
 Emt. Spake you of Cffisar ! How ! the nonpareil ! 
 
 jtgr. O Antony ! O thou Arabian bird ! 
 
 Eii.i. Would you praise Ctesar, say, — Cssar ; — go 
 no further. [praises. 
 
 Agr. Indeed, he ply'd them both with excellent 
 
 £)in.Iiul he loves Cxsar best; Yet he loves Antony: 
 Ho ! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, 
 
 cannot 
 Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his love 
 To Antony. But as for Casar, 
 Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. 
 
 A^r. Both he loves. 
 
 Em. They are his shards, and he their beetle. So, — 
 
 [l^nimpets. 
 This is to horse. — Adieu, noble Agrippa. 
 
 ^ffr. Good fortune, worthy soldier ; and farewell. 
 
 Enter C^tSAn, Antuxy, Lepidus, and Octavia. 
 
 Ant. No further, sir. 
 
 Ciis. You take from me a great part of myself ; 
 Use me well in it. — Sister, prove such a wife 
 As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band 
 Shall pass on thy approof. — Most noble .intony. 
 Let not the piece of virtue, which is set 
 Betwixt us, as the cement of our love. 
 To keep it builded, be the ram, to batter 
 The fortress of it : for better might we 
 Have loved without this mean, if on both parts 
 This be not cherish'd. 
 
 Ant. Make me not offended 
 
 In your distrust. 
 
 Cccs. I have said. 
 
 Ant, You shall not find. 
 
 Though you be therein curious, the least cause 
 For what you seem to fear : So, the gods keep you. 
 And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends ! 
 We will here part. 
 
 Cus. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well ; 
 The elements be kind to thee, and make 
 Thy spirits all of comfort ! fare thee well. 
 
 Oct. My noble brother ! — 
 
 Ant. The April's in her eyes : It is love's spring. 
 And these the showers to bring it on. — Be cheerful. 
 
 Oct. Sir, look well to my husband's house ; and — 
 
 Css. What, 
 
 Octavia ^ 
 
 Oct. I'll tell you in your ear. 
 
 Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can 
 Her heart inform her tongue : theswan'sdown feather. 
 That stands upon the swell at full of tide. 
 And neither way inclines. 
 
 Eno. Will Caisar weep 1 [^Aside to Aghippa. 
 
 Agr. He has a cloud in's face. 
 
 Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a horse ; 
 So is he, being a man. 
 
 Agr. Why, Enobarbus 1 
 
 When Antony found Julius Csesar dead. 
 He cried almost to roaring ; and he wept. 
 When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. 
 
 Eno. That vear, indeed, he was troubled with a 
 W^hat willingly he did confound, he wail'd ; [rheum; 
 Believe it, till I weep too. 
 
 C(fs No, sweet Octavia, 
 
 You shall hear from me still ; the time shall not 
 Out-go my thinking on you. 
 
 Ant. Come, sir, come ; 
 
 I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love : 
 
 Look, here I have you ; thus I let you go. 
 And give you to the gods. 
 
 CtES, Adieu ; be happy ! 
 
 hep. Let all the number of the stars give light 
 To thy fair way ! 
 
 Citi-. Farewell, farewell 1 [Kisses Octavia . 
 
 Ant. Farewell! \_Trumpets sound. Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Alexandria. A Boom in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, Ciiap-miax, Iras, and Alexas. 
 
 Cleo. Where is the fellow? 
 
 Alei. Half afeard to come. 
 
 Cteo. Go to, go to : — Come hither, sir. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 AU'i. Good majesty, 
 
 Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you, 
 But when you are well pleas'd. 
 
 Cleo. That Herod's head 
 
 I'll have : But how ? when Antony is gone 
 Through whom I might command it. — Come thou near. 
 
 Mess. Most gracious majesty, — 
 
 Cleo. Didst thou behold 
 
 Octavia ? 
 
 Mess. Ay, dread queen. 
 
 Cleo. Where ? 
 
 Mess. Madam, in Rome 
 
 I look'd her in the face ; and saw her led 
 Between her brother and Mark Antony. 
 
 Cleo. Is she as tall as me 1 
 
 Mess. She is not, madam. [or low? 
 
 Cleo. Didst hear her speak 1 Is sheshrill-tongu*d, 
 
 Mess. I\Iadam. I heard her speak ; sheislow-voic'd. 
 
 Cleo, That's not so good : — he cannot like her long. 
 
 Ch-jr. Like her ? O Isis ! 'tis impossible. 
 
 Cleo, I think so, Channian: Dull of tongue, and 
 dwarfish 1 — 
 \\'hat majesty is in her gait? Remember, 
 If e'er thou look'dst on majesty. 
 
 . Mess. She creeps , 
 
 Her motion and her station are as one ; 
 She shews a body rather than a life ; 
 A statue, than a breather. 
 
 Cleo. Is this certain ? 
 
 Mess. Or I have no observance. 
 
 Char. Three in Egypt 
 
 Cannot make better note. 
 
 Cleo. He's very knowing, 
 
 I do perceiv't : — There's nothing in her yet : — 
 The fellow has good judgment. 
 
 Char. Excellent. 
 
 Cleo. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Wess. Madam, 
 
 She was a widow. 
 
 Cleo. Widow?— Channian, hark. 
 
 Mess. And I do think, she's thirty. 
 
 Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind 1 is it long, or 
 
 Mess. Round, even to faultiness. [round ? 
 
 Cleo. For the most part too. 
 
 They are foolish that are so. — Her hair, what colour ? 
 
 Mess. Brown, madam ; And her forehead is as low 
 As she would wish it. 
 
 Cleo, There is gold for thee. 
 
 Thou must not take my former sharpness ill : — 
 I will employ thee back again ; I find thee 
 Most fit for business : Go, make thee ready ; 
 Our letters are prepar'd. [Exit ]\iessenger. 
 
 Char. A proper man. 
 
 Cteo. Indeed, he is so : I repent me much. 
 That so I harry 'd him. Why, methinks, by him, 
 This creature's no such thing. 
 
686 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Char. O, notliin^, madam. [know. 
 
 Clen. The man liath seen some majesty, and should 
 
 Char, I lath he seen majesty ? Isis else defend, 
 And serving you so long ! [Charmian : 
 
 Cteo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good 
 But 'tis no matter ; thou shall bring him to me 
 Where I will write : All may be well enough. 
 
 Char. I warrant you, madam. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — Athens. A Roim in Antony's House. 
 
 Enter Antony and Octavia. 
 
 Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, — 
 That were excusable, that, and thousands more 
 Of semblable import, — but he liatli wag'd 
 New wars 'gainst Pompey ; made his will, and read it 
 To public ear : 
 
 Spoke scanlly of me ; when perforce he could not 
 But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly 
 He vented them ; most narrow measure lent me ; 
 When the best hint was given him, he not took't. 
 Or did it from his teeth. 
 
 Oct, O my good lord, 
 
 Believe not all; or, if you must believe. 
 Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady, 
 If this division chance, ne'er stood between, 
 Praying for both parts: 
 And the good gods will mock me presently. 
 When 1 shall pray, 0, bless nut lord and husband! 
 Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud, 
 0, bless mil brother! Husband win, win brother, 
 Prays, and destroys the prayer ; no midway 
 'Twixt these extremes at all. 
 
 Ant, Gentle Octavia, 
 
 Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks 
 Best to preserve it : If I lose mine honour, 
 I lose myself: better I were not yours, 
 Than vours so branchless. But. as you requested. 
 Yourself shall go between us : 'I'he mean time, lady, 
 I'll raise the preparation of a war 
 Shall stain your brother ; Wake your soonest haste.; 
 So your desires are yours. 
 
 Oct. Thanks to my lord. 
 
 The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak, 
 Vour reconciler'. Wars 'twixt you twain would be 
 As if the world should cleave, and that slain men 
 Should solder up the rift. 
 
 Ant. When it appears to you where this begins, 
 Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults 
 Can never be so eipial, that your love 
 Can equally move with them. Provide your going ; 
 Choose your own company, and command what cost 
 Your heart has mind to. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V.—ITiesa" 
 
 Another Boom in the same. 
 
 Eiiter Enobarbus and Enos, meeting, 
 
 Eiio. How now, friend Eros? 
 
 Eros, There's strange news come, sir. 
 
 Eno, W'hat, man ? 
 
 Eros. Cssar and Lepldus have made wars upon 
 Pompey. 
 
 KiKi. This is old ; What is the success? 
 
 Eros. Ciesar, having made use of him in the wars 
 'gainst Pompey. presently denied him rivality ; would 
 not let him partake in the glory of the action : and 
 not resting here, accuses him of letters he had for- 
 .merly wrote to Pompey ; upon his own appeal, seizes 
 him ; So the poor third is up, till death enlarge his 
 confine. 
 
 f nil. Then, world, thou hast apair of chaps, no more; 
 And throw between them all the food thou hast, 
 
 They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony? ' 
 Eros. Ile'swalkingin thegarden — thus; and spurns 
 
 The rush that lies before him ; cries. Font, Lepidus! 
 
 .•\nd threats the throat of that his officer, 
 
 That murder'd Pompey. 
 
 Eno. Our great navy's rigg'd. 
 
 Ems. For ItiKy, and C:csar. More, Domitius ; 
 
 My lord, desires you presently : my news 
 
 I might have told hereafter. 
 
 Eno. 'Twill be naught : 
 
 But let it be. — Bring me to Antony. 
 
 Eros. Come, sir. [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE VI.— Rome. A Room in Caesar's House, 
 Enter C.tSAu, Acrippa, and IMec^nas. 
 
 C(PS. Contemning Rome, he has done all this: And 
 In /Vlexandria — here's the manner of it, — [more; 
 I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, 
 Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold 
 Were publicly enthron'd ; at the feet, sat 
 CiEsarion, whom they call mv father's son ; 
 And all the unlawful issue, that their lust 
 Since then hath made between them. Unto her 
 He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt ; made her ' 
 Of lower Syria. Cyprus, Lydia, 
 ■•\bsoIute queen. 
 
 Mec. This in the public eye ? 
 
 Cics. T'the common show- place, where they exercise. 
 His sons he there proclaim'd. The kings of kings : 
 Great iMedia, Parthia, and Armenia, 
 He gave to Alexander ; to Ptolemy he assign'd 
 Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia : She 
 In the habiliments of the goddess Isis 
 That day appear'd ; and oft before gave audience 
 As 'tis reported, so. 
 
 M.c. Let Rome be thus 
 
 Informed. 
 
 Agr. "Who, queasy with his insolence 
 
 Already, will their good thoughts call from him. 
 
 Ctrs. The people know it ; and have now receiv'd 
 His accusations. 
 
 A^r, Whom does he accuse ? 
 
 Ctfs. C^sar : and that, having in Sicily 
 Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated hiin 
 His part o' the isle ; then does he say, he lent me 
 Some shipping unrestor'd : lastly, he frets. 
 That Lepidus of the triumvirate 
 Should be depos'd ; and, being, that v/e detain 
 All his revenue. 
 
 Agr, Sir, this should be answer'd. 
 
 Ctrs. 'Tis done already, and tiie messenger gone. 
 I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel; 
 That he his high authority abus'd, 
 .'\nd did deserve his change ; for what I have con- 
 I grant him part ; but then, in his Armenia, [quer'd, '|| 
 .\nd other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I ^ 
 
 Ueinand the like. 
 
 Mec, He'll never yield to that. 
 
 Cifs. Nor must not then be yielded to in this. 
 
 Enter Octavia. 
 
 Od.Hail.CtBsar.andmylord! hail, most dearCfflsar! 
 
 Cif.«. That ever I should call thee, cast-away ! 
 
 Oct. You have not call'd me so. nor have you cause. 
 
 Cas. Why have you stol'n upon us thus ! Vou come 
 Like (;a?sar's sister: The wife of Antony [not 
 
 Should have an army for an usher, and 
 The neighs of horse to tell of her approach. 
 Long ere she did appear ; the trees by the way. 
 Should have borne men ; and expectation fainted, 
 Longing for what it had not : nay, the dust 
 
ACT ni.--SCENE VII. 
 
 687 
 
 Should iiave ascended to the roof of heaven. 
 Uais'd by your populous troops : But you are come 
 A market-maid to Rome ; and liave prevented 
 The ostciUdtion of our love, wliich, left unshevvn, 
 Is often left unlov'd : we should liave met you 
 By sea and land ; supplying every stage 
 \Vith an augmented greeting. 
 
 Oct. Good my lord, 
 
 To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it 
 On my free-will. My lord, Mark Antony, 
 Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted 
 i\Iy grieved ear witiial : wliereon, 1 begg'd 
 His pardon for return. 
 
 Ccfs. "Which soon lie granted. 
 
 Being an obstruct *tweeu iiis lust and iiim. 
 
 Oct. Do not say so, ray lord. 
 
 Oes. I liave eyes upon him. 
 
 And his aifairs come to me on the wind. 
 Where is he now ! 
 
 Oct. My lord, in Athens. 
 
 Cas. No, my most wrong'd sister ; Cleopatra 
 Kath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire 
 I'P to a whore ; who now are levyin<r 
 Ihe kings o' the eartli for war: He hath assembled 
 Bocchus, the king of Lybia ; Archelaus, 
 Of Cappadocia ; Philadelphos, king 
 Of Papiilagonia ; the Tlirarian king, Adallas ; 
 King ilalchus of Arabia ; king of Pont ; 
 Herod of Jewry ; Jlilhridates, king 
 Of Comagene ; Polemon and Amintas, 
 The kings of Mede, and Lycaonia, with a 
 More larger list of scepters. 
 
 Oct. Ah me, most wretched. 
 
 That have my heart parted betwixt two friends, 
 That do afflict each other ! 
 
 Cas. Welcome hither : 
 
 Your letters did withhold our breaking forth ; 
 Till we perceiv'd, both how you were wrong led, 
 And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart • 
 Be you not troubled witb the time, which drives 
 O'er your content these strong necessities j 
 But let determin'd things to destiny 
 Jlold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome : 
 Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd 
 Beyond the mark of thought : and the high gods, 
 To do you justice, make them ministers 
 Of us, and those that love you. Best of comfort ; 
 And ever welcome to us. 
 
 ^gr. Welcome, lady. 
 
 Mec. W'elcome, dear madam. 
 Each heart in Rome does love and pity you ; 
 Only the adulterous Antony, most large 
 In his abominations, turns you off". 
 And gives his potent regiment to a trull, 
 That noises it against us. 
 
 Oct. Is it so, sir ? 
 
 Cas. Most certain. Sister, welcome : Pray you, 
 Be ever known to patience : My dearest sister f 
 
 [Eiettitt. 
 
 SCENE VII. — Antony's Camp, near to the 
 Promontory of Actiura. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra and Enouarbus. 
 
 Cteo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not. 
 
 Ella. But, why, why, why ? 
 
 C'/i'ii. Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars ; 
 And say'st, it is not fit. 
 
 Eno. Well, is it, is if. 
 
 Cleo. Is'tnotl Denounce against us, why should 
 Be there in person 1 [not we 
 
 Kiw. lAsule.l Well, I could reply : — 
 
 If we should serve with horse and mare^ together, 
 I'he horse were merely lost ; the mares would bear 
 A soldier, and his horse. 
 
 Cleo. What is't you say ''. 
 
 Eiiii. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony , 
 Take from his heart, take from his brain, from his time, 
 \\ hat should not then be spar'd. He is already 
 Tradue'd for levity ; and 'tis said in Rome, 
 That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids. 
 Jlanage this war. 
 
 Cleo. Sink Rome ; and their tongues rot. 
 
 That speak against us ! A charge we bear i' the war, 
 And, as the president of my kingdom, will 
 Appear there for a man. Speak not against it; 
 I will not stay behind. 
 
 Eiio. Nay, I have done . 
 
 Here comes the emperor. 
 
 Enter Antony and Cantdius. 
 
 ^"t. Is't not strange, Canidius, 
 
 That from Tarentum, and Brundusium, 
 He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea. 
 And take in Toryne ! — You have heard on't, sweet t 
 
 Cleo. Celerity is never more admir'd. 
 Than by the negligent. 
 
 ^^fit. A good rebuke. 
 
 Which might have well becom'd the best of men, 
 To taunt at slackness. — Canidius, we 
 \Vill fight with him by sea. 
 
 Cleo. By sea I What else? 
 
 Can. Why will my lord do so 1 
 
 ^"t. For that he dares us to't. 
 
 Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight. 
 
 Can. Ay, and to wage tliis battle at Pliarsalia, 
 Where Cissar fought witb Pompey : But these ofiers. 
 Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off; 
 And so should you. 
 
 Eno. Your ships are not well mann'd : 
 
 Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people 
 Ingross'd by swift impress ; in Caesar's fleet 
 Are those, that often have 'gainst Pompey fought : 
 Their ships are yare : yours, heavy. No disgrace 
 ■Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, 
 Being prepar'd for land. 
 
 ^"t. By sea, by sea. 
 
 Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein throw away 
 The absolute soldiership you have by land ; 
 Distract your array, which doth most consist 
 Of war-mark'd footmen ; leave unexecuted 
 \ our own renowned knowledge ; quite forego 
 The way which promises assurance ; and 
 Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard, 
 From firm security. 
 
 ■■Int. I'll fight at sea. 
 
 Cleo. I have sixty sails, Cxsar none better. 
 
 Ant. Our overplus of shipping will we burn ; 
 And.with the rest full-mann'd, from the head of Actium 
 Beat the approaching Cajsar. But if we fail, 
 
 Entei' a Messenger. 
 We then can do't by land Thy business t 
 
 Mens. The news is true, my lord , he is descried ; 
 C;csar has taken Toryne. 
 
 Ant. Can he be there in person ? 'tis impossible; 
 Strange, that his power should be. Canidius, 
 Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, 
 And our twelve thousand horse. — We'll to our ship; 
 
 Enter a Soldier. 
 Away, my Thetis I — How now, worthy soldier ! 
 
 Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea ; 
 Trust not to rotten planks : Do you misdoubt 
 This sword, and these my wounds ! Let the Egyptians, 
 
688 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 And tlie Phcemcians, go a ducking ; we 
 Have used to conquer, standing on the earth, 
 And figliting foot to foot. 
 
 Ant. Well, well, airay. 
 
 [Ereunt Antony, CLEOPAxnA, aitd End. 
 
 Sold, By Hercules, I think, I am i' the right. 
 
 Ciui. Soldier, thou art : but his whole action grows 
 Not in the power on't : So our leader's led, 
 And we are women's men. 
 
 Sold. You keep by land 
 
 The legions and the horse whole, do you not t 
 
 Cati, IMarcus Octavius, INlarcus Justeius, 
 Publicola, and Calius, are for sea : 
 But we keep whole by land. This speed. of Caesar's 
 Carries beyond belief. 
 
 Sold, While he was yet in Rome, 
 
 His power went out in such distractions, as 
 Beguil'd all spies. 
 
 Can, Who's his lieutenant, hear you ? 
 
 Sold. They say, one Taurus. 
 
 Can. Well, I know the man. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The emperor calls for Canidius. [forth. 
 
 Can. With news tile time's with labour : and throes 
 
 Each minute, some. \_Eieuitt, 
 
 SCENE VIII.— .4 Plain near Actium. 
 Enter Caesar, Taurus, Officers, and others, 
 
 Ca-s. Taurus, — 
 
 Taur. My lord. 
 
 Ctes, Strike not by land ; keep whole ; 
 
 Provoke not battle, till we have done at sea. 
 Do not exceed the prescript of this scroll ; 
 Our fortune lies upon this jump. lEieunt. 
 
 Enter Antony and Enobarbus. 
 
 Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon side o'the hill. 
 In eye of Cjesar's battle ; from which place 
 We may the number of the ships behold. 
 And so proceed accordingly. [Exeuiii. 
 
 Etiter Canidius, marching tciih his land Army one 
 ivay over the ^tage ; and Taurus the Lieutenant of 
 C^sar, the other way. After their going in, is 
 heard ihe noise of a sea-fight. 
 
 Alarum, iJe-cHter Enobarbus. 
 
 Eno. Naught, naught, all naught ! 1 can behold no 
 Tlie Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral, [longer: 
 
 With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder; 
 To see't, mine eyes are blasted. 
 
 Enter Scarus. 
 
 Si"")'. Gods, and goddesses. 
 
 All the whole synod of them ! 
 
 Eno, What's thy passion? 
 
 Scar, The greater cantle of the world is lost 
 With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away 
 Kingdoms and provinces. 
 
 Eno. How appears the fight 1 
 
 Sear, On our side like the token'd pestilence, 
 Where death is sure. Yon' ribaudred hag of Egypt, 
 Whom leprosy o'ertake ! i' the midst o'the fight, — 
 When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd, 
 Both as the same, or rather ours the elder. 
 The brize upon her, like a cow in June, 
 Hoists sails, and flies. 
 
 Eno. That I beheld : mine eyes 
 
 Did sicken at the sight on't, and could not 
 Endure a further view. 
 
 Scar. She once being loofd, 
 
 The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, 
 Claps on his sea-wing, and like a doting mallard, 
 Leaving the fight in height, flies after her : 
 I never saw an action of such shame ; 
 Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before 
 Did violate so itself. 
 
 Eno. Alack, alack! 
 
 Enter Canidius. 
 
 Can. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath. 
 And sinks most lamentably. Had our general 
 Been what he knew himself, it had gone well; 
 O, he has given example for our flight, 
 IMost grossly, by his own. [night 
 
 £?i(i. Ay, are you thereabouts 1 Why then, good 
 Indeed. lAside. 
 
 Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled. 
 
 Scar. 'Tis easy to't ; and there I will attend 
 What further comes* 
 
 Can. To Ceesar will I render 
 
 i\Iy legions, and my horse ; six kings already 
 Shew me the way of yielding. 
 
 Eno. I'll yet follow 
 
 The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason 
 Sits in the wind against me. \_Kieunt. 
 
 SCENE IX. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Antony and Attendants. 
 
 Ant. Hark, the land bids me tread no more upon't; 
 It is asham'd to bear me ! — Friends, come hither, 
 I am so lated in the world, that I 
 Have lost my way for ever ; — I have a ship 
 Laden with gold ; take that, divide it ; fly, 
 And make your peace with Ccesai". 
 
 Att. Fly ! not we. 
 
 Ant. I have fled myself ; andhave instructed cowards 
 To run, and shew their shoulders. — Friends, be gone ; 
 I have myself r.esolv'd upon a course. 
 Which has nu need of you; be gone: 
 My treasure's in the harbour, take it. — O, 
 I follow'd that I blush to look upon : 
 My very hairs do mutiny ; for the white 
 Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them 
 For fear and doting. — Friends, be gone ; you shall 
 Have letters from me to some friends, that will 
 Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad. 
 Nor make replies of loathness ; take the hint 
 Which my despair proclaims ; let that be left 
 Which leaves itself: to the sea-side straightway. 
 I will possess you of that ship and treasure. 
 Leave me, I pray, a little : 'pray you now : — 
 Nay, do so ; for, indeed, I have lost command. 
 Therefore I pray you : — I'll see you by and by. 
 
 [6'its down. 
 
 Enter Eros and Cleopatra, led bij Charmian 
 and Iras. 
 
 Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him : — Comfort him. 
 
 Iras. Do, most dear queen. 
 
 Char. Do I Why, what else 1 
 
 Cleo, Let me sit down. O Juno ! 
 
 Ant. No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 Eros. See you here, sir ? 
 
 Ant. O fyc, fye, fye. 
 
 Char. Madam, — 
 
 Iras. Madam ; good empress ! — 
 
 Eros. Sir, sir, — 
 
 Ant. Yes, my lord, yes ; — He, at Philippi, kept 
 His sword even like a dancer ; while I struck ' 
 
 The lean and wrinkled Cassius ; and 'twas I, 
 
»l8l^ l ^1l1ll l l l l l T^^»'lWl l ll^l^.: ( ^cw»|»i ■l l'l^li ^ S . ^l^l l m l ^^a^ l ra^ l 'f7 i t ll^ Wl J^ 
 
ACT III.— SCENE XI. 
 
 €89 
 
 TVt At mad Bratos ended : he Hoae 
 Deih on IkatenantrT, a»d ao ptactics bod 
 In ih« braTt iqoaiorf nar : Vet now — Xo matter. 
 Cla: .\k, tond bjr. 
 Era.. The <j«eB, ny lorf, Ike qneen. 
 Jrai. Go to him, nurfam, ipeak to him; 
 He is nn^Tj '!*■*** with wy mame. 
 CUc. Well them, — Sostain me :— O ! 
 Erof. Mart eeble «Jr, arise ; the qrieen approaches; 
 Her head's itcVm'd, ajul deaih will seize hier ; bet 
 Yoor comfort makes the rescoe. 
 
 Amt. I hate o fca Jed reputation ; 
 A OMMt naoble swelling. 
 
 Erm. Sir, the qnees. 
 
 Ant. 0, wUthec bast than led me, Egypt? See, 
 How I coorey my »hame out of chine eyes 
 Br Uoking back oo what I bare left behind 
 'Stioy'd ia dishaaaar. 
 
 ait. O ray lord, my lord! 
 
 Forgite my feaifol sails '- I litlie tfaooght, 
 Voa wonU have folbw'd. 
 
 Jmt. £?7pt> t'""' kaew'st too well, 
 
 Sfy heart was to thy radder tied by the stnn^s. 
 And ihoa thoald'st tow me ifter : O'er my spirit 
 Thy full supremacy thou koew'st ; and tiiat 
 Thy beck might froia the biddiag ef the gads 
 Command me. 
 
 Cfe*. O, my pardon. 
 
 A»t. ' Kow I most 
 
 To the yovng man send humble treaties, dodge 
 And palter is the shifts of lowness ; who 
 ^'-ith hill the bali o'lhe world pla/d as I pieas'd. 
 Making, and mairyi^ fortones. Yoa did kno^ 
 How mach yoa were my conqneror ; and tha: 
 Mv sword, maile weak by my a&ction, woni-i 
 Obey it oo ali cause. 
 
 CUa, O pardon, pardon. 
 
 Au, Fail not a tear, I say ; one of them r^Les 
 All that is won aad lost : Gire me a kiss ; 
 Even this repays me. — We sent oar schoolmaster. 
 Is he come \aA^. — Lore. I am fcU of lead : — 
 Some wine, within there, and ocr riaiuls: — Fortone 
 
 knows. 
 We scorn her most, when most siie offers blows. [Ex. 
 
 SCE>'X X.— Cesar's Camp, in Egypt. 
 Entw C.ESia, DoubetLji, Thtsecs, ami cthen. 
 
 Cxs. Let him appear that's come &oai Antony. — 
 Knpw voa him 1 
 
 Doi. Cesar, 'tis his scboofanaster : 
 
 An ar^mect that be b pinck'd, when hither 
 He sei^ so poor a pinion of his wing. 
 Which had saperflaoas kin^ for messengers. 
 Not many moons gone by. 
 
 Entrr EirPEHOTrrs, 
 
 C«s. Approach, and speak. 
 
 Eup, Snch as I am, I cotae from Antoav ; 
 I was of late as petty to his ends. 
 As is the momHlew on the myrtle leaf 
 To his grand sea. 
 
 C<f J. Be it so ; Declare thine oSce. 
 
 Eup. Lord of his fortunes be salutes thee, and 
 Re<ii:Ires to live in Egypt : which not granted. 
 He lessens his reiqoests ; and to thee snes 
 To let him breathe between the hearens and earth, 
 A private man in Athea? r This for him. 
 Kelt. Cleopatr. ^ess : 
 
 Submits her to :raves 
 
 The circle of th ;_ : :s. 
 
 Now haiaided lo ihy grace. 
 
 Ctt. Tat Antoay, 
 
 I hare no ears to his :eqrie=-. Tu^. , isea 
 Of aadieccc. ior d«u-^, •hi i 
 
 From Egypt dme her aj.<- . 
 Or tai[>; LLi lif* iere ; TLl-- 
 Sfce ir.i.i i'jt iTiK inheari- 
 
 Enp. Fortune purtoe ta^^ 
 
 C-n. Bring hna throogti -Jie 'auais. [£iit Evrc 
 To try thy ^to<^^-eice. a*r* 'ts ijn^ ; Des^pasdk ; 
 FroeiAiitoty^si- Cleopatra: ^r^.:z:-=e. 'Ti Tsraxvs. 
 And in ocr najoe. wtiai ihe r*r. _je;; ; jjid lujte. 
 From thine ::iv<:!;tirjn, ofier"^ : ■jt'jci'^s i.-* aot. 
 In their bea* formae^, stro^z : b^: Tr^riz -r.'.l zeiJTire 
 T-.r. -.»■»-. tr. ;'-.-, : 7~-i; ; J— "jiv CTi^r^og. Tuyreus, 
 
 t. 
 
 .\n; 
 Xn^ 
 
 T 
 
 Czsar, I go. 
 ' -Mnr AncoBT berame< hi; Saw , 
 'link'a his retj acdoa speaks 
 ■—ax fflcves. 
 
 Casar, I »h»n [£»«<. 
 
 SCEXX XL — Aleiandria. A Rmu. n tie Pxlaa. 
 
 ExUr CtlOPiTHi, E»0SABBCS,CEiB3IIi», od T>! »^ 
 
 CIoK What shall we do, Encbartns 1 
 
 Cio:. Is Antony, or we, t: " ; ? 
 
 E;«ii. .\ntony only, that - , win 
 
 Lorr! r ■• . . -.i-.=^r,_ tv>3, j^._, _^^ _ _ -_^^ 
 
 Frc- : war, whose sereral ranges 
 
 Fr. . TT!^ sfaoold he tbtlow '. 
 
 Jretian should not tben 
 ^apteiiiship ; at sock a point, 
 :' the world oppos'd. he beio^ 
 >n : Twas a ^ame ac fes 
 
 — — — . . ;s, to course jovr ^in^ ^sgs. 
 
 And ieare lus nary gaziag. 
 
 Ciw. Pr'riiee, peace. 
 
 Eitter AsTOSTT, mi& E t yaH05i ' .ja . 
 
 ■^nt. Is this his answer ? 
 
 £"P- Ay, my lord. 
 
 Attt. The qiiee& 
 
 Shall then bare cottrtesy, soshe wiU -s^ld 
 1- s up. 
 
 Eup. He s^ so. 
 
 J'f- Let W t:-^ •- 
 
 - -aa. 
 
 Uts jedgmest too. 
 
 iX 
 
eoo 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Enter an Attendant. 
 
 Alt. A messenger from Cassar. 
 
 C/fi>.What,nomoreceremonyl — See.mywomen! — 
 Against the blown rose may they stop their nose, 
 That kneel'd unto the buds. — Admit him, sir. 
 
 Eno, Mine honesty, and I, begin to square. [Aside. 
 The loyalty, well held to fools, does make 
 Our faith mere lolly : — Yet he, that can endure 
 To follow with allegiance a fallen lord, 
 Does conquer him that did his master conquer 
 And earns a place i' the story. 
 
 Enter Thyreus. 
 
 Cleo, Cssar's will ? 
 
 Tiiyr. Hear it apart. 
 
 Cleo, None but Friends ; say boldly. 
 
 Thijr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony. 
 
 Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Ciesar has ; 
 Or needs not us. If Cajsar please, our master 
 Will leap to be his friend : For us, you know, 
 Whose he is, we are ; and that's Cassar's. 
 
 Thar. So.— 
 
 Thus then, thou most renown'd ; Ciesar entreats, 
 Not to consider in what case thou stand'st. 
 Further than he is Cajsar. 
 
 Cleo, Go on : Right royal. 
 
 T/iyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony 
 As you did love, but as you fear'd hira. 
 
 Cleo. O ! 
 
 Thyr, The scars upon your honour, therefore, he 
 Does pity, as constrained blemishes, 
 Not as deserv'd. 
 
 Cleo, He is a god, and knows 
 
 What is most right : Mine honour was not yielded. 
 But conquer'^ merely. 
 
 Eno. To be sure of that, [Aside. 
 
 I will ask Antony. — Sir, sir, thou'rt so leaky. 
 That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for 
 Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit KNonAnnus, 
 
 jT/ii/r. Shall I say to C^sar 
 
 What you require of him ? for he partly begs 
 To be desir'd to give. It much would please him, 
 That of his fortunes you should make a staff 
 To lean upon ; but it would warm his spirits, 
 To hear from me you had left Antony, 
 And put yourself under his shroud, 
 The universal landlord. 
 
 Cleo, What's your name 1 
 
 2'kyr, My name is Thyreus. 
 
 Cleo. Most kind messenger, 
 
 Say to great Ca;sar this. In deputation 
 I kiss his conqu'ring hand : tell him, I am prompt 
 To lay my crown at his feet, and there to kneel : 
 Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear 
 The doom of I'.gypt. 
 
 Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course. 
 
 Wisdom and fortune combating together. 
 If that the former dare but what it can. 
 No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay 
 My duty on your hand. 
 
 Cleo. Your Ciesar's father 
 
 . Oft, when he hath raus'd of taking kingdoms in, 
 Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place. 
 As it rain'd kisses. 
 
 Re-ciUer Axtonv and Exouahbus. 
 
 Am, Favours, by Jove that thunders !— 
 
 What art thou, fellow ] 
 
 Thiir. One, that but performs 
 
 The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest 
 To have command obey'd. 
 
 Eno. You will be whipp'd. 
 
 Ant, Approach, there : — Ay, you kite ! — Now 
 gods and devils ! 
 Authority melts from me ; Of late, when I cried, ho! 
 Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth, 
 And cry. Your will? Have you no ears! I am 
 
 Enter Attendants. 
 
 Antony yet. Take hence this .lack, and whip him. 
 
 Eno. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp. 
 Than with an old one dying. 
 
 Ant, Moon and stars ! 
 Whip him : — Were "t twenty of the greatest tributaries 
 That do acknowledge Cssar, should 1 find them 
 So saucy with the hand of she here, ( What's her name 
 Since she was Cleopatra 1) — Whip him, fellows. 
 Till, like a boy, you see hira cringe his face. 
 And whine aloud for mercy ; lake him hence. 
 Tliyr. Mark Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Tug him away : being whipp'd, 
 
 Bring him again : This .Tack of Cffisar's shall 
 Bear us an errand to him. — 
 
 [Exeunt Attend, wit^ Thyreus. 
 You were half blasted ere I knew you : — Ha! 
 Have 1 my pillow left unpress'd in Rome, 
 Forborne the getting of a lawful race. 
 And by a gem of women, to be abus'd 
 By one that looks on feeders ? 
 
 Cleo. Good my lord, — 
 
 Ant. You have been a boggier ever : — 
 But when we in our viciousness grow hard, 
 (0 misery on 't !) the wise gods seel our eyes ; 
 in our own filth drop our clear judgments ; make us 
 Adore our errors ; laugh at us, while we strut 
 To our confusion. 
 
 Cleo. O, is it come to this 1 
 
 Ant, I found you as a morsel, cold upon 
 Dead CiEsar's trencher : nay, you were a fragment 
 Of Cneius Pompey's ; besides what hotter hours, 
 Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have 
 Luxuriously pick'd out : For, 1 am sure. 
 Though you can guess what temperance should be. 
 You know not what it is. 
 
 Cleo, AVherefore is this ? 
 
 Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards, 
 And say, God quit ifou ! be familiar with 
 My playfellow, your hand ; tliis kingly seal, 
 .And plighter of high hearts ! — O, that I were 
 Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar 
 rhe horned herd ! for I have savage cause ; 
 And to proclaim it civilly, were like 
 A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank 
 For being yare about him. — Is he whipp'd 1 
 
 Re'enter Attendants, Kith Thyreus. 
 1 Att, Soundly, my lord. 
 
 A7it. Cried he t and begg'd he pardon 1 
 
 1 Att. He did ask favour. 
 Ant, If that thy father live, let him repent 
 Thou wast uot made his daughter ; and be thou sorry 
 To follow Caisar in his triumph, since 
 Tiiou hast been whipp'd for following him : hence 
 The white hand of a lady fever thee, [forib, 
 
 Shake thou to look on 't. — Get thee back to C^sar, 
 Tell him thy entertainment : l^ook, thou say, 
 He makes me angry with him : for he seems 
 I'roud and disdainful ; harping on what I am ; 
 Not what he knew I was : He makes me angry ; 
 ■\nd at this time most easy 'tis i, do't; 
 W hen my good stsrs, that were my foimer guides, 
 Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires 
 Into the nhisrn of hell. If he mislike 
 My speeth, and what is done ; tell hmi, he has 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE 11. 
 
 691 
 
 Ilipparchus , my cnfranchis'd bondman, whom 
 He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture. 
 As he shall like, to quit me : Urge it thou : 
 Hence, with thy stripes, begone. [Eiit Thvreus. 
 
 Cteo. Have you done yet ! 
 
 Ant. Alack, our terrene moon 
 
 Is now ecHps'd ; and it portends alone 
 The fall of Antony ! 
 
 Cleo, I must stay his time. 
 
 Ant. To flatter Ctesar. would you mingle eyes 
 With one that ties his points ! 
 
 Cleo, Not know me yet t 
 
 Ant. Cold-hearted toward me T 
 
 Cteo. Ah, dear, if I be so, 
 
 From my cold heart let heaven engender hail. 
 And poison it in the source ; and the first stone 
 Drop in my neck ; as it determines, so 
 Dissolve my life ! The next Ceesarion smite ! 
 I'ill. by degrees, the memory of my womb. 
 Together with my brave Egyptians all, 
 By the discandying of this pelleted storm. 
 Lie graveless ; till the (lies and gnats of Nile 
 Have buried thera for prey ! 
 
 Ant, I am satisfied. 
 
 Ceesar sits down in Alexandria ; where 
 I will oppose his fate. Our force by land 
 Hath nobly held : our sever'd navy too 
 Have knit again, and fleet, threat'ning most sealike. 
 Where hast thou been, my heart? — Dost thou hear, 
 If from the field I shall return once more [lady 1 
 To kiss these lips. 1 will appear in blood ; 
 I and my sword will earn our chronicle j 
 There is hope in it yet. 
 
 Cleo. That's my brave lord ! 
 
 Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd. 
 And fight maliciously : for when mine hours 
 Were nice and lucky, men did ransome lives 
 Of me for jests ; but now, I'll set my teeth. 
 And send to darkness all that stop me. — Come, 
 Let's have one other gaudy night : call to me 
 All my sad captains, fill our bowls ; once more 
 Let's mock the midnight bell. 
 
 Cleo. It is my birth-day : 
 
 I had thought, to have held it poor ; but, since my 
 Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. [lord. 
 
 Ant. We'll yet do well. 
 
 Cleo. Call ail his noble' captains to my lord. 
 
 Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them ; and to-night I'll 
 force [queen ; 
 
 The wine peep through their scars. — Come on, my 
 There's sap in 't yet. The next time I do fight, 
 I'll make deatli love me ; for I will contend 
 Even with his pestilent scythe. 
 
 [Eieiint Antonv, Cleopatra, and Attendants. 
 
 Eiw. Now he'll outstare the lightning. To be fu- 
 rious, 
 Is, to be frighted out of fear : and in that mood. 
 The dove will peck the estridge ; and I see still, 
 A diminution in our captain's brain 
 Kestores his lieait : When valour preys on reason . 
 It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek 
 Some way to leave him. [&/i. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — CsEsar's Camp at Alexandria. 
 E7iiey CffSAR, reading a letter ; Aghippa, 
 Mec.^nas, and others. 
 Cas, He calls me boy ; and chides, as he had power 
 To beat me out of Egypt : my messenger 
 
 He hath whipp'd with rods; dares me to personal com- 
 CiPsar to Antony : Let the old ruHian know, [bat. 
 He hath many other ways to die ; mean time, 
 Laugh at his challenge. 
 
 Mec. CsBSar must think. 
 
 When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted, 
 Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now 
 Make boot of his distraction : Never anger 
 Made good guard for itself. 
 
 Cifs. Let our best heads 
 
 Know, that to-morrow the last of many battles 
 We mean to fight : — Within our files there are 
 Of those that serv'd mark Antony but late. 
 Enough to fetch him in. See it be done ; 
 And least the army : we have store to do 't. 
 And they have earn'd the waste. Poor Antony ! 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE II.— Alexandria. A Room in the Palace, 
 
 Enter Antony. Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Cuarmian, 
 Iras, Alexas, and others. 
 
 Ant, He will not fight with me, Domitius. 
 
 Eno. No. 
 
 Ant. Why should he not? 
 
 Eno. He thinks, being twenty times of better for- 
 He is twenty men to one. [tune, 
 
 Ant. To-morrow, soldier, 
 
 By sea and land I'll fight : or I will live. 
 Or bathe my dying honour in the blood 
 Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well ? 
 
 Eno. I'll strike ; and cry, Tahe all. 
 
 Ant. Well said ; come on. — 
 
 Call forth my household servants ; let's to-night 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 Be bounteous at our meal.— Give me thy hand. 
 Thou hast been rightly honest ; — so hast thou ; — 
 Aud thou,— and thou,— and thou : — you have surv'd 
 And kings have been your fellows. [me well, 
 
 Cleo, What means this ? 
 
 Eno. 'Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow 
 shoots [Aside. 
 
 Out of the mind. 
 
 Ant. And thou art honest too. 
 
 I wish. I could be made so many men ; 
 And all of you clapp'd up together in 
 An Antony : that I might do you service. 
 So good as you have done. 
 
 Serv. The gods forbid ! 
 
 Ant, Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night: 
 Scant not my cups ; and make as much of me, 
 As when mine empire was your fellow too. 
 And suft'er'd my command. 
 
 Cleo. What does he mean 1 
 
 Eno To make his followers weep. 
 
 Anf. I end me to-night ; 
 
 Hay be, it is the period of your duty : 
 Haply, you shall not see me more ; or if 
 A mangled shadow : perchance, to-morrow 
 Vou'U serve another master. I look on you, 
 As one that takes his lea\e. Mine honest friends, 
 I turn you not away ; but, like a master 
 Married to your good service, stay till death : 
 Tend me to night two hours, I ask no more, 
 And the gods yield you' for't 1 
 
 Eno. What mean you, sir. 
 
 To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep; 
 And I, an ass, am onion-ey'd ; for shame. 
 Transform us not to uomen. 
 
 Ant. Ho. ho, hoi 
 
 Now the witch take me. if I meant it thus! 
 « X2 
 
692 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Grace grow where those drops fill ! My hearty friends, 
 
 Vou take me in too dolorous a sense : 
 
 I spake to you for your comfort : did desire you 
 
 To burn this night with torches ; Know, my hearts, 
 
 ] hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you. 
 
 Where rather I'll expect victorious life. 
 
 Than death and honour. Let's to supper ; come. 
 
 And drown consideration. [£ieunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— TTie same. Btfore the Palace. 
 
 Enter Two Soldiers, to their Guard. 
 
 1 Sold. Brother, good night : to-morrow is the day. 
 
 2 Sold. It will determine one way: fare you well. 
 Heard you of nothing strange about the streets 1 
 
 1 Sold. Nothing : What news ? 
 5J Sold. Belike, 'tis but a rumour ; 
 
 Good night to you. 
 
 1 Sold. Well, sir, good night. 
 
 Enter Two other Soldiers. 
 
 Soldiers, 
 
 i Sold 
 Have careful watch. 
 
 3 Sold. And you : Good night, good night. 
 
 [Thejirst two place themselves at their posts. 
 
 4 Sold. Here we : [theu take their posts.] and if to- 
 Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope [morrow 
 Oui landmen will stand up. 
 
 3 Sold. 'Tis a brave army. 
 
 And full of purpose. 
 
 [Music of hauthoys under the stage. 
 Peace, what noise 1 
 
 List, List ! 
 
 Under the earth. 
 
 It signs well, 
 
 4 Sold. 
 
 1 Sold. 
 
 2 Sold. Hark ! 
 1 Sold- Music i'the aii. 
 
 3 SoUl. 
 
 4 Sold. 
 Does't not ■! 
 
 3 Sold. No. 
 
 1 Sold. Peace, I say. What should this mean 1 
 ? Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd, 
 Now leaves him. 
 
 1 Sold. Walk ; let's see if other watchmen 
 Do hear what we do. [They advance to another post. 
 
 2 Sold. How now, masters 1 
 Sold. How now 1 
 
 How now ■; do you hear this 1 
 
 [Several speaking together. 
 1 Sold. Ay ; is't not strange ? 
 
 3 Sold. Do you hear, masters 1 do you hear 1 
 1 Sold, Follow the noise so far as we have quarter ; 
 
 Let's see how't will give off. 
 
 Sold. [Several speaking.] Content : 'Tis strange. 
 
 [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— I7ic some. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Anto.vy and Cleopatra ; Charmian, 
 
 and othei-s attending. 
 
 Ant. Eros ! mine armour, Eros ! 
 
 C(eo. Sleep a little. [Eros ! 
 
 ilnt. No, my chuck. — Eros, come ; mine armour, 
 
 Enter Eros, with armour. 
 
 Come, my good fellow, put thine iron on: — 
 If fortune be not ours to-day, it is 
 Because we brave her. — Come. 
 
 Cleo. Nay, I'll help too. 
 
 What's this for ? 
 
 ylnt. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art 
 
 The armourer of my heart ;— False, false ; this, this. 
 
 Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help; Thus it must be. 
 
 Ant. Well, well: 
 
 We shall thrive now. — Seest thou, my good fellow » 
 Go, put on thy defences. 
 
 Eros. Briefly, sir. 
 
 Cleo. Is not this buckled well 1 
 
 Ant. Rarely, rarely : 
 
 He that unbuckles this, till we do plea.^e 
 To doff 't for our repose, shall hear a storm. — 
 Thou fumblest, Eros ; and my queen's a squire 
 i\Iore tight at this, tlian thou : Despatch. — love, 
 That thou could'st see my wars to-day, and knew'st 
 The royal occupation ! tliou should'sl see 
 
 Enter an Officer, armed. 
 
 A workman in't. — Good morrow to thee ; welcome: 
 Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge: 
 To business that we love, we rise betime. 
 And go to it with delight. 
 
 1 Off. A thousand, sir. 
 Early though it be, have on their riveted trim, 
 Aod at the port expect you. 
 
 [6'u3u(s, Trumpets. Flourish. 
 
 Enter other Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
 2 Off. Tl»e morn is fair. — Good morrow, general. 
 All. Good morrow, general. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis well blown, lads. 
 
 This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
 That means to be of note, begins betimes. — 
 So, so ; come, give me that : this way ; well said. 
 Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me : 
 This is a soldier's kiss : rebukable, [Kisses her. 
 
 \nd worthy shameful check it were, to stand 
 On more mechanic compliment; I'll leave thee 
 Now, like a man of steel.— Vou, that will fight. 
 Follow me close ; I'll bring you to't. — Adieu. 
 
 [Eaeu7it A.vTOMY, Eros, Officers, and Soldiers. 
 
 Char. Please you, retire to your chamber 1 
 
 Cleo. Lead me. 
 
 He goes forth gallantly. That he and Ca;sar might 
 
 Determine this great war in single fight ! 
 
 Then, Antony,— But now, — Well, on. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Antony's Camp near Alexandria. 
 
 Trumpets sound. Enter Antoky and Ekos ; 
 a Soldier meeting them. 
 
 Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony ! 
 
 ylnt. 'Would, thou and those thy scars had once 
 To make me fight at land ! [prevail'd 
 
 Sold. Had'st thou done so. 
 
 The kings that have revolted, and the soldier 
 That has this morning left thee, would have still 
 FoUow'd thy heels. 
 
 Ant. Who's gone this morning? 
 
 Sold. Who! 
 
 One ever near thee : Call for Enobarbus, 
 He shall not hear thee ; or from Caesar's camp 
 Sav, lam none oj thine. 
 
 Ant. What say'st thou? 
 
 Sold. Sir, 
 
 He is with Ciesar. 
 
 Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure 
 
 He has not with him. 
 
 Ant. Is he gone? 
 
 Sold, Most certain. 
 
 Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after ; do it ; 
 Detain no jot, I charge thee : write to him 
 ( I will subscribe ) gentle adieus, and greetings : 
 Say, that 1 wish he never find more cause 
 
 I 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE IX, 
 
 G93 
 
 To chan^ a master. — 0, my fortunes have 
 Corrupted honest men : — Eros, despatch. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE ^^. — Cffisar's Camp before Alexandria. 
 
 Flourish, £«(«- C.^sar, with Acrippa, Enobaiibus, 
 and others. 
 
 Ci£s. Go fortli, Agrippa, and begin the fight, 
 
 Our will is, Antony be took alive ; 
 
 Make it so known. 
 
 Agr. Casar, I shall. [Eiit Acrippa- 
 
 Ct£s. The time of universal peace is near; 
 
 Prove this a. prosperous day, the three-nook'd world 
 
 Shall bear the olive freely. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Antony 
 
 Is come into the field. 
 
 Cirs. Go, charge Agrippa : 
 
 Plant those that have revolted in the van. 
 That .Antony may seem to spend his fury 
 Upon himself. [Eieunt Ct.sar and his Train. 
 
 Enfl. Alexas did revolt ; and went to Jewry, 
 On affairs of Antony ; there did persuade 
 Great Herod to incline himself to Ciesar, 
 And leave his master Antony ; for this pains, 
 Caesar hath hang'd him. Canidius, and the rest 
 That fell away, have entertainment, but 
 No honourable trust. I have done ill ; 
 Of which I do accuse myself so sorely. 
 That I will joy no more. 
 
 Enter a Soldier of Caisar*s. 
 
 Sold. Enobarbus, Antony 
 
 Hatli after thee sent all thy treasure, with 
 His bounty overplus : Tlie messenger 
 Came on my guard ; and at thy tent is now, 
 Unloading of his mules. 
 
 Eno, I give it you. 
 
 Sold. Mock me not, Enobarbus. 
 
 I tell you true : Best that you safd the brinfer 
 Out of the host ; I must attend mine office. 
 Or would have done't myself. Vour emperor 
 Continues still a Jove. [Eiit Soldier. 
 
 Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth, 
 And feel I am so most. O Antony, 
 Thou mine of bounty, how would'st thou have paid 
 My better service, when my turpitude 
 Thou dost so crown with gold ! This blows my heart : 
 If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean 
 Shall outstrike thought : but thought will do't, I feel. 
 I fight against thee ! — No : I will go seek 
 Some ditch, wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits 
 My latter part of life. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII.— FieW of Battle between the Camps. 
 
 Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Acrippa, 
 and others, 
 
 Agr. Retire, we have engag'd ourselves too far: 
 Caesar himself has work, and our oppression 
 Exceeds wtjat we expected. [Ereunt. 
 
 Alarum. Enter Antony and Scarus, wounded. 
 
 Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed ! 
 Had we done so at first, we had driven them home 
 With clouts about their heads. 
 
 ^"'- Thou bleed'st apace. 
 
 Hear. I had a wound here that was like a T, 
 But now 'tis made an U. 
 . Ant. They do retire. 
 
 Scar. We'll beat 'era into bench-holes ; I have yet 
 Room for six scotches more. 
 
 Enter Eros. 
 
 Eros. They are beaten, sir ; and our advantage serves 
 For a fair victory. 
 
 Sciir. Let us score their backs. 
 
 And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind ; 
 'Tis sport to maul a runner. 
 
 Aut. I will reward thee 
 
 Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold 
 For thy good valour. Come thee on. 
 
 Scar. I'll halt after. [Eieiuit. 
 
 SCENE VIII — Under the li'alk 0/ Alexandria. 
 
 Alarum. Enter Ayioyv , marching ; Scarus, 
 
 and Forces. 
 Ant. We have beat him to his camp ;— Run one 
 before. 
 And let the queen know of our guests. — To-morrow, 
 Before the sun shall see us, we'll spill the blood 
 That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all ; 
 For doughty-handed are you ; and have fought 
 Not as you serv'd the cause, but as it had been 
 Each man's like mine ; you have shewn all Hectors. 
 Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends. 
 Tell them your feats ; whilst they with joyful tears 
 Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss 
 The honour'd gashes whole. — Give me thy hand ; 
 
 [To ScARUS. 
 
 Enter Cleopatra, attended. 
 To this great fairy I'll commend thy acts, 
 JNIake her thanks bless thee. — O thou dayo' the world, 
 Chain mine arm'd neck ; leap thou, attire and all. 
 Through proof of harness to my heart, and there 
 Ride ou the pants triumphino-. 
 
 C'f". ° Lord of lords I 
 
 O infinite virtue I com'st thou smiling from 
 The world's great snare uncaught! 
 
 Ant. My nightingale, [grey 
 
 We have beat them to their beds. What, girl ? though 
 Do something mingle with our brown ; yet have we 
 A brain that nourishes our nerves, and can 
 Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ; 
 
 Comrnend unto his lips thy favouring hand ; 
 
 Kiss it, my warrior :— He hath fought to-day. 
 As If a god, in hate of mankind, had 
 Destroy 'd in such a shape. 
 
 Cleo. I'll give thee, friend. 
 
 An armour all of gold ; it was a king's. 
 
 Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled 
 Like holy Phoebus' car.— Give me thy hand ; 
 Through Alexandria make a jolly march ; 
 Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe them : 
 Had our great palace the capacity 
 To camp this host, we all would sup together; 
 And drink carouses to the next day's fate. 
 
 Which promises royal peril Trumpeters, 
 
 With brazen din blast you the city's ear ; 
 :Make mingle with our rattling tabourines ; [gether 
 That heaven and earth may strike their sounds to- 
 Applauding our approach. [E.iennt. 
 
 SCENE IX.— Cajsar's Camp. 
 Sentinels on their post. Enter Enobarbus. 
 1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour. 
 We must return to the court of guard: The night 
 Is shiny ; and, they say, we shall embattle 
 By the second hour i' the morn. 
 
 '- Sold. This last day was 
 
 .V shrewd one to us. 
 
fi94 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Eno. 0, bear me witness, night, — 
 
 3 Sold. What man is this 1 
 
 ;;; Sold. Stand close, and list to him. 
 
 Eno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon. 
 When men revolted shall upon record 
 Bear hateful memory, poor Knobarbus did 
 Before thy face repent I — 
 
 1 Sold. Enobarbus ! 
 
 3 Sold. Peace ; 
 
 Hark further. 
 
 Eno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy. 
 The poisonous damp of night dispouge upon mc ; 
 That life, a very rebel to my will. 
 May hang no longer on me : Throw my heart 
 Against the flint and hardness of ray fault ; 
 Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder, 
 And finisli all foul thoughts. O Antony, 
 Nobler than my revolt is infamous, 
 Forgive me in thine own particular ; 
 But let the world rank me in register 
 A master-leaver, and a fugitive : 
 
 Antony I O Antony ! [Dies. 
 
 2 Sold. Let's speak 
 To him. 
 
 1 Sold. Let s hear him, for the things he speaks 
 May concern Csesar. 
 
 3 Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps. 
 
 1 Sold. Swoons rather ; for so bad a prayer as his 
 Was never yet for sleeping. 
 
 2 Sold. Go we to him. 
 
 3 Sold. Awake, awake, sir ; speak to us. 
 
 2 Sold. Hear you, sir? 
 
 1 Sold- The handof death hath raught him. Hark, 
 the drums [Drums ofar off. 
 
 Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him 
 To the court of guard ; he is of note : our hour 
 Is fully out. 
 
 3 Sold. Come on, then ; 
 
 He may recover yet. [Eicunt with the body. 
 
 SCENE X.— Between the two Camps. 
 Enter Antony and Scuxtvs, with Forces marching. 
 
 Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea ; ..j 
 We please them not by land. 
 
 Scar. For both, my lord. 
 
 Ant. I would, they'd fight i' the fire, or in the air ; 
 We'd fight there too. But this it is ; Our foot 
 Upon the hills adjoining to the city. 
 Shall stay with us : order for sea is given ; 
 They have put forth the haven ; Further on. 
 Where their appointment we may best discover, 
 And look on their endeavour. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter C*sar, and his Forces 7narching. 
 Cas. But, being charg'd, we will be still by land. 
 Which, as I tak't, we shall ; for his best force 
 Is forth to man his gallies. To the vales. 
 And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Antony and Scarus. 
 
 Ant. Yet they're not join'd ; Where yonder pine 
 does stand, 
 
 1 shall discover all : I'll bring thee word 
 Straight, how 'tis like to go. [Eiit. 
 
 Scar. Swallows have built 
 
 In Cleopatra's sails their nests : the augurers 
 Say, they know not, — they cannot tell ; — look grimly, 
 And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony 
 lb valiant and dejected ; and, by starts. 
 His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear. 
 Of what he has, and has not. 
 
 Alarum afar off, as at a sea-Jight* 
 
 Re'cnter Antony. 
 
 .int. All is lost ; 
 
 This foul Egyptian hath betray'd me : 
 My fleet hath yielded to the foe j and yonder 
 They cast their caps up, and carouse together 
 Like friends long lost. — I'riple-turn'd whore! 'tisthoo 
 Hast sold me to this novice ; and my heart 
 Makes only wars on thee. — Bid them all fly ; 
 For when I am reveng'd upon my charm, 
 I have done all : — Bid them all fly, be gone. 
 
 [Exit ScARVS. 
 O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more : 
 Fortune and Antony part here ; even here 
 Do we shake hands. — Ail come to this? — The hearts 
 That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave 
 Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets 
 On blossoming Caisar ; and this pine is bark'd. 
 That overtopp'd them all. Betray'd I am : 
 O this false soul of Egypt ! this grave charm. 
 Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them 
 Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, [horaei 
 Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, 
 Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss. — 
 What, Eros, Eros ! 
 
 Enter Cleotatra, 
 
 Ah, thou spell ! Avaunt. 
 
 Cleo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love ? 
 
 Ant. Vanish ; or I shall give thee thy deserving. 
 And blemish Ciesar's triumph. Let him take thee. 
 And hoist ihee up to the shouting plebeians : 
 Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot 
 Of all thy sex ; most monster-like, be shewn 
 For poor'st diminutives, to dolts ; and let 
 Patient Octavia plough thy visage up 
 With her prepared nails. [Eiit Cleo.] 'Tis well 
 
 thou 'rt gone. 
 If it be well to live : But better 'twere 
 Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death 
 Might have prevented many. — Eros, ho ! 
 The shirt of Nessus is upon me : 'J'each me, 
 Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage : 
 Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o' the moon ; 
 And with those hands that grasp'd the heaviest clul^ ] 
 Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die ; 
 To the Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall 
 Under this plot : she dies for't. — Eros, ho ! [EjiiB 
 
 SCENE XL — Alexandria. A Room in the Poiaa 
 Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian 
 
 Cleo. Help me, my women ! 0, he is more mad 
 Than Telamon for his shield ; the boar of Thessaly ' 
 Was never so emboss'd. 
 
 Char, To the monument ; 
 
 There lock yourself, and send him word you are deal) 
 The soul and body rive not more in parting. 
 Than greatness going off. 
 
 Cleo. To the monument : — 
 
 Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself ; 
 Say that the last I spoke was, Antony, 
 And word it pr'ythee, piteously ; Hence, 
 Mardian ; and bring me how he takes my death. — j 
 To the monument. [Eiewi' 
 
 SCENE 'xU.—The same. Another Room. 
 
 Enter Antony and Eros. 
 
 Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me? 
 
 Eros. Ay, noble lord. 
 
 Ant. Sometimes we see a cloud that s dragoaiah : 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE XII. 
 
 6.95 
 
 A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, 
 
 A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, 
 
 A forked niounuin, or blue promontory 
 
 With trtes upon't, that nod unto the world. 
 
 And mock our eyes with air : thou hast seen these 
 
 They are black vesper's pageants, [signs ; 
 
 Eros. Ay. my lord. 
 
 Ant. That which isnow ahorse, even with a thought, 
 The rack dislimns ; and makes it indistinct, 
 As water is in water. 
 
 Eros, It does, my lord. 
 
 Ant. My good knave, Eros, now thy captain is 
 Even such a body : here I am Antony ; 
 Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. 
 I made these wars for Egypt ; and the queen, — 
 "Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine ; 
 AVhich, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't 
 A million more, now lost, — she. Eros, has 
 Fack'd cards with Caasar, and false play'd my glory 
 Unto an enemy's triumph. — 
 Kay, weep not, gentle Eros ; there is left us 
 Ourselves to end ourselves. — 0, thy vile lady ! 
 
 Enter Mardian. 
 She has robb'd me of my sword. 
 
 Mar, No, Antony ; 
 
 My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled 
 With thine entirely. 
 
 Ant. Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace ; 
 
 She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death. 
 
 Mar. Death of one person can be paid but once ; 
 And that she has discharg'd : What thou would'^t do 
 Is done unto thy hand ; the last she spake 
 Was, Antony ! most noble Antony '. 
 Then in the midst a tearing groan did break 
 The name of Antony ; it was divided 
 Between her heart and lips : she render'd life, 
 Thy name so buried in her. 
 
 Ant. Dead then? 
 
 Mar. Dead. 
 
 Ajit, Eros, unarm ; the long day's task is done. 
 And we must sleep : — That thou depart'st hence safe. 
 Does pay thy labour richly; Go. — Off. pluck off; — 
 
 [EjU Mardian. 
 The seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep 
 Tlie battery from my heart. 0, cleave, my sides ! 
 Heart, once be stronger than thy continent. 
 Crack thy frail case ! — Apace, Eros, apace. — 
 No more a soldier : — Bruised pieces, go ; 
 You have been nobly borne. — From me a while. — 
 
 [Exit Eiios. 
 I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and 
 Weep for my pardon. So it must be. for now 
 All length is torture : — Since the torch is out, 
 Lie down, and stray no further : Now all labour 
 Mars wjiat it does ; yea, very force entangles 
 Itself with strength : Seal then, and all is done- — 
 Eros! — I come, my queen:- — Eros! — Stay for me: 
 AV here souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in hand, 
 And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze : 
 Dido and her .^:^neas shall want troops. 
 And all the haunt be ours. — Come, Eros, Eros! 
 Re-enter Enos. 
 
 Eros. What would my lord 1 
 
 Ant. Since Cleopatra died, 
 
 I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods 
 Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword 
 Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back 
 \\ ith ships made cities, condemn myself, to lack 
 The courage of a woman ; less noble rnind 
 Than she, which, by her death, our Caesar tells, 
 J am conqueror of mifseif. Thou art sworn, Eros, 
 
 That, wlien the exigent should come, (which now 
 Is come, indeed,) when I should see behiud me 
 The inevitable prosecution of 
 Disgrace, and horror, that, on my command. 
 Thou then would'st kill me : do 't ; the time is come: 
 Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Caisar thou defeat'st. 
 Put colour in thy cheek. 
 
 Ero$. The gods withhold me ! 
 
 Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts, 
 Though enemy, lost aim, and could not? 
 
 Ant. Eros 
 
 Would'st thou be wlndow'd in great Rome, and see 
 Thy master thus with pleach'd arms, bending down 
 His corrigible neck, his face subdued 
 To penetrative shame ; whilst the wheel'd seat 
 Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded 
 His baseness that ensued? 
 
 Eros, I would not see*t. 
 
 Ant. Come then; for with a wound I must be cur'd. 
 Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn 
 Most useful for thy country. 
 
 Eros. 0, sir, pardon me. 
 
 Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not 
 >To do this when I bade thee ? Do it at once ; [then 
 Or thy precedent services are all 
 But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come. 
 
 Eros. Turn from me then that noble countenance. 
 Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. 
 
 Ant. Lo thee. \Tarningfrom him, 
 
 Eros. My sword is drawn. 
 
 Ant. Then let it do at once 
 
 The thing why thou hast drawn it. 
 
 Eros. My dear master, 
 
 My captain, and my emperor ; let me say, 
 Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis said, man ; — and farewell. 
 
 Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? 
 
 Ant. Now, Eros, 
 
 Eros. Why, there then: — [Fa I Is on his sword.] 
 Thus do I escape tiie sorrow 
 Of Antony's death. [Dies* 
 
 Ant. Thrice nobler than myself! 
 
 Thou teachest me, valiant Eros, what 
 I simuld, and thou could'st not. My queen and Eros 
 IlaH by tlieir brave instruction, got upon me 
 A nobleness in record : But I will be 
 A bridegroom in ray death, and run into't 
 As to a lover's bed. Come then ; and, Eros, 
 Thy master dies thy scholar ; to do thus 
 
 [Falling on his sword. 
 I learn 'd of thee. How ! not yet dead ? not dead 1 — 
 The guard ! — ho ! — O, despatch me. 
 
 Enter Dehcetas and Guard. 
 
 1 Guard. What's the noise? 
 Ant. I have done my work ill, friends; 0, make 
 
 Of what I have begun. [an end 
 
 2 Guard. The star is fallen. 
 1 Guard. And time is at his period. 
 
 All. f Alas, and woe ? 
 
 Ant. Let him, that loves me, strike me dead. 
 
 1 Guard. Not L 
 
 2 Guard. Nor I. 
 
 3 Guard. Nor any one, [Exeunt Guard. 
 Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly. 
 
 This sword but shewn to Caesar, with the tidings, 
 Shall enter me with him. 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 Dio. Where's Antony ? 
 
 Der. There, Diomed, there. 
 
 Dio. Lives he ? 
 
 Wilt thou not answer, man ? [Exit Dercetas, 
 
GOG 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Ant. Art thou there, Diomod ? Draw thy sword, and 
 Sufficing strokes for death. [give ine 
 
 Dio, Most absolute lord. 
 
 My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. 
 
 Atit. When did she send thee ? 
 
 J)io4 Now my lord. 
 
 Ant. Where is she ? [ing fear 
 
 Dio. Lock'd in hermonument. She had a prophesy- 
 Of what hath come to pass : for when she saw 
 (Which never shall be found,) you did suspect 
 Slie had dispos'd with Ciesar, and that your rage 
 Would notbepurg'd, she sent you word she was dead; 
 But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent 
 Me to proclaim the truth ; and I am come, 
 I dread, too late. [pr'ythee. 
 
 Ant. Too late, good Diomed : — Call my guard, I 
 
 Dio. What, ho! the emperor's guaid ! The guard, 
 Come, your lord calls. [« hat, ho ! 
 
 Enter some of the Guard. 
 
 Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides ; 
 Tis the last service thatl sliall command you. 
 
 1 Guard. Woe are we, sir, you may notlive to wear 
 All your true followers out. 
 
 All. Most heavy day ! 
 
 Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate 
 To grace it with your sorrows: bid that welcome 
 Which comes to punish us, and we punish it 
 Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up : 
 I have led you oft ; carry me now, good friends, 
 And have my thanks for all. [Eieunt, bearing AriTotty. 
 
 SCENE XIII.— r/ie same. A Monument. 
 
 Eyiter above, Cleopatr.^, Charmian, and Iras. 
 
 Cleo. O Charmian, I will never go from hence. 
 
 Char. Be comforted, dear madam. 
 
 Cleo. No, I will not : 
 
 All strange and terrible events are welcome, 
 B\it comforts we despise ; our size of sorrow, 
 Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great. 
 
 Enter Diomedes. 
 As that which makes it. — How now ? is he dead ? 
 
 Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead. 
 Look out o' the other side your monument, ^ 
 His guard have brought him thither. ^ 
 
 Enter Antony, borne by the Guard. 
 
 Cleo. O thou sun. 
 
 Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in ! — darkling stand 
 The varyihg sliore o'the world! — O Antony ! 
 Antony, Antony ! — Charmian, help ; help, Iras ; 
 Help, friends below j let's draw him hither. 
 
 Ant. Peace : 
 
 Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony, 
 But Antony's hath triumphed on itself. 
 
 Cleo, So it should be, that none but Antony 
 Should conquer Antony ; but woe 'tis so ! 
 
 Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying ; only 
 I here imp6rtune death a while, until 
 Of many thousand kisses the poor last • 
 I lav upon thy lips. — 
 
 Cleo. I dare not, dear, 
 
 (Dear my lord, pardon,) I dare not. 
 Lest I be taken : not the imperious show 
 Of the full-fortun'd Caesar ever shall 
 Be brooch'd with me ; if knife, drugs, serpents, have 
 Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe: 
 Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes. 
 And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour 
 Demuring upon me. — But come, come, Antony, — 
 Help me, my women, — we must draw thee up ; — 
 Assist, good friends. 
 
 Ant. O, quick, or I am gone. 
 
 Cleo. Here's sport, indeed ! — How heavy weighs rny 
 Our strength is all gone into heaviness, [lord ! 
 
 That makes the weight : Had I great Juno's power, 
 The strong-wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up. 
 And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little, — 
 Wishers were ever fools ; — 0, come, come, come ; 
 
 [77(^1/ draw Antony up. 
 And welcome, welcome! die, where thou hast liv'd: 
 Quicken with kissing ; had my lips that power. 
 Thus would I wear them out. 
 
 All. A heavy sight I 
 
 Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dymg : 
 Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. 
 
 Cleo. No, let me speak; and let me rail so high. 
 That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, 
 Provok'd by my oft'ence. 
 
 Ant. One word, sweet queen ; 
 
 Of Cassar seek your honour, with your safety. — O ! 
 Cleo. They do not go together. 
 Ant. Gentle, hear me ! 
 
 None about Caesar trust, but Proculeius. 
 
 Cleo. My resolution, and my hands, I 'II trust ; 
 ^None about Caesar. 
 
 Ant. Tlie miserable cliange now at my end. 
 Lament nor sorrow at : but please your thoughts. 
 In feeding them with those my former fortunes 
 Wherein 1 liv'd, tlie greatest prince o'the world. 
 The noblest : and do now not basely die, 
 Nor cowardly ; put off my helmet to 
 My countryman, a Roman, by a Roman 
 Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, my spirit is going; 
 I can no more. [Dies. 
 
 Cleo. Noblest of men, woe 't die ^ 
 
 Hast thou no care of me 1 shall I abide 
 In this dull world, which in thy absence is 
 No better than a stye 1 — O, see my women^ 
 The crown o' the earth doth melt : — My lord ! — 
 O, wither'd is the garland of the war. 
 The soldier's pole is fallen ; young boys, and girls. 
 Are level now with men : the odds is gone. 
 And there is nothing left remarkable 
 Beneath the visiting moon. [She faints. 
 
 She is dead too, our sovereign. 
 
 Lady,- 
 
 madam, madam, madam ! 
 
 Char. 0, quietness, lady ! 
 
 has. 
 
 Char. 
 
 Iras. Madam, — 
 
 Char. 
 
 Iras. Royal Egypt '. 
 
 Empress ! 
 
 Chnr> Peace, peace, Iras. 
 
 Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman ; and commanded 
 By such poor passion as the maid that milks, 
 And does the meanest chares. — It were for me 
 To throw my scepter at the injurious gods ; 
 To tell them, that this world did equal theirs. 
 Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but nought } 
 Patience is sottish ; and impatience does 
 Become a dog that's mad : Then is it sin. 
 To rush into the secret house of death. 
 Ere death dare come to us? — How do you, women? 
 What, what ? good cheer ! Why, how now, Charmain 1 
 My noble girls ! — Ah, wonren, women! look. 
 Our lamp is spent, it's out: — Good sirs, take lieatt: — 
 [To the Guard belotr. 
 We'll bury him: and then, what's brave, what's noble. 
 Let's do it after the high Roman fashion. 
 And make death proud to take us. Come, away ; 
 This case of that huge spirit now is cold. 
 Ah, women, women ! come ; we have uo friend 
 But resolution, and the briefest end. 
 
 [Eieunt; those above bearing off' Antony's body. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 G97 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Caesar's Camp before Alexandria. 
 
 £nter C/F-sar, Agrippa. Dolabeli.a, ^Iecenas, 
 
 Gali.us, PiiOcui.ETUs, and otliers. 
 Cirs. Go to him, Dolabella. bid him yield j 
 Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks us by 
 The pauses that he makes. 
 
 Dot. Caisar, I shall. [Eiu Dolabella. 
 
 Enter Dfrcf-tas, with the sword o/" Antony. 
 Ctfi-.Whereforeisthaf? and whatart thou, thatdar'st 
 Appear thus to us ? 
 
 Der. I am call'd Dercetas ; 
 
 IVIark Antony T serv'd, who best was worthy 
 Best to be serv'd : whilst he stood up, and spoke, 
 He was my master : and I wore my life. 
 To spend upon his haters : If thou plcise 
 I'otake me to thee, as I was to him 
 1 'II be to Cssar ; if thou pleasest not, 
 I yieii thee up my life. 
 
 C<ES. What is 't thou say'st t 
 
 Der. I say, Cffisar, Antony is dead. 
 
 Citi. The breaking of so great a thing- should make 
 A greater crack: The round world should have shook 
 Lions into civil streets. 
 
 And citizens to their dens :— The death of Antony 
 Is not a single doom ; in the name lay 
 A moiety of the world. 
 
 Der. He is dead, Cfesar ; 
 
 Not by a public minister of justice. 
 Nor by a hired knife ; but that self hand, 
 ^^'hich writ iiis honour in the acts he did. 
 Hath, with tlie courage which the heart did lend it, 
 Splitted the heart. — Hiis is his sword ; 
 I robb'd his wound of it ; behold it stain'd 
 With his most noble blood. 
 
 Cirs. Look you sad, friends ! 
 
 The gods rebuke me. but it is a tidings 
 To wash the eyes of kings. 
 
 Agr. And strange it is, 
 
 That nature must compel us to lament 
 Our most persisted deeds. 
 
 Mer. His taints and honours 
 
 Waged equal with him. 
 
 y>gr. A rarer spirit never 
 
 Did steer humanity : but you, gods, will give us 
 Some faults to make us men. Cfosar is touch'd. 
 
 Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set before him. 
 He needs must see himself. 
 
 Cus. Antony ! 
 
 I have follow'd thee to this ; — But we do lance 
 Diseases in our bodies : 1 must perforce 
 Have shewn to thee such a declining day. 
 Or look on thine ; we could not stall together 
 In the whole world : But yet let me lanient, 
 \Vith tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, 
 That thou, my brother, my competitor 
 In top of all design, my mate in empire. 
 Friend and companion in the front of war. 
 The arm of mine own body, and the heart 
 AVhere mine his thoughts did kindle,— that our stars 
 XJnreconciliable, should divide 
 Our equalness to this. — Hear me, good friends, — 
 But I will tell you at some meeter season ; 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 The business of this man looks out of him. 
 We'll hear him what he says. — Whence are you ? 
 
 '^^f "'• •■^ poor F^yptian yet. The queen my mistress, 
 Confin'd in all she has, her monument, 
 Of thy intents desires instruction ; 
 That she preparedly may frame herself 
 To the way she's forced to. 
 
 CiFs. Bid her have good heart ; 
 
 She soon shall know of us, by some of ours. 
 How honourable and how kindly we 
 Determine for her ; for Ccesar cannot live 
 To be ungentle. 
 
 Mess. So the gods preserve thee ! [Exit, 
 
 C(£s. Come hither. Proculeius ; Go, and say. 
 We purpose her no shame : give her what comforts 
 The quality of her passion shall require : 
 Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke 
 She do defeat us : for her life in Rome 
 Would be eternal in our triumph : Go, 
 And, with your speediest, bring us what she says, 
 .And how you find of her. 
 
 Pro. Cssar, I shall. [Eiit Proculfius. 
 
 Ctes. Gallus, go you along. — Where's Dolabella, 
 To second Proculeius 1 [Eiit Gallvs. 
 
 Agr. Mec. Dolabella ! 
 
 Ctrs. Let him alone, for I remember now 
 How he's employed ; he shall in time be ready. 
 Go with me to my tent : where vou shall see 
 How hardly I was diawn into this war ; 
 How calm and gentle I proceeded still 
 In all my writings ; Go with me, and see 
 \\ hat I can shew in this. [Eieiint, 
 
 SCENE II. — Alexandria. A Room in the Monument. 
 Enter Cleopatra, Char.mian, nud Iras. 
 Cleo. My desolation does begin to make 
 A better life : 'Tis paltry to be Csesar ; 
 Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave, 
 A minister of her will ; And it is great 
 To do that thing that ends all other deeds ; 
 A\ hich shackles accidents, and bolts up chano-e ; 
 Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung, 
 The beggar's nurse and Casar's. 
 
 Enter, to the gates of the Monument, Pnocrir.Lius, 
 Gallus, and Soldiers. 
 
 Pro. C»sar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt; 
 And bids thee study on what fair demands' 
 Thou mean'st to have him grant thee. 
 
 Cleo. [Within.] What's thy name 1 
 
 Pro. My name is Proculeius. 
 
 Cleo. [iri(/„«.] Antony 
 
 Did tell me of you, bade me trust you ; but 
 I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd. 
 That have no use for trusting. If your master 
 Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him. 
 That majesty, to keep decorum, must 
 No less beg than a kingdom : if he please 
 To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son, 
 He gives me so much of mine own, as 1 
 Will kneel to him with tlianks. 
 
 "'"• Be of good cheer ; 
 
 \ ou are fallen into a princely hand, fear nothing : 
 ]\Iake your full reference freely to my lord. 
 Who is so full of grace, that it flows over 
 On all that need : Let me report to him 
 Your sfeet dependancy ■. and you shall find 
 A conqueror, that will pray in aid for kindness, 
 \\ here he for grace is kneel d to. 
 
 Clo. [Vithin.] Pray you, tell him 
 
 I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him 
 The greatness he has got. I hourly learn 
 A doctrine of obedience ; and would gladly 
 Look him i'the face. 
 
 Pi'"- This I'll report, dear lady. 
 
 Have comfort • for, I know, your plight is pitied 
 Of him that caus'd it. 
 
 Gal. You see how easily she may be surpriz'd ; 
 [Hrie Puocui.Lics, and tuo if the Guard, ascenrl 
 the Monument by a ladder placed against a window, 
 
693 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 
 ffuf fcfiris^ aescfnded, eaae behind Clxopatxjl. 
 Spme cf th£ Guard vnhar end 9pen the gala. 
 Guard ber til! Cssn cmDe. 
 
 \To PEOcrLtirf mwi :he Guard. Erit Gt.ti.Ti. 
 
 Jr:a- R-ova] queea ! 
 
 Char. O Cleopatra ! thoo art taken, queen ! — 
 
 CZeo. Quiciu quick, gt>od hands. [i>rfli««»«^gjer. 
 
 Pro. Hold, wonhy lady, hold: [.Sct:^ jrdisanuio-. 
 Do not 3'cuTself such 'zroDg, irbo are in tbis 
 Ee!ievd, bnl not betray'd. 
 
 Cie.i. " What, of deaih too 
 
 TLai jids onr dogs of hmgni^h ? 
 
 Pro. Cleopatra, 
 
 Do not abcse tot master's bounty, by 
 The -.mdoiiig of yourself: let the world see 
 His nobleness well acted, which your death 
 Wm nevei let come forth. 
 
 Cieo. Where art tbon, death ? 
 
 Co:3je hither, come ! come, come, and take a queeo 
 Worth many babes and beggars ! 
 
 Pro. O, temperance, hdy ! 
 
 Cie«. Sir, I will eat no meat. 111 not drink, sir ; 
 If idle talk will once be necessary, 
 111 not sleep neither ■ This mortal bonse 111 njia. 
 Do Cesar what he can. Know, sir, thai I 
 Will not wait tnnkm'd at ycmr master's cotut ; 
 Xor OQce be ctiastis'd with the sober eye 
 Of dull Ocia^'ia. Shall they hoist me up, 
 And shew me to the shoutmi* varietry 
 Of censuring Kome ? Raitiw a <ii*xb in Eaypt 
 i ■_ , - - ' : .. —, .- -. ... ■ j.^c" mud 
 
 Jr.'- ^ ,. — i .jc Up iSL ciiains ! 
 
 f ■£. Yon do &tiii^ 
 
 Th&sA thou^ts of horror farther dan you shall 
 Fiad cause in Cssar 
 
 EmUr D01.ABELI..A. 
 
 Dti. Procaleiiu, 
 
 What thou hast done diy mafjer Casar knows. 
 And he haih ten: fo: th&e : as for ^e queea, 
 1 u '.aJLe her to mv ruard. 
 
 prp. ' ' So, Ddabella, ' 
 
 It shall content me best : be festie to her. — 
 To Csiar I will speak wnal yo» shall fieate. 
 If \ oull employ mt to him. [To CufTini. 
 
 Cko. Say, I v ouid die. [Ennoo Peo- oni Sold, 
 
 Dot Most not»it einp.'esE, yoo ka*e beazd s<^ me ! 
 
 Ciee. 1 cannot ttH 
 
 Did. Assuredly. Toe law ate. 
 
 Clef. Xo matter, sir, what 1 ha*e beaii, or known. 
 You laugh, wneu boys, or wumeB, leU l^ear dreams; 
 Is't not TOUT trick 7 
 
 Vol. ' I na^retaad aot. 
 
 CietuI ireaa'A, tbere was as e tp ejor Aatoaj ; — 
 O, sndi aaM^er deep, that I miglii see 
 Dot rack aool^ei'maa ! 
 
 ItoL IS St mght p ltm^n e, — 
 
 CJ!!^ Hw fu>e was as the keareas ; and therein stiwi 
 >oa ; wteti kept their eeane,a9dlighi«d 
 the earth. 
 
 Most wnju gB «ie»*io», — 
 
 C.«. His legs hesnid the oceaa : Jus r«ar d sum 
 Crested the woM: hit »oice wa? prcj^nied 
 Ai all ti<e tuned spheres, and ■ -5 ; 
 
 Ijrri wbeo he aieaBt 1* quail c '.<rb, 
 
 :2]|£m IhsxMler. i 'ji i^ib uuuonr, 
 ■j wiater ia't; u antoaa 'bnc. 
 '^ _^ . ... ■ e TfiftTtr hv Tvst.'jii.v : His d^jgfais 
 ■W t:» l!v>j -. ^«ck ahore 
 
 Tne eiemtL: --. -- - •^ 
 
 Wali'd crowns, and crownets - realms and W.zzii 
 
 As plates dropp'd frtsn his pocket. [were 
 
 Uo/. Cleopatra,— 
 
 Cleo. Think you, there was, or might be, stich amaq 
 As this I dream'd of 1 
 
 DoL Gentle madam, no. 
 
 CUo. Yon lie, np to the hearing of the gods. ■ 
 But, if there be, or n er were one such. 
 It's past the size of dreaming : Nature wants stnfl 
 To vie strange forms with tancy ; yet, to imagine 
 .\n Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy, 
 Coademning sh^ows quite. 
 
 Dol. Hear me, good madaE'. ; 
 
 Your loss is as yourself, great ; and you bear it 
 As answering to the weight: 'Would I might nerer 
 Oertake pursu'd success, but I do Seel, 
 By the rebound of yours, a grief that shoots 
 31 T very heart at root. 
 
 Cleo. I thank yon, cr. 
 
 Know you. what Casar means to do with me f 
 
 Dot. I aru loath to tell you what I would yon knew, 
 
 Cleo. Say, pray you, sir, — 
 
 DoU Though be be hoBOBiahle, — 
 
 Cleo. Hell lead me then in triumph ? 
 
 DoL lladam, be will ; 
 
 I know it. 
 
 Within. Make way &ere, — Cssar. 
 
 Enter CisjsE, GAttrs, Peocri-rrrs, Mecxs^as, 
 SzxEtTcus, aad Attendants. 
 
 Cef. Which is the qtieeo 
 
 Of Egypt! 
 
 Del. Tis the emperor, mai^ani [CLZor.sTCA hnuU. 
 
 Crt. Arise, 
 
 You shall not kned : 
 
 I pray you, rise ; rise, Egypt. 
 
 CUoI Sr, the gods 
 
 Will have it thus ; my master and my lord 
 I mast obey. 
 
 Ca Take to yon ito hard thoughts : 
 
 The lectml <4 what injuries you did at, 
 ThoBgh written in our flesh, we shall remember 
 As tusgs bat done by chance. 
 
 Clee. Sole sir 0' the world, 
 
 I caimot yrojfxi-jime own carue so well 
 To make it clear ; but do confess, I have 
 Been ladea with like frailties, which before 
 Have often diam'd our sex. 
 
 Cc-c Cleopatra, know, 
 
 V,\- .. : „---t. .-•i itier than enforce : 
 i: - :' to our intent ^., 
 
 . are most gentle,) yon shall Bad 
 A bcnei«t ui tiue cXMLnge ; but if you seek 
 To Uv on me a cruejtv. by taking 
 .A:. ■ ' . -. ■ -jurseK 
 
 C . -Idren 
 
 I w ..-«.. _; _.-.,_ .... . -. ^ ,_ , ;:,esB from. 
 
 If thereon yon rely. 1 il tajte my leave. [and we 
 
 0«e. And may, liiroagh all the world : 'tis yours ^ 
 Yotir 'scutcheons, aod your signs of conquest shall 
 H^ng in what place you plea.14:. Here, my good lord. 
 
 C«». You '^--'- '-^ "^e in all for CltTopatia. 
 
 Clee. This . money, piate, and jewels, 
 
 I am poetess 1 s>c-thr nloed; 
 
 Not petty thiBgs admined. — Where 't Seleaevs ? 
 
 iel Here, maiam. 
 
 Cleo. THi -%r: lethimqKafc,BylaR2. 
 
 t'poaUsaei 'i reserr'd 
 
 To myseu Boui^g. . .-.'^ the truth, Seleitevs. 
 
 SeL Madam, 
 I had rather seel tBf fips, then, to my peril. 
 Speak that which is aoL 
 
 Cleo. Whahavtl kept had 1 
 
ACT V -SCENE II. 
 
 699 
 
 Srf. Eoonsli to purchase whal Toa hare made InoTra. 
 
 L\ci. N»y. blush not, Cleopaoa : 1 zpprote 
 Yoar wiiiiom in the deed. 
 
 Ci«. See. C«sar! O. behoM, 
 
 How pomp is follow "J ! miae will aow be yours ; 
 And, sbould we shift estite^, youre would be miue. 
 The ingratitude oi this Seleucus does 
 Even make aie wild : O slave, of no mote trast 
 Thau lore that s hir"d ! — What, goest thou back ' 
 
 thou shait 
 Oo back, 1 warrant thee ; I "U catch thiiK eyes, 
 fhoujh they had wings : Sbvie. soul-less villain, dog! 
 
 rateiy ba]>e '. 
 
 Crfs. ' Good queea. let us entreat vou. 
 
 Ci^o. O Cssar, what a wounding shame is this ; 
 Thi chsaiiuj here to visit me, 
 
 Dc :: ot thy loiuliness 
 
 To 1— .- — i-i. that mine own servant should 
 Parcel the sum of my disgraces by 
 Additioa of his envy ! Say. good Caesar, 
 That 1 some lady tndes have reserv"d, 
 Inimoment tov's, things of such dignity 
 As we greet modern friends wuhai ; and say. 
 Some aoijier token I have kept apart 
 For Livia. and Octavia. to induce 
 Their niediation ; must 1 be unfolded 
 With one that I have bred l The gods ! It smites me 
 Beneath the fall I have. Pr'ythee. go hence ; 
 Or 1 shall shew the cinders of my spirits [Tj Selsu. 
 Through the ashes of my chance : — Wert thou a man. 
 Thou wouldst have men;y on me. 
 
 Cxs. Forbear, Seleucus, [£ric SELErcrs. 
 
 CUo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, are mis- 
 For things that others do > and.when we fall, [thought 
 We answer others' merits in our name. 
 Are therefore to be pitied, 
 
 CVs. Cleopatra. 
 
 >iot what Tou have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd. 
 Put »^ i" the roll of conquest : still be it yours. 
 Bestow it at your pleasure ; and believe, 
 Ca&sar's no mervhant, to make prize with you 
 Of things that merchants sold. Thereibre be cheer"d ; 
 Maxe no: vour thouzh'.syourprisonsi no, dear queen. 
 For we intend so to »i:spose you, as 
 Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep 
 Our care and pity is so much upon you. 
 That we remain your friend ; .\Qd so adteo. 
 
 Cuo My master, and my lord ! 
 
 C«s,Notso: -\dieu, [^Exeunt C xsa^, and his Trvin, 
 
 Cm-, He words me. girls, he words me. that I should 
 
 Be noble to myself: but bark thee. I'harmian. [not 
 
 [Itfcisyers CaABHiAs. 
 
 Irat. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done. 
 And we are for the dark. 
 
 LUii. Hie thee again: 
 
 1 have spoke already, anj it is provided ; 
 Go, put it to the ha^te. 
 
 C»ar. .Madam. I will. 
 
 R*-^Kler Dot_i«su_i, 
 
 IW. Where is the queen T 
 
 Ckar. Behoui, sir. [Ejif CsMisUiN. 
 
 Clto. Dolabella ! 
 
 ZX'i. Madam, is thereto sworn by your command. 
 Which my love makes reli^on to obey, 
 4 tell you this : C»"sar through Syria 
 Intends his journey ; and. within three days. 
 You with your children will he send before : 
 Make your best use of this : 1 hive perform"*! 
 Your pleasure, and mv promise. 
 
 Cii^k. DoIabeUa. 
 
 1 ihall ranaiu your debtor. 
 
 Xow, 
 
 Dirf. I TOUT semst. 
 
 .\dieu. good queen ; I must attend on Cjasar. 
 
 Cleo. Farewell, and thinis. [Er;t Dol.] 
 Iras, what think'st thou ? 
 Thou, an Egy-ptian puppet, shilt be sbswa 
 la Rome, as well as I : me<:hanic slaves 
 ^•\ .'h ^reasT aprons, rules, and hammers, shall 
 l ■:^::"t us to the view ; in their thick breaths. 
 Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclonded. 
 And forc'd to drink their vapour. 
 
 Ira*. The gods forbid! 
 
 CUo. Xay, 'tis most cerc^n, Iras : Saucy lictors 
 Will catch at us, like strumpets ; and scald rhyaeis 
 Ballad us out o' tone : the quick comedians 
 Extemporally will stage us, aiai present 
 Our Aleia:. - s ; .\ntoay 
 
 Shall be b- ^rn forth, and I shall see 
 
 Some squei^ _ - , i"ja boy my greatness 
 1° the posture of a whore. 
 
 Irai. O the good gods '. 
 
 Cteo. XaT. that is certain. 
 
 Incs. I if never see it : for. I am sue, mj B*3s 
 Are stronger than mine eyes. 
 
 Cii». ' Why. that "s the way 
 
 To fool their preparation, and to conquer 
 Their most absurd intents. — Now, Charmian * — 
 
 £«£«• Charxian, 
 Shew me, my women, like a queen ; — Go fetch 
 Mr best attires ; — I am again for Cydnus, 
 To meet M_" V \ • ; — Sirrah, Iras, go. — 
 Xow, nob\ we'll despatch indeed; 
 
 And, when- ■ ,.;ethischare,TUgiveihee leave 
 
 , To plav till dooms-aay. — Bring our crown and all. 
 \^Tieretore 's this noise ? [Exit 1 kas. A aotse iLitkin, 
 farm- <■* i^tft* Guard. 
 
 Guard. Here is a rural fellow. 
 
 That will not be denied your highiiess' presence ; 
 He brin^ you ngs. 
 
 CJwL Let hia coma iiu How poor an instrument 
 
 [£A:r GuaiiL 
 May do a Bobie deed ! Iw bnags ae Ubertr. 
 My lesohitioB's plac'd, and 1 have nothing 
 Of woman ia me : Now from head to foot 
 I am narble-coastant : bow the lieetiag mooa 
 No {Janet is af ainOk 
 
 Se-^nt9r Guard, vHh a Clovrn irti«g»^ <i Stts&vt. 
 
 iaittrni. This is dM i&aa, 
 
 CitiK .\void. and leave him. [£rit Guanl. 
 
 Hast thou the pretty worm of Nihts there. 
 That kills and pains not '. 
 
 CJiMnt. Truly I have him : but I vrould not be the 
 party that should desire you to touch him, for his 
 biting is inuoortal : those, that do die of it, do sehiom 
 or nerer recover. 
 
 0«>. Remember St thou anv that have died oe 't ! 
 
 Ciofc-ji. Very many, men arwi women too. 1 heard 
 
 of one ,^f thetn rc' !^^n-r*r than yesterday: a very honest 
 
 .' given to lie ; as a wosuan 
 
 le way of honesty : how she 
 
 ■ -.-oin she telt, — Truly, 
 
 : o' the worm : But he 
 
 s.iy, shall never be saved 
 
 i>y half tnat tney oo : Bat this is iB06t fallible, tite 
 
 wo™ 's an odd worm. 
 
 Ctn.'. Get thee hence ; fereweH 
 
 Citwn. I V* i>h vou all iov of the irorm. 
 
 Cijo. Farewell' f Clown srtt dM-yi. thg ia^ 
 
 CUm. You must think this, look yon. that tha 
 worm will do his kind. 
 
 C4w. .\y, av ; farewell. 
 
 Ctnm. Look you, the wons is not to b« tncsted. 
 
700 
 
 ANTONY AND- CLEOPATRA. 
 
 but in ihe Veepiiig of wise people : for, indeed, there 
 is no goodness in the worm, 
 
 CLeo. Take thou no care ; it shall be heeded. 
 
 Clown, Very good : give it nothing, I pray you, for 
 it is not worth the feeding. 
 
 Cko. Will it eat me? 
 
 Chivn. Vou must not think I am so simple, but I 
 Icnow the devil himself will not eat a woman: I know, 
 that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress 
 her not. But, truly, these same whoreson devils do 
 the gods great hann in their women; for in every ten 
 that they make, the devils mar five. 
 
 Cteii. Well, get thee gone : farewell. 
 
 Clown. Yes, forsooth ; I wish you joy of the worm. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Iras, with a robe, crown^ S^c. 
 
 Clen. Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have 
 Immortal longings in me : Now no more 
 The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip : — 
 Vare, yare, good Iras ; quick. — Methinks, I hear 
 Antony call ; I see him rouse himself 
 To praise my noble aqt ; 1 hear him mock 
 The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men 
 To excuse their after wrath : Husband, I come : 
 Now to that name my courage prove my title ' 
 I am fire, and air ; my other elements 
 I give to baser life.— So, — have you done 1 
 Come tlien, and take the last warmth of my lips. 
 Farewell, kind Charmian ; — Iras, long farewell. 
 
 [A'f'sscs them. Ihas falls and dies. 
 Have I the aspick in my lips ? Dost fall I 
 If thou and nature can so gently part, 
 ■The stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, 
 ■Which hurts, and is desir'd. Dost thou lie still t 
 If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world 
 It is not worth leave-taking. 
 
 Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that I may 
 The gods themselves do weep ! [say, 
 
 Cleo. This proves me base : 
 
 If she first meet the curled Antony, 
 He '11 make demand of her ; and spend that kiss. 
 Which is my heaven to have. Come, mortal wretch, 
 [Til the asp, uhich she ajiplies to her breast. 
 With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate 
 Of life at once untie : poor vunemous fool. 
 Be angry, and despatch. O, could'st thou speak! 
 That 1 might hear thee call great Csesar, ass 
 Unpolicied ! 
 
 Char. O eastern star! 
 
 Cleo. Peace, peace ! 
 
 Dost thou not see my baby at my breast. 
 That sucks the nurse asleep 1 
 
 Char. O, break! O, break! 
 
 Cleo, As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle, — 
 
 Antony ! — Nay, I will take thee too ; — 
 
 [Appliiing another asp to her arm. 
 What should I stay — [Falls on a bed, and dies. 
 
 Char. In this wide world? — So, fare thee well. — 
 Now boast thee, death ! in thy possession lies 
 A lass unparallel'd. — Downy wmdows, close; 
 And golden Phcebus never be beheld 
 Of eyes again so royal ! Your crown's awry ; 
 
 1 '11 mend it, and then play. 
 
 Jinter t/je Guard, rushing in, 
 1 Guard. Where is the queen ? 
 Char. Speak softly, wake her not. 
 
 1 Guard, CaBsar hath sent — 
 
 Char, Too slow a messenger. [.4]}plies the asp. 
 0, come ; apace, despatch : I partly feel thee. 
 iGuard. Approach, ho! All 's not well : Cffisar's 
 beguil'd. [call him. 
 
 2 Guard, There's Dolabella sent from Ca:sar ; — 
 
 1 Guard. Wliat work is here? — Charmian, is this 
 
 well done ? 
 Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess 
 Descended of so many royal kings. 
 Ah, soldier ! [Dies. 
 
 Enter Dolabella. 
 Dol. How goes it here ? 
 
 2 Guard. All dead. 
 
 Dot. Cassar, thy thoughts 
 
 Touch their effects in this : Thyself art coming 
 To see perform'd the dreaded act, which thou 
 So sought' St to hinder. 
 
 Within. A way there, a way for Caesar. 
 
 Enter C.'Esar, and Attendants. 
 Vol. O, sir, you are too sure an augurer ; 
 That yoi. did fear, is done. 
 
 Cxs. Bravest at the last : 
 
 She levell'd at our purposes, and being royal. 
 Took her own w'ay. — The manner of their deaths? 
 I do not see them bleed. 
 
 Dot. Who was last with them ? 
 
 1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought hei 
 This was his basket. [figs 
 
 Cffs. Poison'd then. 
 
 1 Guard. O Csesar, 
 
 This Charmian lived but now ; she stood, and spake : 
 I found her trimming up the diadem 
 On her dead mistress ; tremblingly she stood, 
 And on the sudden dropp'd. 
 
 C{rs. O noble weakness ! — 
 
 If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear 
 By external swelling: but she looks like sleep. 
 As she would catch another Antony 
 In her strong toil of grace. 
 
 Dol. Here, on her breast. 
 
 There is a vent of blood, and something blown : 
 The like is on her arm. [leaves 
 
 1 Guard. This is an aspick's trail : and these fig- 
 Have slime upon them, such as the aspick leaves 
 Upon the caves of Nile. 
 
 CiTS. IMost probable, 
 
 That so she died; for her physician tells me, 
 She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite 
 Of easy ways to die. — Take up her bed ; 
 And bear her women from the monument : — 
 She shall be buried by her .\ntony : 
 No grave upon the earth sliall clip in it 
 .•V pair so famous. High events as these 
 Strike those that make them ; and their story is 
 No less in pity, than his glory, which 
 Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall. 
 In solemn show, attend this funeral ; 
 And then to Rome. — Come, Dolabella, see 
 High order in this great solemnity. [Exeunt. 
 
 This play keeps cariosity always busy, and Ihe passions al- 
 ways interested. 1 be continual ImiTV ot the action, the variety 
 of iiiciilents. and the qmrk succession of one j.ersonage to an- 
 other, call the mind forward without intermission from the first 
 act to the last. But the power of deliBhtini; is derived prin- 
 cipallv from the frequent chnnRcs ot the scene, for, except 
 the leminine arts, some of which are too low. which distin- 
 cuish Cleopatra, no character is very stronb'ly discriminated. 
 Upton, who did not easily miss what he desired to fiud, has 
 
 discovered that the Lanftuase of -Antony is. with preat skill aud^ 
 Itarmo;;, made pompons and super!', according to his real l^rao 
 lice. But I think his diction not ^!ls^ill^-^isha^>le from that of 
 others : the must tumid speech in the play is that which Ctesar 
 makes to Octavia. 
 
 I he events, of which the princip;il nre described according to 
 history, are produced without any art of conoexioa or care of 
 disposition.— J OUNSUN. 
 
CYMBELINE. 
 
 This exquisite and romaDlic drama was not entered in the Sta- 
 tiontrs* books, nor primed, till 1653. It was probably written 
 io about 1609. J he plot is in a great degree taken from the 
 ICinih No%el of the Second Da.y of the Decameron of Boc- 
 cac-io, of whith a def'jruicd and inierpulated translation had 
 appeared so ?arly a* 1518 ; and an inntation. in an old story- 
 book. entilleJ Westuatd for 6meiti, was printed in 1603. 
 
 Cyiiit>eUne, ihe kiug from whom the play takes its title, began 
 
 his reign, according to ITolioshed, in the nineteenth year of 
 the reign of Augustus Ciesar ; and the play commences in or 
 about the t went v-to'irth year of Cymbeline's reign, which was 
 the forty-secoiid year of the reign of Augustus, and tne six- 
 teenth of the Christinn cera ; notwithstanding which, ^hak- 
 speare has peopled Kome with modem Italians ; Philario, 
 iachimo. &c. Cymbeline is said to have reigned thirty-five 
 years, leaving at his death two sons, GuideriusandArvipagus 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 CvMBEt.iNE, King of Britain. 
 Cloies, son to the Queen bij a former husband. 
 l.tOii.\TvsVosTHVMVs,a genttemanyhitsbandtolmo^en. 
 Belarius, a bdiiished lord^ disguised under the name 
 
 of Morgan. 
 „ ( sons In Cymbeline, disguised under the 
 
 UuiDEBius, 1 ^_^^^ . Pol (jore and Cadwal, sup- 
 Arv.ragus,^ p„Ws..«s(oBelarius. 
 PHiL*nio,/r<e«d(r.Posthumus, J Haiians. 
 Iachimo. (ncfid to rhiiano, S 
 
 A French Gentleman, friend to Philario. 
 Caius Ltrcius, general of the Roman Forces. 
 A Roman Captain. 
 Two British Captains. 
 PiSAMO, servant to Posthumus. 
 CoRNEi.it's, a phusician* 
 Two Gentlemen, 
 Two Gaolers, 
 
 Queen, wife to CjTnbeline. 
 
 Imogen, daughter to Cymbeline 6y a former qmen* 
 
 Helen, woman to Imogen. 
 
 Lords, Indies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, ApparitionSj 
 a Soothsayer, a Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish Gen- 
 tUmaji, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Mes- 
 * '""sengerSf and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, — sometimes in Britain ; sometimes in Italy. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Britain. 
 
 Tlie Garden behind Cymbeline's Palace. 
 
 Enter Two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Youdonotmeetamanbutfrowns: ourbloods 
 No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers ; 
 Still seem, as does the king's. 
 
 2 Gent, But what's the matter ? 
 
 1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his kingdom, 
 
 whom 
 He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, (a widow, 
 That late he married,) hath referr'd herself 
 Unto a poor, but worthy, gentleman : She's wedded ; 
 Her husband banih'd ; she imprison 'd : all 
 Is, outward sorrot^ ; though, I think, the king 
 Be touch'd at ver}' heart. 
 
 2 Gent. None but the king ? 
 
 1 Gent. He, tha' hath lost her. too : so isthe queen, 
 That most desir'd the match : but not a courtier. 
 Although they wrar their faces to the bent 
 
 Of the king's loo'.s, hath a heart that is not 
 Glad at the thing they scowl at. 
 
 2 Gent. And why so 1 
 
 1 Gent. He tlia hath miss'd the princess, is a thing 
 Too bad for bad report : and he that hath her, 
 
 (I mean, that married her, — alack, good man ! — 
 .Ind therefore banish'd.) is a creature such 
 As, to seek through the regioift of the earth 
 For one his like, tiiere would be something failing 
 In him that should compare. I do not think. 
 So fair an outward, and such stuff within. 
 Endows a man but he. 
 
 2 Gent. You speak him far. 
 
 1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; 
 Crush him together, rather than unfold 
 
 His measure duly. 
 
 2 Gent. What's his name, and birth ? 
 
 1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root : His father 
 Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour, 
 .•Vgainst the Romans, with Cassibelan ; 
 
 But had his titles by Tenantius, whom 
 He serv'd with glory and admir'd success : 
 So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus: 
 And had, besides this gentleman in question. 
 Two other sons. who. in the wars o' the time. 
 Died with their swords in hand ; lor which, their father 
 (Then old and fond of issue.) took such sorrow 
 That he quit being ; and his gentle lady. 
 Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd 
 .is he was born. The king, he takes the babe 
 To his protection ; calls him Posthumus ; 
 Breeds him, ana makes him of his bed-chambei : 
 Puts him to ail the learnings that his time 
 Could make him the receiver of; which he took, 
 .As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd ; and 
 In his spring became a harvest: Liv'd in court, 
 ( Which rare it is to do,) most prais'd, most lov'd ; 
 A sample to the youngest ; to the more mature, 
 A glass that feated them ; and to the graver, 
 .\ child that guided dotards : to his mistress. 
 For whom he now is banish'd. — her own price 
 Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue ; 
 By her election may be truly read. 
 What kind of man he is. 
 
 2 Gent. I honour him 
 
 Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me. 
 Is she sole child to the king ? 
 
 1 ("'<"''■ His only child. 
 He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearimr, 
 i\Iark it.) the eldest of them at three years old." 
 
 r the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery 
 Were stolen ; and to this hour no guess in knowledge 
 Which way they went. 
 
 2 Gent. How long is this ago ? 
 
 1 Gent. Some twenty years. 
 
 2 Gent. That a king's children should be so con- 
 So slackly guarded ! And the search so slow, [veyed ! 
 That could not trace them ! 
 
 1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'lis strange, 
 Or that the negligence may Veil be langh'd at. 
 Yet is it true, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. I do well believe you. 
 
 1 Ge)it. ^^'e must forbear: Here comes the queen, 
 and princess, [£ieuii[. 
 
7C2 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 SCEXK II The same. 
 
 Filter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen. 
 
 Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, 
 Aftui ihe slander of most step-mothers, [daughter, 
 Evil-ey'd unto you : you are my prisoner, but 
 ^'our jraoler shall deliver vou the keys 
 That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthiimus, 
 So soon as 1 can win the oflended king, 
 I will be known your advocate : marry, vet 
 The fire of rage is ia him ; and 'twere good. 
 You lean'dunto his sentence, with what patience 
 Your wisdom may inform you. 
 
 Post. Please your highness, 
 
 I will from hence today. 
 
 Queen. You know the peril : — 
 
 I'll fetch a turn aboit the garden, pitying 
 The pangs of barr'd afi'ections ; though the king 
 Hath charg'd you should not speak together. 
 
 l"io. O [Eiit Queen. 
 
 Dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant 
 Can tickle where she wounds ! — My dearest husband, 
 I something fear my father's wrath ; but nothing, 
 (Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what 
 His rage can do on me ; You must be gone ; 
 And I shall here abide the hourly shot 
 Of angry eyes ; not comforted to live, 
 But that there is this jewel in the world. 
 That I may see again. 
 
 Fust. My queen ! my mistress ! 
 O, lady, weep no more : lest I give cause 
 To be suspected of more tenderness 
 Than doth become a man ! I will remain 
 The loyal'st husband that did e're plight troth. 
 My residence in Rome, at one Philario's ; 
 "NVlio to my father was a friend, to me 
 Known but by letter ; thither write, my queen, 
 And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, 
 Though ink be made of gall. 
 
 lie-enter Queen. 
 
 Queen. Be brief, I pray you : 
 
 If the king come, I shall incur I know not 
 How much of his displeasure t Yet I'll move him 
 To walk this way : 1 never do him wrong, [Aside. 
 But he does buy my injuries, to be friends ; 
 Pays dear for my offences. [F.xic. 
 
 fi'st. Should we be taking leave 
 
 As long a tenn as yet we have to live. 
 The loathness to depart w ould grow : Adieu ! 
 
 Inw. Nay, stay a little: 
 Were you but riding fortli to air yourself. 
 Such parting were too petty. Look here, love ; 
 This diamond was my inotlier's ; take it, heart ; 
 But keep it till you woo another wife. 
 When Imogen is dead. 
 
 Post. Howl how! another? — ■ 
 You gentle gods, give me but this I have. 
 And sear up my embracenients from a next 
 With bonds of death ! — Remain thou here 
 
 [Putting on the ring. 
 While sense can keep it on ! And sweetest, fairest. 
 As I my poor self did exchange for you, 
 To your so infinite loss ; so ia our trifles 
 I still win of you : For my sake, wear this ; 
 It is a manacle of love ; I'll place it 
 Upon this fairest prisoner. 
 
 [Putting a bracelet on her arm 
 
 7nw. I O, the gods ! 
 
 When shall we see again ? 
 
 A'ntcr Cy.mbei.ine d7!</ Lords. 
 
 Post. Alack, the king ! 
 
 Cum. Thou basest thing, avoid I hence, from my 
 If, after thiscommand, thou fraught the court [sight! 
 With thy unworthiness, thou diest : Away ! 
 Thou art poison to my blood. 
 
 Post. The gods protect you ! 
 
 And bless the good remainders of the court ! 
 1 am gone. [Eiit. 
 
 lino. There cannot be a pinch in death 
 
 I\Iore sharp than this is. 
 
 Cum. O disloyal thing, 
 
 That should'st repair my youth ; thou heapest many 
 A year's age on me I 
 
 Imo. I beseech you, sir, 
 
 Harm not yourself with y/)ur vexation ; I 
 Am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more rare 
 Subdues all pangs, all fears. 
 
 Cum. Past grace J obedience 1 
 
 hno. Past hope, end in despair ; that way, past 
 grace. [queen ! 
 
 Cum. That might'st have had the sole son of my 
 
 luw. O bless'd, that I might not ! I chose an eagle, 
 And did avoid a puttock. 
 
 Cum. Thou took'st a beggar ; would'st have made 
 A seat for baseness. [my throne 
 
 Imo. No ; I rather added 
 
 A lustre to it. 
 
 Ctfm. O thou vile one ! 
 
 Imn. Sir, 
 
 It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus : 
 You bred him as my playfellow ; and he is 
 A man, worth any woman ; overbuys me 
 Almost the sum he pays. 
 
 Cum. What !— art thou mad ? 
 
 Imo. Almost, sir: Heaven restore me ! — 'Would I 
 A neat-herd's daughter ! and my Leonalus [were 
 Our neighbour shepherd's son ! 
 
 Re-enter Queen. 
 
 Cym. Thou foolish thing!— 
 
 They were again together : you have done 
 
 [To the Queen. 
 Not after our command. Away with her, 
 .^nd pen her up. 
 
 Queen. 'Beseech your patience : — Peace, 
 Dear lady daughter, peace ; — Sweet sovereign. 
 Leave us to ourselves ; and make yourself some cora- 
 Out of your best advice. [fort 
 
 Cum. Nay, let her languish 
 
 A drop of blood a day ; and, being aged. 
 Die of this folly I [Exit. 
 
 Enter Pisanio, 
 
 Queen. Fye I — you must give way : 
 
 Here is your servant. — How now, sirl What news ? 
 
 Pis. Jly lord your son drew on my master. 
 
 Queen. Ha ! 
 
 No harm, I trust, is done ? 
 
 Pis. There might have been. 
 
 But that my master rather play'd than fought. 
 And had no help of anger ; they were parted 
 By gentlemen at hand. 
 
 Queen. I am very glad on't. 
 
 Inw. Your son's my father's I'riend ; he takes his 
 To draw upon an exile ! — O brave sir ! — [part. — 
 I would they were in Afric both together; 
 Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 
 The goer back. — Why came you from your master? 
 
 Pis. On his command : He would not suffer me 
 To bring him to the haven : left these notes 
 Of what commands I should be subject to. 
 When it pleas'd you to employ me. 
 
 Queen. This hath been 
 
ACT I.— SCENE V. 
 
 ro3 
 
 Vour faithful servant; I dare lay mine honour, 
 H« will remain so- 
 
 Fis. I humbly thank your highness. 
 
 Queen, Pray, walk a while. 
 
 Into. About some half hour hence, 
 
 I pray you, speak with nie ; you shall, at least, 
 Go see my lord aboard : for this time, leave me. [Ex. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ public Place. 
 Entei- Cloten and Two Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt ; 
 the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacri- 
 fice : Where air comes out, air comes in : there's none 
 abroad so wholesome as that you vent. , 
 
 Clo. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it — 
 Have I hurt himl 
 
 2 Lord. No, faith ; not so much as his patience 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord, Hurt him 1 his body's a passable carcase, 
 if he be uot hurt : it is a tlioroughfare for steel, if it 
 be not hurt. 
 
 t; Lord. His steel was in debt: it went o'the back 
 side the town. [Aside. 
 
 Clo, The villain would not stand me. 
 
 *;; Lord. N o ; but he Hed forward still, toward your 
 face. [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. Stand you ! You have land enough of your 
 own : but he added to your having ; gave you some 
 ground. 
 
 2 Lord, As many inches as you have oceans : Pup- 
 pies '. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. I would, they had not come between us. 
 
 2 Lord, So would I, till you had measured how 
 long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside. 
 
 do. And that she should love this fellow, and re- 
 fuse me ! 
 
 2 Lord. If it be a sin to make a true election, she 
 is damned. [Aside. 
 
 1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and 
 her brain go not together : She's a good sign, but I 
 have seen small reflection of her wit, 
 
 'i Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest the reflec- 
 tion should hurt her. [Aside, 
 
 Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber: 'Would there had 
 been some hurt done ! 
 
 '2 Lord. 1 wish not so ; unless it had been the fall 
 of an ass, which is no great hurt. [Aside. 
 
 Clo. You'll go with us 1 
 
 1 Lord. I'll attend, your lordship. 
 Cio. Nay. come, let's go together. 
 
 2 Lord. Well, my lord, [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Boom in Cymbeline's Palace, 
 Enter Imogen and Pisanio. 
 
 Imo. I would thou giew'st unto tlie shores o'the 
 haven, 
 And question'dst every sail : if he should write, 
 And 1 not have it, 'twere a paper lost. 
 As ofter'd mercy is. What was the last 
 That he spake to thee t 
 
 P'S. 'Twas, His queen, his queen! 
 
 Jmo. Then wav'd his handkerchief! 
 
 Pi'i. And kiss'd it, madam. 
 
 hno. Senseless linen ! happier therein than I ! — 
 And that was all I 
 
 ■^iS" No, madam ; for so long 
 
 As he could make me with this eye or ear 
 Distinguish him from others, he did keep 
 The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, 
 Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind 
 Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on, 
 
 How swift his ship. 
 
 Lno. Thou should'st have made him 
 
 As little as a crow, or less, ere left 
 Jo after eye him. 
 
 Pis. IViadam, so I did. [them, but 
 
 Imn. I would have broke mine eye-strings ; crack'd 
 To look upon him ; till the diminution 
 Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle : 
 Nay. follow'd him, till he had melted from 
 The smallness of a gnat to air ; and then 
 Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. — But, good Pisanio, 
 When shall we hear from him ^ 
 
 Pis. Be assur'd, madam. 
 
 With liis next vantage. 
 
 Lno. 1 did not take my leave of him, but had 
 Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell him, 
 How 1 would think on him, at" certain hours. 
 Such thoughts, and such ; or I could make him swear 
 The shes of Italy should not betiay 
 iNIine interest, and his honour ; or have charg'd him. 
 At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight. 
 To encounter me with orisons, for then 
 I am in heaven for him ; or ere I could 
 Give him that parting kiss, which I had set 
 Betwixt too charming words, comes in my father. 
 And, like the tyrannous breathing of tha north 
 Shakes all our buds from growing. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Ladif. The queen, madam, 
 
 Desires your highness' companj'. 
 
 Lno. Those things I bid you do, get them de- 
 I will attend the queen. [spalch'd. — 
 
 Pis, iMadam, I shall. [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Kome. — An Apartment in Philario's House. 
 Enter Piiilario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, ■ 
 a Dutchman, and a Spaniard. 
 
 Jack. Believe it, sir: I have seen him in Britain: 
 he was then of a crescent note ; expected to prove 
 so worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name 
 of: but I could then have looked on !iim without the 
 help of admiration ; though the catalogue of his en- 
 dowments had been tabled by his side, and I to pe- 
 ruse him by items. 
 
 Phi. You speak of him when he was less furnished, 
 than now he is, with that which makes him both with- 
 out and within. 
 
 French. I have seen him in France : we had very 
 many there, could behold the sun with as firm eyes 
 as he. 
 
 loch. Tins matter of marrying his king's daugh- 
 ter, (wherein he must be weighed rather by her value, 
 than his own.) words him, I doubt not, a great deal 
 from the matter. 
 
 French. And then his banishment : 
 
 lach. Ay. and the approbation of those, that weep 
 this lamentable divorce, under her colours, are won- 
 derfully to extend him ; be it but to fortify her judg- 
 ment, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for 
 taking a beggar without more quality. But how 
 comes it, he is to sojourn with you? How creeps ac- 
 quaintance 1 
 
 Phi. His father and T were soldiers together; to 
 whom I have been often bound for no less than my 
 life :- — 
 
 Enter Posthumus. 
 Here comes the Briton : Let him be so entertained 
 amongst you, as suits, witli gentlemen of your know- 
 ing, to a stranger of his quality. — J beseech you all. 
 
704 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 be better known to this gentleman ; whom I com- 
 mend to you, as a noble tViend ot" mine : How wor- 
 thy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather 
 than story him in his own hearing. 
 
 French. Sir, we have known together m Orleans. 
 
 Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for 
 courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay still. 
 
 French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness : I 
 was glad I did atone my countryman and you; it had 
 been pity, you should have been put together with 
 so mortal a purpose, as then each bore, upon impor- 
 tance of so slight and trivial a nature. 
 
 Post, By your pardon, sir, 1 was then a young tra- 
 veller : rather shunned to go even with what I heard, 
 than in my every action to be guided by others' expe- 
 riences: but, upon my mended judgment, (if 1 offend 
 noc to say it is mended,) my quarrel was not altoge- 
 ther slight, 
 
 French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement 
 of swords ; and by such two, that would, by all like- 
 lil.'ood, have confounded one the other, or have fallen 
 both. 
 
 lach. Can we, with manners, ask what was the 
 difference 1 
 
 French. Safely, I think : 'twas a contention in pub- 
 lic, which may, without contradiction, suffer the re- 
 port. It was much like an argument that fell out last 
 night, where each of us fell in praise of our country 
 mistresses: Tliis gentleman at that time vouching, 
 (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation,) his to he 
 more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant-qualified, 
 and less attemptible, than any the rarest of our ladies 
 in France. 
 
 Juch. That lady is not now living; or this gentle- 
 man's opinion, by this, worn out. 
 
 Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. 
 
 lack. You must not so far prefer her Tore ours of 
 Italy. 
 
 Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France, 
 I would abate her nothing ; though I profess myself 
 her adorer, not her friend. 
 
 Jacii. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand-in- 
 hand t;omparison,) had been something too fair, and 
 too good, for any lady in Britany. If she went be- 
 fore others I have seen, as that diamond of yours out- 
 lustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe 
 she excelled many : but 1 have not seen the most 
 precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. 
 
 Post. I praised her as I rated her : so do I my stone. 
 
 lach. What do you esteem it af! 
 
 Post. More than the world enjoys. 
 
 lach. Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, 
 or she's outprized by a trifle. 
 
 Post. Vou are mistaken : the one may be sold, or 
 given ; if there were wealth enough for the purchase, 
 or merit for the gift : -the other is not a thing for sale, 
 and only the gift of the gods. 
 
 lach. Which the gods have given you ? 
 
 Post. Wiiich, by their graces, I will keep. 
 
 lach. You may wear her in title yours : but, you 
 know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. 
 Your ring may be stolen too : so, of your brace of 
 unprizeable estimations, the one is but frail, and the 
 other casual ; a cunning thief, or a that-way-accom- 
 pHshed courtier, would hazard the winning both of 
 first and last. 
 
 Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished 
 a courtier, to convince the honour of my mistress ; 
 if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. 
 X do nothing doubt, you have store of thieves ; not- 
 withstanding I fear not my ring. 
 
 Phi. Let us leave here, gentlemen. 
 
 Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signJof; 
 I thank him, makes no stranger of me ; we are fami- 
 liar at first. 
 
 lach. With five times so much conversation, 1 
 should get ground of your fair mistress ; make her 
 eo back, even to the vielding; : had 1 admittance and 
 opportunity to iriena. 
 
 Post. No, no. 
 
 Inch. 1 dare, thereupon, pawn the moiety of my 
 estate to your ring; which, in my opinion, o'er-va- 
 lues it something : but I make my wager rather 
 against your confidence, than her reputation : and, 
 to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it 
 against any lady in the world. 
 ^ Post. You are a great deal abused in too bold a 
 persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're 
 worthy of, by your attempt. 
 
 lach. What's that? 
 
 Post. A repulse : Though your attempt, as you call 
 it, deserve more ; a punishment too. 
 
 Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too 
 suddenly ; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, 
 be better acquainted. 
 
 lach, 'Would 1 had put my estate, and my neigh- 
 bour's, on the approbation of what I have spoke. 
 
 Post. What lady would you choose to assail ? 
 
 lach. Yours ; whom in constancy, you tiiink, 
 stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats 
 to your ring, that, commend me to the court where 
 your lady is, with no more advantage than the op- 
 portunity of a second conference, and I will bring 
 from thence that honour of hers, which you imagine 
 so reserved. 
 
 Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it: 
 my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 'tis part of it. 
 
 lach. You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If 
 you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot 
 preserve it from tainting : But, I see you have some 
 religion in you, that you fear. 
 
 Post. This is but a custom in your tongue ; you 
 bear a graver purpose, I liope- 
 
 lach. I am the master of my speeches ; and would 
 undergo what's spoken, 1 swear. 
 
 Post. Will you ? — I shall but lend my diamond 
 till your return : — Let there be covenants drawn be- 
 tween us: My mistress exceeds in goodness the 
 hugeness of your unworthy thinking: 1 dare you to 
 this match : here's my ring. 
 
 Phi. I will have it no lay. 
 
 lach. By the gods it is one : — If I bring you no 
 sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest 
 bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats 
 are yours ; so is your diamond too. If 1 come off, 
 and leave her in such honour as you have trust in, 
 she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are 
 yours : — provided, I have your commendation, for 
 my more free entertainment. 
 
 Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us have ar- 
 ticles betwixt us: — only, thus fir you shall answer. 
 If you make your voyage upon her, and give me di- 
 rectly to understand you have prevail'd, 1 am no fur- 
 ther your enemy, she is not wor' h our debate : if she 
 remain unseduced, (you not making it appear other- 
 wise,) for your ill opinion, and the assault you have 
 made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your 
 sword. 
 
 lach. Your hand ; a covenant : We will have these 
 things set down by lawful counsel, and straight away 
 for Britain ; lest the bargain shnuld catch cold, ami 
 starve : I will fetch my gold, and have our two 
 wagers recorded. 
 
 Post. Ao-reed. [Exeunt Post iomus and Iachimo. 
 
ACT L— SCENE VIT. 
 
 Pray, let 
 l^Eieunt. 
 
 French. Will this hold, think you ? 
 Phi. Signior lachimo will not from it. 
 as follow 'em. 
 
 SCENE ^^. 
 
 Britain. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
 
 Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius. 
 
 Queen, Whiles yet the dew 's on ground, gather 
 those flowers ; 
 Make haste : Who has the note of them ? 
 
 1 Lady. I, madam. 
 
 Queen. Despatch. ^Exeunt Ladies. 
 
 Kovv, master doctor i have you brought those drugs? 
 
 Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay : here they are, 
 madam : [^Presenting a small box. 
 
 But I beseech your grace, (without oftence ; 
 iVIy conscience bids me ask ;) wherefore you have 
 Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds, 
 Which are the movers of a languishing death ; 
 But, lliough slow, deadly 1 
 
 Queen. I do wonder, doctor. 
 
 Thou ask'st me such a question ; Have I not been 
 Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how 
 To make perfumes? distil ? preserve? yea, so, 
 That our great king himself doth woo me oft 
 For my confections ? Having thus far proceeded, 
 (Unless thou think'st me devilish,) is't not meet 
 That I did amplify my judgment in 
 Other conclusions ? I will try the forces 
 Of these thy compounds on such creatures as • 
 We count not worth the hanging, (but none human,) 
 To try the vigour of them, and apply 
 AUayments to their act ; and by them gather 
 Their several virtues, and effects. 
 
 Cor. Your highness 
 
 Shall from this practice but make hard your heart : 
 Besides, the seeing these effects will be 
 Both noisome and infectious. 
 
 Queen. 0, content thee. — 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 
 Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him [Aside. 
 Will I first work : he's for his master, 
 And enemy to my son. — How now, Pisanio? — 
 Doctor, your service for this time is ended ; 
 Take your own way. 
 
 Cor. T do suspect you, madam ; 
 
 But you shall do no harm. [Aside. 
 
 Queen. Haik thee, a word. — [Tn Pisanio. 
 
 Cor. [Aside.] I do not like her. She doth think, 
 she has 
 Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit. 
 And will not trust one of her malice with 
 A drug of such damn'J nature : Those, she has, 
 "Will stupify and dull the sense awhile : 
 Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats, and dogs, 
 Then afterward up higher ; but there is 
 No danger in what show of death it makes. 
 More than the locking up the spirits a time, 
 To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd 
 With a most false effect j and I the truer, 
 So to be false with her. 
 
 Queen. No further service, doctor, 
 
 Cutil I send for thee. 
 
 Cor. 1 humbly take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou 
 think, in time 
 She will not quench ; and let instructions enter 
 Where folly now possesses? Do thou work ; 
 When ihoii shah bring me word, she loves my son, 
 I'll tell thee, on the instant, thou art then 
 
 705 
 
 As great as is thy master : greater ; for 
 His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name 
 Is at last gasp: Return he cannot, nor 
 Continue where he is : to shift his being, 
 Is to exchange one misery with another ; 
 And every day, that comes, comes to decay 
 A day's work in him : What shalt thou expect. 
 To be depender on a thing that leans 1 
 \\'ho cannot be new built ; nor has no friends, 
 
 [Tlie QuEtN drops a box ; Pisanio tahes it up. 
 So much as but to prop him ? — Thou tak'st up 
 Thou know'st not what ; but take it for tt.y labour : 
 It is a thing I made, which hath the king 
 Five times redeem'd from death : I do not know 
 What is more cordial: — Nay, I pr'ythee, take it j 
 It is an earnest of a further good 
 That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how 
 The case stands with her ; do 't, as from thyself. 
 Think what a chance thou changest on ; but think 
 Thou hast thy mistress still ; to boot, my son, 
 ^Vho shall take notice of thee : I'll move the king 
 To any shape of thy preferment, such 
 As thou 'It desire ; and then myself, I chiefly, 
 That set thee on to this desert, am bound 
 To load thy merit richly. Call my women : 
 Think on my words. [Ej if Pi«a.] — A sly and constant 
 Not to be shak'd: the agent for his master; [knave; 
 And the remembrancer of her, to hold 
 The hand fast to her lord. — I have given hira that. 
 Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her 
 Of liegers for her sweet ; and which she, after. 
 Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd 
 
 Re-enter Pisanio and Ladies. 
 
 The taste of too. — So, so ; — well done, well done : 
 The violets, cowslips, and the primroses. 
 Bear to my closet : — Fare thee well, Pisanio ; 
 Think on my words. [E.reimt Queen and Ladies. 
 
 Pis. And shall do : 
 
 But when to my good lord I prove untrue, 
 1 'U choke myself; there's all I '11 do for you. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VII. — Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 Imo. A fatlier cruel, and a step-dame false ; 
 A foolish suitor to a wedded lady. 
 That hath her husband bani^h'd ;— 0, that husband! 
 My supreme crown of grief ! and those repeated 
 Vexations of it ! Had I been thief-stolen. 
 As my two brothers, happy ! but most miserable 
 Is the desire that's glorious : Blessed be those, 
 Ho\y mean soe'er, that have their honest wills. 
 Which seasons comfort. — Who may this be ? Fye ! 
 
 Enter Pisanio and Iachimo. 
 
 Pis, Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome ; 
 Comes from my lord with letters. 
 
 iach. Change you, madam ' 
 
 The worthy Leonatus is in safety. 
 And greets your highness dearly. [Presc/ifs a letter. 
 
 ■''"''• Thanks, good sir : 
 
 You are kindly welcome. 
 
 lach. All of her, that is out of door, most rich ! 
 
 [Aside. 
 If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare. 
 She is alone the Arabian bird ; and 1 
 Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend ! 
 Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! 
 Or, like the Parthian, 1 shall flying fight; 
 Bather, directly fly. 
 
 Imo. [Reads.] He is one of the nobleit note, tP whoa 
 
 aV 
 
70G 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 kindnesses I am most injiniteli/ tied, Bejleet upon him 
 
 accordinglif, as you value your truest Leonatus. 
 
 So far I read aloud : 
 
 But even the very middle of my heart 
 
 Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.— 
 
 You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I 
 
 Have words to bid you ; and shall find it so, 
 
 In all that I can do. 
 
 Inch. Thanks, fairest lady. — 
 
 What ! are men mad '. Hath nature given them eyes 
 To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop 
 Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt 
 The fiery orbs above, and tlie twinn'd stones 
 Upon the number'd beach f and can we not 
 Partition make with spectacles so precious 
 'Twixt fair and foul t 
 
 Imo. What makes your admiration ? 
 
 lack. It cannot be i' the eye; for apes and monkeys, 
 'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and 
 Contemn with mows the other : Nor i' the judgment; 
 For idiots, in this case of favour, would 
 Be wisely definite : Nor i' the appetite ; 
 Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd. 
 Should make desire vomit emptiness. 
 Not so allur'd to feed. 
 
 hno. What is the matter, trow? 
 lach. The cloyed will, 
 
 (That satiate yet unsatisfied desire. 
 That tub both fiU'd and running,) ravening first 
 The lamb, longs after for the garbage. 
 
 Imo. What, dear sir, 
 
 Thus raps you ? Are you well ? 
 
 lach. Thanks, madam ; well : — 'Beseech you, sir, 
 desire [To Pisanio. 
 
 My man's abode where I did leave him ; he 
 Is strange and peevish. 
 
 Pis. I was going, sir. 
 
 To give him welcome. [Ejii Pisanio. 
 
 Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'beseech 
 lach. Well, madam. [you? 
 
 Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth 1 I hope, he is. 
 lach. Exceeding pleasant ; none a stranger there 
 So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd 
 The Briton reveller. 
 
 Imo. When he was here. 
 
 He did incline to sadness ; and oft-times 
 Not knowing why. 
 
 lach. I never saw him sad. 
 
 There is a Frenchman his companion, one 
 An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves 
 A Gallian girl at home : he furnaces 
 The thick sighs from him ; whiles the jolly Briton 
 (Your lord, 1 mean,) laughs from's free lungs,cries,0 .' 
 Can my sides hold, to think, that man, — mho tawies 
 By history, report, or his oicn proof. 
 What v:oman is, yea, what she cannot choose 
 But must be, — will his free hours languisii for 
 Assured bondage ? 
 Imo. Will my lord say so 1 
 
 lach. Ay, madam ; with his eyes in flood with 
 It is a recreation to be by, [laughter. 
 
 And hear hini mork tlie Frenchman : But, heavens 
 Some men are much to blame. [know, 
 
 Imo. Not he, I hope. [might 
 
 lach. Not he : But yet heaven's bounty towards him 
 Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ; 
 In you, — which I count his, beyond all talents, — 
 Whilst I am bound to wonder, 1 am bound 
 To pity too. 
 
 Imo. What do you pity, sir ? 
 
 luch. Two creatures, heartily. 
 
 Ima, Am I one, sir 1 
 
 You look on me ; What wreck discern you in me, 
 Deserves your pity? 
 
 lach. Lamentable ! What ! 
 
 To hide me from the radiant suu, and solace 
 I' the dungeon by a snufl?" ? 
 
 Imo. I pray you, sir. 
 
 Deliver with more openness your answers 
 To my demands. Why do you pity me ? 
 lach. That others do, 
 
 I was about to say, enjoy your But 
 
 It is an office of the gods to venge it, 
 Not mine to speak on 't. 
 
 Imo, You do seem to know 
 
 Something of me, or what concerns me ; 'Pray yoii, 
 (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more 
 Than to be sure they do : For certainties 
 Either are past remedies ; or, timely knowing. 
 The remedy then born,) discover to me 
 What both you spur and stop. 
 
 lach. ■ Had I this cheek, 
 
 To bathe my lips upon ; this hand, whose touch, 
 Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul 
 To the oath of loyalty ; this object, which 
 Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye. 
 Fixing it only here : should I (damn'd then,) 
 Slaver with lips as common as the stairs 
 That mount the Capitol ; join gripes with hands 
 IMade hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood, as 
 With labour ;) then lie peeping in an eye, 
 Base and unlustrous as the smoky light 
 yhat 's fed with stinking tallow ; it were fit, 
 That all the plagues of hell should at one time 
 Encounter such revolt. 
 
 Imo. Jly lord, I fear. 
 
 Has forgot Britain. 
 
 lach. And himself. Not I, 
 
 Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce 
 The beggary of his change ; but 'tis your graces 
 That, from ray mutest conscience, to my tongue. 
 Charms this report out. 
 
 Imo. Let me hear no more. 
 
 Inch. dearest soul ! your cause doth strike my heal 
 With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady 
 So fair, and fasten'd to an empery, 
 ^Vould make the great'st king double ! to be partner'( 
 With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition 
 Which your own coffers yield ! with diseas'd venture! 
 That play with all infirmities for gold 
 Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stufi 
 As well might poison poison ! Be revcng'd : 
 Or' she, that bore you, was no queen, and you 
 Recoil from your great stock. 
 
 Imo. Reveng'd ! 
 
 How should I be reveng'd ? If this be true, 
 (As I have such a heart, that both mine ears 
 IMust not in haste abuse, » if it be true 
 How should I be reveng'd ? 
 
 lach. Should he make me 
 
 Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets ; 
 A^'hiles he is vaulting variable ramps. 
 In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it, 
 I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure ; 
 More noble than that runagate to your bed; 
 .And will continue fast to your affection, 
 Still close, as sure. 
 
 Imo. What ho, Pisanio ! 
 
 lach. Let me my service tender on your lips. 
 Imo. Away ! — I do condemn mine ears, that have 
 So long attended thee. — If thou wert honourable, 
 I'iiou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not 
 For such an end thou seek'st ; as base, as strange 
 Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far 
 
 /K 
 
Prom thy report, as thou from honour ; and 
 
 Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains 
 
 Thee and the devil alike— What, ho ! Pisanio !— 
 
 The king my father shall be made acquainted 
 
 Of thy assault : if he shall think it fit, 
 
 A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart 
 
 As in a Romish stew, and to expound 
 
 His beastly mind to us ; he hath a court 
 
 He little cares for, and a daughter whom 
 
 He not respects at all.— What ho, Pisanio !— 
 
 lach. O happy Leonatus ! I may say : 
 The credit, that thy lady hath of thee. 
 Deserves thy trust ; and thy most perfect goodness 
 Her assur'd credit!— Blessed live you long ! 
 A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever 
 Country cali'd his ! and vou his mistress, only 
 For the most worthiest fit ! Give me your pardon 
 J have spoke this, to know if your affiance 
 Were deeply rooted : and shall make your lord 
 1 hat which he is, new o'er : And he is one 
 1 he truest manner'd ; such a holy witch 
 That he enchants societies unto him : ' 
 Half all men's hearts are his. 
 
 il'h V ■, . You make amends. 
 
 He h,,'l, 1 ' i ?r^" ™^°' '""= ^ descended god : 
 He hath a kind of honour sets him off 
 
 More than a mortal seeming. Be not angrv 
 Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd 
 lo try your taking a false report; which hath 
 Honour d with confirmation your great jud<.ment 
 In the elecuon of a sir so rare, '' ° 
 
 W hich you know, cannot err : The love I bear him 
 -A ademe fan you thus ; but the gods made you 
 Unhke all others, ehaffless. Prav? vour pardon 
 Imo. Allswell.sir: Take my power i' the court for 
 
 yours. 
 Uch My humble thanks. I had almost forgot 
 
 To entreat your grace but in a small request, ° 
 
 And jet of moment too, for it concerns 
 
 ^our lord ; myself, and other noble friends 
 
 Are partners in the business. 
 
 U^i. o J ^ Pray, what is't? 
 
 .-The h ^""^^o^^" Romans of us, and your lord, 
 
 10 buy a present for the emperor • 
 
 In F™V' ""'t'''",^ f"^ ""= ''''• l-^^e done 
 Of r^h^A P'"'; "'■ '■"^ ''ovice ; and jewels, 
 
 Of ich and exquisite form ; their values great ; 
 To h/ ''''",^'""?'"""g •^"■•ious. being stranfe. 
 
 To take th '" '^^^ ''""^S^ ■' ^^^y '' P'^-^e you 
 i o take them in protection ' j r j 
 
 ^n^^ ■ . Willingly; 
 
 ^nd pawn mme honour for their safety: since 
 
 ";:rbet'Cbef'"'^^'»'^'^^''^-P'^- 
 
 ufJ2e<.bymymen:7:^,?-r^^> 
 lo end ^^, („ y^^ ^^^ ^1^.^ 
 
 must aboard to-morrow. 
 
 7 I -ir T , *-'' "0, no. 
 
 !v len;th'n;„ '"'*' ' •"• ^ '''"" ^''ort my word, 
 •y length mng my return. From Gallia 
 
 o see your grace. 
 
 intTnt ,„, . ^ "''"'' yo" for your pains : 
 
 'Ht not away to-morrow ? - r • 
 
 Inch. ^ T 
 
 ore':t^::^r!''^-^^^=''--^'^^-^^^^ 
 
 greet your lord with writing, do't to ni<.hf 
 
 Jr rT°i'"y "">^ ■• -hich is mater 1 
 
 3 the tender of our present. 
 
 'mo. T 11 • 
 
 1 will write. 
 
 ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 707 
 
 Send your trunk to me ; It shall safe be kept 
 And truly yielded you : You are very welcome. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE 1.— Court before Cymbeline's Palace. 
 
 Enter Cloten and Two Lords. 
 C/o. Was there ever man had such luck ! when I 
 
 a hundred^"''^ 'T ?" "P"^^'' '" ^'^ '"' ='"-y ' l>ad 
 a hundred pound on't : And then a whoreson lacka- 
 napes must take me up for swearing; as if I bo?- 
 
 T:t ;z:rf' " "'-■ ^"'' -'^'^ "' * ^p-'J '^e™ 
 
 pate whh y^r^r. '' '' '''" ^°" •'^™ '^"^^ >>- 
 
 i.wo^M^i:^;:::;i':^^"''^^''^«'-''™jeit, 
 
 Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear Tt it 
 not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths. Hal 
 of Uiem ' "°^' '' ' °°' f^^'^'^J "op the ears 
 
 ■w'ould^helTh ^^''S'-I give him satisfaction? 
 " ould, he had been one of my rank I 
 2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool. ' r i,:j, 
 
 A fox on t ! I had rather not be so noble as I am 
 they dare not fight with me, because of the cmeen mv 
 mother: every jackslave hath his belly full'o fiiZ 
 loVca'n mTct^" "' ^'"' '^"^'^ ''^^ ^-^ 'haf no 
 
 "2 Lord You are a cock and capon too ; and vou 
 crow, cock, with your comb on. ^ TdT 
 
 Clo. Sayest thou ' L-ii'Wc. 
 
 LID. i\o, i know that : but it is fit T ^u„ u 
 mit offence to my inferiors ' ^ ''"""''^ "=""■ 
 
 C/^."wiiy/^o'V:ay.'"^°"'""'^'''P-'^ 
 couru^'nijlu/"" """" of a stranger, that's come to 
 
 Clo. A stranger ! and I not know on't .' 
 it not ' ' '^"'""^ '■'^""'^ '"'"^'^'f. and knows 
 
 nolt,<,T-,°^ ^'""^ lordship's pages, 
 deritt^in'^ ' ""^"' '» '""^ "P- ''- ^ ^^ "-e no 
 
 C/'^^itlaTiiriThi^r"^' "^"-''• 
 
 iss^i^nSi^Hotl^:;^:''--'^^/^ 
 
 «». Come, I'll go see this Italian • What T hi 
 '"^^^ZY^-^^'SS-hi^ti^^ 
 
 That.chac.ftydi^l'::';;^-;;::;;,-^>-Lo^d. 
 
 .Should yield the world this ass ? a woman that 
 
 SdTe'a f i reen^^lTaT'L'" ''" ""''''' 
 Tk 1- • "" 5""^eu. Alas, poor princess 
 
 Bc.wiu?rM"T"v"'"^' ''»" ^"dur'^t ' 
 \ n othe- h 7 ^^•"^■" ^'^P-dame govern'd ; 
 
 More h ; f ,"u^ """""S Plo's ; a wooer, 
 
 More hateful than the foul expulsion is 
 
 Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act 
 
 Of the divorce he'd make ! The heavens hold firm 
 SYS 
 
708 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 The walls of thy dear honour ; keep unsliak'd 
 That temple, thy lair mind; that thou niuy'st stand, 
 Toenjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land. lEiit. 
 
 SCENK II. 
 A Bed-cliamber ; m one part of it a Trunk. 
 
 Imogen reading in her bed ; a Lady attending. 
 
 Imo. Who's there ■! my woman Helen 1 
 
 Lady. Please you, madam. 
 
 Imo. What hour is it ? 
 
 Lady. Almost midnight, madam. [weak: — 
 
 Imo. I have read three hours then : mine eyes are 
 Fold down the leaf where I have left : To bed : 
 Take not away the taper, leave it burning ; 
 And if thou canst awake by four o'the clock, 
 I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly. 
 
 [Exit Lady. 
 To your protection I commend me, gods ! 
 From fairies, and the tempters of the night. 
 Guard me, beseech ye ! 
 
 [Sleeps. I ACHiMO, /rum the trunk. 
 
 lach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd 
 Repairs itself by rest : Our Tarquin thus [sense 
 Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd 
 The chastity he wounded.— Cytherea, 
 How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! fresh lily! 
 And whiter tlian the sheets ! That I might touch ! 
 But kiss ; one kiss ! — Rubies unparagon'd, 
 How dearly they do't— 'Tis her breathing that 
 Perfumes the chamber thus : The flame o'the taper 
 Bows toward her ; and would underpeep her lids. 
 To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 
 Under these windows : White and azure, lac'd 
 rt'ith blue of heaven's own tinct.— But my design 1 
 To note the chamber :— I will write all down :— 
 Such, and such pictures :— There thewindow :— Such 
 The adornment of her bed ;— The arras, figures, 
 W hy ,such and such:— And the contents o'the story, — 
 Ah, but some natural notes about her body, 
 .4 hove ten thousand meaner moveables 
 Would testify, to enrich mine inventory: 
 O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her ! 
 And be her sense but as a monument. 
 Thus in a chapel lying ! — Come off, come off; 
 
 [Taking ojf' her bracelet. 
 As slippery, as the Gordian "snot was hard! — 
 'Tis mine ; and this will witness outwardly. 
 As strongly as the conscience does within, 
 To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 
 A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 
 I'the bottom of a cowslip. Here's a voucher. 
 Stronger tlian ever law could make : this secret 
 AVill force him tliink 1 have pick'd the lock, and ta'en 
 The treasure of her honour. No more. — To what end 1 
 "V'/hy should I write this down, that's rivetted, 
 Rcrew'd to my memory! Slie hath been reading late 
 The tale of Tereus ; here the leaf's turn'd down. 
 Where Philomel gave up ; — I have enough : 
 To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 
 
 Swift, swift, you dragons of the night! — thatdawning 
 
 May bare the raven's eye : I loilge in fear ; 
 
 Tliough this a heavenly augel, hell is here. 
 
 [Clock strikes. 
 
 Oiae, two, three, — Time, time ! 
 
 [Goes into the trunk. The scene closes. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 ."l 11 Ante-Chamber adjoining Imogen's Apartment. 
 Enter Ci.oT^y and Lords. 
 1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in 
 loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace. 
 
 Clo. It would make any man cold to lose. 
 
 1 Lord. But not every man patient after the noble 
 temper of your lordship ; Vou are most hot, and fu- 
 rious, when you win. 
 
 Clo. Winning would put any man into courage: 
 If I could get tliis foolish Imogen, I should have gold 
 enough : It's almost morning, is't not ! 
 
 ] Lord. Day, my lord. 
 
 Clo. I would this rausie would come : I am advis'd 
 to give her music o'mornings ; they say, it will pene- 
 trate. 
 
 Enter IMusicians. 
 
 Come on ; tune : If you can penetrate her with your 
 fingering, so ; we'll try with tongue too ; if none will 
 do, let her remain ; but I'll never give o'er. First, a 
 verv excellent good-conceited thing ; alter, a won- 
 derful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, — 
 and then let her consider. 
 
 SONG. — Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate tingi. 
 And Phj:bas 'gins ariss^ 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 On chalic'djioicers that lies; 
 And winking Mary-buds begin 
 To ope their golden eyes ; 
 With every thing that pretty bin : 
 My lady sweet, arise; 
 Arise, arise. 
 So, get you gone : If this penetrate, I will consider 
 your music the better : If it do not, it is a vice in her 
 ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice 
 of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. 
 
 [Exeunt Musicians. 
 
 Enter Cvmbeline and Queen. 
 2 Lord. Here comes the king. 
 Clo. I am glaiU-J. was up so late •, for that's the 
 reason I was up so early : He cannot choose but take 
 this service I have done, fatherly. — Good-morrow tu 
 your majesty, and to my gracious mother. 
 
 Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? 
 Will she not forth 1 
 
 Clo. 1 have assailed her with music but she vouch- 
 safes no notice. 
 
 Cym. The exile of her minion is too new ; 
 She hath not yet forgot him : some more time 
 Must wear the print of his remembrance out. 
 And then she's yours. 
 
 Queen. You are most bound to the king ; 
 
 Who lets go by no vantages, that may 
 Prefer you to his daughter ; Frame yourself 
 To orderly solicits ; and be friended 
 With aptness of the season ; make denials 
 Increase your services ; so seem, as if 
 You were inspir'd to do those duties which x. 
 
 You tender to her ; that you in all obey her. 
 Save when command to your dismission tends, 
 And therein you are senseless. 
 
 Clo. Senseless 1 not so. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; 
 The one is Caius Lucius. 
 
 Ctim. A worthy fellow. 
 
 Albeit he comes on ang;ry purpose now ; 
 But that's no fault of liis : We must receive him 
 According to the honour of his sender ; 
 And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us 
 We must extend our notice. — Our dear son. 
 When vou have given good morning to your mistress. 
 Attend the queen, and us j we shall have need 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV. 
 
 709 
 
 To employ you towards this Roman. — Come, our 
 queen. 
 [E3eu7it CvM. Queen. Lords, and Mess. 
 
 Ch. If she be up, I'll speak with her ; if not, 
 Let her lie still, and dream. — By your leave, ho! — 
 
 [^Knocks. 
 I know her women are about her ; What 
 If 1 do line one of their hands ! 'Tis gold 
 Which buys admittance ; oft it doth ; yea. and makes 
 Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 
 Their deer to the stand of the stealer ; and 'tis ^old 
 Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief; 
 Nay, sometirae.hangsboth thief and true man: What 
 Can it not do. and undo ? 1 will make 
 One of her women lawyer to me ; for 
 I yet not understand the case myself. 
 By your leave. [A'Hocfcs. 
 
 Enter a Lady. 
 
 Lady. Who's there, that knocks 1 
 
 Clo. A gentleman. 
 
 Lady. No more? 
 
 Cio. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 
 
 Lady, That's more 
 
 Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, 
 Can justly boast of: What's your lordship's pleasure! 
 
 C/o. Your lady's person : Is she ready \ 
 
 Lady. Ay, 
 
 To keep her chamber. 
 
 C/tf. There's gold for you ; sell me your good report. 
 
 Lady. How ! my good name 1 or to report of you 
 What I shall think is good ? — The princess 
 
 Knter Imogen. 
 
 CZo. Good-morrow, fairest sister: Vour sweet hand. 
 
 Into. Good-morrow, sir; You lay out toomuch pains 
 For purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give, 
 Is telling you that I am poor of thanks. 
 And scarce iian spare them. 
 
 Clo, Still, I swear, I love you. 
 
 Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me : 
 If you swear still, your recompence is still 
 That I regard it not. 
 
 Cio, This is no answer. 
 
 Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, 
 I would not speak. I pray yen, spare me : i' faith, 
 I shall unfold equal discourtesy 
 To your best kindness : one of your great knowing 
 Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 
 
 Clo, To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin : 
 I will not. 
 
 imo. Fools are not mad folks. 
 
 Cio. Do you call me fool J. 
 
 Imo. As I am mad, I do : 
 If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad ; 
 That cures us both. 1 am much sorry, sir. 
 You put me to forget a lady's manners, 
 By being so verba! : and learn now, for all, 
 That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, 
 By the very truth of it, I care not for you ; 
 And am so near the lack of charity, 
 (To accuse myself ) I hate you ; which I had rather 
 You felt, than make't my boast. 
 
 Clo. You sin against 
 
 Obedience, which you owe your father. For 
 The conti~act you pretend with that base wretch, 
 (^One bred of alms, and foster'd' with cold dishes. 
 With scraps o' the court, ) it is no contract, none : 
 And though it be allow*d in meaner parties, 
 (Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls 
 (On whom there is no more dependency 
 But brats and beggary) in self figur'd knot ; 
 Yet you are curb d from that enlargement by 
 
 The consequence o' the crown ; and must not soil 
 'I'he precious note of it with a base slave, 
 A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, 
 A pantler, not so eminent, 
 
 Imo. Profane fellow ! 
 
 Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more. 
 But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base 
 To be his groom : thou wert dignified enough. 
 Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made 
 Comparative for your virtues, to be styi'd 
 The under-hangmaa of his kingdom ; and hated 
 For being preferred so well. 
 
 Clo, The south-fog rot him ! 
 
 Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than come 
 To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment, 
 That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is deai'er, 
 In my respect, than all the hairs above thee. 
 Were they all made such men. — How now, Pisanio? 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 
 Clo, His garment? Now, the devil — 
 
 Imo. To Dorothy ray woman hie thee presently :— •- 
 
 Clo, His garment t 
 
 I am sprighted with a fool , 
 
 hi 
 Frighted, andanger'd worse: — Go. bid my woman 
 Search for a jewel, that too casually 
 Hath left mine aim ; it was thy master's : 'shrew me, 
 If I would lose it for a revenue 
 Of any king's in Europe. I do think. 
 I saw't this morning : confident I am, 
 Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it : 
 I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord 
 That 1 kiss aught but he. 
 
 Pis. 'Twill not be lost. 
 
 Imo. I hope so : go, and search, [Eric Pis. 
 
 Clo. You have abus'd me : — 
 
 His meanest garment 1 
 
 Imo. Ay ; I said so, sir. 
 
 If you will make't an action, call witness to*t. 
 
 Clo. I will inform your father. 
 
 Imo. Your mother too : 
 
 She's my good lady ; and will conceive, I hope, 
 But the worst of me. So 1 leave you, sir. 
 To the worst of discontent. \_Exit, 
 
 Clo. I'll be reveng'd: — 
 
 His meanest garment? — Well. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Rome. — All Apartment in Philario-s House. 
 
 Enter PosxHUMUsoHd Philario. 
 
 Post. Fear it not, sir ; I would I were so sure 
 To win the king, as I am bold, her honour 
 Will lemain hers. 
 
 Phi. What means do you make to him ? 
 
 Post. Not any ; but abide the change of time ; 
 Quake in the present winter's state, and wish 
 That warmer days would come : In these fear'd hopes, 
 I barely gratify your love ; they failing, 
 I must die much your debtor. 
 
 Phi. Your very goodness, and your company, 
 O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king 
 Hath heard of great Augustus ; Caius Lucius 
 Will do his commission throughly : And, I think, 
 He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages, 
 Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance 
 Is.yet fresh in their grief. 
 
 Post. . I do believe, 
 
 (Statist though I am none, nor like to be.) 
 That this will prove a war ; and you shall hear 
 The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed 
 In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings 
 
710 
 
 CYMBELINE- 
 
 Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrj-men 
 
 Are men more orcler'd, than when Julius Cffisar 
 
 Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage 
 
 Woi tliy his frowning at : Their discipline 
 
 (Now mingled with their courages) will make known 
 
 To their approvers, they are people, such 
 
 That mend upon the world. 
 
 Enter Iachimo. 
 
 Phi. Sec ! Iachimo t 
 
 Post. The swiftest harts have posted you by land : 
 And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails. 
 To make your vessel nimble. 
 
 Phi. Welcome, sir. 
 
 Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made 
 The speediness of your return. 
 
 laeh. Your lady 
 
 Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon. 
 
 Post. And therewithal, the best : or let her beauty 
 Look through a casement to allure false hearts. 
 And be false with them. 
 
 luch. Here are letters for you. 
 
 Post. Their tenour good, I trust. 
 
 lach. 'Tis very like. 
 
 Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court, 
 When you were there 1 
 
 lach. He was expected then, 
 
 But not approach'd. 
 
 Post. All is well yet. — 
 
 Sparkles this stone as it was wont t or is't not 
 Too dull for your good wearing! 
 
 lack. If I have lost it, 
 
 I should have lost the worth of it in gold. 
 I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy 
 A second night of such sweet shortness, which 
 Was mine in Britain ; for the ring is won. 
 
 Post. The stone's too hard to come by. 
 
 lach. Not a whit, 
 
 Your lady being so easy. 
 
 Post. Make not, sir. 
 
 Your loss your sport : I hope, you know that we 
 Must not continue friends. 
 
 lach. Good sir, we must. 
 
 If you keep covenant : Had I not brought 
 The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant 
 We were to question further : but 1 now 
 Profess myself the winner of her honour. 
 Together with your ring ; and not the wronger 
 Of her, or you, having proceeded but 
 "By both your wills. 
 
 Post. If you can make't apparent 
 
 That you have tasted her in bed, my hand, 
 And ring, is yours : If not, the foul opinion 
 You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses. 
 Your sword, or mine ; or masterless leaves both 
 To who shall find them. 
 
 lach. Sir, my circumstances, 
 
 Being so near the truth, as I will make them, 
 Must first induce you to believe : whose strength 
 I will confirm with oath ; which, I doubt not. 
 You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find 
 You need it not. 
 
 Post. Proceed. 
 
 lach. First, her bed-chamber, 
 
 ( Where, I confess, I slept not ; but, profess. 
 Had that was well worth watching,) It was hang'd 
 With tapestry of silk and silver ; the story 
 Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, 
 And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for 
 The press of boats, or pride : A piece of work 
 So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive 
 In workmanship, and value ; which I wonder'd. 
 
 Could be so rarely and exactly wrought. 
 Since the true life on't was 
 
 Post. This is true ; 
 
 And this you might have heard of here, by me. 
 Or by some other. 
 
 lach. More particulars 
 
 Must justify my knowledge. 
 
 Post. So they must, 
 
 Or do your honour injury. 
 
 lach. The chimney 
 
 Is south the chamber ; and the chimney-piece. 
 Chaste Dian, bathing : never saw I figures 
 So likely to report themselves : the cutter 
 Was as another nature, dumb ; outwent hei. 
 Motion and breath left out. 
 
 Past. This is a thing. 
 
 Which you might from relation likewise reap j 
 Being, as it is, much spoke of. 
 
 Inch. The roof o'the chambei 
 
 With golden cherubins is fretted : Her andirons 
 (I had forgot them,) were two winking Cupids 
 Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely 
 Depending on their brands. 
 
 Post. This is her honour !— 
 
 Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and prais< 
 Be given to your remembrance) the description 
 Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves 
 The wager you have laid. 
 
 lach. Then if you can, [Pulling out the bracelet, 
 Be pale ; I beg but leave to air this jewel : See ! — 
 And now 'tis up again : It must be married 
 To that your diamond ; I'll keep them. 
 
 Post. Jove ! — 
 
 Once more let me behold it : Is it that 
 Which I left with her ? 
 
 lack. Sir, (I thank her.) that: 
 
 She stripp'd it from her arm ; I see her yet ; 
 Her pretty action did outsell her gift, 
 And yet enrich'd it too ; She gave it me, and said. 
 She priz'd it once. 
 
 Post. May be, she pluek'd it ofT, 
 
 To send it me. 
 
 lach. She writes so to you ? doth she ? 
 
 Post, O, no, no, no ; 'tis true. Here, take this too; 
 [^Uiues the ring, 
 It is a basilisk unto mine eye, 
 Kills me to look on't : — Let there be no.honour, 
 Where there is beauty ; truth, where semblance ; love 
 Where there's another man : The vows of women* 
 Of no more bondage be, to where they are made. 
 Than they are to their virtues j which is nothing : — 
 0, above measure false ! 
 
 Phi. Have patience, sir. 
 
 And take your ring again ; 'tis not yet won : 
 It may be probable, she lost it ; or, 
 Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted. 
 Hath stolen it from her 1 
 
 Post. Very true ; 
 
 And so. I hope, he came by't : — Back my ring ; — 
 Render to me some corporeal sign about her, 
 IMore evident than this ; for this was stolen. 
 
 lach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm. 
 
 Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he swears. 
 'Tis true ; — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true, 1 am :iure. 
 She would not lose it : her attendants are 
 All sworn, and honourable : — They induc'd to steal it ! 
 And by a stranger ! — No, he hath enjoy'd her: 
 I'he cognizance of her Incontinency 
 Is this, — she hath bought the name of whote thus 
 
 dearly. — 
 There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hel! . 
 Divide themselves between you ! 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 711 
 
 p;,;. Sir, be patient ! 
 
 This is not strong enough to be believ'd 
 Of one persuaileil well of 
 
 p„s,_ Never talk on't ; 
 
 She hath been colted by him. 
 
 lack. If you seek 
 
 For further satisfying, under her breast 
 (Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud 
 Of that most delicate lodging : By my life, 
 I kiss'd it ; and it gave me present hunger 
 To feed a"ain, thougli full. You do remember 
 This stain upon her ! 
 
 ]->,,j(. Ay. and it doth confirm 
 
 Another stain, as big as hell can hold, 
 Were there no more but it. » 
 
 lach, Will you hear more ? 
 
 Post. Spare your arithmetic : nevercount the turns ; 
 Once, and a million ! 
 
 luch. I'll be sworn, — 
 
 Post. No swearing. 
 
 If vou will swear 'you have not done't, you lie ; 
 And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny 
 Thou hast made me cuckold. 
 
 lacli. I will deny nothing. 
 
 Post. 0, that I had her here, to tear her limbmeal ! 
 I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before 
 tier father :— I'll do something [E.ril. 
 
 Phi, Quite besides 
 
 The government of patience ! — You have won : 
 Let's follow him. and pervert the present wrath 
 He hath against himself. 
 
 lach. With all my heart. [EieuHt. 
 
 SCENE V. — The same. Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter PosTHifsius. 
 
 Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women 
 Must be half workers ? We are bastards all ; 
 And that most venerable man, which I 
 Did call my father, was I know not where 
 When 1 was stamp'd ; some coiner with his tools 
 Made me a counterfeit : Vet my mother seem'd 
 The Diana of that time : so doth my wife 
 The nonpareil of this. — O vengeance, vengeance ' 
 Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd. 
 And pray'd me, oft, forbearance : did it with 
 A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't 
 Blight well have warra'd old Saturn ; thati thoughther 
 As chaste as unsunn'd snow : — O, all the devils I — 
 This yellow lachimo, in an hour, — was't not? — 
 Or less, — at first: Perchance he spoke not ; but, 
 1-ike a full acorn'd boar, a German one, 
 Cry'd, oh ! and mounted : found no opposition 
 But what he look'd for should oppose, and she 
 Should from encounter guard. Could 1 find out 
 The woman's part in me ! For there's no motion 
 That tends to vice of man, but I affirm 
 It is the woman's part ; Be it lying, note it, 
 The woman's ; flattering, hers ; deceiving, hers ; 
 Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers ; revenges, hers ; 
 Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, 
 Nice longings, slanders, mutability. 
 All faults that may be nam'd, nay. that hell knows, 
 Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all: 
 For ev'n to vice 
 
 They are not constant, but are changing still 
 One vice, but of a minute old, for one ' 
 Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, 
 Detest them, curse them : — Yet 'tis greater skill 
 In a true ha*e, to pray they liave their will : 
 The very devils cannot plague tbera better. [Eiit. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I Britain. 
 
 A Boom of State in Cymbeline's Palace. 
 Enter Cvmbelise, Queen, Cloten, and Lord5, at 
 one door; and at another, Caius Lucius and 
 Attendants. 
 
 Ci/m.Nowsay.what would AugustusCaesar with us? 
 Luc. When Julius Caesar (whose remembrance yet 
 Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues, 
 Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain, 
 And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, 
 (Famous in Caisar's praises, no whit less. 
 Than in his feats deserving it,) for him. 
 And his succession, granted Rome a tribute. 
 Yearly three thousand pounds ; which by thee lately 
 Is left untender'd. 
 
 Queen. And, to kill the marvel, 
 
 Shall be so ever. 
 
 Clo. There be many Cassars, 
 
 Ere such another Julius. Britain is 
 A world by itself ; and we will nothing pay. 
 For wearing our own noses. 
 
 Queen. That opportunity. 
 
 Which then they had to take from us, to resume 
 We have again. — Remember, sir, my liege, 
 The kings your ancestors ; together with 
 The natural bravery of your isle ; which stands 
 As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in 
 With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters ; 
 With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats. 
 But suck them up to the top mast, .\kind of conquest 
 CKsar made here ; but made not here Ins brag 
 Of, came, and saw, and orercame : with shame 
 (The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried 
 From oft" our coast, twice beaten ; and his shipping 
 (Poor ignorant baubles I) on our terrible seas. 
 Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd 
 As easily 'gainst our rocks ; For joy whereof, 
 The fam'd Cassibelan, wl\o was once at point 
 (0, giglot fortune ! ) to master Cffisar's sword, 
 Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, 
 And Britons strut with courage. 
 
 Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: 
 Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time ; 
 and, as 1 said, there is no more such Caesars : other 
 of them may have crooked noses ; but, to owe such 
 straight arms, none. 
 
 Cum. Son, let your mother end. 
 Clo. We have yet many aioong us can gripe as 
 hard as Cassibelan : I do not say, I am one ; but I 
 have a hand. — What tribute? why should we pay 
 tribute 1. If CsBsar can hiile the sun from us with a 
 blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay 
 him tribute for light ; else, sir, no more tribute, pray 
 you now. 
 
 Ciy;??. Y'ou must know. 
 Till the injurious Romans did extort 
 I'his tribute from us, we were free: Caesar's ambition, 
 (Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch 
 The sides o'the world,) against all colour, here 
 Did put the yoke upon us ; which to shake off, 
 Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 
 Ourselves to be. \Ve do say then to Caesar, 
 Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which 
 Ordain'd our laws ; (whose use the sword of Cicsar 
 I lath too much mangled : whose repair, and franchise, 
 Shall, by the power we hold, be our good det-d. 
 Though Rome be therefore angry ;) Mulmutius, 
 Who was the first of Britain, which did put 
 
712 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 His brows within a goldeu crown, and cali'd 
 Himself a king, 
 
 Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, 
 
 That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar 
 (Caesar, that hath more kings his servants, than 
 Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy: 
 Receive it from me, then : — War, and confusion, 
 In Cjpsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee : look 
 For fury not to be resisted : — Thus defied, 
 t thank thee for myself. 
 
 Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. 
 
 Thy Caesar knighted nie ; my youth 1 spent 
 Much under him ; of him I gather'd honour ; 
 Which he to seek of me again, perforce, 
 Behoves me keep at utterance ; I am perfect, 
 That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for 
 Their liberties, are now in arms : a precedent 
 Which, not to read, would shew the Britons cold : 
 So Caesar shall not find them. 
 
 Luc. Let proof speak. 
 
 Clo. His majesty bids you welcome, ftlake pastime 
 with us a day, or two, longer : If you seek us after- 
 wards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt- 
 water girdle : if you beat us out of it, it is yours ; if 
 you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the 
 better for you ; and there 's an end. 
 
 Luc, So, sir. 
 
 Cum, I know your master's pleasure, and he mine : 
 All the remain is, welcome. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room m the same. 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not 
 What monster's her accuser? — Leonatus ! 
 O, master ! what a strange infection 
 Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian 
 (As poisonous tongue'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd 
 On thy too ready hearing ? — Disloyal ? No : 
 She's punish'd for her truth ; and undergoes. 
 More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults 
 As would take in some virtue.— O, my master ! 
 Thy mind to her is now as low, as were 
 Thy fortunes. — How! that I should murder her? 
 Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I 
 Have made to thy command? — I, her? — her blood? 
 If it be so to do good service, never 
 Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, 
 That I should seem to lack humanity, 
 So much as this fact comes too? Vo't : The letter 
 
 [Reading* 
 That I have seyit her, hy her own command 
 Shall give thee opportunity : — O damn'd paper! 
 Black as the ink that's on thee ! Senseless bauble. 
 Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st 
 So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 1 am ignorant m what I am commanded. 
 Into, How now, Pisanio ? 
 Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. 
 Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus? 
 0, learn'd indeed were that astronomer, 
 That knew the stars, as I his characters ; 
 He'd lay the future open. — You good gods, 
 Let what is here contain'd relish of love, 
 Of mv lord's health, of his content, — yet not, 
 That "we two are asunder, let that grieve him, — 
 (Some griefs are med'cinable ;) that is one of them, 
 For it doth pliysic love ; — of his content, 
 All but in that!— Good wax, thy leave :— Bless'd be, 
 You bees, that make these locks of counsel ! Lovers, 
 And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike j 
 
 Though forfeiters you cast 'ti prison, yet 
 You clasp young Cupid's tables, — Good news, gods! 
 
 [Heads. 
 Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me 
 in his dominion, could not be so cruet to me, as you, 
 the dearest of creatures, would 7iot even renew nie 
 with your etjes. Take notice, that I am in Cambria, 
 at Milford-Haveyi : What your own love will, out of 
 this, advise you, follow, Sti he wibhes you all happi' 
 ne&s, that remains loyal to his vow, ajid your, increas- 
 ing in love, Leonatus Posthumus. 
 
 O, for a horse with wings!— Hear'st thou, Pisaniol 
 He is at Milford- Haven : Read, and tell me 
 How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs 
 May plod it in a week, why may not I 
 Glide thither in a day? — Then, true Pisanio, 
 ( Who long'st, like me,, to see thy lord j who long'st,— 
 O, let me 'bate, — But not like me : — yet long'st, — 
 But in a fainter kind : — O, not iike me ; 
 For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick, 
 (Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing. 
 To the smothering of tlie sense,) how far it is 
 To this same blessed Milforjd : And, by the way. 
 Tell me how Wales was made so liappy, as 
 To inherit such a haven : But, first of all, 
 How we may steal from hence ; and, for the gap 
 That we shall make in time, from our hence-going. 
 And our return, to excuse : — but first, how get hence : 
 Why should excuse be born or e'er begot ? 
 We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak, 
 How many score of miles may we well ride 
 'Twixt hour and hour? 
 
 Pis. One score, *twixt sun and sua. 
 
 Madam, 's enough for you ; and too much too. 
 
 Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man. 
 Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers. 
 Where horses have been nimbler than the sands 
 
 That run i' the clock's behalf: But this is foolery: 
 
 Go, bid my woman feign a sickness ; say 
 
 She'll home to her father: and provide me, presently, 
 
 A riding suit ; no costlier than would fit 
 
 A franklin's housewife. 
 
 Pis. Madam, you're best consider. 
 
 Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here. 
 Nor what ensues ; but have a fog in them, 
 ThUt I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee ; 
 Do as 1 bid thee : There's no more to say ; 
 Accessible is none but Milford way. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Wales. — A momitainous Country, toith a Cave* 
 Enter Belartus, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 
 
 Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such 
 Whose roof's as low as ours ! Stoop, boys: This gate 
 Instructs you how to adore the heavens ; and bows you 
 To morning's holy office : The gates of monarchs 
 Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through 
 And keep their impious turbands on, without 
 Good morrow to the sun.— Hail, thou fair heaven ! 
 We house i'lhe rock, yet use thee not so hardly 
 As prouder livers do. 
 
 Gui, Hail, heaven ! 
 
 Arv. Hail, heaven ! 
 
 Bel. Nowfor our mountain sport: Up to your hill, 
 Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Coniidefj 
 When you above perceive me like a crow, 
 That it is place, which lessens, and sets off. 
 And you may then revolve what tales I have told you 
 Of courts, of princes, of the trick'i> in war i 
 This service is not service, so being done, 
 
J But beit.^ so allow 'd : To apprehend thus, 
 I Draws us a profit from all things we see : 
 And often, to our comfort, shall we find 
 The sharded beetle in a safer hold 
 Than is the fuU-wing'd eagle. 0, this life 
 ; Is nobler, than attending for a check ; 
 : Richer than doing nothing for a babe ; 
 j Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk ; 
 
 Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine, 
 I Yet keeps his book uncross'd : no life to ours. 
 j CJui.Outofyourproofyou speak I we. poorunlledf'd 
 I Have never wing'd from view o' the nest; nor know 
 
 What airs from home. Haply, this life is best, [not 
 I If quiet life be best >. sweeter to you, 
 I That have a sharper known ; well co'rrespondino- 
 
 " ith your stift'age t but, unto us, it is ° 
 
 A cell of ignorance ; travelling abed j 
 
 A prison for a debtor, that not dares 
 
 To stride a limit. 
 
 ■„r'^"'' ^^'''^' ^'"'"''' "<= speak of. 
 
 When we are old as you ? when we shall hear 
 I he ram and wind beat dark December, how 
 In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse 
 I he freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing • 
 \\ e are beastly ; subtle as the fox, for prey • ° 
 Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat : ' 
 Our valour is, to chase what flies ; our cai^e 
 We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird. 
 And smg our bondage freely. 
 
 „•?'■'• , , , How you speak ! 
 
 JJid you but know the city's usuries. 
 
 And felt them knowingly ; the art o' the court 
 
 As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb 
 
 Is certain falling, or so slippery, that 
 
 The fear's as bad as falling : the toil of the war, 
 
 A pain that only seems to seek out danger 
 
 I the name of fame,andhonour;whichdieIi'the search- 
 And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph, ' 
 
 As record of fair act ; nay, many times 
 Uoth 111 deserve by doing well ; what's worse 
 Jlust court'sey at the censure :-0, boys, this story 
 1 lie world may read in me : My body's mark'd 
 vVith Roman swords : and my report was once 
 Inst with the best of note : Cymbeline lov'd me • 
 And when a soldier was the theme, my name ' 
 Was not far ofT: 'Jhen was I as a tree 
 Whose boughs did bend with fruit : but, in one ui-^ht 
 A storm, or robberv, call it what you will ° ' 
 
 .-hook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves. 
 And left me bare to weather. 
 
 f"'- , , ^ . Uncertain favour! 
 
 Bel My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft,) 
 tut that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd 
 JJetore my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline 
 I was confederate with the Romans : so 
 Follow'd my banishment ; and, this twenty years, 
 I his rock.and these demesnes, have been my world : 
 "here I have liv'd at honest freedom ; paid 
 More juous debts to heaven, than in all 
 1 he fore end of my time.-But, up to the mountains ; 
 1 his IS not hunter's language :-He, that strikes 
 I he venison first, shall be the lord o' the feast : 
 lo him the other two shall minister ; 
 \nd we will fear no poison, which Attends 
 Inplaceofgreaterstate. I'll meet you in thevalleys. 
 I„ , , . . , [El ciliit Gvt. ayid Arv. 
 
 -low hard It IS, to hide the sparks of nature ' 
 rhese boys know little, they are sons to the kino- ; 
 Vor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. [me°anlv 
 l;iey think, they »re mine .• and, tliougl, train'd up thus 
 _theK:ave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit 
 rite roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them. 
 
 ACT III.— SCENE IV. 
 
 713 
 
 In simple and low things, to prince it. much 
 Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore— 
 I he heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom 
 J he king his father call'd Guiderius,— Jove < 
 U hen on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 
 Ihe warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out 
 Into my story : say,-r/„« mine euemufelt; 
 And thus I set mu foot ,m his neck; even then 
 I he princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats 
 Mrams his young nerves, and puts himself in posture 
 
 (Once Arviragus,) m as like a figure 
 
 Mrikes life into my speech, and shews much more 
 
 H. own conceiving. Hark I the game is rous'd !_ 
 
 tymbeline heaven, and my conscience, knows 
 Thou didstunjustly banish me: whereon, ' 
 At three, and two years old, I stole these babes ■ 
 
 1 hinking to bar thee of succession, as 
 Thou relt'st me of my lands. Euriphile, 
 Thou wast their nurse ; they took thee for their mothei, 
 And every day do honour to her <^rave • 
 Myself, Be^arius, that am Morgan call'd, 
 I hey take for natural father. The game is up. [Exir. 
 
 SCENE IV.—Near Milford-Haven. 
 Enter Pisanio and Imogen. 
 
 hna. Thou told'st me. when we came from hors^ 
 the place ' 
 
 Was ne'er at hand i-Ne er long'd my mother so 
 To see me first as I have now :_Pisanio ! Man ' 
 \Yhere is Posthfimus ? What is in thv mind 
 
 That makes thee stare thus nVherefore breaks that sic^h 
 
 From he inward ot thee? One. but painted thus," 
 
 U ould be interpreted a thing perplex'd 
 
 Beyond self-explication : Put thyself 
 
 Into a haviour of less fear, ere wiklness 
 
 V anquish my staider senses. What's the matter ' 
 
 n hy tender st thou that paper to me, with 
 
 -;!. look untender ! If it be summer news 
 
 Nnile to't before: if winterlv, thou need'st 
 
 l;utkeeptliatcountenancestill._Mvhusband'shandi 
 1 hat drug. damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him 
 
 Mn V ,i ^' «°"'' '''"'* P°'°!- Speak, man ; thy tongue 
 -Uay take oft some extremity, which to read 
 » ould be even mortal to me. 
 
 \ J ' , Please you. read • 
 
 And you shall find me, wretched man, a thin.. ' 
 Ihe most disdain'd of fortune. ° 
 
 Imo. [Ueads.-] Thy mistress, Pisanio, ;,„,/, p/„„,rf 
 
 heed,„g ,u me. I speak not out of u-eak surmises {but 
 JrnmprooJ as stroug as my g.itf, ond as certain as I 
 erpect m.v revenge That parti thou. Pisanio. .",,,; 
 actjor me ,J thy Jaith be not tainted with the breach 
 •It hers. Let th.ne o,cn hands take a,rau her life I 
 Ml give thee opportunities at Milford:Haven : 'she 
 
 «Mfce, and to moke me certam it is done, thou art the 
 pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloml 
 
 rrnfl!'' '*y':=''''f" I "f'.ed to draw my sword? the paper 
 
 ath cut her throat already -Nof 'tis slander" ^ 
 U hose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue 
 Ou venoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath 
 Hides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
 All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, 
 Alaids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 
 i ms viperous slander enters.— What cheer, madam? 
 
 Imo. False to his bed! What is it, to be false? 
 lo lie m watch theie, and to think on him? 
 loweep twixtclockandclock? ifsleepchargenature 
 
714 
 
 CYMBELINK 
 
 To break it with a fearful dream of him, 
 
 And cry myself awake ? that's false to his bed ? 
 
 Is it! 
 
 Pis. Alas, good lady ! 
 
 Imo, I false? Thy conscience witness: — lachimo, 
 Tliou didst accuse him of incoutinency ; 
 Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, 
 Thy favour's good enough. — Some jay of Itnly, 
 Whose mother was her painting, hath betray 'd him: 
 Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ; 
 And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 
 I must be ripp'd ; — to pieces with me! — O, 
 Men's vows are women's traitors ! All good seeming, 
 By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 
 Put on for villany ; not born, where't grows ; 
 But worn, a bait for ladies. 
 
 Pis. Good madam, hear me. 
 
 Imo. True honest men being heard, like false ^-Eneas. 
 Were, in his time, thought false: and Sinon's weeping 
 Did scandal many a holy tear ; took pity 
 From most true wretchedness : So, thou, Posthfimus, 
 Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ; 
 Goodly, and gallant, shall be false, and perjur'd. 
 From thy great fail. — Come, fellow, be thou honest: 
 Do thou thy master's bidding: W hen thou see'st hira, 
 A little witness my obedience : Look ! 
 I draw the sword myself : take it ; and hit 
 The innocent mansion of my love, my heart : 
 Fear not ; 'tis empty of all things, but grief: 
 Thy master is not there; who was, indeed, 
 The riches of it : Do his bidding ; strike. 
 Thou niay'st be valiant in a better cause ; 
 But now thou seem'st a coward. 
 
 Pis, Hence, vile instrument ! 
 
 Thou shalt not damn my hand. 
 
 imo. Why, I must die ; 
 
 And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 
 Ko servant of thy master's : Against self slaughter 
 There is a prohibition so divine. 
 That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart ; 
 Something's aiore't: — Soft, soft; we'll no defence; 
 Obedient as the scabbard — What is herel 
 The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 
 All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, 
 Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more 
 Be stomachers to my heart ! Thus may poor fools 
 Believe false teachers : Though those that are betray'd 
 Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 
 Stands in worse case of woe. 
 And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up 
 My disobedience 'gainst the king my father, 
 And make me put into contempt the suits 
 Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find 
 It is no act of common passage, but 
 A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself, 
 To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her 
 That now thou lir'st on, how thy memory 
 Will then be pang'd by me — Pr'ythee, despatch : 
 The lamb entreats the butcher : Where's thy knife? 
 Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 
 "When I desire it too. 
 
 Pis. O gracious lady, 
 
 Since I receiv'd command to do this business, 
 1 have not slept one wink. 
 
 Jmo. ' Do 't, and to bed then. 
 
 Pi's. I '11 wake mine eye-balls blind first. 
 Imo. Wherefore then 
 
 Didst underta'iio it ? Why hast thou abus'd 
 So many miles, with a pretence ? this place ? 
 Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour? 
 The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court. 
 For my being absent ; whereunto I never 
 
 Purpose to return 1 Why hast thou gone so far. 
 To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand. 
 The elected deer before thee ? 
 
 Pis. But to win time 
 
 To lose so bad employment : in the which 
 I have consider'd of a course ; Good lady. 
 Hear me with patience. 
 
 Imo. Talk thy tongue weary ; speak: 
 
 I have heard, I am a strumpet ; and mine ear. 
 Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, 
 Nor tent, to bottom that. But speak. 
 
 Pis. Then, madam, 
 
 I thought you would not back again. 
 
 Imo. Most like ; 
 
 Bringing me here to kill me. 
 
 Pis. Not so, neither : 
 
 But if I were as wise as honest, then 
 My purpose would prove well. It cannot be. 
 But that my master is abus'd : 
 Some villain, ay. and singular in his art 
 Hath done you both this cursed injury. 
 Imo. Some Roman courtezan. 
 Pis. • No, on my life. 
 
 I '11 give but notice you are dead, and send him 
 Some bloody sign of it ; for 'tis commanded 
 I should do so : You shall be miss'd at court. 
 And that will well confirm it. 
 
 Imo. Why, good fellow. 
 
 What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live? 
 Or in my life wliat comfort, when I am 
 Dead to my husband ? 
 
 Pis. If you'll back to the court,— 
 
 Ima. No court, no father ; nor no more ado 
 With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing: 
 That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 
 As fearful as a siege. 
 
 Pis. If not at court. 
 
 Then not in Britain must you bide. 
 
 I,„o. Where then'? 
 
 Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night. 
 Are they not but in Britain ? 1' the world's volume 
 Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it ; 
 In a great pool, a swan's nest ; Pr'ythee, think 
 There 's livers out of Britain. 
 
 Pis. I am most glad 
 
 You think of other place. The embassador, 
 Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven 
 To-morrow; Now, if you could wear a mind 
 Dark as your fortune is ; and but disguise 
 That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be, 
 But by self-danger ; you should tread a course 
 Prettv, and full of view : yea, haply near 
 The residence of Posthumus : so nigh, at least. 
 That though his actions were not visible, yet 
 Report should render him hourly to your ear, 
 As truly as he moves. 
 
 Imo. O, for such means ! 
 
 Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, 
 I would adventure. 
 
 Pis. Well then, here's the point: 
 
 You must forget to be a woman ; chatige 
 Command into obedience ; fear, and niceness, 
 (The handmaids of all women, or, more truly. 
 Woman its pretty self,") into a waggish courage; 
 Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and 
 As quarrellous as the weasel ; nay, you must 
 Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek. 
 Exposing it (but, 0, the harder heart ! 
 Alack no remedy ! ) to the greedy touch 
 Of common-kissing Titan : and forget 
 Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherem 
 You made great Juno angry. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE V. 
 
 715 
 
 Imo. Naj', be brief ; 
 
 I see into thy end, and am almost 
 A man already* 
 
 Pis. First, make yourself but like one. 
 
 Fore-thinking this, I have already fit, 
 ("I'is in my cloak-bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all 
 That answer to them : Would you, in their serving, 
 And with what imitation you can borrow 
 From youth of such a season, 'fore uoble Lucius 
 Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 
 Wherein you are happy,(which you'll make him know. 
 If that his head have ear in music,) doubtless 
 With joy he will embrace you ; for he 's honourable. 
 And. doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad 
 You have me, rich ; and I will never fail 
 Beginning, nor supplyment. 
 
 Imo. Thou art all the comfort 
 
 The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away: 
 There 's more to be consider'd ; but we '11 even 
 All that good time will give us : This attempt 
 I'm soldier to, and will abide it with 
 A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee. 
 
 Pis, Well, madam, we must take a short farewell ; 
 Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 
 Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress. 
 Here is a box : I had it from the queen ; 
 What 's in 't is precious ; if you are sick at sea. 
 Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 
 Will drive away distemper. — To some shade. 
 And fit you to your manhood : — May the gods 
 Direct you to the best ! 
 
 Imo. Amen: I thank thee. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. 
 Enter Cymbeunb,Queen,Cloten, Lucius, aiid Lords, 
 
 Cum. Thus far; and so farewell. 
 
 Luc. Thanks, royal sir. 
 
 My emperor hath wrote ; I must from hence ; 
 And am right sorry, that I must report ye 
 My master's enemy. 
 
 Ci^m, Our subjects, sir. 
 
 Will not endure his yoke ; and for ourself 
 To shew less sovereignty than they, must needs 
 Appear unkinglike. 
 
 Luc. So, sir, I desire of you 
 
 A conduct over land, to Milford-Ilaven 
 
 Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you ! 
 
 Cj/m. My lords, you are appointed for that office ; 
 The due of honour in no point omit : — 
 So, farewell, noble Lucius. 
 
 Luc. Your hand, my lord. 
 
 Cto. Receive it friendly: but from this time forth 
 I w-ear it as your enemy. 
 
 Luc. Sir, the event 
 
 Is yet to name the winner: Fare you well. 
 
 C'l/m Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords. 
 Till he have cross'd the Severn. — Happiness ! 
 
 l^Eieunt Lucii's and Lords. 
 
 Queen. He goes hence frowning': but it honours us, 
 That we have given him cause. 
 _ Clo. 'Tis all the better , 
 
 Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 
 
 Ciim. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 
 How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely. 
 Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness : 
 The powers that he already hath in Gallia 
 W ill soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves 
 His war for Britain. 
 
 Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business ; 
 
 But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly. 
 
 Ci/m. Our expectation that it would be thus, 
 
 Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen. 
 
 Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd 
 
 Before the Roman, nor to us haih tender 'd 
 
 The duty of the clay: She looks us like 
 
 A thing more made of malice, than of duty. 
 
 We have noted it. — Call her before us ; for 
 
 We have been too slight in suft'erance. [Exit an Attend. 
 
 Queen. Royal sir, 
 
 Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd 
 Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord, 
 'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty. 
 Forbear sharp speeches to her : She's a lady 
 So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes. 
 And strokes death to her. 
 
 Re-enter an Attendant, 
 
 Ciim. Where is she, sir? How 
 
 Can her contempt be answer'd ? 
 
 Atlen. Please you, sir. 
 
 Her chambers are all lock'd ; and there 's no answer 
 That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make. 
 
 Queen. j\Iy lord, when last I went to visit her, 
 She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close j 
 Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity. 
 She should that duty leave unpaid, to you. 
 Which daily she was bound to profi'er : this 
 She wisli'd me to make known ; but our great court 
 Made me to blame in memory. 
 
 Ci/m. Her doors lock'd ? 
 
 Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear. 
 Prove false I [Erit. 
 
 Queen. Son, I say, follow the kino-. 
 
 Cb. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 
 I have not seen these two days. 
 
 Qnecn. Go, look after. — [Erit Cloten. 
 
 Pisanio. thou that stand'st so for Posthumus ! — 
 He hath a drug of mine : I pray, his absence 
 Proceed by swallowing that ; for he believes 
 It is a thing most precious. But for her. 
 Where is she gone ? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her 
 Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown 
 To her desir'd Posthv'imus : Gone she is 
 To death, or to dishonour ; and my end 
 Can make good use of either: She being down, 
 I have the placing of the British crown. 
 
 Re-enter Cloten. 
 How now, my son ? 
 
 C». 'Tis certain, she is fled • 
 
 Go in, and cheer the king; he rages ; none 
 Dare come about him. 
 
 Quei 
 
 AH the better : May 
 
 This, night forestall him of the coming day! 
 
 [Exit Ql'EEN. 
 
 Clo. I love, and hate her : for she 's fair and luyal ; 
 .ind that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite 
 Ihan lady, ladies, woman ; from every one 
 The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, 
 Outsells them all : I love her therefore ; But, 
 Disdaining me, and throwing favours on 
 Ihe low Posthdmus, slanders so her judgment. 
 That what's else rare, is chok'd ; and, in" that point. 
 I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed. 
 To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools 
 
 Enter Pisanio. 
 
 Shall— W'ho is here? What! are you packing, sirrah' 
 
 Come hither: -Vh, you precious pander ! Villain, 
 
 Where is thy lady! In a word ; or else 
 
 Thou art straightway with the fiends. 
 
 P". 0, good my lord I 
 
 Cb. Where is thy lady? or, by .Tupiter 
 
 I will not ask again. Close villain 
 
71G 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 I'll have tliis secret from tliy heart, or rip 
 Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthdmus'! 
 From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 
 A dram of worth be drawn. 
 
 Pis. Alas, my lord, 
 
 How can she be with him 1 When was she miss'd ? 
 He is in Rome. 
 
 Clo, Where is she, sir? Come nearer; 
 
 No further halting : satisfy me home. 
 What has become of her ? 
 
 Pis. 0, my all-worthy lord ! 
 
 CIn. All-worthy villain 
 
 Discover where thy mistress is, at once, 
 At the next word, — No more of worthy lord, — 
 Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 
 Thy condemnation and thy death. 
 
 Pis. Then, sir, 
 
 This paper is the history of my knowledge 
 Touching her flight. [Preseyiting a letter 
 
 Clo. Let's see't ; — I will pursue her 
 
 Even to Augustus' throne. 
 
 Pis. [^Aside.] Or this, or perish. 
 She's far enough ; and what he learns by tliis, 
 May prove his travel, not her danger. 
 
 Clo. Humph ! 
 
 Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, 
 Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again ! [Aside. 
 
 Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true 1 
 
 Pis. Sir, as I think. 
 
 Clo. It is Posthumus' hand ; I know't. — Sirrah, if 
 tltou would'st not be a villain, but do me true ser 
 vice ; undergo those employments, wherein I should 
 havp cause to use thee, with a serious industry 
 that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform 
 it, directly and truly, — 1 would think thee an honest 
 man ; thou should'st neither want my means for thy 
 relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. 
 
 Pis. Well, my good lord. 
 
 Clo. Wilt thou serve me 1 For since patiently and 
 constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that 
 beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of 
 gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt 
 thou serve me 1 
 
 Pis. Sir, I will. 
 
 Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast 
 any of thy late master's garments in thy possession ? 
 
 Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit 
 he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. 
 
 Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit 
 hither : let it be thy first service ; go. 
 
 Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Clo. Meet thee at Blilford-Haven : — I forgot to ask 
 him one thing ; I'll remember't anon : — Even there 
 
 thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill tliee I would, 
 
 these garments were come. She said upon a time, 
 (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) that 
 she held the very garment of Posthumus in more 
 respect than my noble and natural person, together 
 with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit 
 upon my back, will I ravish her: First kill him, and 
 in her eyes : there shall she see my valour, which will 
 then be a torment to her contempt. He on tlie ground, 
 my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, — 
 and when my lust hath dined, (which, as 1 say, to vex 
 her, 1 will execute in the clothes that she so praised,) 
 to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. 
 She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry 
 in my revenge. 
 
 Re-enter Pisanio, with the clothes. 
 
 Be those the garments T 
 Pis. Ay, my noble lord. 
 
 C/o. How long is't since she went to Milford-HavenJ 
 
 Pis. She can scarce be there yet. 
 
 Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the 
 second thing that I have commanded thee : the third 
 is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. 
 Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender it- 
 self to thee. — 3Iv revenge is now at Milford ; 'Would 
 I had wings to follow it ! — Come, and be true. [Exit. 
 
 Pis. Thou bidd'st me to my loss : for, true to thee, 
 Were to prove false, which 1 will never be. 
 To him that is most true. 'J'o Milford go. 
 And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow, 
 You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed 
 Be cross'd with slowness: labour be his meed! [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE VI.— Before the Cave of Belarius. 
 Enter Imogen, in boy^s clothes, 
 hno. I see a man's life is a tedious one : 
 I have tir'd myself ; and for two nights together 
 Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick. 
 But that my resolution helps me. — Milford, 
 When from the mountain-top Pisanio shew'd thee. 
 Thou wast within a ken : O .Tove ! I thinks 
 Foundations fly the wretched : such, I mean, 
 Wiiere they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me 
 I could not miss my way : will poor folks lie. 
 That have afflictions on them ; knowing 'tis 
 A punisiiment, or tiial ? Yes ; no wonder, 
 When rich ones scarce tell true : To lapse in fulness 
 Is sorer, than to lie for need ; and falsehood 
 Is worse in kings than beggars. — My dear lord ! 
 Thou art one o'the false ones : Now I think on thee. 
 My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was 
 At point to sink for food- — But what is this 1 
 Here is a path to it : 'tis some savage hold : 
 I were best not call ; 1 dare not call : yet famine. 
 Ere clean it o'erthrovv nature, makes it valiant. 
 Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards ; hardness ever 
 Of hardiness is mother. — Ho ! who's here ? 
 If any thing that 's civil , speak ; if savage. 
 Take, or lend. — Ho ! — No answer? then I'll enter. 
 Best draw my sw^ord ; and if mine enemy 
 But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't. 
 Such a foe, good heaven ! [She goes into the cave. 
 
 Enter Belarius, Guiderivs, and Arviracus. 
 
 Bel. Y'ou, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman, and 
 Ave master of the feast : Cadwal, and I, 
 Will play the cook, and servant; 'tis our match : 
 The sweat of industry would dry, and die, 
 But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs 
 Will make what's homely, savoury : Weariness 
 Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth 
 Finds the do«n pillow hard. — Now, peace be here. 
 Poor house, that kcep'st thyself! 
 
 Gui. I am thoroughly weary. 
 
 Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. 
 
 Gui. There is cold meat i'the cave; we'll browze 
 on that 
 Whilst what we have.kill'd be cook'd. 
 
 Bel. Stay ; come not in : [Loohing in. 
 
 But that it eats our victuals, I should think 
 Here were a fairy. 
 
 Gui. What's the matter, sir? 
 
 Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not. 
 An earthly paragon I — Behold divmeness 
 No elder than a boy ! 
 
 Enter Imogen. 
 
 hno. Good masters, harm me not; 
 Before I enter'd here, I call'd ; and thought [troth. 
 To have begg'd, or bought what 1 have took : Good 
 

 ri— •■ y.i»»iiijm«',i,',i;|jMn.im«ii»a.i-,.-w« ""T'it"»ii''iifii'rmfi'innfUi'irri'<iitff"ff"""° 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 717 
 
 I have stolen nought ; nor would not, though I had 
 
 found 
 Gold strew'U o'er the floor. Here's money for my meat : 
 I woiild have left it on the board, so soon 
 As I had made my meal ; and parted 
 With prayers for the provider. 
 
 Gui. Money, youth ? 
 
 Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt ! 
 As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those 
 Who worship dirty god: 
 
 I,r. 
 
 I see you are angry : 
 
 Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should 
 Have died, had 1 not made it. 
 
 Bel. Whither bound ? 
 
 Imo. To Milford-Haven, sir. 
 
 Bel. What is your namel 
 
 Imo. Fidele, sir : I have a kinsman, who 
 Is bound for Italy ; he embark'd at Jlilford ; 
 To whom being gone, almost spent with hunger, 
 1 am fallen in this offence. 
 
 Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth. 
 
 Think us no churls ; nor measure our good minds 
 By tliis rude place we live in. Well encounter'd I 
 Tis almost night ; you shall have better cheer 
 Ere you depart ; and thanks, to stay and eat it. — 
 Boys,- bid him welcome. 
 
 Gui. W'ere you a woman, youth, 
 
 I should woo hard, but be your groom, — [n honesty, 
 I bid for you, as I'd buy. 
 
 Arv. I'll make't my comfort. 
 
 He is a man ; 1 '11 love him as my brother ; — 
 And such a welcome as I'd give to him. 
 After long absence, such as yours : — Most welcome ! 
 Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. 
 
 Imo. 'Mongst friends ! 
 
 If brothers I— Would it had been so, that they [Aside. 
 Had been my father's sons, then had my prize 
 Been less ; and so more equal ballasting 
 To thee, Posthuraus. 
 
 Bel. He wrings at some distress. 
 
 Gui. 'Would, I could free't ! 
 
 -irv- Or I ; whate'er itbe. 
 
 What pain it cost, what danger 1 Gods ! 
 
 Be/. Hark, boys. [Wlikpering. 
 
 Imo. Great men, 
 That had a court no bigger than this cave. 
 That did attend themselves, and had the virtue 
 Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by 
 That nothing gift of differing multitudes,) 
 Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! 
 I'd change my sex to be companions with them, 
 Since Leonatus false. 
 
 Bel. It shall be so : 
 
 Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. — Fair youth, come in: 
 Discourse is heavy, fasting ; when we have supp'd. 
 We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story, 
 So far as thou wilt speak it. 
 
 Gui. Pray, draw near. 
 
 Arv. The night to the owl , and morn to the lark, less 
 
 Imo. Thanks, sir. [welcome. 
 
 An. I pray, draw near. \_Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VII.— Rome. 
 
 ^nter Two Senators, and Tribunes, 
 
 1 Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's writ ; 
 That since the common .nen are now in action 
 Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians ; 
 And that the legions no-.v in Gallia are 
 Full weak to undertake our wars against 
 The fallen-off Britons ; that we do incite 
 Tiie gentry to this busiriss: He creates 
 
 Lucius pro-consul : and to you the tribunes, 
 
 For this immediate levy, he commands 
 
 His absolute commission. Long live Cajsar ! 
 
 7'ii. Is Lucius general of the forces 1 
 
 2 Sen. Ay. 
 
 Tri. Remaining now in Gallia t 
 
 1 Sen. With those legions 
 
 Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy 
 Must be supplyant ; The words of your commission 
 Will tie you to the numbers, and the time 
 Of their despatch. 
 
 7")-!. We will discharge our duty. [Eieunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — The Forest, near the Cave. 
 Enter Cloten. 
 
 Clo. I am near to the place where they should meet, 
 if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his gar- 
 ments serve me ! Why should his mistress, who was 
 made by him that made the tailor, not be tit too ! the 
 rather (saving reverence of the word) for 'tis said, 
 a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must 
 play the workman. I dare'speak it to myself, (for 
 it is not vain-glory, for a man and his glass to confer ; 
 in his own chamber, I mean,) the lines of my body 
 are as well drawn as his ; no less young, more stron'^, 
 not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the ad- 
 vantage of the time, above him in birth, alike con- 
 versant in general services, and more remarkable in 
 single oppositions : yet this imperseverant thing loves 
 him in my despite* What mortality is ! Posth'umus, 
 thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, 
 shall within this hour be oft"; thy mistress enforc'd ': 
 thy garments cut to pieces before thy face : and all 
 this done, spurn her home to her father : who may, 
 haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage ; but 
 my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn 
 all into ray commendations. My horse is tied up safe : 
 Out, sword, and to a sore purpose ! Fortune, put them 
 into my hand ! This is the very description of their 
 meeting-place ; and the fellow dares not deceive me. 
 
 [Exit. 
 SCENE U.— Before the Cave. 
 
 Enter, from the Cave, Belakius, Guiderius, 
 Arviragus, and Imogen. 
 Bel. You are not well : [To Imogen.] remain here 
 in the cave ; 
 We '11 come to you after hunting. 
 
 ^11'. Brother, stay here : [To Imogen. 
 
 -■Vre we not brothers t 
 
 '^""'- So man and man should be; 
 
 But clay and clay differs in dignity. 
 Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. 
 
 Gui. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him. 
 
 Imo. So sick I am not ;— yet I am not well : 
 But not so citiien a wanton,' as 
 To seem to die, ere sick ; So please you, leave me ; 
 Stick to your journal course : the breach of custom 
 Is breach of all. I am ill ; but your being by me 
 Cannot amend me : Society is no comfort 
 To one not sociable : I am not very sick. 
 Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here. 
 I'll rob none but myself: and let me die. 
 Stealing so poorly. 
 
 Gui. I love thee ; I have spoke it: 
 
 How much the quantity, the weight as much. 
 As I do love my father. 
 
718 
 
 CYMBELIXE. 
 
 Thl. Witt:.'' Iiow' how: 
 
 Jlr7i. If 15 he sit to sar so, sir, 1 yoke mp 
 Tti TT^- ^ood hrolhor'* fault; 1 inow' noi why 
 "i l^'■r ihT> wnth : and 1 Jiavt beard tod say, 
 ] .!■'■( * reason'^ withont Teasoe : the bier at dhnr. 
 A ni^ n dEmand who is"l shall die, I'd s^', 
 lii 1 r'/iih^\, n(»( this vtiuth* 
 
 ." rorthiDBSS of nature '. brw. << ! 
 
 rovartk father cowards, and I _■ '.jre'bast; 
 
 Xatnre hath meal, and bran ; contempt, and gracfc. 
 1 am not their father ; yet who this should be, 
 Both mirarfe itself, ^ov^i befow me. — 
 'Tis the BJnth hour of the morn. 
 
 An>. Brother, fareiii'eii. 
 
 Jmn, I -TOSh ye snort. 
 
 Jin. Von health. — So please yoa, sir, 
 
 Jma. lAside-l These art kind CKeaXures. Oods, 
 ^'hflt lies 1 hp."e heaTd I 
 
 - 1 hut at conn; 
 - : report I 
 
 '. •■: 1. K ,.,.> ,<•.;> .. i-i r.sters ; for the cfisli, 
 
 Poor r.'ihutarv ri^'er? as s»'eel fish. 
 1 am sicl still ; heart-sick ; — Ptsanio, 
 I'll now taste of ihj drag. 
 
 (h,i, T oonld not stir )iim ; 
 
 "■ . " . " " ■ ..r.tc ; 
 
 ... ,. , , . ^ ... ;.i ...,.-.^^. ...^ _.^. said, hereafter 
 I micht know more. 
 
 Ri. Te the field, to the field :— 
 
 ^ell leave von for this time ; go in, and TeSL 
 
 ATt'. We'll not be long away. 
 
 ii^:. PraT, be aei »<i. 
 
 For von innst be onr honsewif^ 
 
 Imn. Well, or m, 
 
 I am bonnd to yon. 
 
 Tir-i. .\nd so shall bs ever. £KtM Iwoejx, 
 
 This yonih, howc'er distress-d, a|s|<ears, heballi had 
 Good ancestors. 
 
 At, . " ' ' > i ' -5. 1 fracters : 
 
 Gi ; cnt otr roots incha- 
 
 And Si... „ „-...■„ _i :o had been sick. 
 
 And he her dictet. 
 
 Ant. Xo'bly lie yoVes 
 
 A smiling wiii a siffl; : as if riw s^h 
 Was thai' it was. for not being snch a smile ; 
 "' ' '. ■■ iijrh, that it would fly 
 
 to commix 
 "• , ...i .- ; rul at, 
 
 Gid. I do note. 
 
 That grief and patience, rooted in him both. 
 Mingle ihrar sjmrs together. 
 
 jItt. Grow, patience 1 
 
 . .. 1., .-. . ..:-v.:_^ -'^rr, grief, nntwine 
 
 ■ he"incrcasing line ! ^there ? 
 . ..g. Ceroe; away. — Who's 
 
 Enter Cu>rEK. 
 
 Ci/1. I cannot find those mnagates : that villain 
 Hath mock'd me ! — 1 am faint, 
 
 Br/. Those mnagates ! 
 
 Means be not ns ? I partly know him ; 'tis 
 Cloten, the son o'the qncen, 1 fear some ambush. 
 I saw him iK>t these many years, and yet 
 I know 'tis he; — We are held as otitlaws; — Hence. 
 
 C™i. He is bnt one ; You ;. 'it seaj'ch 
 
 What companies are near : p: : 
 
 Let me alone xrit3» him. [h ,,..;»<? Aav. 
 
 Clf. Soft! What are you ] 
 
 That 6v roe thtis ! seme villain mountaineers 1 j 
 
 I have^eard of saok. — What slave art &oa 1 1 
 
 "" -V thing 
 
 viaiTsh did I ne'er, than answering 
 '( ^nthont a knock. 
 
 Cw. Thou art a robber. 
 
 .*. law-hpeaV-er. a villais ; Yield the*, thief. 
 
 Gj/i.Towho' tothec'' Whslartthon? l-lavenoit 
 ^ n arm a* hie as thine ? a heart as big ? 
 
 "'■ ' ' --'bigger: for I wear not 
 
 Say, what tboa art^ 
 '-" - .- -.hoe? " 
 
 Cm. Thou villain base, 
 
 K7iow''st me B0» by my ojwftics ? 
 
 &>d. Xo, nor thy tailor, rascal, 
 
 ^^"h^ is thy grandfather ; be made those clothes, 
 \\'hich, as k soems, laake thee. 
 
 Cln. Thou precioBs varlet. 
 
 My tailor made them not. 
 
 (rui. Hence then, and thank 
 
 The man that gave tbcm thee. Thou art some fool ; 
 I am loath to beat thee. 
 
 Cin. Thon injnrions thief, 
 
 Hear but tny name, and tremble. 
 
 G«4. WTial's thy name '>. 
 
 Ote. Cloten, thon villain. 
 
 Gwi, Cloteti. thon double villain, be thy name, 
 I cannot tremble at it; were't toad, or adder, spjdet, 
 'Twould move me sooner, 
 
 Clo. To thy further feat, 
 
 Xay, to thy mete confusion, thon shalt know 
 Vm son to the queen, 
 
 Gtii, Vm Sony fot't ; not seeming 
 
 So worthy » tby biitii. 
 
 CK Art not ateard ♦ 
 
 Gui. Those tbat I teveTcncc, those 1 fear ; the wist 
 At fools I laugh, not fear them. 
 
 Clfi. " T>ie the de«th ; 
 
 'W^hen I ha^-e slain thee with my proper hand, 
 ru follow those that even now (Jed hence, 
 .Vnd on the gates of Lnd's town set vonr hr 
 Yield, rustic mountaineer, ££«»»( 
 
 Enter Btuiiiits anii .Vhvikacids. 
 
 BeL Xo company's abroad. 
 
 Atv, Konein the world : \'ou did mistake him, s. 
 
 Bel. X cannot tell : I^ong is it since 1 saw him 
 But time hath nothing blnrr'd those lines of favc. 
 Which then he wore ; the snatches in his voice, 
 .\nd burst of speaking, weie as his : 1 am absol. 
 'Twas veiy CloJen. 
 
 Arv. In this place we left them 
 
 I wish my brother made good lime with him, 
 You say he is so fell. 
 
 Bel, Being scarce made np, 
 
 I mean, to roan, be had not apprehension 
 Of roaiing terrors : for the effect of judgment 
 Is oft ihe'cause of fearj But see, thy brother, 
 
 ^£-fi»ter Grinuiit^ 9fith CtXiTKv's hea^, 
 
 Gui. ITiis Cloten was s fool ; jm empty purse, 
 There was no iKoncy in'; les 
 
 Could have knockM out . - he had non. 
 
 Yet I not doing this, the ..».. ,. ;ne 
 
 Mv head, as I do his. 
 
 'Bel. What hast thou done ? 
 
 Gk j. I am perfect, what : cut off one Cloten's head, 
 Son to the queen, after his own report ; 
 Who call'd me traitor, Kioimtaineer ; and swore, 
 ^^'ith his oxrn single hanii he'd rake us in. 
 Displace our heads, where i^thank the gwds!'* thej' 
 .\n[i set them on Lad's town, [grow, 
 
 J5py, We are all undone. 
 
 (rui. Why, worthy ftther, what have m-e to lose, 
 
 I 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 719 
 
 T».\it, that he swore to take oor lices t The law j 
 
 Protect? not ns : Then why shoold we be tender, i 
 To let an arrogant piece of Besh threat ns ; 
 Plav judjre. and executioner, all himself; 
 For' we do fear the law? What company 
 Discover you abroad ! 
 
 Bel. No single soul 
 
 Can we set eye on, bnt in all safe rea-son. ( 
 
 He must have some attendants. Though his hamoar 
 Vi'is nothing bnt mutation : ay, and that ! 
 
 From one bad thing to worse ; not frenzy, not | 
 
 Absolute madness could so far have rav'd. 
 To bring him here alone : Although, perhaps. 
 It may be heard at coort, that such as we 
 Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time 
 May make some stronger head : the which he hearing, 
 (.\s it is like him,) might break out, and swear 
 He'd fetch us in ; yet is't not probable 
 To come alone, either he so undertaking. 
 Or they so suffering ; then on good ground we fear. 
 If we do fear this iKK'y hath a tail 
 More perilous than the head. 
 
 Arv. Let ordinance 
 
 Come as the gods forcsay it : howsoe'er. 
 My brother hath done well. 
 
 Bet. I had no mind 
 
 To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness 
 Did make my way long forth. 
 
 Giii, With his own sword, 
 
 Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en 
 His head from him ; I'll throw't into the creek 
 Behind our rock ; and let it to the sea. 
 And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten : 
 That's all I reck. [£iit. 
 
 Bel. 1 fear, 'twill be rereng'd : 
 
 "Would. Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though 
 Becomes thee well enough. [valour 
 
 'Am. 'Would I had done't. 
 
 So the revenge alone pursued me ! — Polydore, 
 I love thee brotherly; but envy much. 
 Thou ha-st robb'd me of this deed : I would, revenges. 
 That possible strength might meet, would seek us 
 And put us to our answer. [through, 
 
 Bel. Well, 'tis done : 
 
 We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger 
 Where there's no profit. I prythee, to our rock ; 
 You and Fidele play the cooks : I'll stay 
 Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him 
 To dinner presently. 
 
 A)v. Poor sick Fidele ! 
 
 I'll wiilingly to him ; To gain his colour, 
 I'd let a parish of such Cb'tens' blood. 
 And praise myself for charity. [Erit. 
 
 Bel. O thou goddess. 
 
 Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st 
 In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle 
 As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, 
 Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough, 
 Their royal blood enchafd, as the nid'st wind. 
 That by the top doth take the mountain pine. 
 And make him sloop to the vale. 'lis wonderful. 
 That an invisible instinct should frame them 
 To royalty unleam'd ; honour untaught ; 
 Civility not seen from other : valour. 
 That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop 
 As if it had been sow'd ! Yet still it's strange, 
 What Cloten's being here to us portends ; 
 Or what his death will bring us. 
 
 Re-enter GuinERius. 
 
 Gui. Where's my brother ? 
 
 i have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, 
 
 In embassy to his mother : his body's hostage 
 For his return. [SoUmn music. 
 
 Bet. 5fy ingenious instrument ! 
 
 Hark, Polydore, it sounds ! But what occasion 
 Hath Cadwal now to give it motion ! Hark ! 
 
 Gui. Is he at home ! 
 
 BeL He went hence even now. [mother 
 
 Gui. What does he mean ? since death of my dear's! 
 It did not speak before. .^11 solemn things 
 Should answer solemn accidents. The matter 1 
 Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys. 
 Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys. 
 Is Cadwal mad ? 
 
 lU-mter AnviRiCtis, bearing Imoceti as dead. 
 
 Bel. Look, here he comes. 
 
 And brings the dire occasion in his anns, 
 Of what we blame him for ! 
 
 Arc. The bird is dead. 
 
 That we have made so mnch on. I had rather 
 Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, 
 To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch. 
 Than have seen this. 
 
 Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily. 
 
 My brother wears thee not one-half so well, 
 .4s when thou grew'st thyself. 
 
 BeU O, melancholy ! 
 
 Who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find 
 The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish crare 
 Might easiliest harbour in ? — Thou blessed thing! 
 .Tove knowswhatman thou might'st have made; but I, 
 Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy ! 
 How found you him 1 
 
 Arv. Stark, as you see: 
 
 Tlius smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, 
 Xot as death's dart, being laugh'd at : his right cheek. 
 Reposing on a cushion. 
 
 Gui. Where ? 
 
 An. 0' the floor; 
 
 His arms thus leagu'd : I thought, he slept; and put 
 My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness 
 Answer'd my steps too lond. 
 
 Gui. Why, he but sleeps : 
 
 If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed ; 
 With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, 
 .-Vnd worms will not come to thee. 
 
 Arv. With fairest flowers. 
 
 Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 
 I'll sweeten thy sad grave : Thou shall not lack 
 The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor 
 The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor 
 The leaf of eglantine, whom not lo slander, 
 Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the ruddock would. 
 With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming 
 Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie 
 Without a monument ! ) bring thee all this ; 
 Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none. 
 To winter-ground thy corse. 
 
 Gui. Pr'ythee, have done ; 
 
 And do not play in wench-like words with that 
 Which is so serious. Let us bury him, 
 -And not protract with admiration what 
 Is now due debt. — To the grave. 
 
 Arv. Say, where shall 's lay himi 
 
 , Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 
 
 Am. Be'tso. 
 
 And let ns, Polydore, though now our voices 
 Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground, 
 A% once our mother ; use like note, and words. 
 Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 
 
 Gui. Cadwal, 
 I cannot sing ; I'll weep, and word it with thee : 
 
720 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse 
 Than priests and fanes that lie. 
 
 Arv. We '11 speak it then. 
 
 Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less : for Cloten 
 Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys : 
 And, though he came our enemy, remember, 
 He was paid for that : Though mean and mighty , rotting 
 Together, have one dust ; yet reverence, 
 (That angel of the world,) doth make distinction 
 Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely ; 
 And though you took his life, as being our foe. 
 Yet bury him as a prince. 
 
 Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. 
 
 Thersites* body is as good as Ajax, 
 When neither are alive. 
 
 Afv. If you'll go fetch him, 
 
 We Tl say our song the whilst. — Brother, begin. 
 
 l^Exh Belarius. 
 
 Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east : 
 My father hath a reason for 't. 
 
 Arv. 'Tis true. 
 
 Gui. Come on then, and remove him. 
 
 Arv. So, — Begin. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun 
 
 Nor thej'urioiis icinter's rages: 
 Thoit thy ivorldlii task hast done, 
 
 Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : 
 Golden lads and girls oil must. 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 
 
 Care no more to clothe, and eat ; 
 To thee the reed is as the oak: 
 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui. Fear no more the light^ ning flash, 
 Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 
 Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 Arv. Thou hast fnish'd joy and moan: 
 Both. All lovers young, all lovers must 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 Gui. No exorciser harm thee ! 
 Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! 
 Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 
 Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! 
 Both. Quiet cousunvnation have ; 
 
 And renowned be thy grave! 
 
 Re'enter Belaiiius, with the body fj/" Cloten. 
 
 Gui. We have done our obsequies : Come, lay him 
 down. [more : 
 
 Bel. Here's a few flowers; but about midnight, 
 The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night, 
 Arestrewings fitt'st for graves. — Upon their faces: — 
 You were as flowers, now wither'd : even so 
 These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow. — 
 Come on, away : apart upon our knees. 
 The ground, thut gave them first, has them again : 
 Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 
 
 [Exeunt Belarius, Gvidrhivs, and Arviracus. 
 
 Imo. [Awaking.] Yes,sir, to JMilford-Haven; Which 
 is the way 1 
 I thank you. — By yon bush? — Pray, how far thither? 
 'Ods pittikins ! — can it be si.x miles yet? — ■ 
 I have gone all night: — 'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep. 
 But, soft! no bedfellow : — O, gods and goddesses ! 
 
 [Seeing the body. 
 These flowers are like the pleasures of the world ; 
 This bloody man, the care on't. — I hope, I dream; 
 
 For, so, T thought I was a cave-keeper, 
 And cook to honest creatures: But 'tis not so ; 
 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, 
 Which the brain makes of fumes : Our very eyes 
 Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith, 
 I tremble still with fear : But if ther» be 
 Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity 
 As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it ! 
 The dream's here still : even when I wake, it is 
 Without me, as within me ; hot imagin'd, felt. 
 A headless man ! — The garments of Posthumust 
 I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand ; 
 His foot IMercurial : his Martial thigh , 
 The brawns of Hercules : but his Jovial face — 
 Murder in heaven? — How? — *Tis gone. — Pisanio, 
 All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, 
 And mine to boot, be darted on thee ! Thou, 
 Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, 
 Hast here cut off my lord — To write, and read. 
 Be henceforth treacherous! — Damn*d Pisanio 
 Hath with his forged letters, — damn'd Pisanio — 
 From this most bravest vessel of the world 
 Struck the main-top ! — O, PosthCunus ! alas, 
 Wiiere is thy head? where 's that? Ah me ! where 's 
 Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, [that? 
 And left this head on. — How siiould this be? Pisanio? 
 'Tis he, and Cloten : malice and lucre in them 
 Have laid this woe here. 0, 'tis pregnant, pregnant ! 
 The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious 
 And cordial to me, have I not found it 
 Murd'rous to the senses ? That confirms it home: 
 This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's ; ! — 
 Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 
 That we the horrider may seem to those 
 Which chance to find us : O, my lord, my lord! 
 
 Enter Lucrus, a Captain, and other Officers, 
 and a Soothsayer. 
 
 Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia, 
 After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending 
 You here at Slilford-Haven, with your ships : m 
 
 They are here in readiness. ^ 
 
 Luc. But what from Rome* 
 
 Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners. 
 And gentlemen of Italy ; most willing spirits. 
 That promise noble service : and they come 
 Under the conduct of bold lachimo. 
 Sienna's brother. 
 
 Luc. When expect you them? 
 
 Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind. 
 
 Liic. This forwardness 
 
 Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers 
 Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to't. — Now, sir,. 
 What have you dream'd, of late , of this war's purpose ? 
 
 Sooth. Last night the very gods shew'd me a vision : 
 (I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus : — 
 I saw Jove's bird, tho Roman eagle, wing'd 
 From the spungy south to this part of the west. 
 There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends, 
 (Unless my sins abuse my divination,) 
 Success to the Roman host. 
 
 Luc. Dream often so. 
 
 And never false. — Soft, ho ! what trunk is here, 
 Without his top ? The ruin speaks, that sometime 
 It was a worthy building. — How ! a page ! — 
 Or dead, or sleeping on him ? But dead, rather : 
 For nature doth abhor to make his bee! 
 With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. — 
 Let 's see the boy's face. 
 
 Cap. He is alive, my lord. 
 
 Luc. He'll then instruct us of this uody. — Young 
 Infoim us of thy fortunes ; for, it see as, [one. 
 
ACT IV, -SCENE IV. 
 
 721 
 
 They crave to be deraanded : Who is this, 
 Tbou mak'st thy bloody pillow 1 Or who was he, 
 That, otherwise than noble nature did, 
 Hath alter'dthat good picture 1 What's thy interest 
 In this sad wreck t How came ill Who is itl 
 What art thou ! 
 
 Imo. I am nothing : or if not, 
 
 Nolliing to be were better. This was my master. 
 A very valiant Briton, and a good, 
 That here by mountaineers ]ies slain : — Alas ! 
 There are no more such masters*: I may wander 
 From east to Occident, cry out for service. 
 Try many, all good, serve truly, never 
 Find such another master. 
 
 Luc. 'Lack, good youth ! 
 
 Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than 
 Thy master in bleeding; Say his name, good friend. 
 
 imo. Richard du Champ — If I do lie, and do 
 No harm by it. though the gods hear, I hope 
 They '11 pardon it. [Aside.^ Say you, sir? 
 Luc, Thy name ? 
 
 Imo. Fidele. 
 
 Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same : 
 Thy name well fits thy faith ; thy faith, thy name. 
 Wilt take thy chance with me ? I will not say, 
 Thou shall be so well masterd ; but, be sure. 
 No less belov'd. The Koman emperor's letters, 
 Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner 
 Than thine own worth prefer thee ; Go with me. 
 
 Imo, I'll follow, sir. i3ut first, an't please the gods, 
 I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep 
 As these poor pickaxes can dig : and when, 
 With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd his 
 And on it said a century of prayers, [grave, 
 
 Such as I can, twice o'er, I '11 weep, and sigh ; 
 And, leaving so his service, follow you. 
 So please you entertain me. 
 
 Luc. Ay, good youth •, 
 
 And rather father thee, than master thee. — 
 My friends, 
 
 The boy hath taught us manly duties : Let us 
 Find out the prettiest daizied plot we can. 
 And make him with our pikes and partisans 
 A grave : Come ; arm him. — Boy, he is preferr'd 
 By thee to us ; and he shall be interred. 
 As soldiers can. Be cheerful ; wipe thine eyes : 
 Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Eieunt. 
 
 .SCENE IU.~A Hoom in Cymbeline's Palace. 
 Enter Cymbeline, Lords, aiid Pisanio. 
 
 Cum. Again ; and bring me word, how 'tis with her. 
 A fever with the absence of her son ; 
 A madness, of which her life's in danger: — Heavens, 
 How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imogen, 
 The great part of my comfort, gone ; my queen 
 Upon a desperate bed ; and in a time 
 When fearful wars point at me ; her son gone, 
 So needful for this present *. It strikes me, past 
 The hope of comfort. — But for thee, fellow, 
 Who needs must know of her departure, and 
 Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee 
 By a sharp torture. 
 
 Pis. Sir, my life is yours, 
 
 I humbly set it at your will : But, for my mistress, 
 I nothing know where she remains, why gone. 
 Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your high- 
 Hoid me your loyal servant. [ness, 
 
 1 h'-d. Good my liege, 
 
 The day that she was missing, he was here : 
 I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform 
 All parts of his subjection loyally. 
 
 For Cloten. — 
 
 There wants no diligence in seeking hira, 
 
 And will, no doubt, be found. 
 
 Cum. The time's troublesome : 
 
 We 'II slip you for a season ; but our jealousy 
 Does yet depend. [To Pisanio. 
 
 1 Lord. So please your majesty, 
 
 The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn. 
 Are landed on your coast ; with a supply 
 Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. 
 
 C'jm. Now for the counsel of my son, and queen! 
 I am amaz'd with matter. 
 
 1 Lord. Good my liege, 
 
 Your preparations can affront no less [ready: 
 
 Than what you hear ot : come more, for more you 're 
 The want is, but to put those powers in motion, 
 That long to move. 
 
 Cum. I thank you : Let's withdraw: 
 
 And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not 
 What can from Italy annoy us ; but 
 We grieve at chances here. — Away. [Exeunt, 
 
 Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since 
 I wrote him, Imogen was slain : 'Tis strange : 
 Nor hear I from my mistress, who did piomise 
 To yield me often tidings : Neither know I 
 What is betid to Cloten ; but remain 
 Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work: 
 Wherein I am false, I am honest ; not true, to be true. 
 These present wars shall find I love my country. 
 Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them. 
 All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd : 
 Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd. [Ex. 
 
 SCENE lV.~Before the Cave. 
 E/iltT Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 
 
 Giii. The noise is round about us. 
 
 fiel. Let us from it. 
 
 Anu What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it 
 From action and adventure ? 
 
 Gui. Nay, what hope 
 
 Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans 
 Must or for Britons slay us ; or receive us 
 For barbarous and unnatural revolts 
 During their use, and slay us after. 
 
 Bel. Sons, 
 
 We'll higher to the mountains ; there secure us. 
 To tlie king's party there's no going: newness 
 Ot Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd 
 Among the bands) may drive us to a render 
 Where we have liv'd ; and so extort from us 
 That which we've done, whose answer would be de-ath 
 Drawn on with toituie. 
 
 Gui. This is, sir, a doubt. 
 
 In such a time, nothing becoming you, 
 Nor satisfying us. 
 
 Arv. It is not likely, 
 
 That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, 
 Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes 
 And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, 
 That they will waste their time upon our note, 
 To know from whence we are. 
 
 ^el. O, I am known 
 
 Of many in the army : many years. 
 Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him 
 From my remembrance. And, besides, the king 
 Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves j 
 Who find in my exile the want of breeding. 
 The certainty of this hard life ; aye hopeless 
 To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd, 
 But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and 
 The shrinking slaves of winter. 
 
722 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Gui. Than be so. 
 
 Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to tlie army, 
 I and my brother are not known ; yourself, 
 So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown. 
 Cannot be question'd. 
 
 Art: By this sun that shines, 
 
 I'll thither: What thing is it, that I never 
 Uid see man die 1 scarce ever look'd on blood. 
 But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison t 
 Never bestrid a horse, save one, that had 
 A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel 
 Nor iron on his heel ? I am ashapi'd 
 To look upon the holy sun, to have 
 The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining 
 So long a poor unknown. 
 
 Gui. By heavens, I'll go : 
 
 If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, 
 I'll take the better care ; but if you will not. 
 The hazard therefore due fall on me, by 
 The hands of Romans ! 
 
 An. So say I ; Amen. 
 
 Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set 
 So slight a valuation, should reserve 
 My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys : 
 If in your country wars you chance to die. 
 That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie : 
 Lead, lead.— The time seems long : their blood 
 
 thinks scorn, \_Aside. 
 
 Till it fly out, and shew them princes born. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ Field betu-een the British 
 mid Roman Camps, 
 
 'Enter Pdsthumus, with a bloody handkerchief. 
 
 Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee ; for I wish'd 
 Thou shoui'l'st be colour'd thus. Vou married ones, 
 If each of you would take this course, how many 
 Must murder wives much better than themselves, 
 For wrying but a little ! — O, Pisanio ! 
 Every good servant does not all commands ; 
 No bond, but to do just ones. — Gods ! if you 
 Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never 
 Had liv'd to put on this : so had you saved 
 The noble Imogen to repent ; and struck 
 Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, alack. 
 You snatch some hence for little faults ; that's love, 
 To have them fall no more: you some permit 
 To second ills with ills, each elder worse ; 
 And make them dread it to the doers' thrift. 
 But Imogen is your own : Do your best wills. 
 And make me bless'd to obey I I am brought hither 
 Among the Italian gentry ,"and to fight 
 Against my lady's kingdom : 'Tis enough 
 That, Britain, 1 have kill'd thy mistress ; peace ! 
 I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, 
 Hear patiently my purpose; I'll disrobe me 
 Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself 
 As does a Briton peasant : so I'll fight 
 Against the part 1 come with ; so I'll die 
 For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life 
 Is, every breath, a death ; and thus, unknown, 
 Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril 
 Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know 
 iMoie valour in me, than my habits shew. 
 Gods, put the strength o'tlie Leonali in me ! 
 To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin 
 Tlie fashion, less without, and more within. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE n.— The same. 
 
 Enter at one side, Lucius, Iachiiho, and the Roman 
 army; at the other side, the British armv ; LrONA- 
 Tus PosTHUMUs JoUouing it, like a poor soldier. 
 Theif inarch over, and go out. Alarums. Then enter 
 again in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus : lie van- 
 cjuisheth and disarjneth Iachimo, and then leaves him. 
 
 Inch. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom 
 Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady. 
 The princess of this country, and the air on't 
 Revengingly enfeebles me ; Or, could this carl, 
 A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me. 
 In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne 
 As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. 
 If that thy gentry, Britain, go before 
 This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds 
 Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exit. 
 
 The battle continues; the Britons y?y; Cymbeline is 
 taken ; then enter, to his rescue, Belarius, Guide- 
 Rius, and Arviragus. 
 
 Bel. Stand, stand ! We have the advantage of the 
 The lane is guarded ; nothing routs us, but [ground ; 
 The villany of our fears. 
 
 Gui. Arv. Stand, stand, and figlit! 
 
 Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: Thej] re- 
 scue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter Lucius, 
 Iachimo, and Imogen. 
 
 Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself: 
 For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such 
 As war were hood-wink'd. 
 
 lack. 'Tis their fresh supplies. 
 
 Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely : Or betimes 
 Let's le-enforce, or fly. [Exeunt 
 
 A 
 
 SCENE in.— Another Part of the Field. 
 Enter Posthumus and a British Lord. 
 
 Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the standi 
 
 Post. ' I did : 
 
 Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. 
 
 Lord. I did. 
 
 Post. No blame be to you, sir ; for all was lost. 
 But that the heavens fought: The king himself 
 Of his wings destitute, the army broken, j 
 
 And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying ^ 
 
 Through a strait lane ; the enemy full-hearted, jU 
 Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work. 
 More plentiful than tools to do'l, struck down 
 Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 
 Merely through fear ; that the strait pass was damm'd 
 With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living 
 To die with lengthen'd shame. 
 
 Lord. Where was this lane? 
 
 Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with 
 Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, — [turf, 
 An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd 
 So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, 
 In doing this for his country ; — athwart the lane, 
 He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run 
 The counti-y base, than to commit such slaughter; 
 Wifh faces fit for masks, or rather fairer 
 Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,) 
 Made good the passage ; cry'd to those that fled. 
 Our Britain's harts die filings not our men: 
 To darkness Jieet, souls that Jiii backuardsl Stand; 
 Or we are Romans, and will give you that 
 Like beasts, which you shun beastly ; and may' save. 
 But to look back infroivn: stand, stand. — These three. 
 Three thousand confident, in act as many, 
 
ACT v.— SCENE IV. 
 
 723 
 
 fTor three performers are tlie file, when all 
 
 The rest do Dothinj. ) with this word, stand. Wind, 
 
 Accommodated hy the place, more charming, 
 
 \Vitli their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd 
 
 A distatf to a lance,) gilded pale looks, 
 
 P«rt, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some, tiirn'd 
 
 Rnt by example (0. a sin in war, [coward 
 
 Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look 
 
 The way that they did, and to grin like lions 
 
 Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 
 
 A stop i' the chaser, a retire ; anon, 
 
 A rout, confusion thick : Forthwith, they fly 
 
 Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles ; slaves. 
 
 The strides they victors made : And now our cowards 
 
 (Like fragm^pts in hard voyages.) became 
 
 The iifeo'the need; having found the back-door open 
 
 Of the unguarded hearts. Heavens, how they wound ! 
 
 Some, slain before ; some, dying ; some, their friends 
 
 O'er-borne i'the former wave : ten, chac'd by one. 
 
 Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty : 
 
 Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown 
 
 I'he mortal bugs o'the field. 
 
 Lord, This was strange chance : 
 
 A narrow lane ! an old man, and two boys ! 
 
 Vast. Nay. do not wonder at it : Vou are made 
 Kalher to wonder at the things you hear. 
 Than to work any. \\\\\ you rhyme upon't. 
 And vent it for a mockery ! Here is one : 
 TiLo hiiijn, an old man twice a bat/, a lane, 
 Prtserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane, 
 , Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 
 
 Post. 'Lack, to what end ^ 
 
 Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend : 
 For if he'll do as he is made to do. 
 I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too. 
 You have put me into rhyme. 
 
 Lord. Farewell ; you are angry. [Exit. 
 
 Post. Still going ? — This is a lord ! noble misery ! 
 To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me ! 
 To-day, how many would have given their honours 
 To have sav'd their carcasses ? took heel to do't. 
 And yet died too ? I, in my own woe charm'd. 
 Could not find death, where I did hear him groan ; 
 Norfeel him. where he struck: Being an ugly monster, 
 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, 
 Sweet words ; or halh more ministers than we 
 That draw his knives i'the war. — Well. I willfind him: 
 For being now a favourer to the Roman, 
 J^o more a Briton, I have resum'd again 
 The part I came in : Fight I will nomore. 
 But yield me to the veriest hind, tliat shall 
 Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is 
 Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be 
 Britons must take ; For me, my ransome's death ; 
 On either side I come to spend my breath ; 
 Wliich neither here I'll keep, nor bear again, 
 But end it by some means for Imogen. 
 
 Enter Two British Captains, and Soldiers. 
 
 1 Cap. Great .Tupiter be prais'd ! Lucius is taken : 
 Tis thought, the old man and his sons were angels. 
 
 t Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit 
 That gave the affront with them. 
 
 1 Cap. So 'tis reported : 
 But none of them can be found. — Stand ! who is 
 
 Post. A Roman ; [there 1 
 
 Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds 
 Had answer'd him. 
 
 2 dtp. Lay hands on him ; a dog! 
 A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 
 
 What crows have peck'd them here : He brags his 
 As if he were of note : bring him to the king, [service 
 
 Enifr CvMBEi.iNE. attended ; BcLARtus, GciUEnHTs, 
 AnvinAcrs, Pisanio, and Roman Cantivcs. The 
 Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who 
 delivers him over to a Gaoler : after which, all go out, 
 
 SCENE IV.— A Prison. 
 Enter PosTHUMus, and Two Gaolers. 
 
 1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have 
 
 locks upon you ; 
 So, graze, as you find pasture. 
 
 2 Gaot. Ay. or a stomach. [Ereunt Gaolers. 
 I''ist. Most welcome, bondage ! for thou art a way, 
 
 I think, to liberty : Yet am I better 
 Than one that's sick o'tlie gout : since he had rather 
 Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd 
 By the sure physician, death ; who is the key [ter'd 
 To unb,ir these locks. BIy conscience! thouartfet. 
 More than my shanks, and wrists : You good gods. 
 The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, [give me 
 Tlien, free for ever ! Is't enough, I am sorry t 
 So children temporal fathers do appease ; 
 Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent '> 
 I cannot do it better than in gyves, 
 Desir'd, more than constrain'd; to satisfy. 
 If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take 
 No stricter render of me, than my all. 
 I know, you are more clement than vile men, 
 Who of their broken debtors take a third, 
 A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again 
 On their abatement : that's not my desire : 
 For Imogen's dear life, take mine ; and though 
 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life ; you coin'd it: 
 Fween man and man. they weigh not every stamp ; 
 Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake 
 \ou rather mine, being yours: And so, great powers, 
 If you will take tliis audit, take this life, 
 -Vnd cancel these cold bonds. Imoo-en ! 
 I'll speak to thee in silence. ° [Hesleeps. 
 
 Solemn Music. Enter, as an apparition, SlciLlus 
 Leonatus,_/'u(/ic<- to PoSTllOMiis. an old man, at- 
 tired tike a warrior ; Isadingin hisliand an ancient 
 matron, his wife, and mother to P(jsTtlUMUs, toith 
 music before them. Then, after other music, follow 
 the Two young Leonati, hrolliers to Posthumus, 
 with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle 
 Posthumus round, as lie lies sleeping. 
 
 Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show 
 
 Thy spite on mortal flies : 
 With Mars fall out, with Juno chide. 
 
 That thy adulteries 
 
 Rates and revenges. 
 Hath my poor boy done aught but well, 
 
 Whose face I never _saw! 
 I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd 
 
 Attending Nature's law. 
 Whose father then (as men report, 
 
 Thou orphans' father art, ) 
 Thou sliould'st have been, and shielded him 
 
 From this earth-vexing smart. 
 
 Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid, 
 But took me in my throes ; 
 That from me was Posthiimus ript, 
 Came crying 'mongst his foes, 
 A thing of pitv I 
 
 Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, 
 Moulded the stuff so fair. 
 That he deserv'd the praise o'the world 
 As great Sicilius' heir. 
 2 Z i 
 
724 
 
 CYJI^K,^ 
 
 
 jSavif'A. 
 
 
 ■nw »*, bt: flw^'i 
 
 \*n'x <v'po. 
 
 
 SiBi. ri* inart>k «•^>pmel^■^ ." . t 
 
 His ladiBW TJW- .- K«BHJ ! »tM.- .. .« .-.4,;.., 
 
 lUS »» ■•»(* -caw wn-ftvmi Jm jrojft hphesx 
 
 -a, 
 
 .1* 
 
 Sisi. Wtw dit! vnt snifcr larhimb, 
 Tt til and inaic 
 
 JknC< 
 
 .J nil «*jprj: 
 
 9 Bm. *n: Ihts,. irim sfilbrr «<K& »* oamt 
 Thai - • -!■!>« 
 
 
 
 ■■•■<* 
 
 
 1 ?■ 
 
 Sc. 
 
 V 
 
 Ijun ■■ 
 
 Tokr J.: 
 
 7t Jl': 
 
 ■■ s, 
 
 husk 
 our SOB s £no4. 
 
 
 1 -licit sfinl^. 7? ^^mspf TOf. 
 
 
 
 % i>itL <i.u: ill 
 
 Si .- : 
 
 H> 
 Our. 
 
 Oi 
 St shk. I' 
 
 Ana ii&; 
 
 l<>OI JliWi- 
 
 JfciuDX. OSf It. W It" 
 
 ««. H* - 
 "Was so^il 
 
 "ife mm;. 
 
 -nSB*. 
 — S.K!J. IJUtfefltJ 
 
 r.6. — 
 
 -\!. aMtS< .Till 
 
 111 kr, 
 
 •:■» 
 ■rst 
 
 \a 
 ■ok 
 
 • -TT 
 
 .'Ik 
 
 I* 
 
 ■ m 
 
 ■ : « 
 
 
 
 •K U £(v l&Kh !A>KB Ut Ul K«r. 
 
 jK>j sees luB. s.- iu..4..-3'i. •■. . 
 TCxwd >i5 SHoe littt tike t.|<ra Ul 
 
 (TT. -..■ tn.-- 
 
 .'ook }«», J 
 
 .' r. . 3 km* 
 :h."T >« *• 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 725 
 
 ipon yourself ihat. which I am s"™ Y"" ^'> not know ; 
 or jump the after inquiry on your own penl ; and 
 how von shall speed in yout joarney s end, I think 
 von'll never return to tell one. 
 ' Pmi. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes 
 to direct them the way I am going, bntsuch as wink, 
 and will not use them. 
 
 Gfloi. What an infinite mock is this, that a man 
 should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of 
 blindness I I am sore, hangings the way of winking. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 Mm. Knockoffhismanacles; bringyourprisoner 
 
 to the king. 
 
 full. Thou bringest good news ; — I am called to 
 be made free. 
 
 Gnu/. I'll be hanged then. 
 
 Pmi. 'fhou shall be then freer than a gaoler ; no 
 bolls for the dead. [Kjit Po-iTiirnfs tf. Messenger. 
 
 Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and 
 beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, 
 on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to 
 live, for all he be a Roman : and there be some of 
 them'too, that die against their wills; so should I, 
 if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and 
 one mind good ; O, there were desolation of gaolers, 
 and gallowses ! I speak against my present profit ; 
 but my wish hath a preferment in't. [Zteunl. 
 
 SCEXE v.— Cymbeline's Tent. 
 
 Enter Cvmbfmne, 1'ei.arius, Guiderius, Arvira- 
 etjs, PisANio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. 
 
 Cum. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have 
 Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart, [made 
 That ttte poor soldier, tliat so richly fought. 
 Whose raijs sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast 
 Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found : 
 He shall be happy that can find him, if 
 Our grace can make him so. 
 
 lid, 1 never saw 
 
 Such noble fury in so poor a thing ; 
 Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought 
 But beggary and poor looks. 
 
 C\m. No tidings of him ? 
 
 I' It. lie has been scarch'd among the dead and 
 But no trace of him. [living, 
 
 Cym. To my grief, I am 
 
 The' heir of his reward ; whidi I will add 
 To you the liver, heart, and brain of Britain. 
 
 [To Bp-lakius, Gviof Hits, and Arviragus. 
 By whom I grant she lives : 'lis now the time 
 To ask of whence you are : — report it. 
 
 Bel. Sir, 
 
 In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen : 
 Further to boast, were neither true nor modest. 
 Unless I add, we are honest. 
 
 Cym. Bow your knees : 
 
 Arise, my knights o' the battle ; I create you 
 Companions lo our |ier.son, and will fit you 
 With dignities becoming your estates. 
 
 Filter Cornelius and Ladies. 
 
 There's business in these faces : — Why so sadly 
 Greet vnu our victory? you look like Romans, 
 And not o' the court of Briuin. 
 
 Cor. Hail, great king '. 
 
 To sour your happiness, I must report 
 The queen is dead. 
 
 Cym. Whom worse than a physician 
 
 Would this report become ? But I consider, 
 
 Bv medicine life may be prolong'J, yel death 
 Will seize the doctor too. — How ended she ? 
 
 Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life ; 
 Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 
 Most cruel to herself. What she confess 'd 
 I will report, so please yon : These her women 
 Can trip me, if I err ; who, with wet cheeks. 
 Were present when she finish 'd. 
 
 Ci/m. I'r'ythee, say. 
 
 Cor. First, she confess'd she nerei lov'd you , only 
 .XfTected greatness got by yon, not joii ; 
 .Married your royalty, was wife to your place ; 
 Abhorr'd yonr person. 
 
 Ciim. She alone knew this ; 
 
 And. but she spoke it dying. I would not 
 Believe her lips in opening it. Pro<eed 
 
 Cor. Your danghter, whom she bore in harK* I'llore 
 With snch integrity, she did confess 
 Was as a scorpion to her sight ; whose life. 
 But that her flijht prevented it, she bad 
 Ta'en ofT by poison. 
 
 t'vm. O most delicate fiend ' 
 
 Who is 't can read a woman ? — Is theie more ? 
 
 Cor. More, sir, and worse. Shedidconfess,sht had 
 For you a mortal mineral ; which, being took. 
 Should by the minute feed on life, and, lingering. 
 By inches waste you : In which time she purpos'd, 
 liy watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 
 O'ercome you with her show : yes, and in time. 
 (^ When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work 
 iler son into the adoption of the crown. 
 But failino of her end by his strange absence. 
 Grew shalmelessdesperate ; open'd, in despite 
 Of heaven and men, her purposes ; repented 
 The evils she hatch'd were not effected ; »o. 
 Despairing, died. 
 
 Cym. Heard you all this, her womei ! 
 
 Lady, We did so, please your highness. 
 Cym. Mine eyes 
 
 Were not in fault, for she was beautiful ; 
 Mine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor n.y heart. 
 That thought her like her seeming: it had been vi* 
 
 cious. 
 To have mistrusted her : yet, O my daughter ' 
 That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, 
 And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all I 
 
 Kntpr Licius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, iirut Kthe. 
 Roman pruonen^ guarded; Posthumcs. behind, 
 and lMO<;eN. 
 
 Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute ; that 
 The Britons have raz'd out, though with thii loss 
 Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have made suit, 
 'i'hat their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughtei 
 Of you their captives, which ourselves have granted : 
 So, think of your estate. 
 
 7.i«;. Consider, sir, the chance of war : the day 
 Was yours by accident ; had it gone with us, (end 
 We should not, when the blood was cool, have threat. 
 Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods 
 Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 
 May be call'd ransome, let it come : sufficeth. 
 A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer ; 
 Augustus lives to think on 'I : and so much. 
 For my peculiar care. This one thing only 
 I will entreat ; My boy, a Briton born, 
 I..et him be ransom 'd : never master had 
 A page Ko kind, so duteous, diligent. 
 So tender over his occasions, true. 
 So teat, 80 nurse-like : let his virtue join [nes! 
 
 With my request, which, I'll make bold, your higli- 
 Cannot deny ; he hath done no Briton bann. 
 
726 
 
 CYMBELINE. 
 
 Though he have serv'd a Roman : save hira, sir. 
 And spare no blood beside. 
 
 Ci/m. I have surely seen him : 
 
 His favour is familiar to me. — 
 Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, 
 And art mine own. — I know not why, nor wherefore. 
 To say, live, boy : ne'er thank thy master ; live: 
 And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt. 
 Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it ; 
 "V'ea, though thou do demand a prisoner. 
 The noblest ta"en. 
 
 Imo, I humbly thank your highness. 
 
 Lite* I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad j 
 And yet, I know, thou wilt. 
 
 I'lw, No, no : alack, 
 
 There's other work in hand ; 1 see a thing 
 Bitter to me as death : your life, good master. 
 Must shuffle for itself. 
 
 Luc. The boy disdains me. 
 
 He leaves me, scorns me : Briefly die their joy3 
 That place them on the truth of girls and boys. — 
 Why stands he so perplex'd ? 
 
 Cym, What would'st thou, boy ? 
 
 I love thee more and more ; think more and more 
 What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? 
 
 speak, 
 Wilt have him live 1 Is he thy kin 1 thy friend 1 
 
 Imo. He is a Roman ; no more kin to me, 
 Than I to your highness ; who, being born your vas- 
 Am something nearer. [sal, 
 
 Cym, Wherefore ey'st him so ? 
 
 Imo. 1*11 tell you, sir, in private, if you please 
 To give me hearing. 
 
 Ct/m, Ay, with all my heart, 
 
 And lend my best attention. What's thy name"! 
 
 Imo. Fidele, sir. 
 
 Cvm. Thou art my good youth, my page ; 
 
 I'll be thy master : Walk with me ; speak freely, 
 
 [CvMBELiNE a7td Imocen coiiverse apart, 
 
 Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death 1 
 
 Arv. One sand another 
 
 Not more resembles : That sweet rosy lad, 
 Who died, and was Fidele : — What think you? 
 
 Gui. The same dead thing alive. [forbear; 
 
 Bel. Peace, peace ! see further ; he eyes us not ; 
 Creatures may be alike : were 't he, I am sure 
 He would have spoke to us. 
 
 Gui. But we saw him dead, 
 
 Bel. Be silent , let's see further. 
 
 Pis. It is my mistress. \^Aside, 
 
 Since she is living, let tlie time run on. 
 To good, or bad. 
 
 [Cymbeline and Imogen come forward, 
 
 Cvm. Come, stand thou by our side j 
 
 Make thy demand aloud. — Sir, [to Iach.J step you 
 Give answer to this boy, and do it freely ; [forth. 
 Or, by our greatness, and tiie grace of it, 
 Which is our honour, bitter torture shall 
 Winnow the truth from falsehood. — On, speak to him. 
 
 Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render 
 Of whom he had this ling. 
 
 Post. Whats that to him? [Aside. 
 
 Cyjn. That diamond upon your finger say. 
 How came it yours ? 
 
 lack. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that 
 Which, to be spoke, would torture thee, 
 
 Cifm. How ! me ? 
 
 lack. 1 am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which 
 Torments me to conceal. By villany 
 I got this ring : 'twas Leonatus' jewel : 
 Whom thou didstbanish; and (whichmore may grieve 
 As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd [the«. 
 
 'Twixtsky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord ! 
 
 Cifm. AH that belongs to this. 
 
 lack. That paragon, thy daughter, — 
 
 For whom my heart drojjs blood, and iny faUe spirits 
 Quail to remember, — Give me leave ; I faint. 
 
 Cym. JMy daughter! what of her? Renewlhy 
 strength : 
 I had rather thou should'st live while nature will. 
 Than die ere 1 hear more : strive, man, and speak. 
 
 Itich, Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock 
 That struck the hour !) it was in Rome, (accurs'd 
 The mansion where !) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would 
 Our viands had been poison 'd ! or, at least. 
 Those which I heav'd to head !) the good Posthiimus, 
 (What should 1 say ? he was too good, to be 
 Where ill men were ; and was the best of all 
 Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly. 
 Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 
 For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast 
 Of him that best could speak : for feature, laming 
 The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva, 
 Postures beyond brief nature ; for condition, 
 A shop of all the qualities that man 
 Loves woman for ; besides, that hook of wiving. 
 Fairness, which strikes the eye : 
 
 Cym. I stand on fire ; 
 
 Come to the matter, 
 
 lack. All too soon I shall, 
 
 Unless thou would'st grieve quickly- — This Posthu- 
 (Most like a noble lord in love, and one [mus. 
 
 That had a royal lover,) took his hint ; 
 And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein 
 He was as calm as virtue) he began 
 His mistress' picture; which by his tongue beingmade. 
 And then a mind put in 't, either our brags 
 Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description 
 Prov'd us unspeaking sots. 
 
 Ct/m. Nay, nay, to the purpose. 
 
 luch. Your daughter's chastity. — There it begins. 
 He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams. 
 And she alone were cold r Whereat, I, wretch ! 
 Made scruple of his pratse ; and wager'd with him 
 Pieces of gold, 'gainst ttus which then he wore 
 Upon his honour'd finirer, to attain 
 In suit the place of hio bed, and win this ring 
 By heis and mine adultery : he, true knight. 
 No lesser of her honour confident 
 Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring ; ' 
 
 And would so, had it been a carbuncle 
 Of Phoebus' wheel ; and might so safely, had it 
 Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain 
 Post I in this design : Well may you, sir, 
 Remember me at court, where 1 was taught 
 Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 
 'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thusquench'd 
 Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 
 'Gan in your duller Britain operate 
 Most vilely ? for my vantage, excellent ; 
 And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd. 
 That 1 return'd with simular proof enough 
 To make the noble Leonatus mad, 
 By wounding his belief in her renown 
 With tokens thus, and thus ; averring notes 
 Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, 
 (O, cunning, how I got it !) nay, some marks 
 Of secret on her person, that he could not 
 But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 
 I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, — 
 Methinks, I see hira now,- — - 
 
 Post. Ay. so thou dost. [Coming forwards 
 
 Italian fiend !— Ah me, most credulous fool. 
 Egregious murderer, thief, any thing 
 
 I 
 
ACT v.— SCENE V. 
 
 727 
 
 That's due to all the villains past, in being. 
 To come ! — O, give me cord, or knife, or poison. 
 Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out 
 For toiturers ingenious : it is I 
 That all the abhorred things o' the ea-th amend, 
 By being worse thitn they. I am Posthumus, 
 'I'lial kill'd thy daughter :— villain-like, 1 lie ; 
 That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, 
 A sacrilegious thief, to do't : — the temple 
 Of virtue was she ; yea, and she herself. 
 Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set 
 Ihe dogs o'the street to bay me : every villain 
 Be call'd, Posth6raus Leonatus ; and 
 Be villany less than 'twas ! — O Imogen ! 
 Mv queen, my life, my wife ! Imogen, 
 Imogen, Imogen ! 
 
 hiio. Peace, my lord ; hear, hear — 
 
 Post. Shall's have a play of this 1 Thou scornful page, 
 There lie thy part. [Striking her: she falls. 
 
 Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help 
 
 Mine, and your mistress: — O, my lord Posthumus ! 
 You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now: — Help, help! — 
 ^line honoured lady ! 
 
 Cum, Does the world go round ■! 
 
 Post. How come these staggers on me 1 
 
 Pis, Wake, my mistress ! 
 
 Cum. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me 
 To death with mortal joy. 
 
 Pis. How fares my mistress 1 
 
 Imo. O, get thee from my sight ; 
 Thou gav'st me poison : dangerous fellow, hence ! 
 Breathe not where princes are. 
 
 Cym. The tune of Imogen ! 
 
 Pis. Lady, 
 The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 
 That box I gave you was not thought by me 
 A precious thing; I had it from the queen. 
 
 Cvm. New matter still? 
 
 Jmo. It poison'd me. 
 
 Cw. O gods ! — 
 
 I left out one thing which the queen confess'd. 
 Which must approve thee honest : If Pisanio 
 Have, said she, given his mistress that confection 
 Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd 
 As 1 would serve a rat. 
 
 Cvm. What's this, Cornelius? 
 
 Cor. The queen, sir. very oft imp6rtun"d me 
 To temper poisons for her ; still pretending 
 The satisfaction of her knowledge, only 
 In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs 
 Of no esteem : I, dreading that her purpose 
 Was of more danger, did compound for her 
 A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease 
 The present power of life ; but. in short lime, 
 Ail offices of nature should again 
 Do their due functions. — Have you ta'en of it 1 
 
 Imo. Most like 1 did, for I was dead. 
 
 Bel, My boys, 
 
 There was our error. 
 
 Gui. This is sure. Fidele. 
 
 Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from 
 Think, that you are upon a rock ; and now [you ? 
 Throw me again. [Embracing him. 
 
 Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul, 
 
 Till the tree die ' 
 
 Cum. How now, my flesh, my child 1 
 
 What, raak'st thou me a dullard in this act 1 
 Wilt thou not speak to me ? 
 
 Imo. Vour blessing, sir. [Kneeling. 
 
 Bel. Though you didlove this youth, Iblameyenot ; 
 
 Vou had a motive for it. [To Gui. and Anv. 
 
 Cym. My tears that fall, 
 
 Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen, 
 Thy mother's dead. 
 
 Imo. I am sorry for't, my lord. 
 
 Cipn. O. she was naught ; and long of her it was> 
 That we meet here so strangely : But her son 
 Is gone, we know not how, nor where. 
 
 Pis. My lord. 
 
 Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloteu, 
 Upon my lady's missing, came to me 
 With his sword drawn ; foam'd at the mouth, and 
 If I discover'd not which way she was gone, [swore. 
 It was my instant death : By accident, 
 I had a feigned letter of my master's 
 Then in my pocket ; which directed him 
 To seek her on the mountains near to Milford ; 
 Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments. 
 Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts 
 With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate 
 My lady's honour: what became of him, 
 I further know not. 
 
 Gui. Let me end the story : 
 
 I slew him there. 
 
 Cum. Marry, the gods forefend' 
 
 I would not thy good deeds should from my lips 
 Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth, 
 Deny 't again, 
 
 Gui. 1 have spoke it, and I did it. 
 
 Cym. He was a prince. 
 
 Gui. A most uncivil one : The wrongs he did me 
 Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke me 
 With language that would make me spurn the sea, 
 If it could so roar to me : I cut oiFs head ; 
 And am right glad, he is not standing here 
 To tell this tale of mine. 
 
 Cyn. I am sorry for thee. 
 
 By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must 
 Endure our law : Thou art dead. 
 
 Imo. That headless man 
 
 I thought had been my lord. 
 
 Cym. Bind the offender. 
 
 And take him from our presence. 
 
 Bel. Stay, sir king : 
 
 This man is better than the man he slew. 
 As well descended as thyself; and hath 
 iMore of thee merited, than a band of Clotens 
 Had ever scar for. — Let his arms alone ; 
 
 [To the guard. 
 They were not born for bondage. 
 
 Cum. Why, old soldier, 
 
 Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, 
 By lasting of our wrath? How of descent 
 As good as we ? 
 
 Arv. In that he spake too far. 
 
 Cym. And thou shall die for't. 
 
 Bel. We will die all three: 
 
 But I will prove, that two of us are as good 
 As I have given out him. — jMv sons, I must. 
 For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech, 
 Though, haply, well for you. 
 
 Arv. Your danger is 
 
 Ours. 
 
 Gui. And our good his. 
 
 Bel. Have at it then. — 
 
 By leave ; — Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who 
 Was call'd Belarius. 
 
 Cum. What of him 1 he is 
 
 A banish'd traitor. 
 
 Bel. He it is, that hath 
 
 Assum'd this age : indeed, a banish'd man j 
 I know not how, a traitor. 
 
 Cum. Take him hence ; 
 
 The whole world shall not save him. 
 
3^ 
 
 
 3ieK'«r a«:~ "W^ias aJul ^ mkt oI. tu-wt^ ' T^ Mas* «sn^ 
 
 ^af aaat 
 
 dnxKi^V: 
 
 
 A. 
 
 :aAl. SiSS -NT MBUHIK. 
 
 x^ lie "wa. ae?cBi. 
 
 zii laj^ • MMAv t L '^aa. szKs^ 
 
 
 Xasa.Bn 
 
 ^Tlas^iB-; 
 
 T - --■ 
 
 X-msas-ttTtsTBtm.wairK ' > 
 
 The;, xitr tmssija^ < 
 
 TTim se:.iK:iiraKx.2iisi>aB- 
 
 - JIC iii:^ asiesi. :- 
 
 ^T TrT" ICTt 
 
 3?iuian2i«]iuk> - 
 
 .- "fijgf. 3tg 
 
 ,^^\. -A%. 
 
 Dk. ilrl 
 
 •: omL T 
 
ACT V.-«CE3fE V. T*» 
 
 T'lim. L«w!«m*. wr *h*» Uffl»'< wiusJiti - WTmm 'i<»aff'*f», m jnntw-jf. ^^wtfa. oa her, aoa .ifcr:^ 
 
 
 -ti/i/iir wr , iiui 7i/. 
 
 Cym. I 
 
 ^<i2K lii^p^d about 
 
 :!: TOT isn«ked urn 
 
 74 tfiemneirtu: 
 PiimiaaBdzain . . 
 
 >m, ' ' ^ Weil, 
 
 -an J u(i<nr3. 
 
 We ivere ditgnailwi by our wicaed, qneea : 
 
 
 3^ miuiit juvmnT'ii' ■ 
 ■iMUilirr "ii 'lu! '^: 
 
 
 :^i 
 
 
 ^Aidt tBB *i iM'TiJi^ 
 
 BT I— l E-TM ? 
 
 si 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 This play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Feb. 6, 1593—1 ; m 
 whicli year (according to Laiiybaiiie, who alone appears to 
 have seen the first edition) it was also printed. I'here were 
 two editions in quarto, one in 1600, and another in 1611; but 
 neither of ihe^e have the author's name on the title page. 'I'he 
 tragedy however was written several years before; as it is 
 mentioned in the induction to iSen Jonson's Bare/iolomew Fair 
 in lol4. as one that had been exhiliited five-aiid-twenty or 
 thirty vears : which, if we take the lowest number, throws it 
 bacW to the year 1589, at which lime Shakspeare uas but 
 twenty-iive. it was most probably written two or three yeais 
 earlier, and was the first jiroduciion of our anther. 
 
 That it is his. there is not only ihu teslinioiiy of its having been 
 l)rinted in the players' edition; but the authoriiv of iSJeres.ii 
 cnntemporarv author, who in a little book called PallatHs 
 Tamia. printed in 1598, enumerates this tragedy amoug the 
 works of Shakspeare. 
 
 The commentators have shewn themselves very desirnns of 
 discrediting the authenticity of this play; but they have no- 
 thing to oppose to the above strong evidence in its favour; 
 but such inconclusive arguments as may be derived frotu the 
 dissimilarity of its style, and ibe inferiority of its merit to the 
 other wnrks of our author, lo which may be aiiswer»;d. tbit 
 it was a boyish production ; that it is, perhaps, superior to any 
 
 of the plays which were most popular atthe period of its com. 
 position, and which a young writer would naturally be led t^'* 
 imitate in the first tumid experiment of his powers ; and that 
 howe\er displeasing its horrors and its turcid declamation 
 may be to us, they were particularly admirccT by our authors 
 contemporaries. 
 
 Much stress has been laid by Malone on the tradition mentioned 
 by Ravenscroft ; in hii preface to the alteration of this play, 
 published in 16H7, he says. " 1 have been told by some an- 
 ciently conversant with tne stage, that it was not originally 
 Shakspeare's ; but brought by a private author to be acted, 
 and he only gave some master touches to one or two of the 
 principal parts or characters." This tradition, from whom- 
 soever Kavenscroft received it, is overthrown by the slightest 
 reference to dates. 'J he play was produced, as we have al- 
 ready seen, certainly in 1589, probably as early as ISJU; at 
 this time Shakspeare was as yet unknown ; a young man little 
 more than twenty, without cither literary reputation or thea- 
 trical infiueuce, and the very last person to whom a j>lay 
 would be entrusted for the benefit of revision and correciion. 
 
 The plot, names, and characters of the play are from an old bal- 
 lad, which the reader will find in the first volume of Fercv'* 
 Keliques of Ancient £n^/is/i Poetry, 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Saturninus, son to the late Emperor of Rome, ajtd 
 afterwards declared Emperor himself. 
 
 Bassianus, brother to Saturninus ; in love with La- 
 vinia. 
 
 Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, general against 
 the Goths. 
 
 Marcus Andronicus, tribune of the pciple, ami bro- 
 ther to Titus. 
 
 Lucius, Quintus, Martius, Mutius, sons to Titus 
 Andronicus. 
 
 Voniig Lucius, a bou, son to Lucius. 
 
 Puui.ius, son to Marcus the tribune* 
 
 ^Mii.ius, a noble Roman. 
 
 Alarp.us, Chiron, Demetrius, i,ous to Tamora. 
 
 Aaron, a Moor, beloved bit Tamora. 
 
 A Captain, Tribune, Messenger , and Clown ; Romans. 
 
 Goths a/iti Romans. 
 
 Tamora, Queen of the Goths. 
 Lavinia, daughter (ii Titus Andronicus. 
 A Nurse, and a black Child. 
 
 Kinsmen o/ Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE,— Rome; and the Country near it. 
 
 i 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 SCENE L— Rome. Before the Capitol. 
 
 The tomb of the Andronici appearing : the Tribunes 
 and Senators aloft, as in the Senate. Enter, below, 
 Saturninus and his Followers, on one side; and 
 Bassianus and his Followers, on the other; uith 
 drum and colours. 
 
 Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, 
 Defend the justice of my cause with arms ; 
 And, countrymen, my loving follower.s, 
 Plead my successive title with your swords : 
 I am his first-born son, that was the last 
 That ware the imperial diadem of Rome ; 
 Then let my father's honours live in me, 
 Nor wrong mine age with this indignity, 
 
 Bas. Romans, — friends, followers, favourers of 
 If ever Bassianus, Caesar's son, [my right, — 
 
 Were eracious in the eyes of royal Rome, 
 
 Keep then this passage to the Capitol ; 
 
 And suffer not dishonour to approach 
 
 The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate. 
 
 To justice, continence, and nobility : 
 
 But let desert in pure election shine ; 
 
 And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice. 
 
 Enter Marcus Andronicus, aloft, with the crown. 
 
 Mar. Princes — that strive by factions, and by 
 Ambitiously for rule and empery, — [friends. 
 
 Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand 
 A special party, have, by common voice. 
 In election for the Roman empery. 
 Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, 
 For many good and great deserts to Rome-, 
 A nobler man, a braver warrior, 
 Lives not this day within the city walls : 
 He by the senate is accited home, 
 From weary wars against the barbarous Goths ; 
 That, with his sons, a terror to our foes, ■ 
 Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arras. 
 Ten years are spent, since first he undertook 
 This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms 
 Our enemies' pride : Five times he hath return'd 
 Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons 
 In coffins from the field ; 
 And now at last, laden with honour's spoils, 
 Returns the good Andronicus to Rome, 
 Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms. 
 Let us entreat. — By honour of his name, 
 Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed. 
 And in the Capitol and senate's right, 
 W liom you pretend to honour and adore, — 
 That you withdraw you, and abate your strength ; 
 Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should, 
 Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness. 
 
 Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts! 
 Bas. Marcus Andronicus, so do I affy 
 In thy uprightness and integrity, 
 And so I love and honour thee and thine, 
 Thy nobler brother Titus, and his sons. 
 And her, to whom my thougiits are humbled all. 
 Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament, • 
 That I will here dismiss my loving friends ; 
 And to my fortunes, and the people's favour. 
 Commit ray cause in balance to be weigh'd. 
 
 l^Exeunt the Followers (•/' BASSiANrs. 
 Sat. FriendSjthat have been thus forward in my right 
 
ACT I.— SCENE II. 
 
 731 
 
 T tliank you all. and here dismiss you all ; 
 And to the love aiid favour of my country 
 Commit myself, my person, and the cause. 
 
 [Kieutit the Folliurers <i/' Saturninus. 
 Rome, be as just and gracious unto me, 
 As I am confident and kind to thee. — ■ 
 Open the gates, and let me in. 
 
 Bus. Tribunes! and me, a poor competitor. 
 
 [Sat. and h\s. go wto the Capitol, and exeunt 
 with Senators, Marcus, .SjC. 
 
 SCENE II,— The same. 
 Enter a Captain oid others. 
 Cap, Romans, make way ; The good Androuicus, 
 Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion, 
 Successful in the battles that he fights, 
 With honour and with fortune is return'd. 
 From where he circumscribed with his sword, 
 And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome. 
 
 Flourish oftrninpets, S:c. Enter Mi'Tirs and Mar- 
 Tit's : after them, tu-o men bearing a coffin covered 
 with black; then Quintus and Lrcius. After them, 
 Titus Axdronk.is ; ami then Tamora, with Alar- 
 bus, Chiron, Di MtTRius, Aaron, and other Goths, 
 prisoners ; Soldiers and People, following. The 
 bearera set down the coffin, and Titus speaks. 
 Tit. Hail. Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds ! 
 To, as the bark, that hath discharg'd her fraught. 
 Returns with precious lading to the bay, 
 From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage, 
 Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs. 
 To re-salute his country with his tears ; 
 Tears of true jov for liis return to Rome. — 
 Thou great defender of this Capitol, 
 Stand gracious to the rites that we intend ! — 
 Roman?, of five and twenty valiant sons, 
 Half of the number that king Priam had. 
 Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead! 
 These, that survive, let Rome reward with love ; 
 These, that 1 bring unto their latest home, 
 With burial amon^jst their ancestors ; 
 Here Goths have given me Itave to sheath my sword. 
 Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own. 
 Why sufter'st thou thy sons, unburied yet, 
 To hover on the dreadful siiore of Styx ! — 
 Make way to lay them by their brethren. 
 
 [The tomb is opened* 
 There greet in silence, as the dead are wont, 
 And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars ! 
 O sacred receptacle of my joys, 
 Sweet cell of virtue and nobility, 
 How many sons of mine hast thou in store, 
 That thou wilt never render to me more 1 
 
 Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths, 
 That we may hew his limbs, and. on a pile. 
 Ad manes Jratrum sacrifice his flesh. 
 Before this earthly prison of their bones ; 
 That so the shadows be not unappcas'd. 
 Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth. 
 
 Tit. I give him you ; the noblest that survives, 
 The eldest son of this distressed queen. 
 
 Tam. &Xa.y. Roman brethren ; — Gracious conqueror, 
 Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, 
 A mother's tears in passion for her son : 
 And. if thy sons were ever dear to thee, 
 O, think mv son to be as dear to me. 
 Sufficeth not, that we are brought to Rome, 
 To beautify thy triumphs, and return. 
 Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke ; 
 3ut must my sons be slaughtered in the streets. 
 Tor valiant doings in their country's cause ? 
 
 ! if to fight for king and common weal 
 AVere piety in thine, it is in these. 
 Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood : 
 Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? 
 Draw near them then in being merciful : 
 Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge ; 
 Thrice-noble Titus, spare my first-born son. 
 
 Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon ine. 
 These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld 
 Alive, and dead ; and for their brethren slain. 
 Religiously they ask a sacrifice: 
 To this your son is inark'd ; and die he must, 
 To appease their groaning shadows that are gone. 
 
 Luc. Away with him : and make a fire straiglit ; 
 And with our swords, upon a pile of wood, 
 Let's hew his limbs, till they be clean consumed. 
 
 [Exemit Lrcius. Quintus, Martius, and 
 MuTius, with Atarbus. 
 
 Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety! 
 
 Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous? 
 
 Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome. 
 Alarbus goes to rest ; and we survive 
 To tremble under Titus" threatening look. 
 Then, madam, stand resolv'd ; but hope withal. 
 The self-same gods that arm'd the queen of Troy 
 With opportunity of sharp revenge 
 Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent. 
 May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths. 
 (When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,) 
 To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mutius, 
 with their swords hloodi}, 
 
 Lnc* See, lord and father, how we have perform 'd 
 Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd. 
 And entrails feed the sacrificing fire, 
 Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky. 
 Rcmaineth nought, but to inter our brethren. 
 And with loud Tarums welcome them to Rome. 
 
 Tit. Let it be so. and let Andronicus 
 Make this his latest farewell to their souls. 
 
 [Trumpets sounded, and the coffin laid in the tomb. 
 In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ; 
 Rome's readiest champions, repose you here. 
 Secure from worldly chances and mishaps ! 
 Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells. 
 Here grow no damned grudges ; here are no storms, 
 No noise, but silence and eternal sleep : 
 
 Enter Lavivia. 
 In peace and honour rest you here, my sons. 
 
 Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long; 
 My noble lord and father, live in fame ! 
 Lo ! at this tomb my tributary tears 
 
 1 render, for my brethren's obsequies ; 
 And at thy feet I kneel, with tears of joy 
 Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome : 
 O, bless me here with thy victorious hand, 
 Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud. 
 
 Tit. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd 
 The cordial of mine age to glad my heart! — 
 Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days, 
 And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise I 
 
 Enter Marcus Andronicus, Saturn'inus, 
 Bassianus, and others. 
 Mar. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother. 
 Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome. 
 
 Tit. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother Marcus, 
 Mar, And welcome, nephews, from successful wars^ 
 You that survive, and you that sleep in fame. 
 Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all, 
 That in your country's service drew your swords : 
 
732 
 
 TITUS ANDROXICUS. 
 
 But safer triumph is this funeral pomp, 
 That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness, 
 And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed. — 
 Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome, 
 Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been. 
 Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust, 
 This palliament of white and spotless hue ; 
 And name thee in election for the empire, 
 ^\'ith these our late deceased emperor's sons : 
 Be candidalus then, and put it on. 
 And help to set a head on headless Rome. 
 
 Tit. A better head her glorious body fits. 
 Than his, that shakes for age and feebleness : 
 What ! should I don this robe, and trouble you ? 
 Be chosen with proclamations to-day ; 
 To-morrow, yield up rule, resign my life. 
 And set abroad new business for you all ? 
 Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years, 
 And buried one and twenty valiant sons, 
 Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms. 
 In right and service of their noble country: 
 Give me a stall' of honour for mine age. 
 But not a sceptre to control the world : 
 Upright he held it, lords, that held it last. 
 
 Mar. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the emper)'. 
 
 ■Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, csuist thou tell ? — 
 
 Tit. Patience, prince Saturnine. 
 
 Sat, Romans, do me right ; — 
 
 Patricians, draw your swords, and sheaih them not 
 Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor : — 
 Andi'onicus, 'would thou wert shipp'd to hell. 
 Rather than rob me of the people's hearts. 
 
 Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good 
 That noble-minded Titus means to thee ! 
 
 Tit. Content thee, prince ; I will restore to thee 
 The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves. 
 
 Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee 
 But honour thee, and will do till I die ; 
 IVIy faction if thou strengthen with thy friends, 
 I will most thankful be : and thanks, to men 
 Of noble minds, is honourable meed. 
 
 Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here, 
 I ask your voices, and your suffrages ; 
 Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus ? 
 
 Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus, 
 And gratulate his safe return to Rome, 
 The people will accept whom he admits. 
 
 Tit. Tribunes, I thank you : and this suit I make. 
 That you create your emperor's eldest son. 
 Lord Saturnine ; whose virtues will, I hope. 
 Reflect on Rome, as Titan's rays on earth. 
 And ripen justice in this common-weal ; 
 Then if you will elect by my advice. 
 Crown him, and say, — Long lire our emperor ! 
 
 Mar. With voices and applause of every sort. 
 Patricians, and plebeians, we create 
 Lord Saturninus, Rome's great emperor ; 
 And say, — l-ong Hue our emperor Saturnine! 
 
 [.i long flourish. 
 
 Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done 
 To us in oui election this day. 
 I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts. 
 And will with deeds requite thy gentleness: 
 And, for an onset, Titus, to advance 
 Thy name, and honourable family, 
 Lavinia will I make my emperess, 
 Rome's royal mistress, mistsess of my heart. 
 And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse : 
 Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion please thee 1 
 Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and. in this match, 
 I hold me highly honour'd of your grace : 
 And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, — 
 
 King and commander of our common-weal. 
 The wide world's emperor, — do I consecrate 
 !\Iy sword, mv chariot, and my prisoners ; 
 Presents well worthy Rome's iinperia! lord : 
 Receive them then, the tribute that I owe. 
 Mine honour's ensigns humbled at tliy feet. 
 
 Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life! 
 How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts, 
 Rome shall record ; and, when I do forget 
 The least of these unspeakable deserts, 
 Romans, forget your fealty to me. 
 
 Tit. Now, madam, are you prisonerto an emperor ; 
 
 [To Ta-MOKA. 
 
 Vo him, that for your honour, and your state. 
 Will use you nobly, and your followers. 
 
 Snt. A goodly lady, trust me ; of the hue 
 That I would choose, were I to choose anew. — 
 Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance ; 
 Though chance of war hath wrought this change of 
 Thou com'st not tobemadeascornin Rome : [cheer. 
 Princely shall be thy usage every way. 
 Rest on my word, and let not discontent 
 Daunt all your hopes ; Madam, he comforts you. 
 Can make you greater then the queen of Goths. — 
 Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this? 
 
 Lav. Not 1. my lord ; sith true nobility 
 Warrants these words in princely courtesy. 
 
 Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. — Romans, let us go ; 
 Ransoraeless here we set our prisoners free : 
 Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and drum. 
 
 Bas. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine. 
 [Seizing Lavinia. 
 
 Tit. IIow, sir ? Are you in earnest then, mv lord 1 
 
 Bas. Ay, noble Titus ; and resolv'd withal. 
 To do myself this reason and this right. 
 
 [Tlic Emperor courts Tamoha in dumb shout. 
 
 Mar. Suum cuti^ue is our Roman justice: 
 This prince in justice seizeth but his own. 
 
 Luc. And that he will, and shall, if Lucius live. 
 
 Ti(. Traitors, avaunt! Where is theeraperor's guard' 
 Treason, my lord ; Lavinia is surpriz'd. 
 
 Sat. Surpriz'd ! By whom ? 
 
 Bas. By him that justly may 
 
 Bear his betroth'd from all the world away. 
 
 [Eieuiit I\Iarcvs and Bassianus, with Lavinia. 
 
 Mut. Brothers, help to convey tier hence away. 
 And with my sword I'll keep this door safe. 
 
 [Kxrinif Lucius, Qi'intus. and Martius. 
 
 Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back. 
 
 Mut. J\Iy lord, you pass not here. 
 
 Tit. What, villain boy ! 
 
 Barr'st me my way in Rome ? [Titus hills JIutius. 
 
 Mut. Help, Lucius, help ! 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Luc. !My lord, you are unjust ; and, more than so. 
 In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son. 
 
 Tit. Nor thou, nor he, are any sons of mine: 
 My sons would never so dishonour me : 
 Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor. 
 
 Luc. Dead, if you will ; but not to be his wife. 
 That is another's lawful promis'd love. [Kjif. 
 
 Sat. No, Titus, no ; the emperor needs her not, 
 Not her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock : 
 I'll trust, by leisure, htm that mocks me once ; 
 Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons. 
 Confederates all thus to dishonour me. 
 Was there none else in Rome to make a stale of. 
 But Saturnine 1 Full well, Andronicus, 
 .\gree these deeds with that proud brag of thine. 
 That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands. 
 
 Tit. Omonstrous! what reproachful words are tbesel 
 
ACT 1.— SCENE II. 
 
 733 
 
 5a(. But go thy ways -, go, give that changing piece 
 To liiin that flourish'! for her with his sWord : 
 A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy ; 
 One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons. 
 To ruffle in the commonwealth of Rome. 
 
 Tit. These words are razors to my w ounded bean. 
 
 Sut. And therefore.lovelyTamova, queen of Goths, — 
 That like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs, 
 Dost overshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, — 
 If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice. 
 Behold. I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride, 
 And will create thee emperess of Rome. 
 Speak, queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my choice 1 
 And here I swear by all ihe Roman gods, — 
 Sith priests and holy water are so near. 
 And tapers burn so bright, and every thing 
 In readiness for Hyuieneus stand, — 
 I will not re-salute the streets of Rome, 
 Or climb my palace, till from forth ihis place 
 [ lead espous'd my bride along with me. 
 
 Tarn. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I swear, 
 If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths, 
 She will a handmaid be to his desires, 
 A loving nurse, a mother to his youth. 
 
 Sat. Ascend, fair queeu. Pantheon: — Lords, accom- 
 Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride, [pany 
 Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine, 
 Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquer'd : 
 There shall we cuasummate our spousal rites. 
 
 [_Eieunt S.\TURNiNus, and /iis Fof/oiiers; Tamoba, 
 and her sons ; Aaron, and Goths, 
 
 Tit. I am not bid to wait upon this bride ; — 
 Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone, 
 Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs ? 
 
 Re-enter Marcus, Lrcirs, Quintus, and MAnTiis. 
 
 JIur. O, Titus, see, 0, see, what thou hast done ! 
 In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son. 
 
 Tit. No, foolish tribune, no ; no son of mine, — 
 Nor thou, nor these, confederates in the deed 
 That hath dishonour'd all our family ; 
 rnworthy brother, and unworthy sons ! 
 
 Liic. But let us give him burial, as becomes ; 
 Give Mutius burial with our brethren. 
 
 Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb. 
 This monument five hundred years hath stood, 
 AVhich I have sumptuously re-edified : 
 Here none but soldiers, and Rome's servitors. 
 Repose in fame ; none basely slain in brawls : — 
 Bury him where you can, he comes not here. 
 
 Mar. My lord, this is impiety in you : 
 My nephew JIutius' deeds do plead for you : 
 He must be buried with his brethren. 
 
 Quin. Mart. And shall, or him we will accompany- 
 
 ri(..\nd shall? What villain was it spoke that word ? 
 
 Quin. He that would vouch't in any place but here. 
 
 Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite ; 
 
 M,:r. No, noble Titus ; but entreat of thee 
 To pardon JIutius, and to bury him. 
 
 Tit. Marcus even thou hast struck upon my crest, 
 And. with these boys, mine honour thou hast wounded: 
 My foes I do repute you every one ; 
 So trouble me no more, but get you gone. 
 
 Mart. He is not with himself; let us withdraw. 
 
 Quill. Not I. till Mutius' bones be buried. 
 
 [Marct's and the sous of TiTvs kneel. 
 
 Mar. Brother, for in that name duth nature plead. 
 
 Qiiiri. Father, for in that name doth nature speak. 
 
 Tit. Speak thou no move, if all the rest will speed. 
 
 3/ar. Renowned Titus, more than half my soul, 
 
 Luc. IJear father, soul and substance of us all, — 
 
 Mar. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter 
 
 His noble nephew here in virtue's nest. 
 That died in honour and Lavinia's cause. 
 Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous. 
 The Greeks, upon advice, did bury Ajajt 
 That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son 
 Did graciously plead for his funerals. 
 Let not young jiutius then, that was thy joy. 
 Be barr'd his entrance here. 
 
 Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise : — 
 
 The dismall'st day is this, that e'er I saw. 
 To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome ! — 
 Well, bury him, and bury me the next. 
 
 [Mutius is put into the tomb, 
 
 Luc, There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, wuh thy 
 Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb! — [friends. 
 
 Ail. No man shed tears for noble ^Mutius ; 
 He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause. 
 
 Mar. JMyjlord. — to step out of those dreary dumps,— 
 How comes it, that the subtle queen of Goths 
 Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome 1 
 
 Tit. I know not, JNIarcus ; but, I know, it is ; 
 Whether by device, or no, the heavens can tell : 
 Is she not then beholden to the man 
 That brought her for this high good turn so far? 
 Yes, and will nobly him remunerate. 
 
 Flourish. Re-enter at one side, Saturninus, attended; 
 Tamora, Chiron, Demltrius, anrf Aaron : At the 
 ether, Bassianus, Lavinia, and others. 
 
 Sat. So Bassianus, you have play'd your prize ; 
 God give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride. 
 
 Bin. And you of yours, my lord : I say no more, 
 Nor wish no less ; and so I take my leave. 
 
 Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power. 
 Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape. 
 
 Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own. 
 My true-betrothed love, and now my wife! 
 But let the laws of Rome determine all ; 
 Mean while, I am possess'd of that is mine. 
 
 Sat. 'Tis good, sir : Y'ou are very short with us ; 
 But, if we live, we 'II be as sharp with you. 
 
 Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may. 
 Answer I must, and shall do with my life. 
 Only thus much I give your grace to know, 
 By all the duties that I owe to Rome, 
 This noble gentleman, lord Titus here. 
 Is in opinion, and in honour, wrong'd ; 
 That, in the rescue of Lavinia, 
 With his own hand did slay his youngest son. 
 In zeal to you, and highly mov'd'to wrath 
 To be controU'd in that he frankly gave : 
 Receive him then to favour, Saturnine ; 
 That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds, 
 A father, and a friend, to thee, and Rome. 
 
 Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deed.s; 
 'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me : 
 Rome and the righteous heavens be ray jud<^e. 
 How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine! 
 
 Tam. My worthy lord, if ever 'I'amora 
 Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine. 
 Then hear me speak indifferently for all ; 
 And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past. 
 
 Sat. What ! madam ! be dishonour'd openly, 
 .•Vnd basely put it up without revenge t 
 
 ram. Not 60, my lord; The godsof Rome forefend, 
 I should be author to dishonour you ! 
 But, on mine honour, dare I undertake 
 For good lord Titus' innocence in all, 
 W hose fury, not dissembled, speaks his griefs : 
 Then, at my suit, look graciously on him ; 
 Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose. 
 Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart — 
 

 
 "IK 
 
 i-w. 
 
 
 : r. .1-1- - 
 
 
 •■'X. 
 
 ss'J • T«S" CT»«. . 
 
 ■ . .*ai I Jaw. 
 
 Aac a: r. -^iter's i>c~ nj>csV ; 
 
 It ■■■ow, 
 
 Oonie, :: '^"^ * v..* t -« ■• * 
 
 Tot E~ "'' l«!iis. , .;, v^ - '^ V= °« ^ 5»»« sluadi'd 
 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 
 
 -ot ho»-wnr-. 
 
 . V/>V )w »lv 
 
 -■■i.-ut. 
 
 
 
 s.-- lonse. 
 
 
 .■ii V • »cii- 1 i ,py; varii 
 
 • •■^^'.ZC Ih lit*. c^->' 
 
 -Its ibt liijt«s3-j»i , , 
 
 
 ."■a«- 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 735 
 
 r l/.-ll voii, lords, you do but plot your dcathi 
 Ily thin (ievico. 
 
 Chi. Aaron, a thousand death? 
 
 Would I pro|io«e, to achieve her whom I love. 
 
 /('ir, lo achieve tier!— Jloiv^ 
 
 Ijtm. Why iniik'i.t thou it aa itrange! 
 
 She in a woman, therefore may he woo'd j 
 She is a woman, therefore may be won ; 
 She it Lavinia, therefore mu«l be lov'd. 
 Whril, man ! more water glidelh by the mill 
 Than wot« the miUor of; and easy it in 
 Of a nil loaf U) »tnil a uliivc, we know : 
 'l'hoii|,'li ItaMtaauK be the eiii(M;ror'« brother, 
 I'-'rH'-r than he have yet w(jrn Vulcan's badge. 
 
 A'ir. Av. and a.H ^'ood aii Saturnintm may, [Aside* 
 
 l)tm 'f'hen why should he despair, that knowA to 
 With wordi, fair lookit, and liberality! [court it 
 
 U hat, hast thou not full often (truck a do«, 
 And borne her cleanly by the keeper'* nosel 
 
 Aiir. Why, then, it sccriis, »ome ceriain soatch or «o 
 Would ftervc your turns. 
 
 CM. Ay, so the turn were serv'd. 
 
 Dtm. Aaron, thou hast hit it. 
 
 Aar. 'Would you hart hit it too ; 
 
 Then should not we be tir'd with this ado. 
 Why, hark ye, hark ye, — And are you such fools, 
 'I'o sfjuare for tbi";? Would it offeud you then 
 "i hat both should speed l 
 
 Chi. ITaith, not me. 
 
 Dem. Nor roe. 
 
 So 1 were oae. 
 
 A'lr. I or shame, be friend.?; and join for that you 
 ^ris policy and stratagem must do [jar. 
 
 Thai you alTcct; and so must you resolve ; 
 That what yoti cannot, a.s you would, acbieve. 
 You must perforce accomplish a.s you may. 
 'I'ake this of me, Lucrece was not more chajitG 
 'J'han this I.avinia. Ba^ssianun' love. 
 A speedier course than lin^^ering lanc^uishment 
 Alust we pursue, and I have found the path. 
 My lords, a solemn liuntin',; is in hand ; 
 There will the lovely I'.ornan ladies troop: 
 'J"he forest walks ate wide and spacious ; 
 .And many nnfrerpiented spots there arc, 
 ^'itt^id by kind for rape and villany : 
 .Siu^'le you thither then this dainty doe. 
 And strike her home by force, if not by words : 
 This way, or not all, stand you in hope, 
 t'omc, come, our empress, with her sacred wit, 
 To villany and vengeance consecrate. 
 Will we acquaint with all that we intend ; 
 And she shall file our engines with advice, 
 I'hat will riot suffer you to srjuare youiselves, 
 liut to your wishes' height advance you both. 
 The emperor's court is like the house of fame, 
 The palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears ; 
 '/'he woods are ruthless, drea^lful, deaf, and dull ; 
 
 1 hercspeak, andstrive, brave boys, and take yourturno: ' And — after conflict, such a.'i was supposed 
 There serve your lust, shadov/'d from heaven's eye, 1'he wandering prince of Dido once enjoy'd. 
 And revel in Lavinia's treasury. ' When with a happy storm they were surpriz'd 
 
 Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice. ' *-• ' — —:-••■ ■■ • i.---: 
 
 Drm. Sit fai nut iirfiis, till I find the stream 
 To cool this heat, a charm to calm these fits, 
 I'fr !ity<^a, per mauen vekor. [^Exeunt. 
 
 Uncouple here, and let us make a hay. 
 And wake the ernperur anil his lovely bride. 
 And rouse the prince ; and rint; a hunter's j-eal, 
 'i'hat all the court rnay echo with the noi.sc. 
 Sons, let it he your charge, as it is ours, 
 'I'o t«nd the emp<jror's person carefully : 
 1 have been troubled in rny sleep this night, 
 But dawning day new comfort liath iuspir'd. 
 
 //rirn« icind a jifil. Enter S/itubwimui, T*tinr.», 
 
 I'mssmxi/s, Ljivikia, Ciiikok, Ukmetrivii, and 
 
 Attendantn. 
 
 Til Many good morrows to your majesty ;— 
 Madam, to you a-s many and as good ! — 
 I promised your graric a hunter's j)eal. 
 
 Hut. And you have rung it lustily, my lords,' 
 .Somewhat too early for new married ladies. 
 
 Urn. Lavinia, how say you '! 
 
 //oi/. I say, no ; 
 
 I have been broad awake tv.o hours and more. 
 
 .SVit. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have, 
 And to our sport : — Madam, now shall ye see 
 Our Kornan hunting. ['/'o Tjisioka. 
 
 Mur. I have do;'», my lord. 
 
 Will rouse the proudest panther in the chaise, 
 .\nd climb the highest promontory top. 
 
 Tit. And 1 have horse will follow where the game 
 Makes way, and run like swallows o'er the plain. 
 
 Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor hound. 
 But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. [£a«itnt. 
 
 SCENE III.— .4 detert Pan of the Forett. 
 
 Knter Aahov, loiik a hag of gold. 
 
 Aar. Ifc that had wit, would think that i had none, 
 To bury so mucli gold under a tree. 
 And never aftx:r to inherit it. 
 Let \,\m, that thinks of me so abjectly. 
 Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem ; 
 Which, cunningly effected, will beget 
 A very excellent piece of villany : 
 And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest, 
 
 [Uidet the gold 
 That have their alms out of the empress' chest. 
 
 Enter Tamok*- 
 
 Tarn. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad. 
 When every thing doth make a gleeful boast t 
 The birds chaunt melody on every hush ; 
 The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ; 
 'I'hc green leaves quiver with the cooling wind. 
 And make a checr^uer'd shadow on the ground : 
 Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit. 
 And — whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds. 
 Replying shrilly to the well-tnn'd horns. 
 As if a double nunt were heard at once, — 
 \^l us sit down, and mark their yelling noise : 
 
 And curtain'd with a counsel-keeping cave,- 
 We may, each wreathed in the other's arms. 
 Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber ; 
 Whiles hounds, and horns, and sv,^eet melodious birds, 
 He unto us, as is a nurse's song 
 A Forett near Rome. A Loilge teen at *Jf lullaby, to bring her babe asleep. 
 
 SCENE II.- 
 
 tt distance, Jlitnu, and cry if llouuds heard. 
 
 tiller Titus ANiiiiONicrs, with Hunten,lfe. Marcus, 
 Lucius, Quintits, and Mahtius. 
 
 Tit. The hunt is up, the morn is bright and grey. 
 The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green : 
 
 Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your desires, 
 Saturn is dominator over mine : 
 What signifies my deadly-standing eye. 
 My silence, and my cloudy melancholy t 
 My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurh. 
 Even as an adder, when she doth unroll 
 
736 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 To do some fatal execution t 
 No, madam, these aie no venereal signs ; 
 Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand. 
 Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. 
 Harl;, Tamora, — the empress of my soul. 
 Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee,- — 
 This is the day of doom for Bassianus ; 
 His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day: 
 Thy sons make pillage of her chastity. 
 And wash tlieir hands in Bassianus' blood. 
 Seest thou this letter ? take it up, I pray thee. 
 And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll :^ 
 Now question me no more, ue are espied ; 
 Here comes a parcel of our )iopeful booty, 
 Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction. 
 
 Tarn. All, my sweet Woor, su'eeter to rae than life! 
 
 Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes : 
 Be cross with him ; and I'll go fetch thy sons 
 To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Eik. 
 
 Enter Bassi.\nus and Lavinia, 
 
 Bas. Who have we here 1 Rome's royal emperess, 
 Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop? 
 Or is it Dian, habited like her ; 
 Who hath abandoned her holy groves, 
 To see tlie general hunting in tiiis forest t 
 
 Tarn, Saucy controller of our private steps ? 
 Had I tlie power, that, some say, Dian had, 
 Thy temples should be planted presently 
 With horns, as was Acta;ou's , and the hounds 
 Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs. 
 Unmannerly intruder as thou art ! 
 
 Lav. Under your patience, gentle emperess, 
 Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning ; 
 And to be doubted, that your IMoor and you 
 Are singled forth to try experiments : 
 Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day ! 
 'Tis pity, they should take him for a stag. 
 
 Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian 
 Doth make your honour of his body's hue, 
 Spotted, detested, and abominable. 
 \S'hy are you sequester'd from all your train? 
 Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. 
 And wander'd hither to an obscure plot, 
 Accompanied with a barbarous Moor, 
 If foul desire had not conducted you ? 
 
 Lav. And, being intercepted in your sport. 
 Great reason that my noble lord be rated 
 For sauciness. — I pray you, let us hence, 
 And let her 'joy her raven-colour'd love ; 
 This valley fits the purpose passing well. 
 
 Bas. The king, my brother, shall have note of this. 
 
 Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long; 
 Good king ! to be so mightily abus'd! 
 
 I'am. Why have I patience to endure all this ? 
 
 Enter Chiron and Demetrius. 
 
 Dem. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious 
 mother. 
 Why doth your highness look so pale and wan ? 
 
 7'um. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? 
 These two have 'tic'd me hither to this place, 
 A barren dete'sted vale, you see, it is : 
 The trees, though summer, yet forlorn, and lean, 
 O'ercome with moss, and baleful misletoe. 
 Here never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds. 
 Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven. 
 And, when they shew'd me this abhorred pit. 
 They told me, here, at dead time of the night, 
 A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, • 
 Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins. 
 Would make such fearful and confused cries. 
 
 As any mortal body, hearing it. 
 
 Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. 
 
 No sooner had they told this hellish tale. 
 
 But straight thcjy told me, they would bind me here 
 
 Unto the body of a dismal yew ; 
 
 And leave me to this miserable death. 
 
 And then they call'd me, foul adulteress, 
 
 Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms 
 
 That ever ear did hear to such eff'cct. 
 
 And, had you not by wondrous fortune come. 
 
 This vengeance on me had they executed : 
 
 Revenge it, as you love your mother's life, 
 
 Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children. ' 
 
 Dem. This is a witness that I am thy son. 
 
 [.Stahs Bassianus. 
 
 Chi. And this for me, struck home to shew my 
 strength. [Stabhhig him likewise. 
 
 Lav. Ay come, Semiramis,— nay, barbarous Ta- 
 For no name fits thy nature but thy own ! [mora ! 
 
 Tarn. Give me thy poniard ; you shall know, my 
 boys. 
 Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong. 
 
 Dem. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her j 
 First, thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: 
 This minion stood upon her chastity, 
 Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, 
 And with that painted hope braves your mightiness : 
 And shall she carry this unto her grave? 
 
 Chi. An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. 
 Drag hence her husband to some secret hole. 
 And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust. 
 
 Tarn. But when you have the honey you desire. 
 Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting. 
 
 Chi. I warrant you, madam ; we will make that 
 Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy [sure. — 
 That nice-preserved honesty of yours. 
 
 Lav. O Tamora ! thou bear'st a woman's face. — 
 
 Tarn. I will not hear her speak ; away with her. 
 
 Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word. 
 
 Dem. Listen, fair madam : Let it be your glory 
 To see her tears ; but be your heart to them. 
 As unrelenting flint to drops of rain. 
 
 Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the 
 0, do not learn her wrath ; she taught it thee: [dam? 
 The milk, tliou suck'dst from her, did turn to marble: 
 Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. — 
 Yet every mother breeds not sons alike ; 
 Do thou entreat her shew a woman pity. [To Chiron. 
 
 Chi. What ! would'st thou have me prove myself 
 a bastard ? 
 
 Lav. 'Tis true ; the raven doth not hatch a lark: 
 Yet I have heard, (O could I find it now !) 
 The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure 
 To have his princely paws par'd all away. 
 Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, 
 The whilst their own birds famish in their nests : 
 O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no; 
 Nothing so kind, but something pitiful ! 
 
 Tarn. I know not what it means ; away with her. 
 
 Lav. O, let me teach thee : for my father's sake, 
 That gave thee life, when well he might have slain 
 Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears. [thee. 
 
 Tarn. Had thou in person ne'er offended me. 
 Even for his sake am I pitiless : — 
 Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain, 
 To save your brother from the sacrifice ; 
 But fierce Andronicus would not relent. 
 Therefore away with her, and use her as you will ; 
 The worse to her, the better lov'dof me. 
 
 Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen, 
 And with thine own hands kill me in this place : 
 For 'tis not life, that I have begg'd so long ; 
 
'> >« l i " n niir i iW«^^-^?^^^'^^w ^r i''""'""T'^" 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV. 
 
 737 
 
 Poor I was slain, when Bassianus died. [me go. 
 
 Tarn. What begg'st thou then? fond woman, let 
 
 Lav, Tis present death I beg ; and one thing more, 
 That womanhood denies ray tongue to tell : 
 O, keep me from their worse than killing lust. 
 And tumble me into tiome loathsome pit ; 
 Where never man's eye may behold ray body : 
 Do this, and be a charitable murderer. 
 
 Tarn. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee : 
 No. let them satisfy their lust on thee. 
 
 Dem. Away, for thou hast staid us here too long, 
 
 Lav. Nograce? no womanhood "* Ah, beastly crea- 
 The blot and enemy to our general name ! [ture ! 
 Confusion fall 
 
 Chi. Nay, then I'll stop your mouth : — Bring thou 
 
 her husband ; [^^<^gi^"g offhwiyiA. 
 
 This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him. [Ex. 
 
 Tarn. Farewell, my sons : see, that you make her 
 Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, [sure : 
 Till all the Andronicibe made away. 
 Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, 
 And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 Enter Aaron, with Quintus and Mautius. 
 
 ^or. Come on, my lords ; the better foot before : 
 Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit, 
 M^here I espy'd the panther fast asleep. 
 
 Quin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes. 
 
 Miirt. And mine, I promise you ; wer't not for 
 
 Well could 1 leave our sport to sleep awhile, [shame, 
 
 [MAHTius^ii//s into the pit, 
 
 Quin. What art thou fallen^ What subtle hole is 
 this, 
 AVhose mouth is cover'd with i^udegrowing briars ; 
 Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood, 
 As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers] 
 A very fatal place it seems to me : — 
 Speak, brother, hast thou hxirt thee with the fall ■* 
 
 Mart. O, brother, with the dismallest object 
 That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament. 
 
 Aar. [Aside.] Now will I fetch the king to find 
 That he thereby may give a likely guess, [them here ; 
 How these were they that made away his brother. 
 
 [Exit Aarox. 
 
 Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out 
 From this unhallow'dand blood-stained hole ? 
 
 Quin. I am surprized with an uncouth ftar : 
 A chilling sweat o'er-runs my tiembUng joints ; 
 My heart suspects more than mine eye can see. 
 
 Mart. To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, 
 Aaron and thou look down into this den, 
 And see a fearful sight of blood and death. 
 
 Quin. Aaron is gone ; and my compassionate heart 
 Will not permit mine eyes once to behold 
 The thing, whereat it trembles by surmise : 
 O, tell me how it is ; for ne'er till now 
 Was I a child, to fear I know not what. 
 
 Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, 
 Alt on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb. 
 In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit. 
 
 Quin. If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he? 
 
 Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear 
 A precious ring, that lightens all the hole. 
 Which, like a taper in some monument, 
 Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, 
 And shews the ragged entrails of this pit : 
 So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus, 
 W^hen he by night lay bath"J in maiden blood. 
 brother, help me with thy fainting hand, — 
 If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath,— 
 
 Out of this fell devouring receptacle, 
 As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth. 
 
 Quin. Reach me thy hand, thatlmayhelp thee out; 
 Or. wanting strength to do thee so much good, 
 I may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb, 
 Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave. 
 I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink. 
 
 Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy help. 
 
 Quin, Thy hand once more ; I will not loose again. 
 Till thou art here aloft, or I below : 
 Thou canst not come to me, 1 come to thee. [Falis in. 
 
 Enter Saturninus aiid Aaron. 
 
 Sat. Along with me : — I'!! see what hole is here, 
 And what he is, that now has leap'd into it. 
 Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend 
 Into this gaping hollow of the earth ? 
 
 Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus ; 
 Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, 
 To find thy brother Bassianus dead. 
 
 Sat. My brother dead ? I know, thou dost but jest: 
 He and his ladv both are at the lodge, 
 Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; 
 'Tis not an hour since I left him there. 
 
 Mart. We know not where you left him all alive. 
 But, out alas ! here have we found him dead. 
 
 Enter T AMOR A, with AUend?Lnts ; Titus Andronicus, 
 ajid Lucius. 
 
 Tarn. Where is my lord, the king? 
 
 Sat, Here, Tamora ; though griev'd with killing 
 
 Tarn. W^here is thy brother Bassianus ? [grief. 
 
 Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound; 
 Poor Bassianus here lies murdered. 
 
 Tarn. Then all loo late I bring this fatal writ, 
 The complot of this timeless tragedy ; [Giving a letter. 
 And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold 
 In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny. 
 
 Sat. [Reads.] Anif we miss to meet him handsomely, — 
 Siveet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis, we mean,' — ■ 
 Do thou so mucli as dig the grave for him ; 
 Thou htow^st our meaning: hook for thy reivard 
 Among the nettles at the elder tree, 
 Which over.shades the mouth of that same pit. 
 Where ive decreed to bury Bussiantis. 
 Do this, and purchase vs thii lasting Jriends. 
 O, Tamora ! was ever heard the like 1 
 This is the pit, and this the elder-tree I 
 Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out. 
 That should have murder'd Bassianus here. 
 
 Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold, 
 
 [Shewing it. 
 
 5a(.Two of thy whelps, [to Tit.] fell cursof bloody 
 Have here bereft my brother of his life : — ■ [kind, 
 Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison ; 
 There let them bide, until we have devis'd 
 Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them. 
 
 Tarn. What, are they in this pit ; O wond'rous 
 How easily murder is discovered! [thing' 
 
 Tit, High emperor, upon my feeble knee 
 I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, 
 That this fell fault of my accursed sons. 
 Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them, 
 
 Sat. If it be prov'd ! you see, it is apparent. — 
 Who found this letter ? Tamora, was it you 1 
 
 Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up- 
 
 Tit. I did, my lord : yet let me be their bail : 
 For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow. 
 They shafl be ready at your highne«;s' will. 
 To answer their suspicion with their lives. 
 
 Sat. Thou shall not bail them ; see, thou follow me. 
 Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers : 
 3 A 
 

 >».-iXT V 
 
 ^ 
 * 
 
 -AJk^Si*, ,4^. liKV 
 
 
 
 •S4^ ffeifk. 
 
 . nf ^AKiOKiu;^ ::>a; ^<*^ 
 
ACT in— SCP.NE I, 
 
 73d 
 
 Til. Will !♦ nmafiTTi* »».*» I*» me s«»it«Ti«n. 
 Tif. 
 
 f^f ' ■■' ' 
 
 T/( r •• npotiherr. 
 
 Sp»ak, I 
 
 Math rris.i<; ilifro, iiitr.<;ieis •!■• '•'•y UUiH:'-i sijfht ? 
 W liai f<rf.l hafh a*lwJ wster to the !<e» ? 
 r, -• ■ ■ ■ ■ . .''■■' 
 
 : it, 
 
 ^ ■ : I chop rAi my hanrfs '/w> ; 
 
 f * fr»r V.fnr.^ ^^A ^!( in vrii-i - 
 
 I, ■ :• .-her.— 
 
 Tn weH, J,#ivirna, that Ihon nasi no hairi^« -, 
 For han'I« to ^)o Roroe **rv7<** ar* hnt vain. 
 
 ;,.«• • 
 
 Thalt,,*;, ., - ., . 
 
 h torn from forth that pr- 
 
 Where, like a sweet melr.'; .; 
 
 8weet varie/i note^. S^cbantifig every f-ar I 
 
 /.1/e. O, !«ay thou for her, who hath done thii deed ? 
 
 Af'7r, O, thus I fonnd her, ^frayln^ in the park, 
 Jleekin^ tr> hide herself; aft doth the deer, 
 That hath reeeiv'd some nnreeiirin^ wound. 
 
 Til. It was my deer ; and he that wounded her, 
 Hath hurt me more, than Sad he kill'd me dead : 
 Frjrr now I stand as one upon a rock, 
 Knvifon'd with a wilderne*ss of sea ; 
 
 V 1 . ---■.. .. - .-. , . . . ... ..-- 
 
 I 
 
 V n. 
 Tins w;iy (o f!e^ r; rr.y wre*.cne<i sons are gone ; 
 Kt* si.trids rftv '■•'i.^rr «on, a Vrtnish'd man ; 
 " voes ; 
 I 'est spam 
 
 f oictiire in this pli:;ht. 
 
 I i'-id me ; What shall r do 
 
 N'..v I ;.^hoid thy lively body so? 
 ThoTi hait no hands to wioe awatr tjiv tAAtui, 
 
 Wha» shall w» dot l«f n«, fhatWe (wr fongTies, 
 
 PI.-.' . ,-•■■. 
 
 T '. o eonw!. 
 
 ?^, ho-* 
 
 X,r. f 
 
 y-t. Ah. .VU '.sU i wot. 
 
 Thy naokiii ea. 
 
 ■m say 
 
 i eheeks. 
 
 As far from he)p a.s limbo is from Miss '. 
 f.nter Aaroit. 
 
 Air, Titns .Ar**fYor>ie^s, my Mr'f the emperor 
 
 "! thy son». 
 
 '*, i)y w^ve. 
 
 1 
 
 T . ■ -^■- 
 
 J^ook, Marcus '. ah, son Lncmi, look on her! 
 When I did name her brothers, then fresh tearj 
 Stood on her cheeks ; as doth the honey dew 
 Upon a gather'd lily alrrjost wither'd. [husband : 
 
 Af^/r. Perchance, she wf- — ' *' ■ 'jiU'dher 
 
 Perchance, because she k .t. 
 
 Tft. If they did kill thj , .joyful. 
 
 Because the law hath ta'en revenge on tnem. — 
 Tin, no, they would not do so foul a deed ; 
 Witness the sorrow that their sister rnalces — 
 Oenfic [.avinia. let me kiss thy lips ; 
 Of rriake some si»n how I may d' '- -'■ '-^ ■* r 
 Shall thy good nncle, and thy >. !, 
 
 i And thou, and I.sitronnd ahor ain ; 
 
 looking all downwards, to behold our ci.eeki 
 How ihev are stain'd : like meadows, yet not dry 
 '■'. •' ' ' ' • , a ftowl? 
 
 '^ :/e so lon^, 
 
 '■' - „^-... .. , tj that clearness. 
 
 And n-.ade a brine-pit with mir bitter tears ? 
 Or shall w« cutaway our hands, like thine ? 
 Or shall we bite our tonnes, and in domb sktnri 
 Pass the remainder of our hateful days ? 
 
 ..e for their fault. 
 ' O, *entle Aaron ? 
 
 ■/supnse'? 
 . — emperor 
 
 And send it to ■ 
 Will send the" 
 And that shall 
 Tit. (}, am 
 h '. 
 
 t; 
 
 w , „ . . 
 
 My hand ; 
 
 Good Aaron, wilt thou help to '•tiort it off? 
 
 inf.. Stay, father: for t ■-,[ of t}rin«. 
 
 That hath thrown down so -s, 
 
 Shs'' • \- ■ -■ ■ .-n. 
 
 .\I 
 A: ..ves- 
 
 otiietesded Rome. 
 A -axe, 
 
 V. ; castle? 
 
 <>. sert: 
 
 .M t serve 
 
 T'. . their death ; 
 
 Ti,.: -id, 
 
 Aar. ' .«« i;and shall go along. 
 
 For (t:ar .r pardon come. 
 
 Mar. Mj na;..i i;.,i.. ^r>, 
 
 /->«. By heaven, it shail not go. 
 
 Tit. Si-s ctovo rr. rr.r.'t, ■ g. -I, wither'd herl« as 
 Aremee* ^foremine. ''these 
 
 /.tn;. .'- ,.^. thought thy son, 
 
 Let me red.;.;ia tt.y bro'.^er.s i>.,)h from death. 
 
 Ahr. And, (or our father's sake, and mother's car^i, 
 Now let '.- ' -'---, ■■- i^yj (Q thee. 
 
 T't. .y . I wiUspai'e my band, 
 
 Lnc, I in ajce. 
 
 3/or. But I will use the a^ie. 
 
 ^T.rftii^t T-t-crrs in.^ Mipct-s. 
 
 7";«, f. . ,.,-S; 
 
 f>»nd ffif 
 
 - " -'Hi !)e :.'.:(»^t, 
 
 A .'- -,-,en so ; — 
 
 •'' , . -rt. 
 
 And Ui^ you U 3»y, ere nail an hour car 
 [He cuts nf '. 
 
 ^nter \jeavi and Marccs. 
 Tit. Now, s's" ""'■' ■<■<•'■■ -T-'-' -k-^ll be, is de- 
 •"iood .iaron. i spatch'd.^ — 
 
 T<-;i him. it 7- 
 
 .'• . jury it ; 
 
740 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 As for my sons, say, I acconnt of them 
 
 As jewels purclias'd at an easy price ; 
 
 And yet dear too, because I bouglit mine own. 
 
 Aiir. 1 go, AndroDicus : and for thy liand, 
 Look by and by to have thy sons with thee : 
 Their heads I mean. — O, how this villany lAside. 
 Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it ! 
 Let fools do good, and fair meu call for grace, 
 Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [£xi£. 
 
 Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven. 
 And buvv this feeble ruin to the earth : 
 If any power pities wretched tears, 
 To that I call : — What, wilt thou kneel with me 1 
 
 [To Lavinia, 
 Do then, dear heart ; for heaven shall hear our prayej s : 
 Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin dim, 
 And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds, 
 When they do hug him in their melting bosoms. 
 
 Mar. O! brother, speak with possibilities, 
 And do not break into these deep extremes. 
 
 Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom 1 
 Then be my passions bottomless with them. 
 
 Mar. But yet let reason govern thy lament. 
 
 Tit. If there were reason for these miseries, 
 Then into limits could 1 bind my woes : 
 When heaven doth weep, doth not the earth o'erflow? 
 If tlie winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad, 
 Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face? 
 And wilt thou have a reason for this coil i 
 I am the sea ; hark, how her sighc do blow ! 
 She is the weeping welkin, I the eurth ; 
 Tlien must my sea be moved with hyr sighs ; 
 Then must my earth with her continual tears 
 Become a deluge, over-flow d and drown'd : 
 Por why } my bowels cannot hide her woes, 
 But like a drunkard must I vomit them. 
 Then give me leave ; for losers will have leave 
 To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues. 
 
 Enter a Messenger u;zt/i two heads and a hand. 
 
 Mess. Worthy Andronicus, ill art thou repaid 
 For that good hand thou seut'st the emperor, 
 Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ; 
 And here 's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back ; 
 Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd : 
 That woe is me to think upon thy woes, 
 More than remembrance of my father's death. \^Exit. 
 
 Mar. Now let hot yEtna cool in Sicily, 
 And be my heart an ever-burning hell ! 
 These miseries are more than may be borne ! 
 To weep with them that weep doth case some deal, 
 But sorrow flouted at is double death. 
 
 Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a 
 And yet detested life not shrink thereat! [wound, 
 That ever death should let life bear his name, 
 Where life hath no more interest but to breathe ! 
 
 [Lavinia kisses him. 
 
 Mar. Alas, poor heart, that kiss is comfortless. 
 As frozen water to a starved snake. 
 
 Titt When will this fearful slumber have an endl 
 
 Mar. Now, farewell, flattery: Die, Andronicus ; 
 Thou dost not slumber : see, thy two sons' heads j 
 Thy warlike hand ; thy mangled daughter here ; 
 Thy other banish'd son. with this dear :sight 
 Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother, I, 
 Even like a stony image, cold and numb. 
 Ah ! now no more will 1 control thy griefs : 
 Rent off thy silver hair, thy other hand 
 Gnawino- with thy teeth ; and be this dismal sight 
 The closing up of our mo^t wretched eyes ! 
 i\o\v IS a iime to storm ; why art thou still \ 
 
 Tit, J! a, Ua, ha ! 
 
 Mar. Whydost thou laugh? it fits not with this hour, 
 Tit. Why, I have not another tear to shed : 
 Besides, this sorrow is an enemy, 
 And would usurp upon my watVy eyes, 
 And make them blmd with tributary tears ; 
 Then which way shall I find revenge's cave ? 
 For these two heads do seem to speak to me ; 
 And threat me, I shall never come to bliss, 
 Till all these mischiefs be return'd again, 
 Even in their throats that have committed them. 
 Come, let me see what task I have to do, — 
 You heavy people, circle me about ; 
 That I may turn me to each one of you, 
 And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs. 
 The vow is made. — Come, brother, take a head ; 
 And in this hand the other will I bear : 
 Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things ; 
 Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teetb 
 As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight j 
 fhou an an exile, and thou must not stay : 
 Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there : 
 And, if you love me, as I think you do. 
 Let 's kiss and part, for we have much to do. 
 
 [^Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavinia 
 Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father; 
 The woeful'st man that ever li#'d in Rome ! 
 Farewell, proud Rome ! till Lucius come again. 
 He leaves his pledges dearer than his life. 
 Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ; 
 O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been ! 
 But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives. 
 But in oblivion, and hateful griefs. 
 If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ; 
 And make proud Saturninus and his empress 
 Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen. 
 Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power, 
 To be reveng'd ou Rome and Saturnine. [E.iii. 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 A Room in Titus's House. — A Banquet set otiU 
 
 Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and }fonng 
 Lucius, a boy. 
 
 Tit. So, so; now sit: and look, you eat no more 
 Than will preserve just so much strength in us 
 As will revenge these bitter woes of ours. 
 Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot ; 
 Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want oar hands. 
 And cannot passionate our tenfold grief 
 With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine 
 Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ; 
 And when my heart, all mad with misery. 
 Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh. 
 Then thus I thump it down. — 
 Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs ! 
 
 [7'n Lavinia. 
 When tliy poor heart beats with outrageous beating. 
 Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still. 
 Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans; 
 Or get some little knife between thy teeth, 
 And just against thy heart make thou a hole ; 
 That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall, 
 May run into that sink, and soaking in, 
 Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears. 
 
 Mar. Fye, brother, fye ! teach her not thus to laj 
 Such violent hands upon her tender life. 
 
 Tit. How now! has sorrow made thee dote already? 
 Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I. 
 What violent hands can she lay on her life ! 
 Ah, wherefore dost ihou urge the name of hands;— 
 To bid /Eneas tell the tale twict: o'er. 
 How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ? 
 
ACT IV.- SCENE I. 
 
 741 
 
 0. handle not the theme, to talk of hands ; 
 
 Lest we remember still, that we have none. — 
 
 Fye. fye, how franticly I square my talk ! 
 
 As if we should forget we had no hands. 
 
 If Marcus did not name the word of hands ! — 
 
 Come, Iet*s fall to ; and, gentle girl, eat this : — 
 
 Here is no drink ! Hark, iMarcus, what she says ;■ - 
 
 I can interpret all her martyr'd signs ; — 
 
 She says, she drinks no other drink but tears, 
 
 Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheekr. :— 
 
 Speechless complainer, I will learn thy thought -, 
 
 In thy dumb action will I be as perfect, 
 
 As begging hermits in their holy prayers : 
 
 Thou shall not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven, 
 
 Nor wink, nor nod. nor kneel, nor make a sign. 
 
 But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet, 
 
 And, by still practice, learn to know thy meaning. 
 
 Boy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep laments: 
 Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale. 
 
 Mar. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd, 
 Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness. 
 
 Tit, Peace, tender sapling ; thou art made of tears. 
 And tears will quickly melt thy life away. — 
 
 [Maticus strikes the dish with a h7iife. 
 What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife ? 
 
 Mar, At that that I have kill'd, my lord ; a fly. 
 
 Tit. Out on thee, murderer ! thou kilTst my heart; 
 Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny : 
 A deed of death, done on the innocent, 
 Becomes not Titus' brother : Get thee gone ; 
 1 see, tliou art not for my company. 
 
 Mar. Alas, my lord, 1 have but kill'd a fiy. 
 
 Tit. But how, if that flv had a father and a mother ? 
 How would lie hang his slender gilded wings, 
 And buz lamenting doings in the air i 
 Poor hanniess fly ! 
 That with his pretty buzzing melody. 
 Came here to make us merrv; and thou hast kill'd him. 
 
 Mar. Pardon me, sir ; 'twas a black ill-favour'd fly. 
 Like to the empress' Moor ; therefore I kill'd him. 
 
 Tit. O, O, O, 
 Then pardon me for reprehending thee, 
 For ihou hast done a charitable deed. 
 Give me thy knife, I will insult on him ; 
 Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor, 
 Come hither purposely to poison me. — 
 There 's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. — 
 Ah, sirrah f 
 
 Yet I do think we are not brought so low, 
 But that, between us, we can kill a fly. 
 That comes in likeness of a coal-black Moor. 
 
 Mar. Alas, poor man ! grief has so wrougbtonhira, 
 He takes false shadows for true substances. 
 
 Tit, Come, take away. — Lavinia, go with me : 
 I 'U to thy closet ; and go read with thee 
 Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. — 
 Come, boy, and go with me ; thy sight is young, 
 And thou shall read, when mine begins to dazzle. 
 
 [ Exeunt, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE l.—The sam£. Before Titus's House. 
 
 Enter Titus ajid Marcus. Then enter tiouug Lucius, 
 Lavikia ru7inii}g ajter him, 
 
 Bou. Help, grandsire, help ! my aunt Lavinia 
 Follows me every where, I know not why: — 
 Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes ! 
 Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean. 
 
 Mar, Stand by me, Lucius ; do not fear thine aunt. 
 
 Tit, She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm. 
 Bou. Ay, when my father w^s in Rome, she did. 
 Mar. What means my niece Lavinia by these signs ? 
 Tit, Fear her not, Lucius; — Somewhat doth she 
 mean : 
 See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee : 
 Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
 Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
 Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee, 
 Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator. 
 Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus \ 
 
 Boy, My lord, I know not, I, nor can 1 guess, 
 Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her : 
 For I have heard my grandsire say full oft. 
 Extremity of griefs would make men mad ; 
 And I have read, that Hecuba of Troy 
 Ran mad through sorrow : That made me to fear ; 
 Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt 
 Loves me as dear as e'er my motlier did, 
 And vvould not. but in fury, fright my vouth : 
 Which made me down to throw my books, and fly; 
 Causeless, perhaps : Bui pardon me, sweet aunt ; 
 And. madam, if my uncle Marcus go, 
 I will most willingly attend your ladyship. 
 
 Mar. Lucius, I will. [Lavikia turns over the hookt 
 which Lucius has let fall* 
 Tit. How now, Lavinia? Marcus, what means this? 
 Some book there is that she desires to see : — ■ 
 Which is it. girl, of these ? — Open them, boy. — 
 But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd ; 
 Come, and take choice of all my library. 
 And so beguile thv sorrow, till the heavens 
 Reveal the damn'd contriver of this deed. — - 
 Why lifts she up her arras in sequence thus? [one 
 Mar. I think, she means, that there was more than 
 Confederate in the fact ; — Ay, more there was : — 
 Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge. 
 Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so? 
 Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphoses ; 
 ^ly mother gave't me. 
 
 Mar, For love of her that's gone. 
 
 Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. 
 
 Tit. Soft ! see, how busily she turns the leaves ! 
 Help her:— 
 
 What would she Hnd * — Lavinia. shall I read ? 
 This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
 And treats of Tereus's treason, and his rape : 
 And rape, i fear, was root of thine annoy, [leaves. 
 Mar. See, brother, see : note, how she quotes the 
 Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpriz'd. sweet giri, 
 Ravish'd, and wrong'd, as Philomela was, 
 Forc'd in the ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods ? — 
 
 See, see ! 
 
 Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt 
 (O, had we never, never, hunted there !) 
 Pattern'd by that the poet here describes, 
 By nature made for murders, and for rapes. 
 
 Mar. O, why should nature build so foul a der. 
 Unless the gods delight in tragedies ! [friends, — 
 Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, — for here are none but 
 What Roman lord it was durst do the deed : 
 Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst, 
 That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed ? 
 
 Mar, Sit down, sweet niece ; — brother, sit down by 
 Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury. [me. — 
 
 Inspire me, that I may this treason find?— 
 My lord, look here ; — Look here, Lavinia : 
 This sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst. 
 This after me, when 1 have writ my name 
 Without the help of any hand at all. 
 
 [i/e loritea his name uith his staff, and guides it 
 with his feet and mouth. 
 
742 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift ! — 
 Write thou, good niece ; and liere display, at last, 
 M hat God will have discover'd lor revenge: 
 Heaven guide thy pen to write thy sDnows plain, 
 That we may know the traitors, and the truth ! 
 
 [She takes the stalf in her rnoiUh, and guides it 
 with her stumpst and writes. 
 
 Tit. O, do you read, my lord, what she hath writ? 
 Stupruin — Chiron — Demetrius. 
 
 Mar. What, what ! — the lustful sons of Tamora 
 Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ? 
 
 Tit. Magne Dominator poli. 
 Tain lentiis audis scelera? tain lentus vides? 
 
 Mar. 0,calm thee, gentle lord! although I know. 
 There is enough written upon this earth, 
 To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts, 
 And arm the minds of infants to exclaims. 
 My lord, kneel down with me ; Lavinia, kneel ; 
 And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope ; 
 And swear with me, — as with the woful feere, 
 And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame, 
 Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece* rape, — 
 That we will prosecute, by good advice, 
 Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths, 
 And see their blood, or die with this reproacli. 
 
 Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how. 
 But if you hurt these bear whelps, then beware : 
 The dam will wake; and, if she wind you once. 
 She's with the lion deeply still in league, 
 And lulls him whilst she playeth on her back. 
 And, when he sleeps, will she do what she liit. 
 You're a young huntsman, Marcus ; let it alone 
 And, come, 1 will go get a leaf of brass, 
 And with a gad of steel will write these words, 
 And lay it by : the angry northern wind 
 Will blow these sands, like Sybil's leaves, abroad, 
 And where'syour lesson then I — Boy, what say you? 
 
 -Bijy. I say, my lord, that if I were a man. 
 Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe 
 For these bad-bondmen to the yoke of Rome. 
 
 Mar. Ay, that's my boy ! thy father hath full oft 
 For this ungrateful country done the like. 
 
 Boif. And uncle, so will I, an if I live. 
 
 Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury ; 
 Lucius, I'll fit thee ; and withal, my boy 
 Shall carry from me to the empress' sons 
 Presents, that I intend to send them both : 
 Come, come ; thou'lt do thy message, wilt thou not ? 
 
 Bo^. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grandsire. 
 
 Tit, No, boy, not so ; I'll teach thee another course. 
 Lavinia, come: — Marcus, look to my house ; 
 Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court ; 
 Ay, marry, will we, sir ; and we'll be waited on. 
 
 [Exennt Titus, Lavinia, and Boy. 
 
 Mar. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan, 
 And not relent, or not compassion him ? 
 Marcus, attend him in his ecstacy ; 
 That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart, 
 Than foe-men's marks upon his batter'd shield ; 
 But yet so just, that he will not revenge : — 
 F^-evenge the heavens for old Audronicus ! [Exit. 
 
 SCKNE II.— The same. A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Filter Aaron, Chiron, and Demetrius, at onednori 
 at another door, young Lucius, and an Attendant, 
 with a bundle of iveapons, and verses writ upon them, 
 
 Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius; 
 He hath some message to deliver to us. [father. 
 
 Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand- 
 Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may. 
 
 I greet your honours from AndronicQs ; — 
 
 And pray the Roman gods, confound you both. [Aside, 
 
 Dem. Graniercy, lovely Lucius: Wiirit's tite news? 
 
 Boy. That you are botli decipher'd, that's the news. 
 For villains mark'd with rape. [Aside.] Mayitplease 
 My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me [you* 
 The goodliest weapons of his armoury. 
 To gratify your honourable youth, 
 The hope of Rome ; for so he bade me say ; 
 And so I do, and with his gifts present 
 Your lordships, that whenever you have need, 
 You may be armed and appointed well : 
 And solleave you both, [/IstJe.] like bloody villains. 
 [Exeunt Boy and Attendant. 
 
 Dem. What's here ? A scroll ; and written round 
 Let's see ; [about? 
 
 Integer vita", scelerisque pnrns, 
 Non eget Mauri jaculis, nee arcu. 
 
 Chi. O, 'tis a verse inHorace ; I know it well; 
 I read it in the grammar long ago. 
 
 Aar. Ay, just! — averse in Horace j — right, you 
 have it. 
 Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! 
 Here'sno sound jest ! the old man hath found 
 
 their guilt ; 
 And sends the weapons wrapp'd about with 
 
 lines, [quick. ^^Aside* 
 
 That wound, beyond their feeling, to the 
 But, were our witty empress well a-foot. 
 She would applaud Audronicus' conceit. 
 But let her rest in her unrest awhile. — 
 And now, young lords, was't not a happy stur 
 Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so. 
 Captives, to be advanced to this height? 
 It did me good, before the palace gate 
 To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing. 
 
 Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord 
 Basely insinuate, and send us gifts, 
 
 Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius? 
 Did you not use his daughter very friendly ? 
 
 Dem. I would, we had a thousand Roman dames 
 At such a bay, by turn to serve our lust. 
 
 Chi. A charitable wish, and full of love. 
 
 Aar. Here lacks but your mother for to say amea. 
 
 Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more. 
 
 Dem. Come, let us go ; and pray to all tlie gods, 
 For our beloved mother in her pains. 
 
 Aar. Pray to the devils ; the gods have given us 
 o'er. [Aside. Flourish. 
 
 Dem. Why do the emperor's trumpets flourish thus? 
 
 Chi. Belike, for joy the emperor hath a son. 
 
 Dem, Soft ; who comes here I 
 
 Enter a Nurse, with a black-a-moor child in her arms, 
 
 Nur. Good morrow, lords: 
 
 0, tell me, did you see Aaron the Tiloor. 
 
 Aar. Well, more or less, or ne'er a whit at all. 
 Here Aaron is ; and what with Aaron now ? 
 
 Nur. O gentle Aaron, we are all undone ! 
 Now help, or woe betide thee evermore ! 
 
 Aar. VVhy, what a caterwauling dost thou keep? 
 What dost thou wrap and furnble in thiue arms? 
 
 Nur. O.thatwhicli 1 would hide fiom heaven's eye. 
 Our empress' shame and stately Rome's disgrace; — 
 She is deliver 'd, lords, she is deliver'd. 
 
 Aar. To whom ? 
 
 Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed. 
 
 Aar. Well, God 
 
 Give her good rest ! What bath he sent her ? 
 
 Nur. A devil. [issue. 
 
 Aar. Why, then she's the devil's dam ; a joyful 
 
 A''u?-. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issxve- 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE III. 
 
 743 
 
 Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad 
 Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime. 
 The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, 
 And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. 
 
 Aar. Out. out, you whoi e ! is black so base a hue ? — 
 Sweet biowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure. 
 
 Dcm, Villain, what hast thou done 1 
 
 Aar, Done ! that which thou 
 
 Canst not undo. 
 
 CM. Thou hast undone our mother. 
 
 Aar. Villain, I have done thy mother. 
 
 Dem. And therein, hellish dog. thou hast undone. 
 Woe to her chance, and damn'd her loathed choice ! 
 Accurs'd the ofTspring of so foul a fiend ! 
 
 Chi. It shall not live. 
 
 Aar. It shall not die. 
 
 }\ur. Aaron, it must : the mother wills it so. 
 
 Aar. What, must it, nurse? then letno man, buti. 
 Do execution on my flesh and blood. 
 
 Dem. I'll broach the tadpole on my rapier's point ; 
 Nurse, give it me ; my sword shall soon despatch it. 
 
 Aar. Sooner this sword shall plow thy bowels up. 
 \Takei the child from the Nurse, ajid drairs. 
 Stay, murderous villains ! will you kill your brother 1 
 Now, by the burning tapers of the sky 
 That shone so brightly when this boy was got, 
 He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point, 
 That touches this my first-born son and heir ! 
 I tell you. younglings, not Enceladus, 
 With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood. 
 Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war, 
 Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands. 
 What, what; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys! 
 Ye white Hm'd walls ! ye alehouse painted signs ! 
 Coal-black is better than another hue 
 In that it scorns to bear another hue : 
 For all the water in the ocean 
 Can never turn a swan's black legs to white, 
 Although she lave them hourly in the flood. 
 Tell the emperess from me,. I am of age 
 To keep mine own ; excuse it how she can. 
 
 Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus? 
 
 Aar, My mistress is my mistress; this, myself: 
 The vigour, and the picture of my youth : 
 This, before all the world, do I prefer ; 
 This, maugre all the world, will I keep safe, 
 Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome. 
 
 Dem. By this our mother is for eversham'd. 
 
 Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape. 
 
 Kur. Theemperor, in hisrage, will doom her death. 
 
 Chi. I blush to think upon this ignomy. 
 
 Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears : 
 "Fye, treacherous hue! that will betray with blushing 
 The close enacts and counsels of the heart ! 
 Here's a young lad frara'd of another leer : 
 Look, how the black slave smiles upon the father ; 
 As who should say. Old lad, I am thine own. 
 He is ycur brother, lords, sensibly fed 
 Of that self blood that tirst gave life to yo" ; 
 And, from that womb, where you imprisqu'd were, 
 He is enfranchised and come to light : 
 Nay, he's your brother by the surer side, 
 Although my seal be stamped in his face. 
 
 Niir. Aaron, what shall 1 say unto the empress? 
 
 Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done, 
 And we will all subscribe to thy advice ; 
 Save thou the child, so we mav ail be safe. 
 
 Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult. 
 My son and I will have tlie wind of you : 
 Keep there : Now talk at pleasure of your safety. 
 
 [T/iev stt on the grouTid. 
 
 Dem* IIow many women saw this child of his 1 
 
 Aar. Why, so, brave lords ; When we all join in 
 I am a lamb : but if you brave the Moor, [league. 
 The chafed boar, the mountain lioness. 
 The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. — 
 But, say again, how manv saw the child ? 
 
 Nur, Cornelia the midwife, and myself, 
 And no one else, biit the deliver'd empress. 
 
 Aar. The empress, the midwife, and yourself: 
 Two may keep counsel, when the third's away : 
 Go to the empress ; tell her, this 1 said : — 
 
 [^Stabbing her. 
 Weke, weke ! — so cries a pig. prepar'd to the spit. 
 
 Dem. What mean'st thou. Aaron? Whereforedidsf 
 
 Aar. 0, ford, sir, 'tis a deed of policy : [thou this"* 
 Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours? 
 A long-tongu'd babbling gossip? no. lords, no. 
 And now be it known to you my full intent. 
 Not far, one IMuliteus lives, my countryman. 
 His wife but yesternight was brought to bed ; 
 His child is like to her, fair as you are : 
 Go pack with him. and give the mother gold, 
 And tell them both the circumstance of all ; 
 And how by this their child shall be advanc'd, 
 And be received for the emperor's heir, 
 And substituted in the place of mine, 
 To calm this tempest whirling ia the court ; 
 And let the emperor dandle him for his own. 
 Hark ye, lords ; ye see, that I have given her physic. 
 [Pointing to the Nurse. 
 And you must needs bestow her funeral ; 
 The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms • 
 This done, see that you take no longer days. 
 But send the midwife presently to me. 
 The midwife, and the nurse, well made away, 
 Then let the ladies tattle what they please. 
 
 Chi. Aaron, I see, thou wilt not trust the air 
 With secrets. 
 
 Dem. For this care of Tamora, 
 
 Herself, and hers, are highly bound to thee. 
 
 [Eiennt Dem. and Cm. bearing off the Nurse. 
 
 Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flies ; 
 There to dispose the treasure in mine arms. 
 And secretly to greet the empress' friends. — 
 Come on, you thick lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence ; 
 For it is you that puts us to our shifts : 
 I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots. 
 And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat, 
 And cabin in a cave ; and bring you up 
 To be a warrior, and command a camp. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— The same. A public P'ace. 
 
 Enter Trrus, hearing arrows, with letters at the e^lds 
 of them; with him Marcus, young Lucius, aud 
 other Gentlemen, udth bows. 
 
 r/(. Come, Marcus, come; — Kinsmen, this is the way: 
 Sir boy, now let me see your archery ; 
 Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight : 
 Terras Astrtra reliquit : 
 
 Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled. 
 Sir, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall 
 Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets ; 
 Happily you may find her in the sea ; 
 Yet there 's as little justice as at land : — 
 No ; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it ; 
 *Tis you must dig with mattock, and with spade. 
 And pierce the inmost center of the earth : 
 Then, when you come to Pluto's region, 
 I pray you, deliver him this petition : 
 Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid : 
 And that it comes from old Andionicus, 
 Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome — 
 
744 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 Ah, Rome! — Well, well : I made thee miserable. 
 What time I threw the people's suffrages 
 On him that doth tyrannize o'er me. — 
 Go, get you gone ; and pray be careful all, 
 And leave you not a man of war unsearch'd ; 
 This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence. 
 And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice. 
 
 Mar. O, Publius, is not this a heavy case. 
 To see thy noble uncle thus distract 1 
 
 Puh. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns, 
 By day and night to attend him carefully j 
 And feed his humour kindly as we may. 
 Till time beget some careful remedy. 
 
 Mar. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy. 
 Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war 
 Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude. 
 And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine. [\\'hat, 
 
 Tit. Publius, how now ? how now, my masters ] 
 Have you met with her 1 
 
 Pub. No, ray good lord ; but Pluto sends you word 
 If you will have revenge from hell, you shall : 
 Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd. 
 He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else. 
 So that perforce you must needs stay a time. 
 
 Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays. 
 I'll dive into the burning lake below. 
 And pull her out of Aciieron by the heels. — 
 Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we ; 
 No big-bon'd men, fram'd of the Cyclops' size: 
 But metal, Marcus, steel to the very back; 
 Yet wrung with wrongs, more than our backs can bear: 
 And, sitb there is no justice in earth or hell. 
 We will solicit heaven ; and move the gods. 
 To send down justice for to wreak our wrongs : 
 Come, to this gear. You are a good arclier, Marcus. 
 [He giies them the arrows. 
 Ad Jovem, that's for you : — Here, ad ApoUinem: — 
 Ad Martem, that's for myself: — 
 Here, boy, to Pallas : — Here, to Mercury : 
 To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine, — 
 You were as good to shoot against the wind. — 
 To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid : 
 O'my word, I have written to effect ; 
 There 's not a god left unsolicited. 
 
 Mar. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court: 
 We will afflict the emperor in his pride. 
 
 Tit. Now, masters, draw. [Ther^ shoot.] 0,well said, 
 Good boy, in Virgo's lap ; give it Pallas. [Lucius! 
 
 Mar. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon ; 
 Your letter is with Jupiter by this. 
 
 Tit. Ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done! 
 See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus' horns. 
 
 Mar. This was the sport, my lord ; when Publius 
 shot. 
 The bull being gall'd. gave Aries such a knock 
 That down fell both the ram's horns in the court; 
 And who should find them but the empress' villain ? 
 She laugh'd, and told the Moor, he should not choose 
 But give them to his master for a present. 
 
 Tit. Why, there it goes : God give your lordship joy. 
 
 Enter a Clown, with a basket, and two jiigeons. 
 News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is come. 
 Sinah, what tidings, have you any letters'! 
 Shall I have justice ! what says Jupiter? 
 
 Clo. Ho ! the gibbet maker ! he says, that he hath 
 taken them down again, for the man must not be 
 hanged till the next week. 
 
 Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee'! 
 
 Cto. Alas, sir, I know not . upiter ; I never drank 
 with him in all my life. 
 
 Til, Why, villain, art not thou the carrier 1 
 
 Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; nothing else. 
 
 Tit. Why, didst thou not come from heaven ? 
 
 Clo. From heaven ! alas, sir, I never came there : 
 God forbid, I should be so bold to press to heaven 
 in my young days. Why, lam going with my pigeons 
 to the tribunal plebs, to take up a matter of brawl 
 betwixt my uncle and one of the emperial's men. 
 
 Mar. Why, sir, tliat is as fit as can be, to serve for 
 your oration ; and let him deliver the pigeons to the 
 em})eror from you. 
 
 Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the em- 
 peror with a grace 1 
 
 Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace ia 
 all my life. 
 
 Tit. Sirrah, come hither: make no more ado, 
 But give your pigeons to the emperor ; 
 By me thou shalt have justice at his hands. 
 Hold, hold ; — mean while, here's money for thy 
 Give me a pen and ink. — [charges. 
 
 Sii rah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication ? 
 
 Clo. Ay, sir. 
 
 Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And 
 when you come to him, at the first approach, you 
 must kneel ; then kiss his foot ; then deliver up your 
 pigeons ; and then look for your reward. 1 'II be at 
 hand, sir ; see you do it bravely. 
 
 Cto. I warrant you, sir ; let me alone. 
 
 Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me see it. 
 Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ; 
 For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant; — 
 And when thou hast given it to the emperor. 
 Knock at my door, and tell me what he says. 
 
 Clo. God be with you, sir ; I will. 
 
 Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go : — Publius, follow me. 
 
 [Eiennt. 
 
 SCENE TV.— The same. Before the Palace. 
 
 Knter Saturninus, Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, 
 
 Lords, and otiters : Saturni>jus, with the arrows in 
 
 his hand that Titus shot. 
 
 Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was ever 
 .■\n emperor of Rome thus overborne, [seen 
 
 Troubled, confronted thus ; and, for the e.ttent 
 Of egal justice, us'd in such contempt ! 
 My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods. 
 However these disturbers of our peace 
 Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd, 
 Bst even with law, against the wilful sons 
 Of old Andronicus. And what an if 
 His sorrows have so overwhelm'd his wits. 
 Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks. 
 His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness ? 
 And now he writes to heaven for his redress : 
 See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury ; 
 Tins to Apollo ; this to the god of war: 
 Sweet scrolls to fly about tlie streets of Rome! 
 What's this, but libelling against the senate. 
 And blazoning our injustice every where ? 
 A goodly humour, is it not, my lords ? 
 As who would say. in Rome no justice were. 
 But. if I live, his feigned ecstacies 
 Sliall be no shelter to these outrages : 
 But he and his shall know, that justice lives 
 In Saturninus' health ; whom, if she sleep. 
 He'll so awake, as she in fury shall 
 Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives. 
 
 Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine, 
 Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts. 
 Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age. 
 The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons. 
 Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his heart; 
 And rather comfort his distressed plight. 
 
ACT V. -SCENE I. 
 
 745 
 
 Than prosecute the meanest, or the best, 
 
 For these contempts. Why, thus it shall become 
 
 High-witted Tamora to gloze with all : [Aside, 
 
 But, Titus, I have touch'd thee to the quick. 
 
 Thy life-blood out: if Aaron now be wise, 
 
 Then is all safe, the anchor's in the port. — 
 
 Enter Clown. 
 How now, g^ood fellow, would'st thou speak with us ? 
 
 do. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial. 
 
 Tarn. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor. 
 
 Cifl. 'Tis he. — God, and saint Stephen, give you 
 good den: I have brought you a letter, and a couple 
 of pigeons here. [Saturntnus reads the letter. 
 
 Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently. 
 
 Clo. How much money must I have \ 
 
 Tarn. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd. 
 
 Clo. Hang'd! liy'r lady, then I have brought up 
 a neck to a fair end. [Exit, guarded. 
 
 Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs ! 
 Shall T endure this monstrous villaay ? 
 I know from whence thi.s same device proceeds ; 
 May this be borne t — as if his traitorous sons, 
 That died by law for murder of our brother. 
 Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully. — 
 Go, drag the villain hither by the hair; 
 Nor age, nor honour, shall shape privilege : — 
 For this proud mock, I'll be thy slaughter-man ; 
 Sly frantic wretch, that holp'st to make me great, 
 In hope thyself should govern Rome and me. 
 
 Enter .^milius. 
 What news with thee, ^i^milius? [cause! 
 
 ^jnil. Arm, arm, my lords ; Rome never had more 
 The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a power 
 Of high-resolved men bent to the spoil, 
 rhey hither march amaiu, under conduct 
 Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus ; 
 Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do 
 As much as ever Coriolanus did. 
 
 Sat* Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths? 
 These tidings nip me ; and I hang the head 
 As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms. 
 Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach : 
 *Tis he, the common people love so much ; 
 IMyself hath often over-heard them say, 
 (When I have walked like a private man,) 
 That Luxrius' banishment was wrongfully, 
 And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor. 
 
 Tarn. Why should you fear? is notyour city strong? 
 
 Sat, Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius; 
 And will revolt from me, to succour him. 
 
 Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious, like thy 
 Is the sun dimra'd, that gnats do tiy in it? [name, 
 The eagle suffers little birds to sing, 
 And is not careful what they mean thereby ; 
 Knowing that, with the shadow of his wings. 
 He can at pleasure stint their melody : 
 Even so may'st thou the giddy men of Rome. 
 Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou emperor, 
 I will enchant the old Andronicus, 
 W ith words more sweet, and yet more dangerous, 
 Than bails to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep ; 
 "When as the one is wounded with the bait, 
 The other rotted with delicious feed. 
 
 Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us. 
 
 Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will: 
 For I can smooth, and fill his aged ear 
 With golden promises : that were his heart 
 Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf. 
 Yet should both ear and heart obey ray tongue. — 
 Go thou before, be our embassador: [To ^muvs. 
 Say, that the emperor requests a parley 
 
 Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting. 
 Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus. 
 
 Sat. .Emilius do this message honourably : 
 And if he stand on hostage for his safety. 
 Bid him demand what pledge will please him best. 
 
 JEmli. Your bidding shall I do efTectually. 
 
 [Exit .i^MILIUS. 
 
 Tarn. Now will I to that old Andronicus ; 
 And temper him, with all the art I. have, 
 To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths. 
 And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again, 
 And bury all thy fear in my devices. 
 
 Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE {.—Plains near Rome. 
 
 Enter Lucius and Goths, with drum and colours, 
 
 Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends, 
 I have received letters from great Rome, 
 Which signify, what hate they bear their emperor, 
 And how desirous of our sight they are. 
 Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness, 
 Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs ; 
 And, wherein Rome hath done you any scath, 
 Let him make treble satisfaction. [nicus, 
 
 I Goth, Brave slip, sprung from the great Andro- 
 Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort ; 
 Whose high exploits, and honourable deeds, 
 Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt, 
 lie bold in us : we'll follow where thou lead'st, — 
 Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day, 
 Led by tiieii master to the flower'd fields, — 
 And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. 
 
 Goths. And, as he saith, so say we all with him. 
 
 Luc. 1 humbly thank him, and I thank you all. 
 But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth ] 
 
 £/i(^r aGoth, leading Aahos, with his child in his arms, 
 
 '2 Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops 1 sti ayd. 
 To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ; 
 And as I earnestly did fix mine eye 
 Upon the wasted building, suddenly 
 I heard a child cry underneath a wall : 
 I made unto the noise ; when soon I heard 
 Ihe crying babe controU'd with this discourse: 
 Peace, tawny slave ; half me, and half thy dam! 
 Did not thy hue bewray whose brat ihoii art, 
 Had nature lent thee but th'y mother's look. 
 Villain, thou might'st have been an emperor: 
 But ivhere the bull and cow are both milk'uhite, 
 They never do beget a coal-black calf. 
 Peace, villain, peace! — even thus he rates the babe, — 
 For I must bear thee to a trusty Goth; 
 Who, when he knows thou art the einpress' babe. 
 Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake. 
 With this, my weapon drawn, 1 rush'd upon him, 
 Surpriz'd him suddenly; and brought him hither, 
 fo use as you think needful of the man. 
 
 Luc. O worthy Goth ! this is the incarnate devil, 
 That robb d Andronicus of his good hand : 
 This is the pearl that pleas 'd your empress' eye ; 
 And here's the base fruit of his burning lust. — 
 Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither would'st thou convey 
 This growing image of thy fiend-like face 1 
 Why dost not speak * Wliat ! deaf J No ; not a word I 
 A halter, soldier ; hang nim on this tree, 
 And by his side his fruit of bastardy. 
 
 Aar. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood. 
 
 Luc. Too like the sire for ever being good. — 
 
746 
 
 TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 First, hang the child, that he may see it sprawl ; 
 A sight to vex the father's soul withal. 
 Get me a ladder. [A Ladder bnmght, which Aaron 
 is obliged to ascend. 
 Aar. Lucius, save the child ; 
 
 And bear it from me to tlie emperess. 
 li thuu do this, I'll shew thee wood'rous things, 
 That higlily may advantage thee to hear: 
 If thou wilt not, befall what may befall, 
 I'll speak no more ; But vengeance rot you all ! 
 hue. Say on ; and, if it please me which thou 
 speak'st. 
 Thy child shalt live, and I will see it nourish'd. 
 
 Aar. An if it please thee? why, assure thee, Lucius, 
 'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak ; 
 For 1 must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres, 
 Acts of black night, abominable deeds, 
 Complots of mischief, treason; vilianies 
 Rulhful to hear, yet piteously perform'd : 
 And this shall all be buried by my death, 
 Unless thou swear to me, my child shall live. 
 Luc. Tell on thy mind ; I say, thy cliild shall live. 
 Aar. Swear, that he shall, and then I will begin. 
 hue. Wiio should I swear by? tliou believ'stno god ; 
 That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ? 
 
 Aar. What if I do not ? as, indeed, I do not : 
 Yet, — for I know thou art religious, 
 And hast a thing within thee, called conscience ; 
 And twenty popish tricks and ceremonies. 
 M'hich I iiave seen thee careful to observe, — 
 Therefore 1 urge thy oaih ; — For that, I know. 
 An idiot holds his bauble for a god, 
 And keeps the oath, which by that god he swears ; 
 To that I'll urge him : — Therefore, thou shalt vow 
 iSy that same god, what god soe'er it be, 
 'i hat thou ador'st and hast in reverence, — • 
 To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up; 
 Or else I will discover nought to thee. 
 
 Luc. Even by my god, I swear to thee I will. 
 Aar, First, know thou, I begot him on the empress. 
 hue. O most insatiate, luxurious woman ! 
 Aar. Tut, Lucius ! this was but a deed of charity. 
 To that wiiich thou shalt hear of me anon. 
 'Twas her two sons, that murder'd Bassianus : 
 They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her, 
 And cut her hands; and trimm'd her as thou saw'st. 
 Luc. O, detestable villain! call'st thou that trim- 
 ming ? [and 'twas 
 Aar. Why, she was ivash'd, and cut, and trimm'd ; 
 Trim sport for them that had the doing of it. 
 Luc, O, barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself! 
 Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them ; 
 That codding spirit had they from their mother, 
 As sure a card as ever won the set; 
 That bloody mind, I think, they learn'd of me, 
 As true a dog as ever fought at head. 
 Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth. 
 I train'd thy brethren to that guileful hole. 
 Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay : 
 I wrote the letter that thy father found. 
 And hid the gold within the letter mention'd, 
 Confederate with the queen, and her two sons ; 
 And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue. 
 Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it? 
 I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand ; 
 And, when I had it, drew myself apart. 
 And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter. 
 I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall, 
 Wlien, for his hand, he had his two sons' heaas ; 
 Beheld his tears, and iaugh'd so heartily, 
 That both mine eyes were rainy like to his ; 
 And when I told the empress of this spoil. 
 
 She swounded almost at my pleasing tale, 
 
 And, for my tidings, gave me twenty kisses, [blush? 
 
 Goth. What I canst thou say all this, and never 
 
 Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is. 
 
 hue. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds ? 
 
 Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. 
 Even now I curse the day, (and yet, I think, 
 Few come within the compass of my curse,) 
 Wherein I did not some notorious ill : 
 As kill a man. or else devise his death ; 
 Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it ; 
 Accuse some innocent and forswear myself: 
 Set deadly enmity between two friends ; 
 Make poor men's cattle break their necks ; 
 Set fire on barns and hay-slacks in the night. 
 And bid the owners quench them with their tears. 
 Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves. 
 And set them upright at their dear friends' doors. 
 Even when their sorrows almost were forgot ; 
 And on their skins, as on the bark of trees. 
 Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, 
 Let not ijf^'tr sorrows die, though I am dead. 
 Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things. 
 As willingly as one would kill a fly ; 
 And nothing grieves me heartily indeed. 
 But that I cannot do ten thousand more. 
 
 Luc. Bring down the devil ; for he must not die 
 So sweet a death, as hanging presently, 
 
 Aar. If there be devils, 'would I were a devil, 
 To live and burn in everlasting fire ; 
 So I might have your company in hell. 
 But to torment you with my bitter tongue ! 
 
 Luc. Sirs, stophis mouth, and let him speak no more. 
 
 hnter a Goth. 
 
 Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome, 
 Desires to be admitted to your presence. 
 hue. Let him come near.— 
 
 Lnter ^Emilius. 
 
 Welcome, <5£milius, what's the news from Rome ? 
 
 JEmii. Lord Lucius, and you, princes of the Goths. 
 The Roman emperor greets you all bv me : 
 And, for he understands you are in arms. 
 He craves a parley at your father's house. 
 Willing you to demand your hostages. 
 And they shall be immediately deliver'd. 
 
 1 Goth. What says our geneial 1 
 
 hue. ^Emilius, let the emper(^r give his pledges 
 Unto my father and mv uncle Marcus, 
 And we will come. — iMarch away. \^Exeuht. 
 
 SCENE II.— Rome. Before Titus's House. 
 
 Enter T know A, Chihon, and Demetrius, disguiseiL 
 
 Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment, 
 I will encounter with Andronicus ; 
 And say, I am Revenge, sent from below, 
 To join with him. and right his heinous wrongs. 
 Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps, 
 To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge ; 
 Tell him, Revenge is come to join with him, 
 And work confusion on his enemies. [T/ie^/ knock. 
 
 ^^iter Titus, above. 
 
 Tit, Who doth molest my cont.emplation? 
 Is it your trick, to make me ope the door ; ■ I 
 
 That so my sad decrees may fly away, 
 And all my study be to no effect "! 
 You are deceiv'd : for what I mean to do. 
 See here, in bloody lines 1 have set down; 
 And what is writteo shall be executed* 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 747 
 
 Tarn. Titus, T am come to talk with thee. 
 Tit. No ; not a word : How can I grace my talk. 
 Wanting a hand to give it action 1 
 Thou hast the odds of me, therefore no more. 
 
 Tarn. If thou did'st know me, thou would'st talk 
 
 with me. 
 Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enough : 
 Witness this wretched stump, these crimson lines ; 
 Witness these trenches, made by grief and care ; 
 Witness the tiring day, and heavy night ; 
 Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well 
 For our proud empress, mighty Tamora : 
 Is not thy coming for my other hand ? 
 
 Ttun. Know thou, sad man. I am not Tamora ; 
 She is thy enemy, and 1 thy friend : 
 I am Revenge; sent from the infernal kingdom, 
 To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind. 
 By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes. 
 Come down, and welcome me to this world's light ; 
 Confer with me of murder and of death : 
 There 's not a hollow cave, or lurking-place, 
 No vast obscurity, or misty vale. 
 Where bloody murder, or detested rape. 
 Can couch for fear, but I will find them out ; 
 And in their ears tell them my dreadful name. 
 Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake. 
 
 Tit. Art thou Revenge t and art thou sent to me, 
 To be a torment to mine enemies ? 
 
 Tarn. I am ; therefore come down, and welcome me. 
 
 Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee 
 Lo. by thy side where Rape, and Murder, stands ; 
 Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge, 
 Stab tliem, or tear them on thy chariot wheels j 
 And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner. 
 And whirl along with thee about the globes. 
 Provide thee proper palfries, black as jet, 
 To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away, 
 And rind nut murderers in their guilty caves : 
 And when thy car is loaden with their heads, 
 I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel 
 Trot, like a servile footman, all day long; 
 Even from Hyperion's rising in the east, 
 Until his very downfall in the sea. 
 And day by day I'll do tiiis iieavy task, 
 So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there. 
 
 Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me. 
 
 Tit. Are they thy ministers? what are they call'd ? 
 
 Tarn. Rapine, and i\Iurder ; therefore called so, 
 Cause they take vengeance of such kind of men. 
 
 Tit. Good lord, how like the empress' sons they are! 
 And you, the empress I But we worldly men 
 Have miserable, mad. mistaking eves. 
 
 sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee i 
 
 And. if one arm's embraceraent will content thee : 
 
 1 will embrace thee in it by and by. 
 
 [Eiit TiTvs. from above. 
 Tarn, This closing with him fits his lunacy: 
 Whate'er I forge, to feed his brain-sick fits. 
 Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches. 
 Foi now lie firmly takes me for Revenge ; 
 And, b^ing credulous in this mad thought, 
 I'll make him send for Lucius, his son ; 
 And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure, 
 I 'II find some cunning practice out of hand. 
 To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths, 
 Or. at the least, make them his enemies. 
 See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme. 
 
 Enter Titus. 
 
 Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee . 
 Welcome, dread furv, to my woful house ; — • 
 Rapine, and Murder, you art welcome too : — 
 
 How like the empress and her sons you are I 
 Well are you fitted, had you but a Moor: — 
 Could not all hell aflbrd you such a devil 1 
 For, well I wot, the empress never wags, 
 But in her company there is a Moor ; 
 And, would you represent our queen aright. 
 It were convenient you had such a devil : 
 But welcome, as you are. What shall we do '^ 
 
 Tarn. What would'st thou have us do, Andronicus? 
 
 Dem. Shew me a murderer, I '11 deal with him. 
 
 Chi. Shew me a villain, that hath done a rape, 
 And I am sent to be reveng'd on him. 
 
 Tarn. Shew me a thousand, that have done thee 
 And I will be revenged on them all. [wrong, 
 
 Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of Home ; 
 And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself, 
 Good Murder, stab him ; he's a murderer. — 
 Go thou with him ; and, when it is thy hap, 
 To find another that is like to thee, 
 Good Rapine, stab him ; he is a ravisher. — 
 Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's court 
 There is a queen, attended by a Moor ; 
 Well may'st thou know her by thy own proportion. 
 For up and down she doth resemble thee ; 
 1 pray thee, do on them some violent death, 
 They have been violent to me and mine. 
 
 Tat)i. Well hast thou lesson'd us ; this shall we do. 
 But would it please thee, good Andronicus, 
 To send for Lucius, thy thrice valiant son, 
 Who leads tow^ards P^ome a band of warlike Goths, 
 And bid him come and banquet at thy house : 
 When he is here, even at thy solemn "feast, 
 I will bring in the empress and her sons, 
 The emperor himself, and all thy foes ; 
 And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel, 
 And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart. 
 What says Andronicus to this device? 
 
 Tit. Marcus, my brother ! — 'tis sad Titus calls. 
 
 Enter Marcus. 
 
 Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius ■, 
 Thou shalt inquire him out among the Goths; 
 Bid liim repair to me, and bring with him 
 Some of the chiefest princes of the Goths ; 
 Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are: 
 Ttdl him, the emperor and the empress too 
 Feast at my house : and he shall feast with them. 
 This do thou for my love ; and so let him, 
 As he regards his aged father's life. 
 
 Mar. This will I do, and soon return again. [Eiit, 
 
 Tarn. Now will 1 hence about tliy business, 
 And take my ministers along with me. 
 
 Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with me ; 
 Or else I '11 call my brother back again, 
 And cleave to no revenge but Lucius. 
 
 Turn. What say you. boys? will you abide with him. 
 Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor. 
 How I have govern'd our determin'd jest 1 
 Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair? 
 
 [Ashle. 
 And tarry with him, till I come again. 
 
 Tit. I know them all. though they suppose me mad ; 
 And will o'er reach them in their own device, 
 A pair of cursed hell-hounds, and their dam. [Asi-Je. 
 
 Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure, leave us here. 
 
 Tarn. Farewell, Andronicus: Revenge now goes 
 To lay a complol to betray thy foes. [Eiit Tamora. 
 
 Tit. I know thou dost; and, sweet Revenge, fare- 
 well. 
 
 Chi. Tell us, old man. how shall we be employ 'd ? 
 
 Tit. Tut, I have work enough for you to do.^ 
 Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine . 
 
TITUS ANDRONICUS. 
 
 7i8 
 
 Enter Pvblius and others. 
 
 Fuh. What s your will? 
 Tit. t Know you these two ■• 
 
 p,jj. Th' empress' sons, 
 
 I take them, Chiron and Demetrius. 
 
 T/(.Fye, Publius, fye! thou art too much deceiv d; 
 The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name : 
 And therefore bind them, gentle Publius ; 
 Caius, and Valentine, lay hands on them : 
 Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour. 
 And now 1 find it ; therefore bind tliem sure ; 
 And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry. 
 
 [Eait Titus.— PuBiius, tV. /"V '"'W o» 
 CnmoN and Demetrius. 
 Cfi:. Villains, forbear; we are the empress' sons. 
 Pub. .And therefore do we what we are commanded. 
 Stop close their mouths, let them not speak a word : 
 Is he sure bound 1 look, that you bind them fast. 
 
 Re-enter Titus Andronicus, with Lavinia ; she 
 
 beari7>g a basnn, and he a knife. 
 Tit. Come, come, Lavinia: look, thy foes are 
 bound ; — i 
 
 Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me ; 1 
 But let them hear what fearful words I utter.— \ 
 O villains, Chiron and Demetrius ! U-l I 
 
 Here stands the spring wliom you have stain d with 
 This goodly summer with your winter mix'd. 
 You kill'd'her husband ; and, for that vile fault. 
 Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death : 
 My hand cut off, and made a merry jest : 
 Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that, more dear 
 Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity, 
 Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd. 
 What would you say, if I should let you speak I 
 Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace. 
 Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you. 
 This one hand yet is left to cut your throats; 
 Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold 
 The bason, that receives your guilty blood^ 
 You know, yourm-other means to feast with me. 
 And calls herself. Revenge, and thinks me mad,— 
 Hark, villains ; I will grind your bones to dust. 
 And with your blood and it, I '11 make a paste ; 
 And of the paste a coffin I will rear, 
 And make two pasties of your shameful heads ; 
 And bid that strumpet, your unhallow'd dam. 
 Like to the earth, swallow her own increase. 
 This is the feast that I have bid her to. 
 And this the banquet she shall surfeit on ; 
 For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter, 
 And worse than Progne 1 will be reveng'd : 
 And now prepare your throats.— Lavinia, come, 
 
 [He cuts their throats. 
 Receive the blood : and, when that they are dead, 
 Let me go grind their bones to powder small, 
 And with this hateful liquor temper it ; 
 And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd. 
 Come, come, be every one officious 
 To make this banquet ; which I wish may prove 
 More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast. 
 So, now bring them in. for I will play the cook. 
 And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. 
 
 TKaeuTit, bearing the dead bodies 
 
 SCENE III. — TJiesame. A Pavilion, with Tables, Sfc. 
 
 Enter Lucius, Marcus, and Goths, with 
 Aaron, prisoner. 
 
 Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind, 
 That I repair to Rome, 1 am content. 
 
 1 Goth. And ours, with thine, befall what fortune 
 will. . 
 
 Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous iMoor, 
 This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ; 
 Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him, 
 Till he be brought unto the empress' face, 
 For testimony of her foul proceedings: ,, 
 
 And see the ambush of our friends be strong : < 
 
 I fear, the emperor means no good to us. 
 
 Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear. 
 And prompt me. that my tongue may utter forth 
 The venomous malice of my swelling heart ! 
 
 Luc. Away, inhuman dog! unhallow'd slave!— 
 Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in.— 
 
 [EieiiiK, Goths, with Aaron. Flounslt. 
 The trumpets shew, the emperor is at hand. 
 
 Enter Saturninus, and Tamora, with Tribunes, 
 
 Senators, and others. 
 Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than onel 
 Luc. W'hat boots it thee, to call thyself a sunl 
 Mai-. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the parle; 
 These quarrels must be quietly debated. 
 The .feast is ready, which the careful Titus 
 Hath ordain'd to an honourable end. 
 For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome: 
 Please you, therefore, drawnigh, and takeyour places. 
 
 Sat. Marcus, we will. 
 IHautboys sound. The company sit down at table. 
 
 Enter Titus, dressed like a cook, Lavinia, veiled, 
 young Lucius, and others. Titus places the dishes 
 on the table. 
 
 Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord; welcome, dread 
 queen ; 
 Welcome, ye warlike Goths ; welcome, Lucius ; 
 And welcome, all : although the cheer be poor, 
 'Twill fill your stomachs ; please you eat of it. 
 Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus? 
 Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well. 
 To entertain your highness, and your empress. 
 Tam. We are beholden to you, good Andronicus. 
 Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you were. 
 My lord the emperor, resolve me this ; 
 Was it well done of rash Virginius, 
 To slay his daughter with his own right hand. 
 Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflour'd ? 
 Sat. It was, Andronicus. 
 Tit. Your reason, mighty lord ! ... 
 Sat. Because the giil should not survive her shame. 
 And by her presence still renew his sorrows. 
 
 Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual ,• 
 A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant. 
 For me, most wretched to perform the like ; — 
 Die die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ; 
 
 [He kills Lavinia. 
 And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die ! 
 ,Snt. What hast thou done, unnatural, and unkind? 
 Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made roe 
 I am as woful as Virginius was : [blind. 
 
 .\nd have a thousand times more cause than he 
 To do this outrage ;— and it is now done. 
 1 Sat. What, was she ravish'd ! tell, who did thedeeO. 
 Tit. Will't please you eat? will't please your 
 highness feed? , . i, i 
 
 Tam. Why hast thou slainthineonlydaughter thus! 
 TU. Not I ; 'twas Chiron, and Demetrius: 
 Thev ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue. 
 And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong. 
 Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently. 
 Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in thatpye; 
 Whereof their mother daintilv hath fed, 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 749 
 
 Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred. 
 *Tis true, 'tis true ; witness my knife's sharp point. 
 ^KiUiitg 'I'A:*ionA. 
 
 Sat. Die, frantic wretch, for this accursed deed. 
 IKiliing Titus. 
 
 Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed 1 
 There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed. 
 
 [Kif/s Satuunjnus. A great tumult. The people in 
 coufusion disperse. Marcus, Lucius, and their 
 partiiuns ascend the steps before Titus's house. 
 
 Mar. Yousad-fac'dmen, people and sons of Rome, 
 By uproar sever'd, like a flight of fowl 
 Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts, 
 O, let me teach you how to knit again 
 This scatter'd corn into one mutal sheaf, 
 These broken limbs again into one body. 
 
 Sen. Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself; 
 And she, whom mighty kingdoms court'sy to, 
 Like a forlorn and desperate cast-away. 
 Do shameful execution on herself. 
 But if my frosty signs and chaps of age, 
 Grave witnesses of true experience, 
 Cannot induce you to attend my words, — [ancestor, 
 Speak, Rome's dear friend ; [Tu Lucius] as erst our 
 When with his solemn tongue he did discourse. 
 To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear, 
 The story of that baneful burning, night, 
 When subtle Greeks surpriz'd king Priam's Troy : 
 Tell us, what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears, 
 Or w!io hath brought the fatal engine in, 
 That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound. — 
 Wy heart is not compact of flint nor steel 1 
 Nor can I utter all our bitter grief, 
 But floods of tears will drown my oratory. 
 And break my very utterance ; even I'the time 
 AVhen it should move you to attend me most, 
 Lending your kind commiseration : 
 Here is a captain, let him tell the tale : 
 Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak. 
 
 Luc. Then, noble auditory, be it known to you, 
 That cursed Chiron and Demetrius 
 Were they that murdered our emperor's brother ; 
 And they it were that ravished our sister : 
 For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded ; 
 Our father's tears despis'd ; and basely cozen'd 
 Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out, 
 And sent her enemies unto the grave. 
 Lastly myself unkindly banish'd. 
 The gates shut on me. and turn'd weeping out, 
 To beg relief among Rome's enemies ; 
 Who drown'd their enmity in my true tears. 
 And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend : 
 And I am the turn'd-forth, be it known to you, 
 That have preserv'd her welfare in ray blood ; 
 And from her bosom took the enemy's point, 
 Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body. 
 Aias ! you know, I am no vaunter, I ; 
 My scars can witness, dumb although they are. 
 That my report is just, and full of truth. 
 But, soft ; methinks 1 do digress too much. 
 Citing my worthless praise : 0, pardon me ; 
 Per when no friends are by, men praise themselves. 
 
 Mar, Now is my turn to speak ; Behold this child, 
 
 [Pointing to the child in the arms of' an Attendant. 
 Of this was Tamora delivered : 
 The issue of an iireligious Moor, 
 Chief architect and plotter of these woes ; 
 The villain is alive in Titus' house, 
 Damn'd as he is, to witness this is true. 
 Now judge, what cause had Titus to revenge 
 These wrongs unspeakable, past patience. 
 Or more than any living man could bear. 
 
 Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Romans! 
 Have we done aught amiss t Shew us wherein 
 And, from the place where you behold us now 
 The poor remainder of Andronici 
 Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down. 
 And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains, 
 And make a mutual closure of our house. 
 Speak, Romans, speak ; and, if you say we shall, 
 Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall. 
 
 ACmiL Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome, 
 And bring our emperor gently in thy hand, 
 Lucius our emperor ; for, well I know. 
 The common voice do cry, it shall be so. [emperor! 
 
 Rom. [Several speak.] Lucius, ail hail : Rome's royal 
 
 Lucius, S\c. descend* 
 
 Mar. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house ; 
 
 [To an Attendant, 
 And hither hale that misbelieving Moor, 
 To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death. 
 As punishment for his most wicked life. 
 
 Horn. [Several speak.] Lucius, all hail ; Rome's 
 gracious governor ! 
 
 Lnc. Thanks, gentle Romans ; May I govern so, 
 To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe ! 
 But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, — 
 For nature puts me to a heavy task ; — 
 Stand all aloof ; — but uncle draw you near. 
 To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk : 
 0, take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips. 
 
 [Jv'isses Titus. 
 These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face, 
 The last true duties of thy noble son ! 
 
 Mar. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss. 
 Thy brother Marcus tenders on thy lips? 
 0, were the sum of these that I should pay 
 Countless and infinite, yet would 1 pay them I [of us 
 
 Luc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and learn 
 To melt in shewers : Thy grandsire lov'd thee well 
 Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee, 
 Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow ; 
 Many a matter hath he told to thee. 
 Meet, and agreeing with thine infancy ; 
 In that respect then, like a loving child, 
 Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring. 
 Because kind nature doth require it so ; 
 Friends should associate friends in grief and woe : 
 Bid him farewell ; commit him to the grave ; 
 Do him that kindness, and take leave of him. 
 
 Boy, O grandsire, grandsire ! even with all my 
 Would I were dead, so you did live again ! [heart 
 
 lord, I cannot speak to him for weeping ; 
 My tears will choke me, if I ope my mouth. 
 
 ^nter Attendants, with Aaron. 
 
 1 Rom. You sad Andronici have done with woes ; 
 Give sentence on this execrable wretch, 
 That hath been breeder of these dire events. 
 
 Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish hira; 
 There let him stand, and rave and cry for food : 
 If any one relieves or pities him, 
 For the offence he dies. This is our doom. 
 Some stay, to see him fasten'd in the earth. 
 
 Aar. 0, why should wrath be mute, and fury 
 
 1 am no baby, I, that with base prayers, [dumb ? 
 I should repent the evils 1 have done ; 
 
 Ten thousand, worse than ever yet I did. 
 Would I perform, if I might have my will ; 
 If one good deed in all my life I did, 
 I do repent it from my very soul. 
 
 Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor 
 And give him burial in his father's grave : [hence 
 
750 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 My fa.tlier, and Lavinia, shall forthwith 
 
 Be closed in our household's monument. 
 
 As for that heinous tiger, Tamora, 
 
 No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds, 
 
 No mournful bell shall ring her burial ; 
 
 But throw her forth to beasts and birds of prey : 
 
 Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity j 
 
 And being so, sitall have like want of pity. 
 
 See justice done to Aaron, that damn'd Moor, 
 
 By whom our heavy haps had their beginning: 
 
 Then, aflerwards, to order well the stale ; 
 
 That like events may ne'er it ruinate. [Exeunt. 
 
 All the editors and critics agree with Mr. Theobald in 
 supposing this play spurious. 1 see no reason fordifferioQ from 
 them ; for the colour of the style is wholly different from that 
 of the other plays, and there is an attempt at regular versifi- 
 cation, and artificial closes, not alway.s ineleRant, yet seldom 
 pleasing. Iht barbaritv of the spectacles, and the general mas. 
 sac.re which are here exhibited, can scarcely be conceived toler- 
 able to iiDv audience ; yet we are told by Jonson, that they were 
 not only Dome but praised. That bhnkspeare wrote any part, 
 thiingh Theobald declares it incoiitenabte, 1 see no reason for 
 believing. 
 
 The testimony by which it is ascribed to Shakspeare, is by 
 □0 meaus equal to the arb't>uieDt against its authenticity, arising 
 
 from the total difference of conduct, langoage. and sentiments, 
 by which it stands apart from all the rest. Merts had probably 
 no other evidence than that of a title page, which, though in 
 our time it be sufficient, was then of no great authority ; for 
 all the plays which were rejected by the first collectors of 
 .shakspearti's works, afd aduiitted in later editions, and again 
 rejected by the critical editors, had Sbaksptare's name on the 
 titlf, as we must suppu.-^e by the fraudalence of tbe printers, 
 who, while there were yet no gazettes, nor adverliseinpnts, nor 
 any means of circulating literary intelligence, could usurp at 
 pleasure any celebrated name. K or had :shakspeare any intertst 
 in detectin'r^ the iniposiure, as none of his fame or protit was 
 produced by the press.— Johnson. 
 
 PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE. 
 
 This play was entered at Stationers' Hall, May 2, i6n8, by 
 Edward Blount, one of the printers of the first folio edition 
 of Sbakspeare's works ; but it did not appear in print till the 
 following year, and then it was published not by Blount, but 
 by Henry Gosson, who had probably anticipated the other, 
 by getting a hasty transcript from a play-house copy. There 
 is no play of the author's, perhaps not in the En^^lisb lan- 
 gUEige, of which the text is as corrupted as that of this tra- 
 gedy. Ihe most corrupt of Shakspeare'a other dramas is 
 purity itself compared with Pericles. 
 
 The story on which this play is formed, is of great antiquity. 
 It is found in a book, once very popular, entitled Gesta Ho- 
 manofum, which is supposed by Mr. lyrwliiit, the learned 
 editor of The CaJiferhunj Tales of Chaucer. 1775, to have been 
 written five huntlred vears ago. Ihe earlicjl impression of 
 that work (which I have seen) was printed m 1488; in that 
 edition the history of Appoloniux Kin^ of Tijre makus the I53d 
 chapter. It is likewise vel.nled bv Gower iu his Confessio 
 Amantis. lib. viii. p. 175— 1H5, edit. 1551. The Rev. Dr. 
 Farmer has in his possession a fragment of a MS. poem on the 
 same subject, which appears, from the hand-writing and the 
 metre, to be more ancient than Gower. There is also an ajp- 
 cient ilontance on this subject, called Kyng Appolyn of J'Ayre, 
 translated from the French by Kobert Copland, and printed 
 by Wynkj'n de Worde in 1510 In 1576 William Hew had a 
 licence for printing '17ie most exccUetit, pleasant, and yariahle 
 Hisiorie of the strange Adventures of Privcc Ai)polonius, Lu- 
 cine his 7vyfe, and Tharsa liis daughter. Ihe author of Pericles 
 having iutroducediGower in his piece, it is reasonable enough 
 
 to suppose that he chiefly followed the work of that poet. It 
 is obser\-able, that the hero of this tale is, in Gower's poem, 
 as in the present play, called Prince of Tyre : in the Gesta 
 Momaitamm, and Copland's prose Romance, lie is entitled 
 King. Most of the incidents of the play are found in the Conf. 
 AmaJii. and a few of Gower's expressions are occasionally bor- 
 rowed. However. I think it is not unlikely, that there may 
 have been (though I have not met with it) an early prose 
 translation of this popular story from the Gest. lioman. in 
 which the name of Appolonius was changed to Fericles ; to 
 which, likewise, the author of this drama mav have been in- 
 debted. In 1607 was published at London, by Valentine Sims, 
 " Ihe patterne of painful adventures, containing the most ex- 
 cellent, pleasant, and variable Historic of the strange Acci- 
 dctits that befell unto Prince Appolouius, the lady Lucinahis 
 wife, and Tharsia his daughter, wherein the uncertainlie of 
 this world and the fickle state of man's life are livelv described. 
 Translated into English by T. Twine, Gent." I nave never 
 seen the book, but it was without doubt a re-publication of 
 that published by W. Howe in 157". 1 his play seems to have 
 been particularly successful. In the four quarto editions it is 
 called the" niuch admired" play of Pericles, prince of Tyre, 
 and is mentioned by many ancient writers as a popular per- 
 formance.— Ma lone. 
 Rowe, in his first edition of Shakspeare, says, "It is owned 
 that some part of Pericles certainly was written by him, par- 
 ticularly the last act. Farmer thinks the hand of Shaks])eare 
 may be sometimes seen in the latter part of the play, but there 
 only, " 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Antiochus, King o/' Antioch, 
 
 Pericles, Prince (>/" Tyre. 
 
 Hllicanus, Escanes, two lords o/'Tyre. 
 
 SiMONiDEs, King o/' Pentapolis. 
 
 Cleon, goiernor tj/'Tharsus. 
 
 Lysimachus, governor of jMitylene. 
 
 CEniMON, a lord o/' Ephesus. 
 
 Thaliard, a lord ()/" Antioch. 
 
 Philemon, servant to Cerimon, 
 
 Leonine, servant to Dionyza. 
 
 MarskaL 
 
 A Pander, and his Wife, 
 
 FJouLT, their servant, 
 
 Gower, as Chorus, 
 
 The Daughter of Antiochus. 
 
 Dionyza, wife to Cleon. 
 
 Thaisa, daughter to Simonides. 
 
 Marina, daughter to Pericles and Thaisa. 
 
 Lychorida, nurse to Marina. 
 
 Diana. 
 
 Lo'ds, Ladies, Knights, Gentlemen, Sailors, Pirates^ 
 Fishennen, and Messengers, ^c. 
 
 SCENE, — disversedly in various Countries, 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Elder Gower. 
 Before the Palace flf Antioch. 
 To sing a song of old was sung, 
 From ashes ancient Gower is come ; 
 Assuming man's infirmities, 
 To glad your ear, and please your eyes. 
 It hath been sung at festivals, 
 On ember-eves, and holy-ales ; 
 And lords and ladies of their lives 
 Have read it for restoratives : 
 'Purpose to make men glorious ; 
 Et quo antiquius, eo luplins. 
 If you, born in these latter times, 
 When wit's more lipe, accept my rhymes, 
 And that to hear an old man sing, 
 May to your wishes pleasure bring, 
 I life would wish, and that I might 
 Waste it for you, like taper-light. — 
 This city then, Antioch the great 
 Built up for his chiefest seat ; 
 The fairest in all Syria ; 
 (I tell you what muie authors say ;) 
 This king unto him took a pheere. 
 Who died and left a female heir, 
 
ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 7ol 
 
 So buxo n, blithe, and full of face, 
 
 As heaven had lent her all his grace ; 
 
 With whom the father liking took, 
 
 And her to incest did provoke : 
 
 Bad father ! to entice his own 
 
 To evil, should be dooe by none. 
 
 By custom, what they did begin, 
 
 \\ as, with long use. account no sin. 
 
 The beauty of this sinful dame 
 
 Alade many princes thither frame. 
 
 To seek her as a bed-fellow, 
 
 In marriage-pleasures play-fellow • 
 
 Which to prevent, he made a law, 
 
 (To keep her still, and men in awe,) 
 
 That whoso ask'd her for his wife. 
 
 His riddle told not, lost his life : 
 
 So for her many a wight did die. 
 
 As yon grim looks do testify. 
 
 What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye 
 
 I give, my cause who best can justify. l_Exit. 
 
 SCENE I.— Antioch. A Room in the Palace, 
 Enter AsTiocHvs, Pericles, and Attendants, 
 
 ^nf. Young prince of Tyre, you have atlargereceiv'd 
 The danger of the task you undertake. 
 
 Per. 1 have, Antiochus, and with a soul 
 Embolden'd with the glory of her praise. 
 Think death no hazard, in this enterprise. [Music, 
 
 Ant. Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride, 
 For the embracements even of Jove himself; 
 At whose conception, (till Lucina reign'd,) 
 Nature this do%vry gave, to glad her presence, 
 The senate-house of planets all did sit, 
 To knit in her their best perfections. 
 
 Enter the Daughter (i/" Antiochus. 
 
 Per. See.where she comes, apparel I'd like the spring, 
 Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king 
 Of every virtue gives renown to men ! 
 Her face, the book of praises, where is read 
 Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence 
 Sorrow were ever ras'd, and testy wrath 
 Could never be her mild companion. 
 Ye gods that made me man, and sway in love, 
 That have inflam'd desire in my breast. 
 To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree. 
 Or die in the adventure, be my helps. 
 As I am son and servant to your will. 
 To compass such a boundless happiness ! 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles, 
 
 Per. That would be son to great Antiochus. 
 
 Ant. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, 
 "With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd ; 
 For death-like dragons here affright thee hard : 
 Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee lo view 
 A countless gloiy, which desert must gain : 
 And which, without desert, because thine eye 
 Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die. 
 Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself. 
 Drawn by report, advent'rous by desire. 
 Tell thee »vith speechless tongues, and semblance pale. 
 That, without covering, save yon field of stars. 
 They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars ; 
 And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist, 
 For going on death's net, whom none resist. 
 
 Per. Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught 
 My frail mortality to know itself. 
 And by those fearful objects to prepare 
 This body, like to them, to what 1 must: 
 For death remember'd, should be like a mirror. 
 Who tells us, life 's but breath ; to trust it, error. 
 
 T '11 make my will then ; and as slclt men do, 
 
 Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling woe. 
 
 Gripe not at earthly joys, as erst they did ; 
 
 So I bequeath a happy peace to you, 
 
 And all good men, as every prince should do ; 
 
 I\Iy riches to the earth from whence they came : 
 
 But my unspotted fire of love to you. 
 
 [To the Daughter n/* Antiochus. 
 Thus ready for the way of life or death, 
 I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus, 
 Scorning advice. 
 
 Ant. Read the conclusion then ; 
 
 Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed. 
 As these before thee, thou thyself shalt bleed. 
 
 Daught. In all, save that, may'st thou prove pros- 
 In all, save that, I wish thee happiness! [perous! 
 
 Per. Like a bold champion, I assume the lists. 
 Nor ask advice of any other thought 
 But faithfulness, and courage. 
 
 [Here reads the Riddle.] 
 I am no viper, yet I feed 
 On mother's Jienk, wltick did me breed: 
 I sought a husband, in which labour^ 
 I found that kindness in a father, 
 He^s father, son, and husband mildj 
 I mother, w[/i?, ond yet his child. 
 How they may be, and yet iri two. 
 As you will live, resolve it you. 
 
 Sharp physic is the last : but O you powers ! 
 That give heaven countless eyes to view men's acts, 
 Why cloud they not their sights perpetually. 
 If this be true, which makes me pale to read it 1 
 Fair glass of light, I lov'd you. and could still, 
 
 [7 u/:f5 hold of the hand of the Princess. 
 Were not this glorious casket stor'd with ill : 
 But 1 must tell you,- — now, my thoughts revolt ; 
 For he's no man on whom perfections wait. 
 That knowing sin within, will touch the gate. 
 You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings ; 
 Who finger'd to make man his lawful music, 
 Would draw heaven down, and all the gods to hearken , 
 But, being play'd upon before your time. 
 Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime : * 
 Good sooth, I care not for you. 
 
 Ant. Prince Pericles, touch not upon thy life, 
 For that's an article within our law, 
 As dangerous as the rest. Your time's expir'd ; 
 Either expound now, or receive your sentence. 
 
 Per. Great king, 
 Few love to hear the sins they love to act ; 
 'Twould 'braid yourself too near forme to tell it. 
 Who has a book of all that monarchs do, 
 He's more secure to keep it shut, than shewn ; 
 For vice repeated, is like the wand'ring wind, 
 Blows dust in others' eyes, to spread itself ; 
 And yet the end of all is bought thus dear, 
 The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear : 
 To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts 
 Copp'd hills towards heaven, to tell, the earth is 
 
 wrong'd 
 By man's oppression ; and the poor wormdoth die for't. 
 Kings are earth's gods : in vice their law's their will ; 
 And if Jove stray, who dares say, Jove doth ill t 
 It is enough you know ; and it is fit. 
 What being more known grows worse, to smother it. 
 AH love the womb that their first beings bred. 
 Then give my tongue like leave to love my head- 
 
 Ant. Heaven , that I had thy head ! he has found the 
 meaning ; — [Tyre, 
 
 But I will glozewith him. [Aside.'] Young prince of 
 Though by the tenour of our strict edict. 
 
75a 
 
 TERTCLES. 
 
 Yoar Mposit-o: r c. 
 
 We mi;;-.: p.-\v«^.. \-oord»Ts; 
 
 Vet ho.^e. saccee<iiac irvK so riir • tree 
 As^ yo .:°: ;£: self, dofit tarn vs odwnnse : 
 Fony u4rs ioaoer we <k> lesiite txw ; 
 li' by which time our seoiei t>e uo\ic>se. 
 This mercy she»ps. we'll joy ia such 91 soa : 
 Aad aotil thea, your eatertAJn shs'.i be. 
 As doth be£; ciur honour, aad vojr worth. 
 [Ei«^>j\: Av-iocKc-s, iis Daughter, «ai<AtleB<l*Bls. 
 F/~. Koor cvvortesy woukl seem to cmcr sin ! 
 ^^"hea nbst is doae is like tn hyjiocrile. 
 The vhk^ is grod ia sothin^ but in ^ht. 
 Ii 1! be trje th»5 1 interpret iaise, 
 Thea were i; certain, you were not so hid. 
 As n-ith foul ioceit to abuse twit s<m«I ; 
 
 Wht-j •;:'■»- ^ - - ' - - ^■■- = - - 
 
 Fvv-.:;::- 
 
 0V-2V:=.. . , - . : .::;er;) 
 
 Asd she sa eater 01 oer mother s nesh. 
 
 By the desUaj of her parent's beJ -, 
 
 And K.Mh ;i'>.e serpents, are, who though they feed 
 
 On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed. 
 
 Anti.vh. firewell ! for wisdom sees, those men 
 
 !"->,;>:. nc: ia ictiocs blacier than the ni^ht. 
 
 ^\ ;".l shun no course to keep thetu from the li^ht. 
 
 One sia, 1 know, another doth provoke ; 
 
 Murder's as i>ear to lust, as dame n> smoke. 
 
 Poison and treason are the hands of sin, 
 
 .\y , and the targets to put ofl' the shame : 
 
 Thea, lest my life be cropp'd to keep you clear. 
 
 By dight I'll shun the dsinger which 1 fear. [Exit. 
 
 Se-txter AxTiocHrs. 
 
 At. He hath found the meaning, for the which 
 we mean 
 To hare his head. 
 
 He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy, 
 Kor tell the world, Antiochus doth sin 
 In such a loathed manner : 
 And therefore instantly this prince tnust die ; 
 For by his ftJI my honour must keep high. 
 Who attends on us there ! 
 
 fnrer Thauakd. 
 
 Tial. Doth your highness call ? 
 
 Ant. Thaliaid.you're of our chamber, and our mind 
 Partakes her pri\'ate actions to vour secresy ; 
 And for your faithfulness we will adt'ance ymi. 
 Thaliard, behold heTe's poison, and here's °old ; 
 We hate the prince of Tyre, and thou mustlill him ; 
 It fits thee not to ask the reason why. 
 Because we bid it. Say, is it done ! 
 
 77i<ii. My loid, 
 
 Tis done. 
 
 Enttr a Messenger. 
 
 .4nt. Enough ; 
 Lest your breath cool yonrself, telling vour haste. 
 
 Jltss. My lord, prince Pericles is flei. 
 
 [Eu'f Messenger. 
 
 .4-if. As thou 
 
 Wilt live, fly after ; and, as an arrow, shot 
 From a well^eiperienc'd archer, hits the mark 
 His ew doth lerel at. so ne'er return. 
 l;nless thou sav. Prince Pericles is dead. 
 
 Tnal. My lord, if I 
 Can get him once within my jnstol's length, 
 ni inake him sure : so farewell to vour highness. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Thaliard. adieu ! till Periclei be dead. 
 My heart can lend no succour to my head. [Exit. 
 
 SCEXE n.— Tyw. A Sfrn fa Om 
 Extrr Psiaciss. Heuciki:^ awt «A«r Lwfc. 
 
 Per. Let noa« disturt) as : Why this rhai^ of 
 thoughts • 
 The Sid companion, dnll-ey'd melancholy. 
 By ice so us'ii a saest is, th.>t an hour. 
 In the day's sHorious walk, or peaceful night, [tniiet! 
 tThe tomV w^ere gtief should sleep.'* Citn breed me 
 Here pleasures court mine eves, and mit» epes shun 
 And danger, which 1 feaied. is at Aniioch. [them. 
 Whose arm seems in too short to hit roe here : 
 Yet neither pleasure's art can joy my spirits, 
 Xor Met the other's distance ciinifort me. 
 Thea it is thus : the passions of the mitn). 
 That h,\\-e their first conception by misHiread, 
 Ha\-e at'ser-nourishmeBt and life by care : 
 And what was hrst but fear what micht be done. 
 Grows elder now, and cares it be not done. 
 And so with me ; — the great Antiochus 
 v'Oaiast whom I am too little to contend. 
 Since he's so giea*. cm make his will his act,^ 
 Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence- 
 Xor boots it me to say. I honour him. 
 If he suspect I may dishonour him : 
 And what may make him blush in being known. 
 He'll stop the course bv which it might l>e known ; 
 With hostile fotces he'll o'erspread the land. 
 And with the ostent of war will look so huge, 
 .\maiement shall drive couraire from the state ; 
 Our men be vanqiiish'd, ere they do resist. 
 .\nd subjects punish'd that ne'er thoujht offence : 
 Which care of them, not pity of mysell, 
 V Who am no more but as the tops of trees. 
 Which fence the roots they grvw by, and defend them . "> 
 Makes both mybodv pine, and soul to languish, 
 Aoi punish that K'Vore. that he would pur.tsh, 
 
 1 iL<>rrf. .Toy and all comfort in vour sacred breast I 
 
 i L<>r!i. .\nd keep your mind, nil you return to us. 
 Peaceful and comfortable ! [tongue. 
 
 Htl. Peace, peace, my lonls, and gi\-e experieiKe 
 They do abuse the king, that flatter him : 
 For flattery is the bellows blows up sin ; 
 The thing the which is flatter'd, but a spark. 
 To which that breath gives heat and stronger glowing ; 
 Whereas reproof, obedient, and in older. 
 Fits kings, as they are men, for thev may err. 
 When siijnior Sooth here does proclaim a jieace. 
 He flatters you, makes war upon your life : 
 Prince, p,ii\lon me, or strike me, if you ple.^se ; 
 1 cannot be much lower than my knees. 
 
 Pfr. .\ll leax-e US else : but let your cares o'erlook 
 What shipping, and what lading's in our haven. 
 And then return to us. [Ereusi Lords.] Helicanus, 
 Hast moved us : what seest thou in our looks ! [thou 
 
 Hfl. An angry brow, dread loid. 
 
 Per. If there be Such a dart in princes' frowns. 
 How durst thv tongue move anger to our face ' 
 
 Hfl. How dare the plants look up to heaven, from 
 They have their nourishment T [whence 
 
 Per. Thou know'st I ha>'e poivei 
 
 To take thy life. 
 
 Hfl. [Kriw.'ing.] 1 have ground the axe myself; 
 Do you but strike the blow. 
 
 Per. Rise, pr'ythee rise ; 
 
 Sit down, sit iovD ; thou art no flatterer : 
 I thank thee for it : and high heaven forbid. 
 That kinss should let their cars hear their faults hid ! 
 Fit counsellor, and ser\'ant for a prince. 
 Who by thy wisdom mak'st a prince thy servant, 
 What would'st thou have me do ! 
 
 HfL With patience bear 
 
ACT I.— SCENE IV. 
 
 753 
 
 Snch grfefs u you do lay upon yourself. 
 
 Her. Tliou spcak'st like a physiciaa, Helicanus ; 
 W'lio tninister'sl a potion unto nic, 
 That lliou would'st tremble to receive thyself. 
 Attend me then : I went to Antioch, 
 Wiicre, as thou know'st, against the face of death, 
 I sought the purchase of a glorious heauty, 
 Krom whence an issue 1 might propagate, 
 Mrinjf arms to princes, and to subjects joys. 
 Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder ; 
 The rest (hark in thine ear,; as black as incest ; 
 Which by my knowledjje found, the sinful father 
 Seem'd not to strike, but smooth : but thou know'st 
 Tis time to fear, when tyrants seem to kiss, [this, 
 Which fear so grew in me, 1 hither fied, 
 ' Under (he covering of a careful night. 
 Who seem'd my good protector ; and being here. 
 Bethought rae what was past, what might succeed. 
 I knew him tyrannous ; and tyrant's fears 
 Decrease not, but crow faster than their years : 
 And should he doubt it, (as no doubt he doth,) 
 That 1 shouhl open to the listening air, 
 How many worthy princes' bloods were shed. 
 To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope, — 
 To lop that doubt, he'll fill this land with arms, 
 And make pretence of wrong that I have done him , 
 When all, i'or mine, if I may call 't offence, 
 Must feel war's blow, who spares not innocence : 
 Which love to all (of which thyself art one. 
 Who now reprov'st me for it) 
 
 II«l. Alas, sir ! 
 
 Per. Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my 
 Musings into my mind, a thousand doubts [cheeks. 
 How 1 might stop this tempest, ere it came j 
 And finding little comfort to relieve them, 
 I thought il princely charity to grieve them. 
 
 itel. Well, my lord, since you have given me leavr 
 Freely I'll speak. Antiochus you fear, [to speak. 
 And justly too, 1 think, you fear the tyrant. 
 Who either by public war, or private trea^oa, 
 W ill take away your life. 
 Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while. 
 Till that his rage and anger be forgot. 
 Or Destinies do cut his thread of life. 
 Vour rule direct to any ; if to me. 
 Day serves not light more faithful than I'll be. 
 
 I'er. 1 do not doubt thy faith ; 
 But should he wrong my liberties in absence — 
 
 Hel. We'll mingle bloods together in the earth. 
 From whence we had our being and our birth. 
 
 Per. Tyre, I nowlookfromtheethen,andto'rharsus 
 Intend my travel, where I'll hear from thee ; 
 And by whose letters I'll dispose myself. 
 The care I had and have of subjects* good. 
 On thee I lay, who^e wisdom's strength can bear it. 
 I'll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath ; 
 Who shuns not to break one, will sure crack both : 
 But in our orbs we'll live so round and safe. 
 That time of both this truth shall ne'er convince, 
 lliuu shew'dst a subject's shine, I a true prince. 
 
 l^Kxeuiit. 
 
 SCENE III. — Tyre. An Anie-chamher in the Palnce. 
 Enter Thaliahu. 
 Thai. So, this is Tyre, and this is the court. Here 
 must I kill king Pericles; and if I do not, i am sure 
 to be hanged at home : 'tis dangerous. — Well, I per- 
 ceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, 
 that being bid to ask what he would of the king, de- 
 sired he might know none of his secrets. Now do I 
 see he had some reason for it : for if a king bid a man 
 
 be a villain, he is bound by the indenture of his oath 
 to be one. — llush, here come the lords of Tyre. 
 
 Enter Hei.icani-s, Escales, and other Lords. 
 
 Ilet. Ifou shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre, 
 Further to question of your king's departure. 
 His seal'd commission, left in trust with me. 
 Doth speak sufficiently he's gone to travel. 
 
 'I'lial. How! the king gone ! [Aside. 
 
 lid. If further yet you will be satisfied. 
 Why, as it were unlicens'd of your loves, 
 He would depart, I'll give some light unto you. 
 Being at Antioch 
 
 Thai. What from Antioch? [Aiide. 
 
 Hel. Royal Antiochus (on what cause 1 know not, ) 
 Took some displeasure at him ; at least he j udg'd so : 
 And doubling lest that he haderr'd or sinn'd. 
 To shew his sorrow, would correct himself ; 
 So puts himself unto the shipman's toil. 
 With whom each njinute threatens life or death. 
 
 Tlinl. Well, I perceive \_Aiide, 
 
 I shall not be hang'd now, although I would ; 
 I'ut since he's gone, the king it sure must please. 
 He 'scap'd the land, to perish on the seas. — 
 Uui I'll present me. Peace to the lords of Tyre ! 
 
 Hel. Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome. 
 
 Thai, From him I come 
 With message unto princely Pericles ; 
 But, since my landing, as I have understood 
 Your lord has took himself to unknown travels. 
 My message must return from whence it came. 
 
 Hel. We have no reason to desire it, since 
 Commended to our master, not to us : 
 
 Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire. 
 
 As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Tharsus. — A Room in the Governor's Hiyuse. 
 
 Enter Cleon, Dionyza, and Attendants. 
 
 Cle. My Dionyza, shall we rest us here, 
 .And by relating tales of other's griefs, 
 See if 'twill teach us to forget our own 1 
 
 Vio. That were to blow at fire, in hope to quench 
 For who digs hills because they do aspire, [it ; 
 
 Throws dosvn one mountain, to cast up a higher. 
 O my distressed lord, even such our griefs ; 
 Here they'ie but felt, and seen with mistful eyes. 
 But like to groves, being topp'd, they higher rise. 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, 
 Who wantcih food, and will not say he wants it. 
 Or can conceal his hunger, till he famish ? 
 Our tongues and sorrows do sound deep our woes 
 Into the air: our eyes do weep, till lungs 
 Fetch breath that may proclaim them louder ; that, 
 li heaven slumber, while their creatures want. 
 They may awake their helps to comfort them. 
 I'll then discourse our woes lelt several years. 
 And wanting breath to speak, help me with tears. 
 
 Dio. Ill do my best, sir. 
 
 Cle. 'I'his Tharsus, o'er which I have government, 
 (A city, on whom plenty held full hand,) 
 For riches, strew'd herself even in the streets ; 
 V\'hose towers bore heads so high, they kiss'd the 
 .\nd strangers ne'er beheld, but wonder'd at; [clouds. 
 Whose men and dames so jetted and adorn'd. 
 Like one another's glass to trim them by : 
 Their tables were stor'd full, to glad the sight, 
 And not so much to feed on, as delight ; 
 All poverty was scorn'd, and pride so great, 
 The name of help grew odious to repeat. 
 3B 
 
754 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 Dio. O, 'tis too true. [change, 
 
 Cle. But see what heaven can do ! By this our 
 These mouths, whom but of late, earth, sea, and air. 
 Were all too little to content and please, 
 Although they gave iheir creatures in abundance, 
 As houses aredefil'd for want of use, 
 They are now starv'd for want of exercise : 
 Those palates, who not yet two summers younger, 
 Must have inventions to delight the taste, 
 Would now be glad of bread, and beg for it ; 
 Those mothers who, to nousle up their babes, 
 Thought nought too curious, are ready now, 
 To eat those little darlings whom they lov'd. 
 So sharp are hunger's teeth, that man and wife 
 Draw lots, who first shall die to lengthen life : 
 Here stands a lord, and there a lady weeping ; 
 Here many sink, yet those which see them fall, 
 Have scarce strength left to give them burial. 
 Is not this true 1 
 
 Dio. Our cheeks and hollow eyes do witness it. 
 
 Cle. O, let those cities, that of Plenty's cup 
 And her prosperities so largely taste, 
 With their superfluous riots, hear these tears ! 
 The misery of Tharsus may be theirs. 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. W^here's the lord governor? 
 
 Cle. Here. 
 Speak out thy sorrows which thou bring'st in haste. 
 For comfort is too far for us to expect. 
 
 Lord. We have descried, upon our neighbouring 
 A portl}'' sail of ships make hitherward. [shore, 
 
 Cle, I thought as much. 
 One sorrow never comes, but brings an heir. 
 That may succeed as his inheritor ; 
 And so in ours : some neighbouring nation. 
 Taking advantage of our misery, 
 Have stufTd these hollow vessels with their power, 
 To beat us down, the which are down already ; 
 And make a conquest of unhappy me, 
 Whereas no glory's got to overcome. 
 
 Lord. That's the least fear ; for, by the semblance 
 Of their wiiite flags display'd, they bring us peace, 
 And come to us as favourers, not as foes. 
 
 Cte. Thou speak'st like him's untutor'd to repeat, 
 Who makes the fairest show, means most deceit. 
 But bring they what they will, what need we feart 
 The ground's t^e lowest, and we are half way there. 
 Go tell their general, we attend him here, 
 To know for wh.at he comes, and whence he comes, 
 And what he craves. 
 
 Lord. I go, my lord, [Exit. 
 
 Cle. Welcome is peace, if he on peace consist; 
 If wars, we are unable to resist. 
 
 Enter Pericles, with Attendants. 
 
 Fer. Lord governor, for so we hear you are. 
 Let not our ships and number of our men 
 Be, like a beacon fir'd, to amaze your eyes. 
 We have heard your miseries as far as Tyre, 
 And seen the desolation of your streets : 
 Nor come we to add sorrow to your tears, 
 But to relieve them of their heavy load ; 
 And these our ships you happily may think 
 Are, like the Trojan horse, war-slufF'd within 
 With bloody views, expecting overthrow, 
 Are stor'd with corn, to make your needy bread. 
 And give them life, who are hunger-starv'd, half dead. 
 
 AIL The gods of Greece protect y.pu ! 
 And we'll pray for you. 
 
 Per. Rise, I pray you, rise ; 
 
 We do not look for reverence, but for love, 
 
 And harbourage for ourselt, our ships, and men. 
 
 Cle. The which when any shall not gratify, 
 Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought, 
 Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves, 
 The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils ' 
 Till when, (the which, I hope, shall ne'er be seen,) 
 Your grace is welcome to our town and us. [while. 
 
 Per. Which welcome we'll accept ; feast here a 
 Until our stars that frown, lend us a smile. [Eieit7:t. 
 
 ACT- II. 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 Gow. Here have you seen a mighty king 
 His child, I wis, to incest bring ; 
 A better prince, and benign lord, 
 Prove awful both in deed and word. 
 Be quiet then, as men should be. 
 Till he hath pass'd necessity- 
 I'll shew you those in troubles reign. 
 Losing a mite, a mountain gain. 
 The good in conversation 
 (To whom I give my benizon,) 
 Is still at Tharsus, where each man 
 Thinks all is writ he spoken can : 
 And, to remember what he does, 
 Gild his statue glorious : 
 But tidings to the contrary 
 Are brought your eyes ; what need speak I ? 
 
 Dumb show. 
 
 Enter at one door Pehicles, talking with Cleon ; all 
 the Train with them. Enter at another door a Gen- 
 tleman, with a tetter to Peuicles ; Pericles sheica 
 the letter to Cleon ; then gives the Messenger a re- 
 ward, and knights him. Eseunt Pericles, Cleon; 
 6ic. severally. 
 
 Gow. Good Helicane hath staid at home. 
 Not to eat honey like a drone. 
 From others' labours ; forth ho strive 
 To killen bad, keep good alive ; 
 And, to fulfil his prince' desire, 
 Sends word of all that haps in Tyre : 
 How Thaliard came full bent with sin. 
 And hid intent, to murder him; 
 And that in Tharsus was not best 
 Longer for him to make his rest : 
 He knowing so, put forth to seas, 
 Where when men been, there's seldom ease. 
 For now the wind begins to blow ; 
 Thunder above, and deeps below, 
 Make such unquiet, that the ship 
 Should house him safe, is wreck'd and split; 
 And he, good prince, having all lost. 
 By waves from coast to coast is tost ; 
 All perishen of man, of pelf 
 Ne aught escapen but himself; 
 Till fortune, tir'd with doing bad. 
 Threw him ashore, to give him glad : 
 And here he comes : what shall be next, 
 Pardon old Gower; this long's the text. [EAit* 
 
 SCE^El.— Penid.po\h.An open Place by the Sea Side. 
 Enter Pericles, wet. 
 
 Per. Yet cease your ire, ye angry stars of heaven ! 
 Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man 
 Is but a substance that must yield to you ; 
 And I, as fits my nature, do obey you. 
 Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks, 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 755 
 
 Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath 
 Nothing to think on, but ensuing death : 
 Let it suffice the greatness of your powers. 
 To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes ; 
 And having thrown him from your watry grave, 
 Here to have death in peace, is all he'll crave. 
 
 Enter Three Fishermen. 
 
 1 Fish. What, ho, Pilche ! 
 
 2 Fhk, Ho ! come, and bring away the nets. 
 1 Fish. What Patch-breech, I say! 
 
 3 Fiih. What say you, master! 
 
 1 Fish. Look how thou stirrest now ! come away, 
 01 ril fetch thee with a wannion. 
 
 3 Fiih, 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor 
 men that were cast away before us, even now. 
 
 1 Fish. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to 
 hear what pitiful cries they made to us, to help them, 
 when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves. 
 
 3 Fish. Nay, master, said not I as much, when I 
 saw the porpus, how he bounced and tumbled 1 they 
 say, they are half fish, half flesh : a plague on them, 
 they ne'er come, but 1 look to be washed. Master, 
 1 marvel how the fishes live in the sea. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, as men do aland ; the great ones 
 eat up the Httle ones : I can compare our rich misers 
 to nothing so fitly as to a whale: 'a plays and tum- 
 bles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last de- 
 vours them all at a mouthful. Such whales have I 
 heard on a'the land, who never leave gaping, till 
 tliey've swallow'd the whole parish, church, steeple, 
 bells and all. 
 
 Per. A pretty moral. 
 
 3 Fish. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I 
 would have been that day in the belfry- 
 
 S Fi$h Why, man? 
 
 S Fish. Because he should have swallowed me 
 too : and when 1 had been in his belly, 1 would have 
 kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should 
 never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, 
 and parish, up again. But if the good king Sirao- 
 nides were of my mind 
 
 Per. Siraonides ? 
 
 3 Fiih. We would purge the land of these drones, 
 that rob the bee of her honey. 
 
 Per. How from the finny subject of the sea 
 These fishers tell the infirmities of men; 
 And from their wat'r\' empiie recollect 
 All that may men approve, or men detect: — 
 Peace be at your labour, honest fishermen. 
 
 2 Fish. Honest ! good fellow, what's that 1 if it 
 be a day fits you, scratch it out of the calendar, and 
 no body will look after it. 
 
 Per. Nay, see, the sea hath cast upon your coast — 
 2 Fish. What a drunken knave was the sea, to cast 
 
 thee in our way ! 
 
 Per. A man wliom both the waters and the wind. 
 
 In that vast tennis-court, hath made the ball 
 
 For them to play upon, entreats you pity him ; 
 
 He asks of you, that never us"d to beg. 
 
 1 Fish. No, friend, cannot you beg? here's them 
 m our country of Greece, gets more with begging, 
 tlian we can do with working. 
 
 2 Fisn. Canst thou catch any fishes then 1 
 Per. I never practised it. 
 
 2 Fish. Nay, then thou wilt starve sure ; for here's 
 nothing to be got now a-days, unless thou can'stfish 
 for't. 
 
 Per. Wliat I have been, I have forgot to know; 
 But what I am, want teaches me to think on ; 
 A man shrunk up with cold : ray veins are chill, 
 And have no more of life, than may suffice 
 
 To give my tongue that heat, to ask your help ; 
 Which if you shall refuse, when 1 am dead. 
 For I am a man. pray see me buried. 
 
 1 Fish. Diequoth-a? Now gods forbid ! I have a 
 gown here ; comeputiton; kecpthee warm. Now. 
 afore me, a handsome fellow ! Come, thou shalt go 
 home, and we'll have flesh for holidays, fish for fast- 
 ing-days, and moreo'er puddings and flapjacks ; and 
 thou shalt be welcome. 
 
 Per. I thank you, sir. 
 
 2 Fish. Hark you, my friend, you said you could 
 not beg. 
 
 Per. I did but crave. 
 
 2 Fish. But crave? Then I'll turn craver too, and 
 so I shall 'scape whipping. 
 
 Per. Why, are all your beggars whipped then? 
 
 2 Fish. 0. not all. my friend, not all ; for if all 
 your beggars were whipped. I would wisli no better 
 office, than to be beadle. But. master. I'll go draw 
 up the net. [F.jemtt Ttm of' the Fishermen. 
 
 Per. How well this honest mirth becomes their 
 labour! 
 
 1 Fish. Hark you, sir ! do you know where vou are ? 
 
 Per. Not well. 
 
 I Fish. Why, I'll tell you: this is called Penta- 
 polis, and our king, the good Simonides. 
 
 Per. The good king Simonides. do you call him ? 
 
 1 Fish. Ay, sir ; and he deserves to be so called, 
 for his peaceable reign, and good government. 
 
 Per. He is a happy king, since from his subjects 
 He gains the name of good, by his government. 
 How far is Ms court distant from this shore ? 
 
 1 Fish. Marry, sir, half a day's journey ; and I'll 
 tell you, he hath a fair daughter, and to-morrow is 
 her birth-day -, and there are princes and knights come 
 from all parts of the world, to just and tourney for 
 her love. 
 
 Per. Did but my fortunes equal my desires, 
 I 'd wish to make one there. 
 
 1 Fish. O, sir, things must be as they may; and 
 what a man cannot get, he may lawfully deal for — 
 his wife's soul. 
 
 Re-enter the Two Fishermen, drawing up a net. 
 
 2-r/i/;. Help, master, help: here *s a fish hangs in 
 the net, like a poor man's right in the law ; 'twill 
 hardly come out. Ha! bots on 't, 'tis come at last, 
 and 'tis turned to a rusty armour. 
 
 Per. An armour, friends ! I pray you, let me see it. 
 Thanks, fortune, yet, that after all my crosses, 
 Thou giv'st me somewhat to repair myself: 
 And, though it was mine own, part of mine heritage, 
 Which my dead father did bequeath to me. 
 With this strict charge, (even as he left his life,) 
 Keep it, my Pericles, it hath been a shield 
 'Twixt me and death ; (and pointed to this brace ;) 
 For that it sav'd mp, keep it ; in like necessity, 
 IVhirh gods protect thee from! it maif defend thee. 
 It kept where I kept, I so dearly lov'd it ; 
 Till the rough seas, that spare not any man, 
 Took it in rage, though calm'd, they give 't again : 
 I thank thee for 't ; my shipwreck's now no ill, 
 Since I have here my father's gift by will. 
 1 Fish. What mean you. sir? 
 Per. To beg of you, kind friends, this coat of worthy 
 For it was sometime target to a king ; 
 I know it by tlus mark. He lov'd me dearly, 
 And for his sa^ 1 wish the having of it ; 
 And that youTrguide me to your sovereign's court, 
 Where with 't I mav appear a gentleman ; 
 And if that ever my low fortunes better, 
 I '11 pay your bounties : till then, rest your debtor. 
 3B 2 
 
756 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 1 Fish. Why, wilt thou tourney for the lady ? 
 Per. I 'U shew the virtue I have borue in arras. 
 
 1 F'tih. Why, do ye take it, and the gud^i give thee 
 good on 't ! 
 
 2 Fiih, Ay, but haik you, my friend -, 'twas we that 
 made up this garment tlirough the rough seams of the 
 waters : there are certain condolements, certain vails. 
 1 hope, sir, if you thrive, you '11 remember from 
 whence you had it. 
 
 Per, Believe "t, I will. 
 Now, by your furtherance, I am cloth'd in steel ; 
 And spite of all the rupture of the sea. 
 This jewel holds his biding on my arm ; 
 Unto thy value will I mount myself 
 Upon a courser, whose delightful steps 
 Shall make the gazer joy to see him tread. — 
 Only, my friend, I yet am unprovided 
 Of a pair of bases. 
 
 2 Fish. We '11 sure provide : thou shall have my 
 best gown to make thee a pair ; and I '11 bring thee 
 to the court myself. 
 
 Per. Then honour be but a goal to my will ; 
 This day 1 '11 rise, or else add ill to ill. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.—The sayne. A public Way, or Platform, 
 leading to the Lists. A Pavilioti by the side of it, 
 for the reception of the King, Princess, Lords, &;c. 
 
 Enter Simonides, Thaisa, Lords, and Attendants. 
 
 Sim. Are the knights ready to begin the triumph? 
 
 1 Lord. They are, my liege ; 
 And slay your coming to present themselves. 
 
 Sim. Return them, we are ready ; and our daughter. 
 In honour of whose birth these triumphs are. 
 Sits here, like beauty's child, whom nature gat 
 For men to see, and seeing wonder at. [Exit ti Lord. 
 
 Tliai. It pleaseth you, my father, to express 
 RIy commendations great, whose merit 's less. 
 
 Sim. 'Tis fit it sliould be so ; for princes are 
 A model, which heaven makes like to itself: 
 As jewels lose their glory, if neglected. 
 So princes their renown, if not respected. 
 'Tis now your honour, daughter, to explain 
 The labour of each knight, in his device. [form. 
 
 Thai. Which, to preserve mine honour, I '11 per- 
 
 Enter a Knight ; he posses over the statue, and his 
 Squire presents his shield to the Princess. 
 
 Sim. Who is the first that doth prefer himself? 
 
 Thai. A knight of Sparta, my renowned father ; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield 
 Is a black ^-Ethiop, reaching at the sun j 
 The word. Lux tua vila mihi. 
 
 Him. lie loves you well, that holds his life of you. 
 [The second Knight passes. 
 ^Vho is the second, that presents himself ? 
 
 Thai. A prince of Macedon, my royal father ; 
 And the device he bears upon his shield 
 Is an arm'd knight, that's conquer'd by a lady : 
 The motto thus, in Spanish, Piii per dul^ura que per 
 fuerfa. [The third Knight passes. 
 
 Sim. And what 's the third ? 
 
 Thai. The third of Antioch ; 
 
 And his device, a wreath of chivalry : • 
 The word. Me pompts prove.iit apex. 
 
 [Tlie fourth Knight passe.-i. 
 
 Sim. What is the fourth ! 
 
 T/i(ii. A burning torch, that's turned upside down; 
 The word. Quod me alit, me eitinguit. 
 
 Sim. Which shews, that beauty hath his power and 
 
 Which can as well inflame, as it can kill. [will, 
 
 [The fifth Knight passes. 
 
 Thai. The fifth, an hand environed with clouds ; 
 Holding out gold, that's by the touchstone tried : 
 The motto thus. Sic spectanda Jides. 
 
 [The sixth Knight passes. 
 
 Sim. And what's the sixth and last, which the 
 knight himself 
 With such a graceful courtesy deliver'd 1 
 
 Thai. Fie seems a stranger , but his present is 
 A wither'd branch, that 's only green at top ; 
 The motto, In hac spe vivo. 
 
 Sim. A pretty moral ; 
 From the dejected state wherein he is, 
 He hopes by you his fortunes yet may flourish. 
 
 1 Lord. He had need mean better than his outward 
 Can any way speak in his just commend : [shev' 
 For, by his rusty outside, lie appears 
 To have practis'd more the whipstock, than the lance. 
 
 !8 Lotd. He well may be a stranger, for he comes 
 To an honour'd triumph, strangely furnished. 
 
 3 Lord. And on set purpose let his armour rust 
 Until this day, to scour it in the dust. 
 
 Sim. Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan 
 The outward habit by the inward man. 
 But stay, the knights are coming ; we 'U withdraw 
 Into the gallery. [Eieiinl. 
 
 [Great shouts, and all cry. The mean kniglit. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The same. A Hall of State. — A Banquet prepared. 
 
 E/ilerSiMONiDES, Thaisa, Lords, Knights, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Sim. Knights, 
 To say you are welcome, were superfluous. 
 To place upon the volume of your deeds. 
 As in a title-page, your worth in arms, 
 Were more than you expect, or more than 's fit, 
 I^iucc every worth in show commends itself. 
 Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast 
 You are my guests. 
 
 Thai. But you,. my knight and guest ; 
 
 To whom this wreath of victory I give. 
 And crown you king of this day's happiness. 
 
 Per. 'Tis more by fortune, lady, than my merit. 
 
 Sim. Call it by what you will, the day is yours ; 
 And here, I hope, is none that envies it. 
 In framing artists, art hath thus decreed. 
 To make some good, but others to exceed, [feast, 
 And you 're her labour'd scholar. Come, queen o' the 
 (For, daughter, so you are,) here take your place : 
 Marshal the rest, as they deserve their grace. 
 
 Knights. We are honour'd much bygoodSimonides, 
 
 Sim. Yourpresenccgladsourdays ; honourwe love, 
 For who hates honour, hates the gods above. 
 
 Marsh. Sir, yond's your place. 
 
 Per. Some other is more fit. 
 
 1 Knight. Contend not, sir ; for we are gentlemen. 
 That neither in our hearts, nor outward eyes. 
 Envy the great, nor do the low despise. 
 
 Per. You are right courteous knights. 
 
 Sim. Sit, sit, sir ; sit. 
 
 Per. By Jove, I wonder, that is king of thoughts. 
 These cates resist me, she not thought upon. 
 
 "Thai. By Juno, that is queen 
 Of marriage, all the viands that I eat 
 Do seem unsavoury, wishing him my meat ' 
 Sure he "s a gallant gentleman. 
 
 Sim. He 's but 
 
 A country gentleman ; 
 
 lie has done no more than other knights have done, 
 Broken a staff, or so ; so let it pass. 
 
 Thai. To me he seems like diamond to glass. 
 
Mi'.r!..iii.-;i.»-iiY-i' iii-."| ^i; .'ji'iue J». i lu^^--^v-■-.■;ll:l■7^»^^»^.,l^«e«^^fcV»'J'-lV1 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV. 
 
 757 
 
 Per. Yon king's tome, like to my father's picture. 
 Which tells me, in that glor\- once he was ; 
 Had princes sit, like stars, about his throne, 
 And he the sun. for them to reverence. 
 None that behold him, but like lesser lights, 
 ])id vail their crowns to his supremacy ; 
 Where now his son 's a glow-worm in the night, 
 The which hath fire in darkness, none in light ; 
 Whereby I see that Time's the king of men, 
 For he 's their parent, and he is their grave, 
 And gives them wiiat he will, not what they crave. 
 
 Sim, What, are you merry, knights ! 
 
 1 Knight, Who can be other, in this roval presence t 
 
 Sii}i. Here, with a cup that's stor'd unto the brim, 
 (As you do love, till to your mistress' lips,) 
 We drink this health to you. 
 
 Knights, We thank your grace. 
 
 Sim. Yet pause a while ; 
 Yon knight, methinks, doth sit too melancholy. 
 As if the entertainment in our court 
 Had not a show might countervail his worth. 
 Note it not you, Thaisa"? 
 
 ThaL What is it 
 
 To me, my father 1 
 
 Sim, O, attend, my daughter ; 
 
 Princes, in this, should live like gods above. 
 Who freely give to every one that comes 
 To honour them ; and princes, not doing so, 
 Are like to gnats, which make a sound, but kill'd 
 Are wonder'd at. 
 
 Therefore to make's entrance more sweet, here say, 
 We drink this standing-bowl of wine to hira. 
 
 Thai. Alas, my father, it'befits not me 
 Unto a stranger knight to be so bold : 
 He may my proffer take for an offence. 
 Since men take women's gifts for impudence. 
 
 Siiii. How ! 
 Do as I bid you, or you '11 move me else. 
 
 Thai. Now, by the gods, he could not please me 
 belter. lAside. 
 
 Sim. And further tell him, we desire to know, 
 Of whence he is, his name and parentage. 
 
 Thai. The king my father, sir, has drunk to you. 
 
 Per. I thank him. 
 
 Thai. Wishing it so much blood unto your life. 
 
 Per. 1 thank Ijoth him and you, and pledge him 
 freely. 
 
 Thai. And further he desires to know of you, 
 Of whence you are, your name and parentage. 
 
 Per. A gentleman of Tyre — (my name, Pericles ; 
 My education being in arts and arras ;) — 
 Who looking for adventures in the world, 
 Was by the rough seas reft of ships and men, 
 And, after shipwreck, driven upon this shore. 
 
 Thai. Hethanksyourgrace; names himself Pericles, 
 A gentleman of Tyre, who only by 
 Misfortune of the seas has been bereft 
 Of ships and men. and cast upon this shore. 
 
 Sim. Now by the gods, I pity his misfortune. 
 And will awake hira from his melancholy. 
 Come, gentlemen, we sit too long on trifles. 
 And waste the time, which looks for other revels. 
 Even >n your armours, as you are address'd. 
 Will very well become a soldier's dance. 
 I will not have excuse, with saying, this 
 Loud music is too harsh for ladies' heads ; 
 Since they love men in arms, as well as beds. 
 
 [The Knights dance. 
 So, this was well ask'd, 'twas so well perfoan'd. 
 Come, sir ; 
 
 Here is a lady that wants breathing too : 
 And I have often heard, you knights of Tyre 
 
 Are excellent in making ladies trip*, 
 And that their measures are as excellent. 
 
 Per. In those that practise them, they are, my lord. 
 
 Siin. O, tiiat's as much as you would be denied 
 
 [The Knights and Ladies dance. 
 Of your fair courtesy. — Unclasp, unclasp ; 
 Thanks, gentlemen, to all ; all have done well. 
 But you the best. [To Pekicles.] Pages and lights, 
 
 conduct 
 These kniglits unto their several lodgings : Yours, sir. 
 We have given order to be next our own. 
 
 Per. I am at your grace's pleasure. 
 
 Sim. Princes, it is too late to talk of love. 
 For that's the mark I know you level at : 
 Therefore each one betake him to his rest ; 
 To-morrow, all for speeding do their best. [Exevnt* 
 
 SCENE IV. — Tyre. A Room in the Governor^sHouse . 
 Enter Hf.licanus and Escanes. 
 
 Hel. No, no, my Escanes ; know this of me, — 
 Antiochus from incest liv'd not free ; 
 For which, the most high gods not minding Ioniser 
 To withhold the vengeance that they had in store, 
 Due to this heinous capital offence ; 
 Even in the height and pride of all his glory, 
 When he was seated, and his daughter with him, 
 In a chariot of inestimable value, 
 A fire from heaven came, and shrivell'd up 
 Their bodies, even to loathing ; for they so stunk. 
 That all those eyes ador'd them ere their fall. 
 Scorn now their hand should give them burial. 
 
 Esca. *Twas very strange. 
 
 Hel, And yet but just ; for though 
 
 This king were great, his greatness was no guard 
 To bar heaven's shaft, but sin had his reward. 
 
 Esca. 'Tis very true. 
 
 Enter Three Lords. 
 
 1 Lord. See, not a man in private conference, 
 Or council, has respect with hira but he. 
 
 2 Lord. It shall no longer grieve, without reproof. 
 
 3 Lord. And curs'd be he that will not second it. 
 1 Lord. Follow me then: Lord Helicane, a word. 
 Hel. With me] andwelcome: Ilappyday, my lords. 
 1 Lord, Know, that our griefs are risen to the top, 
 
 And now at length they overflow their banks. 
 
 Hel. Your griefs, for what ^ wrong not tlie prince 
 you love. 
 
 1 Lord. Wrong not yourself then, ::oble Helicane ; 
 But if the prince do live, let us salute him, 
 
 Or know what ground's made happy by his breath. 
 
 If in the world he live, we'll seek him out ; 
 
 If in his grave he rest, we'll find him there ; 
 
 And be resolv'd, he lives to govern us, 
 
 Or dead, gives cause to mourn his funeral. 
 
 And leaves us to our free election. [censure : 
 
 2 Lord. Whose death's, indeed, the strongest in our 
 And knowing tliis kingdom, if without a head, 
 (Lik^ goodly buildings left without a roof,) 
 
 Will soon to ruin fall, your noble self. 
 That best know'st how to rule, and how to reign. 
 We thus submit unto. — our sovereign. 
 AIL Live, noble Helicane! 
 
 Hel. Try honour's cause ; forbear your suffrages: 
 If that you love prince Pericles, forbear. 
 Take I your wish. 1 leap into the seas, 
 Where's hourly trouble, for a minute's ease. 
 A twelvemonth longer, let me then entreat you 
 To forbear choice i'the absence of your king ; 
 If in which time expir'd, he not return, 
 i I shall with aged patience bear your yoke. 
 
758 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 But if I cannot win you to this love, 
 
 Go search lil;e noblemen, like noble subjects, 
 
 Ani in yoi'i' search, spend your adventurous worth; 
 
 \^'hom if you find, and win unto return. 
 
 You shall' like diamonds sit about his crown. 
 
 1 Liird. To wisdom he's a fool that will not yield , 
 And, since lord Ilelicane eiijoineth UE, 
 We with our travels will endeavour it. 
 
 Hel, Then you love us, we you, and we'll clasp handc; 
 AVhen peers thus knit, a kingdom ever stands. [£ieii?it. 
 
 SCENE v. — Pentapolis. A Room in the Fuluce. 
 EnterSmotiiBES.readinga letter, theKnighismcetliim. 
 
 1 KiiWht. Good morrow to the good Simonides. 
 
 Sim. ivnights, from my daughter this I let you know, 
 That for this twelvemonth, she'll not undertake 
 A married life. 
 
 Her reason to herself is only known, 
 Which from herself by no means can I get. 
 
 'i Knight. Slay we not get access to lier, my lord? 
 
 Sim. 'Faith, by no means; she hath so strictly tied 
 To her chamber, that it is impossible. [her 
 
 One twelve moons more she'll wear Diana's livery ; 
 This by the eye of Cyntliia hath she vow'd. 
 And on her virgin honour will not break it. 
 
 3 Knight. Though loath to bid farewell, we take 
 our leaves. [Eieunt. 
 
 Sim. So 
 They're well despatch'd ; now to my daughter's letter : 
 Slie tells me here, she'll wed the stranger knight. 
 Or never more to view nor day nor light. 
 Slistress, 'tis well, your choice agrees with mine; 
 I like that well':— nay, how absolute she's in't, 
 Not minding whether 1 dislike or no ! 
 Well, I commend her choice ; 
 And will no longer have it be delay'd. 
 Soft, here he comes :— I must dissemble it. 
 
 Enter PEnicLES. 
 
 Per. All fortune to the good Simonides ! 
 Sim. To you as much, sir ! I am beholden to you, 
 For your sweet music this last night : my ears, 
 I do protest, were never better fed 
 With such delightful pleasing harmony. 
 
 Per. It is your grace's pleasure to commend ; 
 Not my desert. 
 
 Sim. Sir, you are music's master. 
 
 Per. The worst of all her-scholars, my good lord. 
 Sim. Let me ask one thing. What do you think, 
 Mv daughter I [sir, of 
 
 'Per. As of a most virtuous princess. 
 
 Sim. And she is fair too, is she not 1 
 Per. As a fair day in summer; wond'rous fair. 
 Sim. My daughter, sir, thinks very well of you ; 
 Av, so well, sir, that you must be her master, ^ 
 And she'll your scholar be ; therefore look to it. 
 Per. Unworthy I to be her schoolmaster. 
 Sim. She thinks not so ; peruse this writing else. 
 Per. What's here ! 
 A letter, that she loves the knight of Tyre t 
 'Tis the king's subtilty, to have my life. [Aside. 
 
 0, seek not to entrap, my gracious lord, 
 A stranger and distressed gentleman. 
 That never aim'd so high, to love your daughter. 
 But bent all offices to honour her. 
 
 Sim. Thou hast bewitch'd my daughter, and thou art 
 A villain. 
 
 Per. By the gods, I have not, sir. 
 Never did thought of mine levy offence ; 
 Nor never did my act'ions yet commence 
 A deed might gain her love, or your displeasure. 
 
 Sim. Traitor, thou liest. 
 
 Per. Traitor ! 
 
 Sim. Ay, traitor, sir. 
 
 Per. Even in his throat, (unless it be the king,) 
 That calls me traitor, 1 return the lie. 
 
 Sim. Now, by the gods, 1 do applaud his courtigc. 
 
 [Aside, 
 
 Per. My actions are as noble as my thoughts. 
 That never relish'd of a base descent. 
 I came unto your court, for honour's cause. 
 And not to be a rebel to her state ; 
 And he that otherwise accounts of me. 
 This sword shall prove, he's honour's enemy. 
 
 ■Sim. No ! — 
 I lere comes my daughter, she can witness it. 
 
 Enter Thaisa. 
 
 Per. Then, as you are as virtuous as fair, 
 Resolve your angry father, if my tongue 
 Did e'er solicit, or my hand subscribe 
 To any syllable that made love to you ? 
 
 Thai. V\hy, sir, say if you had. 
 Who takes offence at that would make me glad 7 
 
 Sim. Yea, mistress, are you so peremptory \^ 
 I am glad of it with all my heart. [Aside.] I'll tame 
 I'll bring you in subjection. — [you ; 
 
 ^ViII you, not having my consent, bestow 
 Your love and your affections on a stranger? 
 (Who, for aught I know to the contrary, 
 Or think, may be as great in blood as X.) [Aside. 
 Hear therefore, mistress ; frame your will to mine, — 
 And you, sir, hear you. — Either be ruld by me. 
 Or I will make you — man and wife. — 
 Nay, come ; your hands and lips must seal it too.-.- 
 And being join'd, I'll thus your hopes destroy ; — • 
 And for a further grief, — God give you joy I 
 What, are you both pleas'd '< 
 
 Thai. Yes, if you love me, sir. 
 
 Per. Even asTny life, my blood that fosters it. 
 
 Sim. What, are you both agreed 1 
 
 Both. Yes, 'please your majesty. 
 
 Sim. It pleaseth me so well, I'll see you wed ; 
 Then, with what haste you can, get you to bed. [Ei, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Enter GowER. 
 
 Goip. Now sleep yslaked hath the rout ; 
 No din but snores, the house about. 
 Made louder by the o'er-fed breast 
 Of this most pompous marriage feast. 
 The cat, with eync of burning coal. 
 Now couches 'fore the mouse's hole ; 
 And crickets sing at th' oven's mouth. 
 As the blither for their drouth. 
 Hymen hath brought the bride to bed. 
 Where, by the loss of maidenhead, 
 A babe is moulded ; — Be attent. 
 And time that is so briefly spent. 
 With your fine fancies quaintly eche ; 
 What's dumb in show, I'll plain with speech. 
 Dumb show. 
 Enter Pericles a7id Simonides at one door, with At- 
 tendants ; a Messenger meets them, kneels, and give) 
 Peiuci.ES a letter. Peiuci.es s/wu's it to Simonides; 
 the Lords hneel to the former. Then enter Tiiaisa 
 uiit'i child, and Lvchorida. Simonioes shews his 
 daughter the letter ; she rejoices : she and Pericles 
 take leave of her father, and depart. Then Simo- 
 nides, &c. retire. 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 759 
 
 Ooit. By many a dearn and painful perch, 
 Of Pericles the careful search 
 Bv the four opposing coignes, 
 ^\*hich the world together joins, 
 Is made, with all due diligence, 
 That horse, and sail, and high expense, 
 Can stead the quest. At last from Tyre 
 (Fame answering the most strong inquire,) 
 I'o the court of king Simonides 
 Are letters brought ; the tenour these : 
 Antiochus and his daughter's dead ; 
 The men of Tyrus, on the head 
 Of Helicanus would set on 
 The crown of Tyre, but he will none : 
 The mutiny there he hastes t'appease ; 
 Says to them, if king Pericles 
 Come not, in twice six moons, home. 
 He obedient to their doom. 
 Will take the crown. The sum of this. 
 Brought hither to Pentapolis, 
 V-ravished the regions round. 
 And every one with claps, *gan sound. 
 Our heir apparent is a king : 
 Who dream'd, uho thought of such a thingl 
 Brief, he must hence depart to Tyre ; 
 His queen with child makes her desire 
 (Which who shall cross 1) along to go ; 
 (Omit we all their dole and woe ;) 
 Lychorida, her nurse, she takes, 
 And so to sea. Their vessel shakes 
 On Neptune's billow ; half the flood 
 Hath their keel cut ; but fortunes mood 
 Varies again ; the grizzled north 
 Disgorges such a tempest forth. 
 That, as a duck for life that dives, 
 So up and down the poor ship drives, 
 I'he lady shrieks, and, well-a-near! 
 Doth fall in travail with her fear : 
 And what ensues in this fell storm, 
 Shall, for itself, itself perform. 
 I nill relate, action may 
 Conveniently the rest convey : 
 Which might not what by me is told. 
 In your imagination hold 
 This stage, the ship, upon whose deck 
 The sea-tost prince appears to speak. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Enter Pericles, on a ship at sea. 
 Pcr.ThouGod of this great vast,rebuke these surges. 
 Which wash both heavenand hell ; andthou, thathast 
 Upon the winds command, bind them in brass, 
 Havingcall'd them from the deep! still thy dearning, 
 Thy dreadful thunders ; gently quench thy nimble. 
 Sulphureous flashes ! — O how, Lychorida, 
 How does my queen 1— Thou storm, thou ! venomously 
 Wilt thou spit all thyself ]— The seaman's whistle 
 Is as a whisper in the ears of death. 
 Unheard. — Lychorida ! — Lucina, O 
 Diviuest patroness, and midwife, gentle 
 To those that cry by night, convey thy deity 
 Aboard our dancing boat ; make swift the pangs 
 
 Of my queen's travails! — Now, Lychorida 
 
 Enter Lychorida, with an infant. 
 
 Li/c. Here is a thing 
 Too'young for such a place, who, if it had 
 Conceit, would die as I am like to do. 
 Take in your arms this piece of your dead queen. 
 
 Fe-. How ! how, Lychorida ! 
 
 I.iic. Patience, good sir ; do not assist the storm. 
 Here's all that is left living of your queen,— 
 
 A little daughter ; for the sake of it. 
 Be manly, and take comfort. 
 
 Per. O you gods ! 
 
 Why do you make us love vour goodly gifts, 
 And snatch them straight away? We, here below. 
 Recall not wliat we give, and therein may 
 Vie honour with yourselves. 
 
 Li/c. Patience, good sir, 
 
 Even for this charge. 
 
 Per. Now, mild may be thy life ! 
 
 For a more blust'rous birth had never babe : 
 Quiet and gentle thy conditions ! 
 For thou'rt the rudeliest welcom'd to this world. 
 That e'er was prince's child. Happy what follows ! 
 Thou hast as chiding a nativity. 
 As fire, air, water, earth, and heaven can make. 
 To herald thee from the womb : even at the first. 
 Thy loss is more than can thy portage quit. 
 With all thou canst find here. — Now the good gods 
 Throw their best eyes upon it ! 
 
 Enter Two Sailors, 
 1 Sail, What courage, sir 1 God save you. 
 Per. Courage enough : I do not fear the flaw ; 
 It hath done to me the worst. Yet, for the love 
 Of this poor infant, this fresh-new sea-farer, 
 I would it would be quiet. 
 
 1 Sail. Slack the bolins there ; thou wilt not, wilt 
 thou ? Blow, and split thyself. 
 
 2 Sail. But sea-room, an the brine and cloudy bil- 
 low kiss the moon, I care not. 
 
 1 Sail. Sir, your queen must overboard ; the sea 
 works high, the wind is loud, and will not lie till the 
 ship be cleared of the dead. 
 
 Per. That's your superstition. 
 
 1 Sail. Pardon us, sir ; with us at sea it still hath 
 been observed ; and we are strong in earnest. There- 
 fore briefly yield her ; for she must overboard straight. 
 
 Per, Be it as you think meet. — Most wretched 
 Lye, Here she lies, sir. ("queen ! 
 
 Per. A terrible child-bed hast thou had, my dear ; 
 No light, no fire : the unfriendly elements 
 Forgot thee utterly; nor have I time 
 To give thee hallow'd to thy grave, but straight 
 Must cast thee, scarcely coflin'd, in the ooze ; 
 Where, for a monument upon thy bones, 
 .And aye-remaining lamps, the belching whale 
 And humming water must o'erwhelm thy corpse. 
 Lying with simple shells. Lychorida, 
 Bid Nestor bring me spices, ink and paper, 
 I\ly casket and my jewels; and bid Nicander 
 Bring me the satin coff'er : lay the babe 
 Upon the pillow : hie thee, whiles I say 
 A priestly farewell to her : suddenly, woman. 
 
 [Eiit Lychorida. 
 
 2 Sail. Sir, we have a chest beneath the hatches, 
 caulk'd and bitumed ready. 
 
 Per. I thank thee. Mariner, say what coast is this t 
 
 2 Sail, We are near Tharsus. 
 
 Per. Thither, gentle mariner. 
 Alter thy course for Tyre. When can'st thou reach it? 
 
 2 Sail. By break of day, if the wind cease. 
 
 Per. O make for Tharsus. 
 There will 1 visit Cleon, for the babe 
 C!aniiot hold out to I'yrus : there I'll leave it 
 .\t careful nursing. Go thy ways good mariner ; 
 I'll bring the body presently. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— Ephesus. A Room in Cerimon's Hovse, 
 
 Enter Cerimon, a Servant, and some persons who 
 
 have been shipturecked, 
 
 Cer. Philemon, ho ! 
 
760 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 Enter Philemon. 
 Phi. Doth my lord call? 
 Cer. Get fire and meat for those poor men : 
 It has been a tuibuleut and stormy night. 
 
 Serv. I have been in many ; but such anight as this, 
 Till now, I ne'er endur'd. 
 
 Ce}-. Your master will be dead ere you return ; 
 There's nothing can be miaister'd to nature. 
 That can recover him. Give this to the 'pothecary, 
 And tell me how it works. [To Philemon. 
 
 [Exeunt Philemon, Servant, and those who 
 had been shipwrecked. 
 
 Enter Two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent, Good morrow, sir. 
 
 2 Gent. Good morrow to your lordship. 
 
 Cer. Gentlemen, 
 
 Why do you stir so early 1 
 
 1 Gent, Sir, 
 
 Our lodgings, standing bleal< upon the sea, 
 Shooli, as the earth did quake ; 
 The very principals did seem to rend. 
 And all to topple ; pure surprise and fear 
 I\Iade me to quit the house. 
 
 2 Gent. That is the cause we trouble you so early; 
 'Tis not our husbandry. 
 
 Cer. O, you say well. 
 
 1 Gent. But I ranch marvel that your lordship, hav- 
 Rich tire about you, should at these early hours [ing 
 Shake oft" the golden slumber of repose. 
 
 It is most strange. 
 
 Nature should be so conversant with pain. 
 
 Being thereto not compell'd. 
 
 Cer. I held it ever. 
 
 Virtue and cunning were endowments greater 
 Than nobleness and riches : careless heirs 
 ]\Iay the two latter darken and e.xpend; 
 But immortality attends the former. 
 Making a man a god. 'Tis known, I ever 
 Have studied pliysic, through which secret art, 
 By turning o'er authorities, 1 have 
 (Together with my practice,) made familiar 
 To me and to my aid, the blest infusions 
 That dwell in vegetives. in metals, stones ; 
 And I can speak of the disturbances 
 That nature works, and of her cures ; which gives me 
 A more content in course of true delight 
 Than to be thirsty after tottering honour. 
 Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
 To please the fool and death. 
 
 2 Gent. Your honour has through Ephesus pour'd 
 Your charity, and hundreds call themselves [forth 
 Y'our creatures, wiio by you have been restor'd : 
 And not your knowdedge. personal pain, but even 
 Y'our purse, still open, hath built lord Cerimon 
 Such strong renown as time shall never 
 
 Enter Two Servants with a chest. 
 
 Serv. So ; lift there. 
 
 Cer. What is that 1 
 
 'Serv. Sir, even now 
 
 Did the sea toss upon our shore this chest ; 
 'Tis of some wreck. 
 
 Cer. Set 't down, let's look on it. 
 
 a Gent. 'Tis like a coffin, sir. 
 
 Cer. Whate'er it be, 
 
 'Tis wondrous heavy. Wrench it open straight ; 
 If the sea's stomach be o'ercharg'd with gold. 
 It is a good constraint of fortune, that 
 It belches upon us. 
 
 2 Geiit. 'Tis so, my lord. 
 
 Cer. How close 'tis caulk 'd and bitum'd ! — 
 
 Did the sea cast it up ? 
 
 Serv. I never saw so huge a billow, sir, 
 As toss'd it upon shore. 
 
 Cer. Come, wrench it open ; 
 
 Soft, soft ! — it smells most sweetly in my sense, 
 y Gent. A delicate odour. 
 Cer. As ever hit my nostril ; so, — up with it. 
 O you most potent gods ! What's here ? a corse ! 
 1 Gent. Most strange! 
 
 Cer. Shrouded in cloth of state ; balm'd and en- 
 With bags of spices full ! A passport too ! [treasur'd 
 Apollo, perfect me i'the characters ! [Unfolds a scroU. 
 Here I give to understand^ [Reads. 
 
 (If e'er this coffin drive a-land,) 
 I, king Pericles, have lost 
 This queen, worth all our mundane cost. 
 Who finds her, give her burying, 
 She was the daughter of a hingi 
 Besides this treasure for a ice, 
 The gods requite his charity ! 
 If thou liv'st, Pericles, thou hast a heart 
 That even cracks for woe ! — This chanc'd to-night. 
 '2 Gent. Most likely, sir. 
 
 Cer. Nay, certainly to-night. 
 
 For look, how fresh she looks ! — "I'hey were'too rough. 
 That threw her in the sea. Make lire within ; 
 Fetch hither all the boxes in my closet. 
 Death may usurp on nature many hours. 
 And yet the fire of life kindle again 
 The overpiessed spirits. I have heard 
 Of an Egyptian, had nine hours lien dead. 
 By good appliance was recovered. 
 
 Enter a Servant, tyit/t boxes, napkins, and fire. 
 Well said, well said ; the fire and the cloths. — 
 The rough and woful music that we have. 
 Cause it to sound, 'beseech you. 
 The vial once more ; — How thou stirr'st, thou block ! 
 The music there. — I pray you, give her air : — 
 Gentlemen, 
 
 This queen will live : nature awakes ; a warmth 
 Breathes out of her ; she hath not been entranc'd 
 Above five hours. See, how she 'gins to blow 
 Into life's flower again I 
 
 1 Gent. The heavens, sir. 
 
 Through you, increase our wonder, and setup 
 Your fame for ever. 
 
 Cei: She is alive ; behold. 
 
 Her eyelids, cases to those heavenly jewels 
 Which Pericles hath lost. 
 Begin to part their fringes of bright gold ; 
 The diamonds of a most praised water 
 Appear, to make the world twice rich. O live. 
 And make us weep to hear your fate, fair creature. 
 Rare as you seem to be ! [She moves. 
 
 Thai. O dear Diana, 
 
 Where am 11 Where's my lord 1 What world is this? 
 
 Si Gent. Is not this strange ? 
 
 1 Gent. Most rare. 
 
 Cer. Hush, gentle neighbours ; 
 
 Lend me your hands : to the next chamber bear her. 
 Get linen ; now this matter must be look'd to. 
 For her relapse is mortal. Come, come, come ; 
 And .^scuiapius guide us ! 
 
 [Exeunt carrying Thaisa await, 
 
 SCENE III.— Tharsus. A Boom in Cleon's House. 
 
 Entei' Pericles, Cleon, Dionyza, Lvchorida, 
 arid Marina. 
 
 Per. Most honour'd Cleon, I must needs be gone ; 
 •Sly twelve months are expir'd, and Tyrus stands 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 761 
 
 In a litigious peace. You, and your lady, 
 Take from my heart all thankfulness ! The gods 
 Make up the rest upon you! 
 
 Cle. Your shafts of fortune, though they hurt you 
 Yet glance full wand'ringly on us. [mortally, 
 
 Dinn. O your sweet queen ! 
 
 That the strict fates had pleas 'd you had brought her 
 To have bless'd mine eyes! [hither, 
 
 Per. ^^ e cannot but obey 
 
 The powers above us. Could I rage and roar 
 As doth the sea she lies in, yet the end 
 Must be as 'tis. My babe Marina (whom 
 For she was born at sea, I have nam"d so,) here 
 I charge your charity withal, and leave her 
 The infant of your care ; beseeching you 
 To give her princely training, tliat she may be 
 Manner'd as she is born. 
 
 Cle. Fear not, my lord: 
 
 Your grace, that fed my country with your corn, 
 (For which the people's prayers still fall upon you,) 
 Must in your child be thought on. If neglection 
 Should therein make me viie, the common body, 
 By you reliev'd, would force me to ray duty : 
 But if to that my nature need a spur. 
 The gods revenge it upon me and mine, 
 To the end of generation ! 
 
 Per. I believe you ; 
 
 Y'our honour and your goodness teach me credit, 
 Without your vows. Till she be married, madam, 
 By bright Diana, whom we honour all, 
 Unscissar'd shall this hair of mine remain. 
 Though I shtw will in't. So I take my leave. 
 Good madam, make me blessed in your care 
 In bringing up my child, 
 
 Ui, 
 
 1 have one myself, 
 
 Who shall not be more dear to my respect 
 Than yours, my lord. 
 
 Per. IMadam, my thanks and prayers. 
 
 Cle. We'll bring your grace even to the edge o'the 
 shore 
 Then give you up to the mask'd Neptune, and 
 The gentlest winds o' heaven. 
 
 Per. I will embrace 
 
 Your offer. Come, dear'st madam. — O, no tears, 
 Lychorida, no tears : 
 
 Look to your little mistress, on whose grace 
 You may depend hereafter. — Come, my lord. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 SCENE IV. 
 Ephesus. — A Room in Cerimon's House. 
 Enter CEniMON and Thaisa. 
 
 Cei\ IMadam, this letter, and some certain jewels, 
 Lay with you in your coffer ; which are now 
 At your command. Know you the character ? 
 
 Thai. It is my lord's. 
 That I was shipp'd at sea, I well remember. 
 Even on mv yearning time ; but whether there 
 Delivered or no, by the holy gods, 
 I cannot rightly say : But since king Pericles, 
 My wedded lord, I ne'er shall see again, 
 A vestal livery will I take me to, 
 And never more have joy, 
 
 Cer. jMadam, if this you purpose as you speak, 
 Diana's temple is not distant far. 
 Where you may 'bide until your date expire. 
 Moreover, if you please, a niece of mine 
 Shall there attend you. 
 
 Thai. My recompense is thanks, that's all ; 
 Yet my good will is great, though the gift small. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 Gow. Imagine Pericles at Tyre, 
 Welcom'd to liis own desire. 
 His woful queen leave at Ephess, 
 To Dian there a votaress. 
 Now to Marina bend your mind, 
 \\'hom our fast growing scene must 6n(I 
 At Tliarsus, and by Cleon train 'd 
 In music, letters ; who hath gain'd 
 Of education all the grace, 
 Which makes her both the heart and place 
 Of general wonder. But alack ) 
 That monster envy, oft the wrack 
 Of earned praise, Marina's life 
 Seeks to take off by treason's knife. 
 And in this kind hath our Cleon 
 One daughter, and a wench full grown, 
 Even ripe for marriage fight ; this maid 
 Hight Phlloten ; and it is said 
 For certain in our story, she 
 Would ever with Marina be : 
 Be't when she weav'd the sleided silk 
 Witli fingers, long, small, white as milk ; 
 Or when she would with sharp neeld wound 
 The cambric, which she made more sound 
 By hurting it ; or when to the lute 
 She sung, and made the night-bird mute. 
 That still records with moan ; or when 
 She would with rich and constant pen 
 Vail to her mistress Dian ; still 
 This Philoten contends in skill 
 W^ith absolute Marina ; so 
 With the dove of Paphos might the crow 
 Vie feathers white. IMarina gets 
 All praises, which are paid as debts, 
 And not as given. This so darks ' 
 In Philoten all graceful marks, 
 That Cleon's wife, with envy rare, 
 A present murderer does prepare 
 For good Marina, that her daughter 
 INIight stand peerless by this slaughter. 
 The sooner her vile thoughts to stead, 
 Lychorida, our nurse, is dead ; 
 And cursed Dionyza hath 
 The pregnant instrument of wrath 
 Prest for this blow. The unborn event 
 I do commend to your content : 
 Only I carry winged time 
 Post on the lame feet of my rhyme ; 
 Which never could I so convey. 
 Unless your thoughts went on my way. — 
 Dionyza doth appear, 
 With Leonine, a murderer. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE L 
 
 Tharsus. — An open Place, near the Sea-shore. 
 Enter Dionyza and Leonixe. 
 
 Dion. Thy oath remember; thou hast sworn to do it. 
 'Tis but a blow, which never shall be known. 
 Thou canst not do a thing i'the world so soon. 
 To yield thee so much profit. Let not conscience, 
 Which is but cold, inflame love in thy bosom. 
 Inflame too nicely ; nor let pity, which 
 Even women have cast off, melt thee, but be 
 A soldier to thy purpose. 
 
 Leon. I'll do't ; but yet she is a goodly creature. 
 
 Dion. The fitter then the gods should have her. 
 Here weeping she comes for her old nurse's death* 
 Thou art resolv'dl 
 
 Leon, I am resolv'd. 
 
7G3 
 
 MRICLES. 
 
 
 
 rmui. 
 
 
 Bnrckik.-. 
 
 AwBsrci'aM. 
 
 ITsdi (he Kx^ptt^.. « 
 
 Wr»ii »K^ wi:i iMobi * .jsaei ^mk. 
 
 lenaK. a'» iie; cnr di* an*. «•&««& W. 
 
 Kir. >k«. I {cvr ran : 
 rD aM V«Eau« rait'of jiau- sertast. 
 
 "•<■> Ctaoe, («eae : 
 
 I }««« As ti^ jmn Mkw, aai Tv<t^^':'. 
 
 Expect loB k«9: : wtaa le sktU e«aK, uki kni 
 
 BtvtlKaemt^kMiaidiAf : ^ . 
 
 KiuM ^«ai ay Itxi aai as, : 
 
 K*eu« te vtartetoMrsss. 
 
 Dat exi»Q(at OHKpfenx:. » 
 
 Tterrascf ^i«ueiBi«U. C-t,^ ^-i^lu. ate: 
 
 .--r . .Oil: 
 
 3Ur. WeB. I «£! $• ; 
 
 Bat }[«t I bai« aa dean t» ic 
 
 IwK. C«me, OMK. I kaev '^ s«ai S» jaa. 
 Vra& iMif aa Imwt. Leouse. at (he kikst ; 
 K<a>ea)t«r«ltat I htw sui 
 
 Lim. : 
 
 JKiis. ni)«ai« vea. bt^sw 
 
 ^Vi£t; laastiave acanaf jaa. 
 Ml:''. IVaalks. $«««< iiia^>» — 
 Is att$ «ia.l ««s3i£l; ^&: iiims ! 
 
 Xar. WWa I aas SKcz. ^ aad was aeciji. 
 
 Mb-. Mv&tker - - -i . 
 
 Has iiaj^T MB& ■ 
 
 T%st a?Tr«:? V'^T^: : '-f .^; ..^T-^tac^le 
 
 " - >->s c-ae, 
 
 ; - liar coafasSoa. 
 
 XfT. It was lAea I aas bcsa : 
 
 Kerer was wies aer viad aaoR vieleat. 
 
 Lum. CtKtt, say jaar pnvers sk«c;H. 
 
 Jta-. ' niiix smia tw > 
 
 Liwtu I: XI* Tt<;wn a Enk saaee for fnyer^ 
 I gnat u: YVar ; )mt be act tedieas. 
 For m {ods aw ^jsi^ of ear. «>d I aat saara 
 Tt> do BT aait aitti liafte. 
 
 M*r. ' Wl>Tirin]«aU3lM! 
 
 Ijum. Tb sttds^ BT iad^ 
 
 iler. ynefwvM^iimtmtVSarii 
 Xov. as I oa leBeaker. ^ bt tuMk, 
 I aei«r fid ker kait U all bt fife ; 
 I aera s^abs bad wori. aar ^1 ill taia 
 To aiT irriascnataie: b Ukwi Bcla, 
 I never kill'd a aaasa, aar kait a t^- 
 
 I Wii irva i »\Tr.- iijdjB»«»i 
 
 ''' ^^^^fbt ywM Iwt ipratt. cr 
 
 > . . .Uas«r! 
 
 's I.-; V j«*ss-« *f ^ 3«i\i. is.': o.' it. 
 
 d. aad war lai^s f,<iw«)>e« 
 
 Aa<s^ 
 
 AaJ wilS i«sj»Kii. 
 
 JEaarr PkaN<». •. > —x. ?'ki >i^-v >. ^- jit-ajjBi^ 
 
 1 ISfoM^ H«M. Httua * [Ijsvvxivx^nm wi^ 
 
 SKnaok Amb! ayrin! 
 
 $ KnaB. Hatf-fart. anai«. haK-nit. Ciiae. i«4>s 
 bax«tcrakMi4saaddaly. [£>. Pua«es mU \Ua. 
 
 SC£XE U.— ntf»j»^ 
 
 X«n. TWse ?'>»-r'c •■-V?^^f< sfrr? :V j-fs* •»'T:>f 
 Aaitkerlttv 
 liere s a» > 
 
 Aaie--— ■ >■..>.. >.^ _..= . 
 
 Pe«fc»-.-> . .-.St iknai«}T<e apaa bf ■ 
 
 Xetci: $W Naaua. 
 
 \TlMnaKTiuit«n«K*'it.B<etbTa«:<*s)a». [F: 
 
 SCCXE III.— Mirtlese. J Rmb «■ a £»<«(*>. 
 EmtiT Paaiw. Banl. tml Borvr. 
 
 Pau\ BiMlt. 
 
 JEiw& Sir. 
 
 I^aarf. SteaKlillr Tsirt«< santiTrir : >i»jieari$ : 
 •fgaU*M& WebstaaaMBcliBiMiyABHHI. 
 beJaj t«* -weeeiless. 
 
 Siiii. We w«« aewf sa Bac^ aat *t cnatan«. 
 VTe >i£re ivci jvx^r :ii!«e. aad titeTcaa 4e aaaNR tka= 
 dieT caa <l» x'aai ai^ cv-taiiaaal aeoaa ai« «<na ^ 
 ^oaidasivtiea. 
 
 Pjnui. TtK-jcMce 3et> laT« fi«li aaes. ah w u 'et 
 MTferdNB. If tfaew be aat a caasewaca aa bt k- 
 B Vrerr trade, -*« stell aaa ar jntijnt . 
 
 Bnni. TbsKB sax-'s! tree; *(is aet dw bnafia^ 
 ef pckar bastanSs. a£ 1 tbisk. I bate km^t ap aiv. ; 
 
 Srttfc. At. >o e>eTea.aad biw^t dwdaw a a^Ma. I 
 B»i sbaH I sMK-Jt Um sAriet ? 
 
 Som'. Wbat ehe. maa * Tbe ^af «« bari; 
 stm^mad aill blov it ta pieoe, tbey ai« sa pn. 
 faUT«4dea. 
 
 ^rr:?, T%t«aaT'^tiae: tber a» taa a a a boluaaBB 
 c<\ Tbe fmpr Ttaasytraataa is dead, tbii 
 
 }i tUe Mt^^a^iak 
 
 .->«i,„. ->< «be <)»rUT paopM biaa; «be aaad* 
 bJBiaastatMi i«ra«n&$: — bat 111 SttseancJ) tba 
 aoitek. {K«MlV«r«T. 
 
 Pfui. TViee or ft«r tboaiaad cbe^aias v^e K 
 srenr a praportka ta live <}«Kt^r. aad sa pi* erei. 
 
 £«»!. WbT. to pre enr. I piay tw> ! is it a 
 Vi i ii r ir irrt "^ i " —-—-"» 
 
 j^uHi. O. oar oedit ctaHs bM ia She tb* eoauao- 
 tftr-. aw Ae taBBaiHtyiragts aafifitb tbadai^er: 
 dwRfow. if «a aar T«Mb$ »* ceald f«t ap stae 
 pieJiT esTiJif. taaie aol amiss to l«'V> o«r imt 
 bait^'d. Besides, dw saia amas we susi ;;?.■« aith 
 dM 9«^ aiU ha U iea ^ -viib as for fini^ oiar. 
 
 BavaL Can^ aAtr sorts efleed as welt as a«. 
 
ACT IV.-SCENE IV. 
 
 763 
 
 n.mlt. Ay ; lie offered to cut a caper at the pro- 
 clamation ; but he ma<lc a groan at it, and swore he 
 would see her to-morrow. 
 
 Buwil. Well, well ; as for him, he brought his dis- 
 ease hither : here he does but repair it. 1 know, he will 
 come in our shadow, to scatter his crowns in the sun. 
 
 Build. Well, if we had of every nation a traveller, 
 we shall lodge them with this sign. 
 
 liuwd. Pray you, come hither awhile. You have 
 Mark me^ you must 
 
 Pon<(. M well as we ! ay. and better too ; we offend 
 worse. Neither is our profession any trade : it s no 
 calling: — but here comes lioult. 
 Eriler the Pirates aud BouiT, dragging in Mahika. 
 liouU. Come your ways. IToMakina.]— My mas- 
 ters, you say she's a vir^n 1 
 
 1 i'iiate. O. sir, we doubt it not. 
 
 Boutt. Master. 1 have gone thorough fortius piece, ^^^^^ 
 you see: if you like her, so; if not, 1 have lost my f„ri„„g, commg upon you. 
 earnest. ,- • , 
 
 iiawd. Boult, has she any qualities ? 
 boult. She has a good face, speaks well, and has 
 excellent good clothes ; there's no further necessity 
 of qualities can make her be refused. 
 
 Bawd. What's her price, lioult ! [pieces. 
 
 Boult. I cannot be bated one doit of a thousand 
 i'<i«d. Well, follow me, my masters; you shall have 
 your money presently. Wife, take her in ; instruct 
 her what she has to do, that she may not be raw in 
 her enlertainmeut. [Eieuiit Pauiier and Pirates. 
 
 Buwd. Boult, take you the marks of her ; the co- 
 lour of her hair, complexion, height, ago, with warrant 
 of her virginity : and cry. He that will give mu»l, sliutl 
 have her first. Such a maidenhead were no cheap 
 thing, if "men were as they have been. Get this done 
 as I command you. 
 
 B.mit. Performance shall follow. [Kxil ISoult. 
 Mur. .Alack, that Leonine was so slack, so slow! 
 (He should liave struck, not spoke;) or that these 
 (Not enough barbarous,) had not overboard [pirates, 
 'lliroivn me, to seek my mother! 
 
 Baud. U liy lament'you, preity onel 
 JUur. That I am pretty. 
 
 Bund. Come, the gods have done their part in you. 
 Alar. I accuse them not. 
 
 BaiwJ. You are lit into my hands, where you are 
 like to live. 
 
 iUiii . The more my fault, 
 To 'scape his hands, where I was like to die. 
 Bawd. Ay, and you shall live in pleasure. 
 Mar. No. 
 
 Baud. Ves, indeed, shall you, and taste gentlemen 
 of all fashions. You shall fare well ; you shall have 
 the dili'eiencc of all complexions. What! do you 
 stop yovir ears ? 
 
 Mur. Are you a woman ? [woman t 
 
 Bawd. What would you have me be, an 1 be not a 
 
 Mar. An honest woman, or not a woman. 
 
 Baud. Marry, whip thee, gosling : I think I shall 
 
 have something to do with you. Come, you are a 
 
 young foolish sapling, and must be bowed as 1 would 
 
 have you. 
 
 Miir. The gods defend me ! 
 iiju <(. If it please the gods to defend you by men, 
 then men must comfort you, men must feed you, men 
 must stir you up. — lioult's returned. 
 
 Enter Boo it. 
 Now, sir, hast thou cried her through the market 1 
 
 Bmilt. I have cried her almost to the number of 
 her hairs ; 1 have drawn her picture willi my voice. 
 Baud. And I pr'ythee tell me. how dost thou find the 
 inclination of the people. especially of the younger sortl 
 Boult. 'Faith, they listened to me. as they would 
 have hearkened to their father's testament. Thcrewas ■ r - 
 
 a Spaniard's mouth so watered, that he went to bed ' And for an honest attribute, cry out, 
 
 f , • .• I ci.« j:.,j ;». f\..; „;,... 
 
 to her verj' descnption. 
 
 Baud. We shall have him here to-morrow with his 
 best ruff on. 
 
 Boull. To-night, to-night. But, mistress, do you 
 know the French knight that cowers i'tlie hams 1 
 Baud. Who! monsieur Veroles ! 
 
 seem todo that fc:u|fully, which you commit willingly; 
 to despise profit, "here you have most gam. I'o weep 
 that you live as you do, makes pity in your lovers: 
 Seldom, but that pity begets you a good opinion, and 
 that opinion a mere profit. 
 
 Mar. I understand you not. 
 
 Boult. 0, take her home, mistress, take her home . 
 these blushes of hers must be quenched with some 
 present practice. 
 
 Baiid. Thou say'st true, i'faith, so they must: for 
 your bride goes to that with shame, which is her way 
 to go with warrant. 
 
 lioult. 'Faith, some do, and some do not. But, 
 mistress, if 1 have bargain'd for the joint, - 
 
 Bawd. Thou may'st cut a morsel off the spit. 
 
 Boult. I may so. 
 
 Bawd. Who should deny it 1 Come, young one, 
 I like the manner of your garments well. 
 
 Boult. Ay , by my faith, they shall not be changed yet. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, s'pend thou that in the town, report 
 what a sojourner we have : you '11 lose nothing by 
 custom. When nature framed this piece, she meant 
 thee a good turn ; therefore say what a paragon she 
 is, and thou hast the harvest out of thine own report. 
 
 Boutt. I warrant you, mistress, thunder sliall not so 
 awake the beds of eels, as my giving out her beauty stir 
 up the lewdly inclined. I'll bring home some to-night. 
 Bawd. Come your ways ; follow nie. 
 Mar. If fires be hot, knives sharp, or waters deep. 
 Untied I still my virgin knot will keep, 
 Diana, aid my purpose ! 
 
 Buwd. What have we to do with Diana 1 Pray you, 
 will you go with us? ILxeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Tharsus. A Roam tn Cleon's House. 
 Enter Cleon and Dionyza. 
 
 Dion. Why, are you foolish 1 Can it be undone 1 
 
 Cle. O Dionyza, such a piece of slaughter 
 The sun and moon ne'er look'd upon ! 
 
 Dion. I think 
 
 You'll turn a child again. 
 
 Cle. Were I chief lord of all the spacious world, 
 I'd give it to undo the deed. O lady, 
 Much less in blood than virtue, yet a princess 
 To equal any single crown o'the earth, 
 I'the justice of compare ! O villain Leonine, 
 Whom thou hast poison'd too I 
 If thou hail'st drunk to him, it had been a kindness 
 Becoming well thy feat: what canst thou say, 
 When noble Pericles shall demand his child ? 
 
 Dion. That she is dead. Nurses are not the fates. 
 To foster it, nor ever to preserve. 
 She died by night ; I'll say so. Who can cross it! 
 Unless you play the impious innocent, 
 
 hon 
 She died by foul play. 
 
 Cleo. 0, go to. Well, well. 
 
 Of all the faults beneath the heavens, the gods 
 Do like this worst. 
 
 Dion. Be one of those, that think 
 
 The pretty wrens of Tharsus will tiy hence. 
 
764 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 And open this to Pericles. I do sham" I 
 
 To think of what a noble stiain you are^ 
 And of how cow'd a spirit. 
 
 Cle. To such proceeding 
 
 Who ever but his approbation added, 
 Though not his pre-consent, he did not flow 
 From honourable courses. 
 
 Dkvi. Be it so then : 
 
 Yet none does know, but you, how she came daad, 
 Nor none can know. Leonine being gone. 
 She did disdain my child, and stood between 
 Her and her fortunes : None womd look on her. 
 But cast their gazes on Marina's face ; 
 Whilst ours was blurted at, and held a malkin, 
 Not worth the time of day. It pierced me tliorcuj;h ; 
 And though you call my course unnatural, 
 You not your child well loving, yet I find, 
 It greets me, as an enterprize of kindness, 
 Perform 'd to your sole daughter. 
 
 Cle. Heavens forgive it ! 
 
 Dion. And as for Pericles, 
 What should he say 1 We wept after her hearse. 
 And even yet we mourn : her monument 
 Is almost finish'd, and her epitaphs 
 In glittering golden characters express 
 A general praise to her. and care in us 
 At whose expense 'tis done. 
 
 Cle. Thou art like the harpy, 
 
 Which, to betray, doth wear an angel's face. 
 Seize with an eagle's talons. 
 
 Dion. You are like one, that superstitiously 
 Doth swear to the gods, that winter kills the flies ; 
 But yet I know you'll do as I advise. [Eieunt. 
 
 E)i(erGowEB, before the monument ii/' Marina 
 at Tharsus. 
 
 Gow. Thus time we waste, and longest leagues 
 make short ; 
 Sail seas in cockles, have, and wish but for't ; 
 Making, (to take your imagination,) 
 From bourn to bourn, region to region. 
 By you being pardon'd, we commit no crime 
 To use one language, in each several clime. 
 Where our scenes seem to live. I do beseech you. 
 To learn of me, who stand i' the gaps, to teach you 
 The stages of our story. Pericles 
 Is now again thwarting the wayward seas, 
 (Attended on by many a lord and knight,) 
 To see his daughter, all his life's delight. 
 Old Escanes, whom Helicanus late 
 Advanc'd in time to great and high estate. 
 Is left to govern. Bear you it in mind, 
 Old Helicanus goes along behind. [brought 
 
 Well-sailing ships, and" bounteous winds have 
 This king to Tharsus, (think his pilot thought ; 
 So with his steerage shall yourthoughts grow on,) 
 To fetch his daughter home, who first is'gone, 
 Like motes and shadows see them move awhile ; 
 Your ears unto your eyes I'll reconcile. 
 
 Dumb shoic. 
 
 Enter at one door, P !iRici.i.a with his Train; Cleon 
 and DiONvzA, at the other. Cleon $hewi Peiiiclf.s 
 the tomb <)/'Wakina ; nhereat PEnicLES makes la- 
 mentation, puts on suckdolh, and in a rnig/iti/ pas- 
 sion departs. Then Cleon and Dionvza retire. 
 
 Gow. See how belief may sufl^er by foul show ! 
 This borrow'd passion stands for true old woe • 
 And Pericles, in sorrow all devour'd, [show'r'd. 
 With sighs shot through, and biggest tears o'er- 
 Leaves Tharsus, and again embarks. He swears 
 Never to wash his face, nor cut his hairs ; 
 
 He puts on sackcloth, and to sea. He bears 
 
 A tempest, which his mortal vessel tears, 
 And yet he rides it out. Now please you wit 
 The epitaph is for Marina writ 
 By wicked Dionyza. 
 [Rends the inscription on Marina's monnment. 
 The fairest, suieet'st, and best, lies here, 
 Who withered in her spring of year. 
 She was of Tiirus, the king's daughter, 
 On whom foul death hath made this slaughter; 
 Marina was she catl'd ; and at her birth, 
 Thetis, being proud, swallow'd some part o' the earth, 
 Tlierefore the earth, fearing to be o'erjtow'd. 
 Hath Thetis' birth-child on the heavens bestow'd : 
 li'herefore she does, (and swears she'll never stint,} 
 Make waging battery upon shores ofjiint. 
 No visor does become black villany. 
 So well as soft and tender flattery. 
 Let Pericles believe his daughter's dead, 
 And bear his courses to be ordered 
 By lady fortune ; while our scenes display 
 His daughter's woe and heavy well-a-day. 
 In her unholy service. Patience then. 
 And think you now are all in Mitylen. [Ej it. 
 
 SCENE A*".— Mitylene. A Street before the Brothel. 
 Enter, from the Brothel, Two Gentlemen. 
 
 1 Gent. Did you ever hear the like ^ 
 
 2 Gent. No, nor never shall do in such a place as 
 this, she being once gone. 
 
 1 Gent. But to have divinity preached there ! did 
 you ever dream of such a thing ? 
 
 5! Gent. No, no. Come, I am for no more bawdy- 
 houses : Shall we go hear the vestals sing 1 
 
 1 Gent. I '11 do any thing now that is virtuous ; but 
 I am out of the road of rutting, for ever. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. — The same. A Room in the Brothel. 
 Enter Pander, Bav/d, and Boclt. 
 Pand. Well, I had rather than twice the worth of 
 her, she had ne'er come here. 
 
 Baiod. Fye, fye upon her ; she is able to freeze 
 the god Priapus, and undo a whole generation. We 
 must either get her ravished, or be rid of her. When 
 she should do for clients her fitment, and do me the 
 kindness of our profession, she has me her quirks, her 
 reasons, her master-reasons, her prayers, her knees • 
 that she would make a puritan of the devil, if he 
 should cheapen a kiss of her. 
 
 Boult. 'Faith, I must ravish her, or she '11 disfurnish 
 us of all our cavaliers, and make all our swearers 
 priests. 
 
 Pand. 'Now, the pox uponher green-sickness forme! 
 Baud. 'Faith, there 's no way to be rid on 't, but by 
 the way to the pox. Here comes the lord Lysimaclius, 
 disguised* 
 
 Boult. We should have both lord and lown, if the 
 peevish baggage would but give way to customers. 
 Enter Lysimachcs. 
 T.ys. How now 1 How a dozen of virginities 1 
 Bau-d. Now, the gods to-ble.ss your honour! 
 Boult. I am glad to see your honour in good health. 
 Lys. You may so ; 'tis the better for you that 
 your resorters stand upon sound legs. How now, 
 wholesome iniquity ? Have you that a man may deal 
 withal, and defy the surgeon! 
 
 Bawd. We have here one, sir. if she would 
 
 but there never came her like in Wifylene. 
 
 Lys. If she'd do the deeds of darkn^^ss, thou 
 
 would'st say. [enough. 
 
 Bawd. Your honour knows what 'tis to say, well 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 
 
 765 
 
 Lm. Well ; call forth, call forth. 
 
 Boidt. For flesh and blood, sir, white and red 
 you shall see a rose ; and she were a rose indeed, if 
 she had but 
 
 Lys. What, pr'ythee ? 
 
 Bimlt. 0, sir, I can be modest. 
 
 Lys. That dignifies the renown of a bawd, no less 
 than it gives a good report to a number to be chaste. 
 
 Enter Marina. 
 
 Baii'd. Here comes that which grows to the stalk ; 
 — never plucked yet, I can assure you. Is she not 
 
 fair creature 1 
 
 Lus. 'Faith, she would serve after a long voyage 
 at sea. Well, there's for you ; — leave us. 
 
 Bawd. I beseech your honour, give nie leave : a 
 word, and I'll have done presently. 
 
 Lys. I beseech you, do. 
 
 Band. First, 1 would have you note, this is an 
 honourable man. [To jMahina, whom she takes aside. 
 
 Alar. I desire to find him so, that I may worthily 
 note him. 
 
 Bawd. Next, he 's the governor of this country, and 
 a man whom I am bound to. 
 
 War. If he govern the country, you are bound to 
 him indeed , but how honourable he is in that, I 
 know not. 
 
 Band. 'Pray you, without any more virginal fenc- 
 ing, will you use him kindly ! He will line your apron 
 with gold. 
 
 Mar. What he will do graciously, I will thankfully 
 
 Lys. Have you done 1 [receive. 
 
 Bawd. My lord, she 's not paced yet ; you must 
 take some pains to work her to your manage. Come, 
 we will leave his honour and her together. 
 
 \_Exeunt Bawd, Pander, and Boult. 
 
 Lys. Go thy ways. — Now, pretty one, how long 
 have you been at this trade? 
 
 Mar. What trade, sir h 
 
 Lys. What I cannot name but I shall offend. 
 
 Mar. I cannot be offended with my trade. Please 
 you to name it. 
 
 Lns. How long have you been of this profession ? 
 
 iVhir. Ever since I can remember. 
 
 Lys. Did you go to it so young? Werp you a 
 gamester at five, or at seven? 
 
 Mar. Earlier too, sir, if now I be one. 
 
 Lys. Why, the house you dwell in, proclaims you 
 to be a creature of sale. 
 
 Mar. Do you know this house to be a place of such 
 resort, and will come into it? I hear say, you are of 
 honourable parts, and are the governor of this place. 
 
 Lys. Why, hath your principal made known unto 
 you who I am ? 
 
 Mar, Who is my principal ? 
 
 Lys. Why, your herb-woman ; she that sets seeds 
 aiid roots of shame and iniquity. O, you have heard 
 something of my power, and so stand aloof for more 
 serious wooing. But I protest to thee, pretty one, 
 my authority shall not see thee, or else, look friendly 
 upon thee. Come, bring me to some private place. 
 Come, come. 
 
 Mar. If you were born to honour, shew it now ; 
 I( put upon you, make the judgment good 
 That thought you worthy of it. 
 
 Lys. How's this? how's this? — Some more; — be 
 
 Mar. For me, [sage. 
 
 That am a maid, though most ungentle fortune 
 Hath plac'd me here within this loathsome stie, 
 Where, since I came, diseases have been sold 
 Dearer than physic, — that the good gods 
 Would set me free from this unhallow'd place, 
 
 Though they did change me to the meanest bird 
 That flies i' the purer air! 
 
 Lys. I did not think 
 
 Thou could'st have spoke so well ; ne'er dream'd thou 
 Had I brouglit hither a corrupted mind, [could'st. 
 Thy speech had alter'd it. Hold, here 's gold for thee : 
 Pers^ver still in that clear way thou goest, 
 And the gods strengthen thee ! 
 
 Mar. The gods preserve you ! 
 
 Lys. For me, be you thoughten 
 
 That 1 came with no ill intent : for to me 
 The very doors and-windows savour vilely 
 Farewell. Thou art a piece of virtue, and 
 I doubt not but thy training hatli been noble. — 
 Hold; here's more gold for thee- — - 
 A curse upon him, die he like a thief. 
 That robs thee of thy goodness ! If thou hear'st from 
 It shall be for thy good. [mej 
 
 [.-Is Lys. is putting wp his purse, Bout.t enters, 
 
 Boult. I beseech your honour, one piece for me. 
 
 Lys. Avaunt, thou damned door-keeper ! Your 
 But for this virgin that doth prop it up, [house. 
 
 Would sink, and overwhelm you all. Away ! 
 
 [Krii LvsiMACHUs. 
 
 Bmilt. How's this? We must take another course 
 vnth you. If your peevish chastity, which is not 
 worth a breakfast in the cheapest country under the 
 cope, shall undoawhole household, letme be gelded 
 like a spaniel. Come your ways. 
 
 Mar. Whither would you have me ? 
 
 Boult. I must have your maidenhead taken off, or 
 the common hangman shall execute it. Come your 
 way. We 'II have no more gentlemen driven away. 
 Come your ways, I say. 
 
 Re-enter Bawd. 
 
 Bau'd. How now! What's the matter? 
 
 Boult. Worse and worse, mistress ; She has here 
 spoken holy words to the lord Lysiraachus. 
 
 Bawd. O abominable I 
 
 Boult. She makes our profession as it were to stink 
 afore the face of the gods. 
 
 Bawd. Marry, hang her up for ever ! 
 
 Boult. The nobleman would have dealt with her 
 like a nobleman, and she sent him away as cold as a 
 snowball ; saying his prayers too. 
 
 Bawd. Boult, take her away ; use her at thy plea- 
 sure : crack the glass of her virginity, and make the 
 rest malleable. 
 
 Boult. An if she were a thornier piece of ground 
 than she is, she shall be ploughed. 
 
 Mar. Hark, hark, you gods ! 
 
 Bawd. She conjures : away with her. Would she 
 had never come within my doors ! Marry hang you I 
 She's born to undo us. Will you not go the way of 
 women-kind ? Marry come up, ray dish of chastity 
 with rosemary and bays ! [Exit Bawd. 
 
 Boult. Come, mistress ; come your way with me. 
 
 Mar. Whither would you have me ? 
 
 Boult. To take from you the jewel you hold so dear. 
 
 Mar. Pr'ythee, tell me one thing first. 
 
 Boult, Come now, your one thing. 
 
 Mar. What canst thou wish thine enemy to be? 
 
 Boult. Why, I could wish him to be my master, or 
 rather, my mistress. 
 
 Mar. Neither of these are yet so bad as thou art, 
 Since they do better thee in their command. 
 Thou hold'st a place, for which the pained'st fiend 
 Of hell would not in reputation change : 
 Thou 'rt the damn'd door-keeper to every coystral 
 That hither comes inquiring for his lib ; 
 To the choleric fisting of each rogue thy ear 
 
7Q6 
 
 
 
 PEMCLE^ 
 
 lO Jiow V iS- 
 
 .-.'.. ih!,. !•: I, >.•-.■ MS. . ■ 7"-V- 
 
 I;r. . -. ,-. 
 
 vtr .dw-. 
 
 IThj 
 
 
 i 
 
 Its. 
 
 
 I Eiow', Jh-mi jwncs, l.vst»X'f«ire tni Ixinis j rt» 
 f >-!iiT> 0«Mit«iM«, «iw tix 7Ww Sailors. 
 
 .- Sir, 
 
 • - r.-Mi Oat <Wk. W U^« XV« XKMlU, 
 
 , K\<a«>>i mi TV ends fW9«T<« v.- 
 
 j hrj^ Am XV«, ^ M «M-1»« OW 4^ I MR. 
 
 I Vvj ^ «£ lV«aU A*. 
 
 S«ar««i^ 
 
 
 i*-- 
 
 
 £«;, 
 
 B«L Sir, 
 
 ■ . ■ "">!*, ill «» 6^.- ■; 
 
 MS Aw* ».- 
 Vm- swsiekk ... , . 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 lOSS 
 
 ■ rai. 
 
 w« act set Jk»- 
 
 I. .,'■'' *.-4.T>6A. I. 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 
 . .-^.lotiess is jtscrs^A; lie iwi. 
 
 ■ .■ .^r.TOffS 
 
 . . '..'.V, 
 
 
 ; itC Vf : • -"isk. 
 
 
 ;V,.. IV .-i»^ iiiwaiwiwi,] du> 
 
 7 = 
 
 ■rajdK,:sis:{-.' ;r.t;. . .In, 
 
 I)r«K >.;-;-. :.- :>.3^ 
 
 
 l-w. Sir, iuic, »13 kaii; die ««>is snseiw xva ' 
 
 can 
 
 ifajT. K>j*!«Tr ' {d»H 
 
 ?»»«; 
 
 vf/- ' - " " ~ x-^sli »• T*a. 
 
 
 1 J .. - c,ld«isiw'i^«ir. 
 
 :■ tW J,-.tr' 
 
 " " >,.M.^ ,-,,„...- ... 
 
 
 •l"fe «*H Wi»«9J»>U 
 
 
 . - ,■ -.'fSx. ■"-"■^ •■?- ?Iff;-" VsTflh-av 
 
 - \\ ^ 
 
 JilJuW. 
 
 . ra «'Wx« 
 
 (*'d pa-ts. 
 
 .%aTS%)i«; 
 
 •fc: 
 
 -t, if «>^t. 
 - iisa itaik. [Em. 
 
 TSie ■,;■ 
 
 .^at at>«ts*$«ia» 
 
 
 
 i««<, 
 
 ..-.;, 
 
 satne 
 
 vnaE Msafj, j 1'-,.; nf^n to: xi»c success. 
 .vrs. j I ts. " O. sir, « <«<iit«esy. 
 
 Wcasw-jwki-^ •■— <^-"^ -T, Aea»os»i»stO^ 
 ; ,Minpfc*e.lF<>tw . ad » catetplVMi 
 
ACT V,— SCENE I. 
 
 7G7 
 
 AdiI w inflict our pioTJDce. — Yet once more 
 L«t fiie entreat to koow at large tLe cause 
 Of vmir king's lorioiv. 
 
 //f". Sit, «!r, I nill recount it i — 
 
 But, tee, I am prevented. 
 
 I'.nltr , from the bnrgK, J^afd, MAntrtA, and 
 
 '■'/'• O. here ia 
 
 Tlie larly that T Mr)t for. Welcome, fair one ! 
 U't not a goodly presence t 
 
 "''• A rallant lady. 
 
 I.i/t. 8hc'» such, that were 1 well assijr'd slic came 
 Of gentle kind, and noldc stock, I'd wish 
 No W'ller choice, and think me rarely wed. 
 Fair one. all goodness that consists in bounty 
 F.spect even here, where is a kindly patient: 
 If thai Ihy prosi>erou5-arlificial feat 
 Can draw him but to answer thee in aught 
 Thy lacred physic shall receive such pay 
 As ihy desires can wish. 
 
 'Wor. Sir, I will U5e 
 
 My utmost skill in his recovery, 
 Provide<| none but J and my comj^anion 
 Be suffer d to come near him. 
 
 A'"- Come, let us leave her. 
 
 And the gods make her prosperous! [.Maiuv* tw/;i. 
 \;!f'- Mark'd he your music ? 
 
 Jlfur. No, nor look'd on us. 
 {•,'"■ See, she will speak to him. 
 
 MiiT. Ilail, sir! my lord, lend ear: 
 
 I'tr. Hum! ha! 
 Mar. I am a maid. 
 
 My lord, that ne'er before invited eyes. 
 But have been gaj'd on, comet like ; she speaks, 
 Aly bird, that, may be, huth cndur'd a grief 
 Miijht ec|ual yours, if With were justly weigh'd. 
 'I'hough wayward fortune did malign my atiile, 
 AW derivation was from ancestors 
 M ho stood ei|uivalenl with iiiijrlitv kings: 
 J'-»t time halli rooted out my parentage, 
 And to ihe world a id aukward rasuafiiej 
 Bound me in servitude. — 1 will desist ; 
 But there is lonielhing glows upon my check, 
 And whispers in mine ear, Co not tiithe ipeaki. 
 
 [A$itU, 
 Per. My fortunes— parentage— good j>arentagc — 
 To equal mine !— was it not thus ? what say you ! 
 
 Jtf.ir. I said, my lord, ifyou did know my parentage. 
 You would not do me violences 
 
 ■''''• I do think so. 
 
 i pray you, turn your eyes again upon me. — 
 You are like something that — U'hat countrywoman? 
 Here of these shores 1 
 
 *'""'■ No, nor of any shores : 
 
 Yet I was mortally brought foith and am 
 No other than I appear. 
 
 I'tr. I am great with woe.andshalldelivcrweeping. 
 My dearest wife was like this maid, and such a one 
 My dniij^-hter might have been : my queen's square 
 Her stature to an inch; aswand-likestraight; [brows; 
 As silver-voic'd ; her eyes as jewel-like, * 
 
 And cas'd as richly : in pace another Juno ; fgry, 
 « ho Maries the ears she feeds, and makes lliem hun- 
 1 he more she gives them speech.— Where doyou live? 
 Mur. Where I am but a stranger : from the deck 
 You may discern the place. 
 
 '""• Where were you bred 1 
 
 And how achiev'd you these endowmcnU, which 
 1 ou make more rich to owe ? 
 
 "''"• Should 1 tell my history, 
 
 Twould seem like lies disdain'd in the reporting. 
 
 I Pt. Pr'ytliee ape*': ; 
 
 Falsetiess cannot come from thee, for thou loo's 'si 
 I Modest as justice, and thou seem'st a palace 
 j For the crown'd truth to dwell in ; I'll tielieve theei 
 I And make rny senses credit thy relation, 
 I To points that 5«*m impossible ; lor thou look's! 
 Like one I lov'd indeed, what were thy friends? 
 I.'idst thou not say, when 1 did push thee back, 
 ( Which was when I perceiv'd tbee,y that thou cam'st 
 From good descending ! 
 
 Mur. So indeed I did. 
 
 Per. Report thy parentaf;e. I think thou said'st 
 Thou hadst been toss'd from wrong to injury, 
 And that thou thought'st thy griefs might equal raine^ 
 If both were opeo'd. 
 
 '^{'•r. Some such thing indeed 
 
 I said, and said no more but what my thoughts 
 Did warrant me was likely. 
 
 /""•• Tell thy story ; 
 
 If thine considered prove the thousandth part 
 (If rny endurance, thou art a man, and I 
 Have suffer'd like a girl : yet thou dost look 
 J.ilic Patience, gazing on kings' graves, and smiling 
 F.xtremity out of act. What were thy friends ? 
 How lost thou them? Thy name, mymostkindvinnn? 
 Hecount, ] do beseech thee ; come, sit by me. 
 
 Mar. My name, sir, ia Hatiun, 
 
 ''"• O, I am mock'd, 
 
 And thou by some incensed god sent hither 
 To mal.e the world laugh at me. 
 
 Mar. Patience, good sir, 
 
 Or here I'll cease. 
 
 t'"'- Nay, I'll be patient; 
 
 Thou little know'st bow thou dost startle me, 
 ; 'io call thyself Marina. 
 
 Mar. The name Marina, 
 
 Was given me by one that bad some power ; 
 My father, and a king. 
 
 ''«■'■• How ! a king's dauEhlcr ? 
 
 And call'd Marina? 
 
 Mar. You laid yon would believe me , 
 
 But. not Io be a troubler of your peace, 
 I will end here. 
 
 ^«T. But are you flesh and blood ? 
 
 Have you a working pulse? and are no fairy ? 
 No motion ? Well ; speak on. Where were you bom 1 
 And wherefore call'd Marina 1 
 _ ''"'"■■ Call'd JIarina, 
 
 For I was bom at sea. 
 
 ''"■ At sea? thy mother? 
 
 Mar. My mother was the daughter of a king ; 
 Who died the very minute I was born. 
 As my ^ood nurse Lychorida hath oft 
 iJeliver d weeping. 
 
 '.'"".• 0. »top there a little I 
 
 Tins i> the rarest dream that e'er dull sleep 
 l)id mock sad fools withal ; this cannot be. 
 My daugliter's buried. [AMe.} Well :— where were 
 
 you bred ? 
 I II hear you more, to the bottom of your story. 
 And never interrupt you. 
 
 Mar. Vou '11 scarce believe me; 'twere best I did 
 give o'er. 
 
 Per. I will believe you by the syllable 
 Of what you shall deliver. Yet. give me leave :— 
 How came you in these parts? where were you bred? 
 Mar. 1 Jie king, my father, did in Tharsus leave me ; 
 Till cruel Cleon. with his wicked wife. 
 I>id .seek to murder me: and having woo'd 
 A villain to attempt it, who having drawn, 
 A crew of pirates came and rescued me ; 
 Brought mo to Mityleue. But, now good sir, 
 
r68 
 
 PERICLES. 
 
 Whither will you have me 1 Why do you weep ^ It 
 
 may 'be, 
 You think me an impostor : no, good faith ; 
 I am the daughter to liing Pericles, 
 If good king Pericles be. 
 
 Per. Ho, Helicanus ! 
 
 Hel. Calls my gracious lord ? 
 
 Per. Thou art a grave and noble counsellor, 
 Most wise in general : Tell me, if thou canst. 
 What this maid is, or what is like to be. 
 That thus hath made me weep'! 
 
 Het. 1 know not ; but 
 
 Here is the regent, sir, of Mitylene, 
 Speaks nobly of her. 
 
 f^tis. She would never tell 
 
 Her parentage ; being demanded that. 
 She would sit still and weep. 
 
 Per. O Helicanus, strike me, honour'd sir ; 
 Give me a gash, put me to present pain ; 
 Lest this great sea of joys rushing upon me, 
 O'erbear the shores of my mortality, 
 And drown me with their sweetness. O, come hither. 
 Thou that beget'st him that did thee beget ; 
 Thou that wast born at sea, buried at Tharsus, 
 And found at sea again !— Helicanus, 
 Down on thy knees, thank the holy gods, as loud 
 As thunder threatens us : This is Marina. — 
 What was thy mother's name 1 tell me but that. 
 For truth can never be confirm'd enough, 
 Though doubts did ever sleep. 
 
 Mar. First, sir, I pray. 
 
 What is your title t 
 
 Per. I am Pericles of Tyre : but tell me now 
 (As in the rest thou hast been godlike perfect,) _ 
 My drown'd queen's name, thou art the heir of king- 
 And another life to Pericles thy father. [doms. 
 
 Mar. Is it no more to be your daughter, than 
 To say, my mother's name was Thaisa 1 
 Thaisa was my mother, who did end. 
 The minute I began. 
 
 Per. Now, blessing on thee, rise ; thou art my child. 
 Give me fresh garments. Mine own, Helicanus, 
 (Not dead at Tharsus, as she should have been. 
 By savage Cleon,) she shall tell thee all ; 
 When thou shalt kneel and justify in knowledge. 
 She is thy very princess — Who is this? 
 
 Hel. Sir, 'tis the governor of Mitylene 
 Who, hearing of your melancholy state. 
 Did come to see you. 
 
 Per. I embrace you, sir. 
 
 Give me my robes ; I am wild in my beholding. 
 
 heavens bless my girl ! But hark, what music 1 — 
 Tell Helicanus, my Marina, tell him 
 
 O'er, point by point, for yet he seems to doubt. 
 How sure you are my daughter. — But what music 1 
 
 Hel. IMy lord, I liear none. 
 
 Per. None? 
 The music of the spheres : list, my Marina. 
 
 Li/s. It is not good to cross him ; give him way. 
 
 Per. Rarest sounds ! 
 Do ye not hear 1 
 
 Lus. Music 1 My lord, I hear — 
 
 Per. Jlost heavenly music : 
 It nips me unto list'ning, and thick slumber 
 Hangs on mine eye-lids ; let me rest. [He sleeps. 
 
 Lys. A pillow for his head ; 
 [The eurtain before the pavilion of Pericles is closed. 
 So leave him all. Well, my companion-friends. 
 If this but answer to my just belief, 
 
 1 'U well remember you. 
 
 f Eicii?it Lysimachiis, Helioavts, Mabina, 
 and attendant Lady. 
 
 SCENE II.— T7ie same 
 
 PERicLEs'on the deck asleep ; Diana appearing to 
 
 him as in a vision. 
 Dia. My temple stands in Bphesus ; hie thee thither, 
 And do upon mine altar sacrifice. 
 There, when my maiden priests are met together. 
 Before the people all. 
 
 Reveal how thou at sea didst lose thy wife : 
 To mourn thy crosses, with thy daughter's, call, 
 ,\nd give them repetition to the life. 
 Perform my bidding, or thou liv'st in woe : 
 Do 't, and be happy, by my silver bow. 
 Awake, and tell tliy dream. [Diana disappears. 
 
 Per. Celestial Dian, goddess argentine, 
 I will obey thee ! — Helicanus ! 
 
 Enter Lysimachus, Helicanus, and Marina. 
 Hel. Sir. 
 
 Per. My purpose was for Tharsus, there to strike 
 The inhospitable Cleon ; but I am 
 For other service first : toward Ephesus 
 Turn our blown sails; eftsoons I'll tell thee why. — 
 
 [7'i) Helicanus. 
 Shall we refresh us, sir, upon your shore. 
 And give you gold for such provision 
 As our intents will need ? 
 
 Lys. With all my heart, sir ; and when you come 
 I have another suit. [ashore. 
 
 Per. You shall prevail, 
 
 Were it to woo my daughter ; for it seems 
 You have been noble towards her. 
 Lys. S'fj 'end your arm. 
 
 P'er. Come, my Marina. [Eieunt. 
 
 Enter GowER, he/ore the templeofDiAVA at Ephesus 
 Gow. Now our sands are almost run ; 
 More a little, and then done. 
 This, as my last boon, give me, 
 (For such kindness must relieve me,) 
 That you aptly will suppose 
 What pageantry, what feats, what shows. 
 What minstrelsy, and pretty din. 
 The regent made in Mitylin, 
 To greet the king. So he has thriv'd. 
 That he is promis'd to be wiv'd 
 To fair JNIarina ; but in no wise. 
 Till he had done his sacrifice. 
 As Dian bade : whereto being bound, 
 The interim, pray you, all confound. 
 In feather'd briefness sails are fill'd 
 And wishes fall out as they 're will'd. 
 At Ephesus, the temple see. 
 Our king, and all his company. 
 That he can hither come so soon. 
 Is by your fancy's thankful boon. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE in.— The Temple of Diana at Ephesus ; 
 Thaisa standing near the Altar, as high Priestess : 
 a nwnler of Virgins on each side ; Cerimon and 
 other inhabitants (/Ephesus attending. 
 Enter Pericles, with his Train ; Lvsimachus, 
 
 Helicanus, Marina, and a Lady. 
 Per, Hail, Dian ! to perform thy just command, 
 I here confess myself the king of Tyre ; 
 Who, frighted from my country, did wed 
 The fair Thaisa, at Pentapolis. 
 At sea in childbed died she, but brought forth 
 A maid-child call'd Marina ; who, goddess. 
 Wears yet thy silver livery. She at Tharsus 
 Was niirs'd with Cleon ; whom at fourteen years 
 He sought to murder : but her better stars 
 Brought her to Mitylene ; against whose shore 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 709 
 
 Rilling, her fortunes brought the maid aboard us, 
 Wheie. by Uer own most clear remembrance, she 
 Alade known herself my daughter. 
 
 Thai. Voice and favour ! — 
 
 You are, you are — royal Pericles ! — [She faints. 
 
 Per. What means the woman] she dies! help, 
 
 Cet\ Noble sir, [gentlemen ! 
 
 If you have told Diana's altar true. 
 This is your wife. 
 
 Per. Reverend appearer, no ; 
 
 I threw her o'erboard with these very arms. 
 
 Cer. Upon this coast, I warrant you. 
 
 Per. 'Tis most certain. 
 
 Cer. Look to the lady ; — 0, she 's but o'erjoy'd. 
 Early, one blust'ring morn, this lady was 
 Thrown on this shore. I op'd the coffin, and 
 Found there rich jewels; recover'd her, and plac'd her 
 Here in Diana's temple. 
 
 Per. May we see them ? 
 
 Cer. Great sir, they shall be brought you to my 
 Whither I invite you. Look ! Thaisa is [house, 
 Recover'd. 
 
 Thai. O, let me look ! 
 If he be none of mine, my sanctity 
 Will to my sense bend no licentious ear. 
 But curb it, spite of seeing. O, my lord, 
 Are you not Pericles 1 Like him you speak. 
 Like him you are : Did you not name a tempest, 
 A birth, and death? 
 
 Per. The voice of dead Thaisa ! 
 
 Thai* That Thaisa am 1, supposed dead. 
 And drown'd. 
 
 Per. Immortal Dian ! 
 
 Thai. Now I know you better. — 
 
 When we with tears parted Pentapolis, 
 The king, my father, gave you such a ring. 
 
 [.S'/ieti'S a ring. 
 
 Per, This, this : no more, you gods I your present 
 kindness 
 Makes my past miseries sport : You shall do well. 
 That on the touching of her lips I may 
 Melt, and no more be seen. O come, be buried 
 A second time within these arms. 
 
 Mar. My heart 
 
 Leaps to be gone into my mother's bosom. 
 
 [Kneels to Thaisa. 
 
 Per, Look, who kneels here ! Flesh of thy flesh, 
 Thy burden at the sea, and call'd Marina, [Thaisa ; 
 For she was yielded there. 
 
 Thai. Bless'd, and mine own ! 
 
 HpI. Hail, mamad, and my queen ! 
 
 Thai. I know you not. 
 
 Per. You haveheard^me say, when 1 did fly from 
 I left behind an ancient substitute. [Tyre, 
 
 Can you remember what I call'd the man t 
 I Iia\e nara'd him oft. 
 
 Thai. 'Twas Helicaiius men. 
 
 Per, Still confirmation : 
 Embrace him, dear Thaisa ; this is he. 
 Now do I long to hear how you were found ; 
 How possibly preserv'd ; and whom to thank, 
 Besides the gods, for this great miracle. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon, my lord ; this man 
 Through whom the gods have shewn their power ; that 
 From first to last resolve you. [can 
 
 Per, Reverend sir, 
 
 The gods can have no mortal officer 
 More like a god than you. Will you deliver 
 How this dead queen re-lives? 
 
 Cer. I will, my lord. 
 
 Beseech you, first go with me to my house, 
 Where shall be shewn you all was found with her ; 
 How she came placed here within the temple j 
 No needful thing omitted. 
 
 Per, Pure Diana ! 
 
 I bless thee for thy vision, and will offer 
 My night oblations to thee- Thaisa, 
 This prince, the fair-betrothed of your daughter, 
 Shall marry her at Pentapolis. And now, 
 This ornament that makes me look so dismal, 
 Will I, my lov'd JMarina, clip to form ; 
 And what this fourteen years no razor touch'd, 
 To grace thy marriage-day, I '11 beautify. 
 
 Thai. Lord Cerimon hath letters of good credit, 
 Sir, that my father's dead. 
 
 Per. Heavens make a star of him! Yet there, my 
 We '11 celebrate their nuptials, and ourselves [queen. 
 Will in that kingdom spend our following days ; 
 Our son and daughter shall in Tyrus reign. 
 Lord Cerimon, we do our longing stay. 
 To hear the rest untold. — Sir, lead the way. [Exeunt, 
 
 Enter Gower. 
 
 Gow. In Antioch ,and his daughter, you have heard 
 Of monstrous lust the due and just reward : 
 In Pericles, his queen and daughter, seen 
 (Although assail'd with fortune fierce and keen,) 
 Virtue preserv'd from fell destruction's blast, 
 Led on by heaven, and crown'd with joy at last. 
 In Helicanus may you well descry 
 A figure of truth, of faith, of loyalty : 
 In reverend Cerimon there well appears 
 The worth that learned charity aye wears. 
 For wicked Cleon and his wife, when fame 
 Had spread their cursed deed, and honour'd name 
 Of Pericles, to rage the city turn ; 
 That him and his they in his palace burn. 
 The gods for murder seemed so content 
 To punish them ; although not done, but meant. 
 So on your patience evermore attending, 
 New joy wait on you ! Here our play has ending. 
 
 [Exit GowER. 
 
 To a former edition of this play were subjoined two Disser- 
 tations : one written by Mr. Steevens, the other by me. In the 
 latter I urged such arguments as then appeared to me to have 
 weii^hl, fo prove that it was the entire work of Shakspeare, and 
 one of his earliest compositions. Mr. Steevena on the other 
 hand niaintaioed.that it was originally the production of some 
 elder playwnghi. and afierwariis improved by our poet, whose 
 hand was acknowledged to be visible in niuny scenes throughout 
 the play. On a review ofthe various arguments which each of 
 us produced in favour of his own hypothesis, I am now con- 
 vinced that the iheory of Mr. Steevens was right, and have no 
 difliculty in acknowledging my own to be eironeous. 
 
 'I'his play was entered on the Stationers' books, together with 
 Antuny and Cleopatra, in the year 1608, by Edward KlouBt, a 
 bookseller of eminence, and one of the publishers of the first 
 folio edition of .Shakspeare's works. It was printed with his 
 name in the title-page, in bis life-time : but this circumstance 
 proves uoiliing, because, by the knavery of booksellers, other 
 pii-ci-s wert- also ascribed to him in his life-time, of which he 
 uidtibitably wrote not a line, ."^or is it necessary to urge, in j 
 kupport of its geuuiueness, that at a subsequect period it was as- 1 
 
 cnbed to him by several dramatic writers. I wish not to rely 
 on any circumstance of thiit kind; because, in all questions of 
 this natme. internal evidence is the best that can be produced, 
 and, to every person intimately acquainted with our poet's writ- 
 ings, must in the present case be decisive. The congenial sen- 
 timents, the numerous expressions bearing a striking similitude 
 to passages in his Hndispuled plays, some of the incidents, the 
 sitnatiouof many of the persons, aiid in various places the colour 
 of tbe style, all these combine to set the seal of Shakspeare on 
 the play before us, and furnish us with intenial and iiTesistible 
 proofs, that a considerable portion of this piece, as it now ap- 
 pears, was written bv him. ihe greater part of the last three 
 acts may, I think, on this ground be safely ascribed to him ; 
 and his hand may be traced occasionally in the other two divi- 
 sions. 
 
 io alter, new-model, and improve the nnsucccssful dramas ol 
 preceding writers, was, I believe, much mjre common in the 
 lime of Shakspeare than is generally supposed. 'J'his piece hav- 
 ing been thus uew-modelled by our iioet, and enriched with many 
 happy strokes from his p-'n. is unQue»tionably entitled to (hat 
 place among his works, which it has Dowobtaioed.— Malo.ns, 
 
KING LEAR. 
 
 Th 1 R tragedy was entered in the books of the Stationers Com- 
 pany. Nov. 26, liii'7. and is ihcie mentioned as having been 
 Eia\ed the precedinfi Christmas before his majesty, at White- 
 all It niu^t have been written after 16(J3, as Shakspeaie has 
 borrowed several fanstastic names of spirits, mentioned iii this 
 play, from Harsnett's Dec/arationof Popish Impostors, \vh\ca. 
 was published that year. King Lear was not printed till 1008. 
 
 There was an old play on the same subject, which had been in 
 possession of the stage fovmaiiy years, before the production 
 of Shakspeare's tragedy ; but from which our author has co- 
 
 pied one passage only. The atory of King Lenr and his three 
 Daughters, is found in Holinshed's Chronitle ; and was ori- 
 ginally told by Geoffry of Monmouth, who says that f^ar was 
 the eidi-st son of Bladud. and " nobly governed his country 
 for sixty years." According to that historian, he died about 
 800 years before Christ, Shakspeare has taken the hint for 
 the behaviour of the steward, and the reply of Cordelia to her 
 father concerning her future marriage, from the Mirror oj 
 HIagistra/es,15S7. According to Steevens.ihe episode of G let- 
 ter and his sons is borrowed from Sidney's Arcadia^ 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Lear, King o/"Bntain. 
 
 King of France. 
 
 Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Duke of Cornwall. 
 
 Duke of Albany. 
 
 Karl of Kent. 
 
 Earlof Gloster. 
 
 Kdcar, son to Gloster. 
 
 Edmund, bastard son to Gloster. 
 
 Curan, a courtier. 
 
 Old Man, tenant to Gloster. 
 
 Pliijsician, FooL 
 
 Os^vALD, steward to Goneril. 
 
 An Officer emploued by Edmund. 
 
 Gentleman^ attendant on Cordelia. 
 
 A Herald. Servants to Cornwall. 
 
 Goneril, Regan, Cordelia, daughters to Lear. 
 
 Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, 
 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 SCENE,— Britain. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room of State in King Lear's Palace. 
 
 Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund. 
 
 Kent. I thought, the king had more afl'ecteJ the 
 dulte of Albany, than Cornwall. 
 
 Glo. It did always seem so to us: but now, in the 
 division of the kingdom, it appears not which of the 
 dukes he values most ; for equalities are so vveigh'd, 
 tliat curiosity in neither can make choice of either's 
 moiety. 
 
 Kent. Is not this your son, my lord ■• 
 G/u. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge : 
 I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that now 
 I am brazed to it. 
 
 Kent. I cannot conceive you. 
 Gto. Sir, this young fellow's mother could: where- 
 upon she grew round-wombed ; and had, indeed, sir, 
 a son for her cradle, ere she had a husband for her 
 bed. Do you smell a fault 1 
 
 Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of 
 it being so proper. 
 
 Glo. But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some 
 year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my ac- 
 count : though this knave came somewhat saucily 
 into the world before he was sent for, yet was his 
 mother fair ; there was good sport at his making, and 
 the wlioreson must be acknowledged. — Do you know 
 this noble gentleman, Edmund 1 
 Edm. No, my lord. 
 
 Glo. My lord of Kent : remember him hereafter 
 as my honourable friend. 
 
 Eilm. My services to your lordsliip. 
 
 Kent. I must love you. and sue to know you better. 
 
 Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving. 
 
 Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he 
 shall agam : — The king is coming. 
 
 [Trumpets sound within. 
 
 Enter Lear, Cornwall, .\lbany, Goneril, Regan, 
 Cordelia, and Attendants. 
 
 Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy, 
 Gloster. 
 
 Glo. I shall, my liege. [Exit Gloster If Edmund. 
 
 Lear. Mean-time we shall express our darker pur- 
 pose, [vided. 
 Give me the map there. — Know, that we have di- 
 In three, our kingdom: and 'tis our fast intent 
 To shake all cares and business from our age ; 
 Conferring them on younger strengths, while we 
 Unburden'd crawl toward death. — Our son of Corn- 
 And you, our no less loving son of Albany, [wall 
 We liave tiiis hour a constant will to publish 
 Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife 
 May be prevented now. The princes, France and Bur- 
 Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love, [gundy, 
 Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn; 
 And here are to be answer'd. — Tell me, mydaughtersj 
 (Since now we wilt divest us, both of rule, 
 Interest of territory, cijres of state.) 
 Which of you. shall we say, doth love us most 1 
 That we our largest bounty may extend 
 Where merit doth most challenge it. — Goneril, 
 Our eldest-born, speak first. 
 
 Gon. Sir, I 
 
 Do love you more than words can wield the matter. 
 Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty ; 
 Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ; 
 No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour: 
 As much as child e'er lov'd. or father found. 
 A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ; 
 Beyond all manner of so much I love you. 
 
 Cor. What shall Cordelia do ! Love, and be silent. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Lear, Of all these bounds, even from this line to 
 this. 
 With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd. 
 With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads. 
 We make thee lady : To thine and Albany's issue 
 Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter. 
 Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall 1 Speak. 
 
 Reg. I am made of tliatself metal as my sister. 
 And prize me at her worth. In my true heart 
 t find, she names my very deed of love ; 
 Only she comes too short. — tbat 1 profess 
 Myself an enemy to all other joys. 
 Which the nlost precious square of sense possesses ; 
 
ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 771 
 
 And find, I am alone felicitate 
 In your dear highness' love. 
 
 Cor. Then poor Cordelia ! [Aside. 
 
 And yet not so ; since, I am sure, my love's 
 More richer than my tongue. 
 
 Lear. To thee, and thine, hereditary ever. 
 Remains this ample third of our fair kingdom ; 
 No less in space, validity, and pleasure, 
 Than that confirm 'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy. 
 Although the last, not least; to whose young love 
 The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy, 
 Strive to be interess'd ; what can you say, to draw 
 A third more opulent than your sisters T Speak. 
 Cor. Nothing, my lord. 
 Lear, Nothing? 
 Car. Nothing. 
 
 Lear. Nothing can come of nothing : speak again. 
 Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave 
 My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty 
 According to my bond ; nor move, nor less, 
 
 Lear. IIow, how, Cordelia? mend your speech a 
 Lest it may mar your fortunes. [little, 
 
 Cor, Good my lord. 
 
 You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I 
 Return those duties back as are right fit, 
 Obey yon, love you, and most honour you. 
 Why have ray sisters husbands, if they say 
 They love you, all? Haply, when I shall wed, 
 That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall carry 
 Half my love with him, half my care, and duty ! 
 Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters. 
 To love my father all. 
 
 Lear, But goes this with thy heart"? 
 Cor, Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Lear. So young, and so untender } 
 Cor, So young, my lord, and true. 
 Lear, Let it be so, — Thy truth then be thy dower : 
 For, by the sacred radiance of the sun ; 
 The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ; 
 By all the opeiations of the orbs. 
 From whom we do exist, and cease to be. 
 Here I disclaim all my paternal care. 
 Propinquity and property of blood. 
 And as a stranger to my heart and me 
 Hold thee, from this, for ever. The barbarous Scy- 
 Or he that makes his generation messes [thian, 
 
 To gorge his appetite, sliall to my bosom 
 Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd, 
 As thou my sometime daughter. 
 
 Ktnt. Good my liege, — 
 
 Lear. Peace, Kent! 
 Come not between the dragon and his wrath : 
 I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest 
 On her kind nursery. — Hence, and avoid my sight! 
 So be my grave my peace, as here I give [To Cordelia. 
 Her father's heart from her I— Call France ; — Who 
 Call Burgundy. — Cornwall, and Albany, [stirs? 
 With my two daughters' dowers digest this third : 
 Let j)ride, which she calls plainness, marry her. 
 I do invest you jointly with ray power, 
 Pre-eminence, and all the large effects 
 That troop with majesty. — Ourself,by monthlycourse, 
 With reservation of an hundred knights, 
 By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode 
 Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain 
 The name, and all the additions to a king ; 
 The sway, 
 
 Revenue, execution of the rest, 
 Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm, 
 This coronet part between you. [^Giving the crown. 
 
 Ke7tt. Royal Lear, 
 
 Whom I have ever honour'd as my king, 
 
 Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd. 
 
 As ray great patron thought on in my prayers, — 
 
 Lear, The bow is bent and drawn, make from the 
 
 shaft. 
 Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade 
 The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly, 
 When Lear is mad. What would'st thou do, old manf 
 Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak, 
 When power to flattery bowsl To plainness honour's 
 
 bound, 
 When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom ; 
 And, in thy best consideration, check 
 This hideous rashness : answer my life my judgment. 
 Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ; 
 Nor are those empty- hearted, whose low sound 
 Reverbs no hoUowness. 
 
 Lear, Kent, on thy life, no more. 
 
 Kent. Sly life I never held but as a pawn 
 To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it. 
 Thy safety being the motive. 
 
 Lear, Out of my sight ! 
 
 Kent. See better, Lear; and let me still remain 
 The true blank of thine eye. u- 
 
 Lear Now, by Apolio, — 
 
 Kent. Now, by Apollo, king, 
 
 Thou swear'st thy gods in vain. 
 
 Lear, O, vassal ! miscreant ! 
 
 iLaping his hand on his swoi'd. 
 
 Alb, Corn. Dear sir, forbear. 
 
 Kent. Do ; * 
 
 Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow 
 Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift ;• 
 Or, whilst I can vent clamour from my throat, 
 I'll tell thee thou dost evil. 
 
 Lear, Hear me, recreant ! 
 
 On thine allegiance hear me! — 
 Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow. 
 (Which we durst never yet,) and, with strain'd pride, 
 To come betwixt our sentence and our power ; 
 (Which uor our nature nor our place can bear,) 
 Our potency made good, take thy reward. 
 Five days do we allot thee, for provision 
 To shield thee from diseases of the world j 
 And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back 
 Upon our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following. 
 Thy baaish'd trunk be found in our dominions. 
 'I'he moment is thy death : Away ! by Jupiter, 
 This shall, not be revok'd. [appear, 
 
 Kent. Fare thee well, king ; since thus thou wilt 
 Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. — 
 The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid, 
 
 [To COKDELIA. 
 
 That justly think'st, and hast most rightly said ! — 
 And your large speeches may your deeds approve, 
 
 [To Regan and Gonerii.. 
 That good effects may spring from words of love. — 
 Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ; 
 He'll shape his old course in a country new. [Eut. 
 
 lie-enter Gloster : with France, BvncuNflv, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord- 
 
 Lear. My lord of Burgundy, 
 We first address towards you, who with this king 
 Hath rivall'd for our daughter ; What, in the least, 
 Will you require in present dower with her. 
 Or cease your quest of love ? 
 
 Bur. Most royal majesty, 
 
 I crave no more than hath your highness offer'd, 
 Nor will you tender less. 
 
 Lear. Right noble Burgundy, 
 
 When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ; 
 3 C 2 
 
772 
 
 KING LEAR, 
 
 But now her price is fall'n : Sir, there she stands ; 
 
 If auoht within that little, seeming substance. 
 Or all of it, witii our Uispleasuie piec'd, 
 And nothing more may fitly like your grace, 
 Sht's there, and she is yours. 
 
 Bur. I Know no answer. 
 
 hear. Sir, 
 '\Vill you, with those infirmities she owes, 
 Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate, 
 Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath, 
 Take her, or leave her ? 
 
 ■^"'•' Pardon me, royal sir ; 
 
 Election makes not up on such conditions, [made me, 
 
 Lear, Then leave her, sir ; for, by the power tliat 
 1 tell you all her wealth. — For you, great king, 
 
 [To France. 
 I would not from your love make such a stray. 
 To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you 
 To avert your liking a more worthier way, 
 Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd 
 Almost to acknowledge her's. 
 
 Fiance. This is most strange ! 
 
 That she. that even but now was your best object, 
 The argument of your praise, balm of your age, 
 Blost best most dearest, should in this trice of time 
 Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle 
 So many folds of favour ! Sure, her ofl'eace 
 Must be of such unnatural degree, 
 That mi)nsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection 
 Pall into taint : which to believe of her, 
 Must be a faith, that reason without miracle 
 Could never plant in me. 
 
 Cfr. I yet beseech your majesty, 
 
 (If for I want that gHb and oily art, 
 To speak, and purpose not; since what I well intend, 
 I'll do't before 1 speak,) that you make known 
 It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness, 
 Ivo unchaste action, or dishonour'd step, 
 That hath deprived me of your grace and favour : 
 But even for want of that, for which I am richer ; 
 A still soliciting eye, and such a tongue 
 That I am glad I have not, though not to have it, 
 Hath lost me in your liking. 
 
 hear. Better thou [better. 
 
 Had'st not been born, than not to have pleas'd me 
 
 France, Js it but this? a tardiness in nature, 
 AVhich often leaves the history unspoke, 
 That it intends to do ? — My lord of Burgundy, 
 What say you to the lady i Love is not love 
 AVhen it is mingled with" respects, that stand 
 Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her? 
 Siie is herself a dowry, 
 
 Bur. Boyal Lear, 
 
 Give but that portion which yourself propos'd. 
 And here 1 take Cordelia by the hand, 
 Uuchess of Burgundy. 
 
 Lear, Nothing : 1 have sworn , I am firm. 
 
 Bur, I am sorry then, you have so lost a father. 
 That you must lose a husband. 
 
 ^or Peace be with Burgundy ! 
 
 Since that respects of fortune are iiis love, 
 I shall not be his wife. [poor ; 
 
 France. Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being 
 Most choice, forsaken ; and most lov'd, despis'd I 
 Thee and thy virtues here 1 seize upon: 
 Be it lawful, 1 take up what's cast away. [lect 
 
 Gods, gods ! 'tis strange, that from their cold'st neg- 
 My love should kindle to inflam'd respect. — 
 Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance, 
 Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France : 
 Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy 
 Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. — 
 
 Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkiad ; 
 Thou losest here, a better where to find. 
 
 hear. Thou hast her, France : let her be thine; 
 Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see [for we 
 That face of hers again : — Therefore be gone. 
 Without our grace, our love, our benizon. 
 Come, noble Burgundy. 
 
 [Flourish. Eieunt Lear, Burgvndy, Cohn- 
 WAi-L, Albany, Gloster, and Attendants. 
 
 France. Bid farewell to your sisters. 
 
 Cor, The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes 
 Cordelia leaves you : I know you what you are ; 
 And, like a sister, am most loath to call 
 Your faults as they are nam'd. Use well our father; 
 To your profess'd bosoms I commit him : 
 But yet, alas ! stood 1 within his grace, 
 I would prefer him to a better place. 
 So farewell to you both. 
 
 Gon. Prescribe not us our duties. 
 
 Reg. Let your study 
 
 Be, to content your lord ; who hath received you 
 At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted. 
 And well are worth the want that you have wanted. 
 
 Cor. Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides ; 
 Who covers faults, at last shame them derides. 
 Well may you prosper ! 
 
 France. Come, my fair Cordelia, 
 
 [Eieunt France and Cordelia. 
 
 Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to say, of what 
 most nearly appertains to us both. I think, our 
 father will hence to-night. 
 
 Reg, That's most certain, and with you ; next 
 month with us. 
 
 Gon, You see how full of changes his age is ; the 
 observation we have made of it hath not been little : 
 he always loved our sister most ; and with what pooj 
 judgment he hath now cast her off, appears too grossly. 
 
 Reg' 'Tis the infirmity of his age : yet he hath 
 ever but slenderly known himself. 
 
 Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath been 
 but rash ; then must we look to receive from his 
 age, not alone the imperfections of long-engrafted 
 condition, but, therewithal, the unruly waywardness 
 that infirm and choleric years bring with them. 
 
 Reg, Such unconstant starts we are like to have 
 from him, as this of Kent's banishment. 
 
 Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking 
 between France and him. Pray you, let us hit to- 
 gether : If our father carry authority with such dis- 
 positions as he bears, this last surrender of his will 
 but offend us. 
 
 Reg, We shall further think of it. 
 
 Gon, We must do something, and i' the heat. 
 
 [Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE IL— .-! Halt in (/teEarl of Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Edmund, with a letter, 
 Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law 
 My services are bound ; Wherefore should I 
 Stand in the plague of custom ; and permit 
 The curiosity of nations to deprive me. 
 For that 1 am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines 
 Lag of a brother 1 Why bastard 1 wiierefore base } 
 When my dimensions are as well compact, 
 My mind as generous, and ray shape as true, 
 As honest madam's issue 1 Why brand they us 
 With base ■? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? 
 Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take 
 More composition and fierce quality, 
 Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, 
 Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops, 
 Got 'tween asleep and wake ! — Well then^ 
 
ACT L— SCENE II. 
 
 77; 
 
 Legitimate EdEjar, 1 must have your land : 
 Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund, 
 As to the legitimate : Fine word,— legitimate ! 
 Well, ray legitimate, if this letter speed, 
 And my invention thrive, Edmund the base 
 Shall lop the legitimate. I grow ; I prosper :- 
 Now, gods, stand up for bastards ! 
 
 Enter Gloster. 
 
 G/.i.Kent l5anish'd thus! and France in choler parted! 
 And the king gone to-night ! subscrib'd his power ! 
 Confin'd to exhibition ! All this done 
 
 Upon the gad ! Edmund ! How now ; what news? 
 
 Edm. So please your lordship none. 
 
 [Putting up the letter. 
 Glo, Why so earnestly seek you to put up that let- 
 Edm. I know no news, my lord. [ter7 
 
 Gio. What paper were you reading? 
 Edm. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Gin. No \ what needed then that terrible despatch 
 of it into your pocket ? the quality of nothing hath 
 not such need to hide itself. Let's see : Come, if 
 it be nothing, I shall not need spectacles. 
 
 Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me : it is a let- 
 ter from my brother, that I have not all o'er read ; 
 for so much as I have perused, I find it not fit for 
 your o'erlooking. 
 
 Gio. Give me the letter, sir. 
 Edm. Ishalloffend.either to detain or give it. The 
 contents as in part 1 understand them, are to blame. 
 Gio. Let's see, let's see. 
 
 Edm, I hope, for my brother's justification, he 
 wrote this but as an essay or taste of my virtue. 
 
 Gio. [Beads] This poUci/, uiid reverence of age, 
 makes the world bitter to the best of our t'lnieh ; keeps 
 cur fortunes from in,, tilt o^lr oldness cannot reiish 
 them. J begin io find an idle and fond bondage in 
 the oppression af aged tiirannu ; who swrti/s, not as it 
 hath poller, but as it is suffered. Come to ?«?, that of 
 this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till 
 J waked him, yon should enjou half his revenue for 
 ever, and live the beloved of your brother Edgar — 
 Humph — Conspiracy! — Sleep till 1 waked him, — you 
 should enjoy half his revenue, — My son Edgar! Had he 
 a hand to write this 7 a heart and brain to breed it 
 in t When came this to you 1 Who brought it ? 
 
 Edm. It was not brought me, my lord ; there's the 
 cunning of it ; I found it thrown in at the casement 
 of my closet. 
 
 Gio. You know the character to be your brother's t 
 Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst 
 swear it were his ; but, in respect of that, I would 
 fain think it were not. 
 GU). It is his. 
 
 Edm. It is his hand, my lord ; but I hope, his 
 heart is not in the contents. 
 
 G/o. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in this 
 business ? 
 
 Edm. Never, my lord : But I have often heard 
 him maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age, 
 and fathers declining, the father should be as ward 
 to the son. and the son manage his revenue. 
 
 Gio. O villain, villain! — His very opinion in the 
 letter ! — Abhorred villain I Unnatural, detested, bru- 
 tish villain ! worse than brutish I — Go, sirrah, seek 
 him : I'll apprehend liim : — Abominable villain ! — 
 W^here is he 1 
 
 Edm. 1 do not well know, my lord. If it shall 
 please you to suspend vour indignation against my 
 brother, till you can derive from him better testimony 
 of his intent, you shall run a certain course ; where. 
 if you violently proceed against him, mistaking his 
 
 purpose, it would make a great gap m your own 
 honour, and shake in pieces the heaKoMiis oVie- 
 dience. I dare pawn dow'tr my--ttfcr~rorIirra, that 
 he hath writ this to feel my affection to your honour, 
 and to no other pretence of danger. 
 
 Gio. Think you so 1 
 
 Edm, If your honour judge it meet, I will place 
 you where you shall hear us confer of this, and by an 
 auricular assurance have your satisfaction ; and that 
 without any further delay than this very evening, 
 
 Gio. He cannot be such a monster. 
 
 Edm, Nor is not, sure. 
 
 Gio, To his father, that so tenderly and entirely 
 loves him. — Heaven and earth I — Edmund, seek him 
 out; wind me into him, I pray you ; frame the busi- 
 ness after your own wisdom : 1 would unstate myself, 
 to be in a due resolution. 
 
 Edm. I will seek him, sir, presently ; convey the 
 business as I shall find means, and acquaint you withal. 
 
 Gio, These late eclipses in the sun and moon por- 
 tend no good to us : Though the wisdom of nature 
 can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds itself 
 scourged by the sequent effects : love cools, friend- 
 ship falls off, brothers divide : in cities, mutinies.; in 
 countries, discord ; in palaces, treason ; and the bond 
 cracked between son and father. This villain of mine 
 comes under the prediction ; theie's son against 
 father : the king falls from bias of nature ; there's fa- 
 ther against child. W'e have seen the best of oui 
 time: Machinations, hollowness, treachery, and all 
 ruinous disorders, follow us disquietly to our graves ! 
 — Find out this villain, Edmund; it shall lose thee 
 nothing ; do it carefully : — And the noble and true- 
 hearted Kent banished! his offence, honesty! — 
 Strange! strange! [Exit. 
 
 Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world ! 
 that, when we are sick in fortune, (often the surfeit 
 of our own behaviour,) we make guilty of our disas- 
 ters, the sun, the moon, and the stars : as if we were 
 villains by necessity ; fools, by heavenly compulsion ; 
 knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spheiical predomi- 
 nance ; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, bv an en- 
 forced obedience of planetary influence ; and all that 
 we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on : An admi- 
 rable evasion of whore-master man, to lay his goatish 
 disposition to the charge of a star! My father com- 
 pounded with ray mother under the dragon's tail : 
 , and my nativity was under iwsa inajor ; so that it fol- 
 lows, I am rough and lecherous. — Tut, I should have 
 been that I am, had the maidenliest star in the fir- 
 mament twinkled on my bastardizing, Edgar — 
 
 Enter Edgar. 
 
 and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old 
 comedy : My cue is villanous melancholy, with a sigh 
 like Tom o'Bediam. — O, these eclipses do portend 
 these divisions ! fa, sol, la, mi. 
 
 Edg. How now, brother Edmund? What serious 
 contemplation are you in? 
 
 Edjn. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I read 
 this other day, what should follow these eclipses. 
 
 Edg. Do you busy yourself with that 1 
 
 Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of, suc- 
 ceed unhappily : as of unnaturalness between the 
 child and the parent; death, dearth, dissolutions of 
 ancient amities ; divisions in state, menaces and ma- 
 ledictions against king and nobles; needless diffi- 
 dences, banishment of friends, dissipation of cohorts, 
 nuptial breaches, and I know not what. 
 
 Edg. How long have you I»e.en a sectary astrono- 
 mical ! 
 
 Edm, Come, come ; when saw you my father last? 
 
774 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Edg. Why, the night gone by. 
 
 Edm, Spake you with him "! 
 
 Edg. Ay, two hours together. 
 
 Edm. Parted you in good teims ? Found you no 
 di-spleasuie in him, by word or countenance ? 
 
 Edg. None at all. 
 
 Edm. Betliink yourself, wherein you may have of- 
 fended him : and at my entreaty, forbear his presence, 
 tiU some little time hath qualitied the heat of his dis- 
 pleasure ; which at this instant so rageth in him, 
 that with the mischief of your person it would 
 scarcely allay. 
 
 Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong. 
 
 Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a continent 
 forbeaiance, till the speed of his rage goes slower; 
 and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging, from 
 whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord speak : 
 Pray you, go ; there's my key : — If you do stir abroad, 
 go armed. 
 
 Edg. Armed, brother? 
 
 Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best ; go armed ; 
 I am no honest man, if there be any good meaning 
 tow.ards you : I have told you what I have seen and 
 heard, but faintly; nothing like the image and hor- 
 ror of it: Pray you, away. 
 
 Edg. Shall I hear from you anon ? 
 
 Edm. I do serveyou in thisbusiness. — [£r. Edga R. 
 A credulous father, and a brother noble. 
 Whose nature is so far from doing haims. 
 That he suspects none ; on whose foolish honesty 
 BIy practices ride easy ! — I see the business.^ 
 Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit : 
 All with me's meet, that I can fashion 6t. [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE III. .4 i?(iom 1)1 t/ic Duke of Albany's Pa/ara. 
 Enter Gonerii. and Steward. 
 
 Goiu Did my father strike my gentleman for chid- 
 ing of his fool ? 
 
 Stew. Ay, madam. 
 
 Gon. By day and night ! he wrongs me ; every hour 
 He flashes into one gross crime or other. 
 That sets us all at odds : I'll not endure it : 
 His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us 
 On every triHe : — When he returns from hunting, 
 I will not speak with him ; say, I am sick : — ■ 
 If you Clime slack of former services, 
 You shall do well ; the fault of it I'll answer. 
 
 Utew. He's coming, madam ; I hear him. 
 
 [Horns within. 
 
 Gon, Put on what weary negligence you please, 
 You and your fellows ; I'd have it come to question : 
 If he dislike it, let him to my sister. 
 Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one, 
 Not to be over-rul'd. Idle old man. 
 That still would manage those authorities. 
 That he hath given away ! — Now, by my life. 
 Old fools are babes again ; and must be'us'd 
 With checks, as flatteries, — when they are seen abus'd. 
 Remember what I have said. 
 
 Stew. Very well, madam. [you ; 
 
 God. And let his knights have colder looks among 
 AVhdt grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellows so : 
 I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall, 
 That I may speak:— I'll write straight to my sister. 
 To hold my very course ; — Prepare for dinner. [Ex. 
 
 SCENE IV.— ^ Hall in the same. 
 
 Enter Kent, disgnised. 
 
 Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow. 
 That can ray speech diffuse, my good intent 
 
 May carry through itself to that full issue 
 Forwhich I raz'd my likeness. — Now, banish'd Kent, 
 If thou can'st serve where thou dost stand condemn'd, 
 (So may it come !) thy master, whom thou lov'st. 
 Shall tind thee fiill of labours. 
 
 Horns within. Enter Lear, Knights, and Attendants, 
 
 Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get it 
 ready. [Exit an Attendant.] How now, what art thou? 
 
 h'eiit. A man, sir. ' 
 
 Lear. What dost thou profess? What would'st thou 
 with us ? 
 
 Kent. I do profess to be no less than I seem ; to 
 serve him truly, that will put me in trust ; to love 
 him that is honest ; to converse with him that is wise, 
 and says little ; to fear judgment ; to fight, when I 
 cannot choose ; and to eat no fish. 
 
 Lear. What art thou t 
 
 Kent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor 
 as the king. 
 
 Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is for 
 a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st thou 1 
 
 Kent. Service. 
 
 Lear. Who would'st thou serve ? 
 
 Kent. You. 
 
 Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow? 
 
 Kent. No, sir ; but you have that in your counte- 
 nance, which I would fain call master. 
 
 Lear. What's that? 
 
 Kent. Authority. 
 
 Lear. ^Vhat services canst thou do ? 
 
 Kent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a 
 curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain mes- 
 sage bluntly ; that which ordinary men are fit for, I 
 am qualified in : and the best of me is diligence. 
 
 Lear. How old art thou ? 
 
 Kent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for 
 singing ; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing: I 
 have years on my back forty-eight. 
 
 Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me ; if I like 
 thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee 
 yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner. — Where's my knave t ray 
 fool ? Go you, and call my fool hither ; 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter? 
 
 Stew. So please you, — [Eaii. 
 
 Lear. What says the fellow there? Call the clot-- 
 poll back. — Where's my fool, ho? — 1 think the world's 
 asleep. — How now 1 where's that mongrel ? 
 
 Knight. He says, my lord, your daughter is not well. 
 
 Lear. Why came not the slave back to me, whea 
 I call'd him? 
 
 Kniglit. Sir, he answer'd me in the roundest man- 
 ner, he would not. 
 
 Lear. He would not ! 
 
 Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is ; 
 but, to my judgment, your highness is notcutertain'd 
 with that ceremonious aflTeciion as you were wont ; 
 there's a great abatement of kindness appears, as well 
 in the general dependants, as in the duke hhnself 
 also, and your daughter. 
 
 Lear. Ha! say'st thou so ? 
 
 Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if I 
 be mistaken : for my duly cannot be silent, when I 
 think your highness is wrong'd. 
 
 Lear. Thou but remember'st me of mine own con- 
 ception ; I have perceived a most faint neglect of 
 late ; which I have rather blamed as mine own jea- 
 lous curiosity, than as a very pretence and purpose 
 of unkindness ; I will look further into't. — But 
 where's my fool ? I have not seen him this two days. 
 
ACT L— SCENE IV. 
 
 775 
 
 Knight. Since my young lady's going into France, 
 sir, the fool hath much pined away. 
 
 Lenr. No more of that ; I have noted it well. — Go 
 you, and tell my daughter I would speak with her. 
 — Go you, call hither my fool. — 
 
 Re-enter Steward. 
 O, vou sir, you sir, come you hither: Who am I, sir? 
 
 Stew. My lady's father. 
 
 Lear. My lady's father I my lord's knave: you 
 whoreson dog I you slave ! you curl 
 
 Stew. I am none of this, my lord ; I beseech you, 
 pardon me, 
 
 Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal t 
 ' [^Striking him. 
 
 Steiv. I'll not be struck, my lord. 
 
 Kent. Nor tripped neither; you base foot-ball 
 player. [Tripping up his heels. 
 
 Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, and 
 I'll love thee. 
 
 Kent. Come, sir, arise, away; I'll teach you dif- 
 ferences ; away, away : If you will measure your 
 lubber's length again, tarry : but away : go to ; Have 
 you wisdom 1 so. [Pushes the Steward out. 
 
 Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee : 
 there's earnest of thy service. \_Giving Kent money. 
 
 Enter Fool. 
 
 Fool. Let me hire hira too; — Here's my coxcomb. 
 [Giving Kent his cap. 
 Lear* How now, my pretty knave ! how dost thou I 
 Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb. 
 Kent. Why, fool ? 
 
 FooL Why } For taking one's part that is out of 
 favour : Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind 
 sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly : 'I'here, take ray cox- 
 comb : Whv, this fellow has banish'd two of his 
 daughters, and did the third a blessing against his 
 will ; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my 
 coxcomb. — How now, nuncle 1 'Would I had two 
 coxcombs, and two daughters ! 
 Lear. Why, my boy 1 
 
 Fool, If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my 
 coxcombs myself : There's mine ; beg another of thy 
 daughters. 
 
 Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip. 
 Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel ; he must 
 be whipp'd out, when Lady, the brach, may stand by 
 the fire and stink. 
 
 Lear. A pestilent gall to me ' 
 
 Fool. Sirrah, I'll teach tliee a speech. 
 
 Lear. Do. 
 
 Fool. Mark it, nuncle : — 
 
 Have more than thou showest, 
 Speak less than thou knowest, 
 Lend less than thou owest, 
 Kide more than thou goest, 
 Learn more than thou trowest. 
 Set less than thou throwest ; 
 Leave thy drink and thy whore, 
 And keep in-a-door. 
 And thou shalt have more 
 Than two tens to a score. 
 Lear. This is nothing, fool. 
 
 Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd law- 
 yer ; you gave me nothing for't: Can you make no 
 use of nothing, nuncle 1 
 
 Lear. Why, no bov ; nothing can be made out of 
 nothing. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of his 
 land comes to; he will not believe thee. [To Kent, 
 Lear. A bitter fool ! 
 
 Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy, be- 
 tween a bitter fool and a sweet one. 
 Lear. No, lad ; teach me. 
 FooL That lord, that counsell'd thee 
 To give away thy land, 
 Come place him here by me, — 
 
 Or do thou for him stand : 
 The sweet and bitter fool 
 Will presently appear j 
 The one in motley here, 
 The other found out there. 
 Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy 1 
 Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away ; 
 that thou wast born with. 
 
 Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord. 
 Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great men will not let 
 nie ; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part 
 on't: and ladies too, they will not let me have all 
 fool to myself ; they'll be snatching. — Give me an 
 egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns. 
 Lear. What two crowns shall they be? 
 Fool. Why. after I have cut the egg i' the middle, 
 and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the e§g. 
 When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle, and gav- 
 est away both parts, thou borest thine ass on thy back 
 over the dirt : Thou hadst little wit in thy bald crown, 
 when thou gavest thy golden one away. If I speak 
 like myself in this, let him be whipp'd that first finds 
 it so. 
 
 Fools had ne'er less grace in a year; [Singing. 
 
 For wise men are grown foppish ; 
 And know 7iot how their wits to wear. 
 Their manners are so apish. 
 
 Lear. When were you wont to be so full of songs, 
 sirrah ^ 
 
 FooL I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou madest 
 thy daughters thy mother ; for when thou gavest 
 them the rod, and put'st down thine own breeches. 
 
 Then they for sudden Joy did weep, [Singing, 
 
 And I for sorrow sung, 
 That such a king sliould play bo-peep, 
 
 A7id go the fools among. 
 
 Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach 
 thy fool to lie ; I would fain learn to lie. 
 
 Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd. 
 
 FooL 1 marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters 
 are ; they'll have me whipp'd for speaking true, 
 thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying ; and, sometimes, 
 I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather 
 be any kind of thing than a fool : and yet I would 
 not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared thy wit o'both 
 sides, and left nothing in the middle : Here comes 
 one o' the paiings. 
 
 Enter Goneril. 
 
 Lear. How now, daughter? what makes that 
 frontlet on ] Methinks, you are too much of late 
 i' the frown. 
 
 FooL Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou hadst 
 no need to care for her frowning ; now tiiou art an 
 
 without a figure : I am better than thou art now : 
 
 1 am a fool, thou art nothing. — Yes, forsooth. 1 will 
 hold my tongue ; so your face [to Gon.J bids me» 
 though you say nothing. Mum, mum. 
 
 He that keeps nor crust nor cium. 
 Weary of all. shall want some. — 
 That's a sheal'd peascod. [Pointing tn Lear. 
 
 Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool. 
 But other of your insolent retinue 
 Do hourly carp and quarrel ; bieaking forth 
 
776 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir, 
 
 I had thought, by making this well known unto you, 
 
 To have found a safe redress ; but now grow fearful. 
 
 By what yourself too late have spoke and done, 
 
 That you protect this course, and put it on 
 
 By your allowance ; which, if you should, the fault 
 
 Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep ; 
 
 Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal, 
 
 Might in their working do you that offence, 
 
 Wliich else were shame, that then necessity 
 
 Will call discreet proceeding. 
 
 Foot. For you trow, nuncle, 
 The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long-, 
 That it had its head bit off by its young. 
 So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling. 
 
 Lear. Are you our daughter I 
 
 Gon. Come, sir, I would you would make use of 
 that good wisdom whereof I know you are fraught ; 
 and put away these dispositions, which of late trans- 
 form you from what you rightly are. 
 
 Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws 
 the horse 1 — Whoop, Jug I I love thee. 
 
 Lear. Does any here know me ? — Why this is not 
 Lear: does Lear walk thus? speak thus? Where 
 are his eyes 1 Either his notion weakens, or his dis- 
 cernings are lethargied. — Sleeping or waking 1 — Ha! 
 sure 'tis not so. — Who is it that can tell me who I 
 am ? — Lear's shadow 1 I would learn that ; for by 
 the marks of sovereignty, knowledge, and reason, I 
 should be false persuaded 1 had daughters.— 
 
 Fool. Which they will make an obedient father. 
 
 Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman ? 
 
 Gon. Come, sir ; 
 This admiration is much o' the favour 
 Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you 
 To understand my purposes aright : 
 As you are old and reverend, you should be wise : 
 Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires ; 
 Men so disoider'd, so debauch'd and bold. 
 That this our court, infected with their manners, 
 Shews like a riotous inn : epicurism and lust 
 Make it more like a tavern or a brotliel. 
 Than a grac'd palace. The shame itself doth speak 
 For instant remedy : Be then desir'd 
 By her, that else will take toe thing she begs, 
 A little to disquantity your train ; 
 And the remainder, that sliall still depend, 
 To be such men as may besort your age. 
 And know themselves and you. 
 
 Lear. Darkness and devils ! — 
 
 Saddle my horses ; call my train together, — 
 Degenerate bastard ! I'll not trouble thee ; 
 Yet have I left a daughter. 
 
 Gon. You strike my people ; and your disorder'd 
 Make servants of their betters. [rabble 
 
 E/iter Albany. 
 
 Lear, Woe, that too late repents, — O, sir, are you 
 comel [horses. 
 
 Is it your wilM [To Alb.] Speak, sir.— Prepare ray 
 Ingratitude ! thou marble-hearted fiend. 
 More liideous, when thou shew'st thee in a child, 
 Than the sea-monster ! 
 , Alb. Pray, sir, be patient. 
 
 Lear. Detested kite ! thou liest : [To Goneril. 
 My train are men of choice and rarest parts, 
 That all particulars of duty know ; 
 And in tne most exact regard support 
 The worships of their name. — O most small fault, 
 How ugly didst thou in Cordelia shew ! 
 Which, like an engine, wrench'd my frame of nature 
 From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all love, 
 
 And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear ! 
 Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, 
 
 [Striking his head. 
 And thy dear judgment out ! — Go, go, my people. 
 
 Alb. My lord, 1 am guiltless, as I am ignorant 
 Of what hath mov'd you. 
 
 Lear. It may be so, my lord — Hear, nature, hear; 
 Dear goddess, hear ! Suspend thy purpose, if 
 Thou didst intend to make this creature fruittul ! 
 Into her womb convey sterility ! 
 Dry up in her the organs of increase ; 
 And from her derogate body never spring 
 A babe to honour her 1 If she must teem, 
 Create her child of spleen ; that it may live, 
 And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her ! 
 Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ; 
 With cadent tears fret channels in her cheeks ; 
 Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits, 
 To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel 
 How siiarper than a serpent's tooth it is 
 To have a thankless child ! — Away, away I [Eji'f. 
 
 Alb. Now, gods, thatwe adore, whereof comes this"! 
 
 Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause ; 
 But let his disposition have that scope 
 That dotage gives it. 
 
 Tte-enter Lear. 
 
 Lear. What, fifty of my followers, at a clap \ 
 Within a fortnight "! 
 
 Alb. What's the matter, sir? 
 
 Lear. I'll tell thee ; — Life and death f lamasham'd 
 That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus : 
 
 [To GONI.HIL. 
 
 That these hot tears, which break from me perforce. 
 Should make thee worth them. — Blasts and fogs upon 
 The untented woundings of a father's curse (thee \ 
 Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes, 
 Beweep this cause again, I'll pluck you out ; 
 And cast you, with the waters tliat you lose, 
 To tempei clay. — Ha ! is it come to this ? 
 Let it be so : — Yet have I left a daughter. 
 Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable ; 
 When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails 
 She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find. 
 That I'll resume the shape which thou dost think 
 I have cast off for ever ; thou shalt, I warrant thee. 
 [Liflunt Lfar, Kent, and Attendants. 
 Gon. Do you mark that, my lord \ 
 Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril, 
 To the great love I bear you, — 
 
 Gon. Pray you content. — What, Oswald, ho! 
 You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master 
 
 [To the Fool. 
 Font. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and lake 
 the fool with thee. 
 
 A fo.K, when one has caught her, 
 And such a daughter, 
 Should sure to tlie slaughter, 
 If my cap would buy a halter. 
 So the fools follow after. [T.iit. 
 
 Gon. Tins man hath had good counsel : — A liun- 
 dred knights ! 
 'Tis politic, and safe, to let him keep 
 Atpointa hundred knights. Yes, that on every dream, 
 Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike. 
 He may enguard his dotage with their powers, 
 And hold our lives in mercy. — Oswald, 1 say ! — 
 Alb. Well, you may fear too far. 
 Gon. Safer than trusi: 
 
 Let me still take away the harms I fear, 
 Not fear still to be taken. 1 know his heart: 
 What he hath utter'd, 1 have writ my sister; 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 777 
 
 If she sustain him and his hundred knights, [waldl 
 When I have shew'd the unfitness. — How now, Os- 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 What, have you writ that letter to my sister^ 
 
 Slew. Ay, madam. 
 
 Giyti. Take you some company, and away to horse : 
 Inform her full of my particular fear ; 
 And thereto add such reasons of your own, 
 As may compact it more. Get you gone ; 
 And hasten your return. [£ji(Stew.J No, no, my 
 This milky gentleness, and course of yours, [lord, 
 Thout;h I condemn it not, yet, under pardon. 
 You are much more attask'd tor want of wisdom, 
 Than prais'd for harmful mildness. 
 
 Alb, How far your eyes may pierce, T cannot tell ; 
 Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. 
 
 Gon. Nay, then — 
 
 Atb. Well, well ; the event. [Eieinit. 
 
 SCENE V,— Court before the same. 
 Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 
 
 Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these letters : 
 acquaint my daughter no further with any thing you 
 know, than comes from her demand out of the letter: 
 If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be there be- 
 fore you. 
 
 Kent. I will not sleep, ray lord, till I have deli- 
 vered your letter. \_Exit, 
 
 Fool. If a man's brains were in his heels, were't 
 act in danger of kibes? 
 
 Lear, Ay, boy. 
 
 Fool. Then, 1 pr'ythee, be merry ; thy wit shall 
 not go slip-shod. 
 
 LeaY. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Fool. Shalt see thy other daughter will use thee 
 Rindly : for though she's as like this as a crab is like 
 an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell. 
 
 Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy ? 
 
 Fool. She will taste as like this, as a crab does to 
 a crab. Thou canst tell, why one's nose stands i'the 
 middle of his face ? 
 
 Lear. No, 
 
 Fool. Why, to keep his eyes on either side his nose ; 
 that what a man cannot smell out, he may spy into. 
 
 Lear. I did her wrong : — 
 
 Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell 1 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Fool. Nor I neither; but I can tell why a snail 
 has a house. 
 
 Lear. \\\\y "! 
 
 Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give it away 
 to his daughters, and leave his horns without a case. 
 
 Lear. I will forget my nature. — So kind a father ! 
 — Be my horses ready ? 
 
 Fool. 'I'hy asses ai e gone about 'era. The reason 
 why the seven stars are no more than seven, is a 
 pretty reason. 
 
 X-ear. Because they are not eight? 
 
 Fool. Yes, indeed: Thou wouldest make a good fool. 
 
 Lear. To take it again perforce ! — Monster ingra- 
 titude ! 
 
 Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee 
 beaten for being old before thy time. 
 
 Lear. How's that ? 
 
 Fo-d. Thou should'st not have been old, before 
 thou Itadst been wise. 
 
 Leur, O let me not be mad. not mad, sweet heaven! 
 Keep me in temper ; I would not be mad ! 
 
 Enter Gentleman. 
 How now ! are the horses ready 1 
 
 Gent. Ready, my lord. 
 
 Lear. Come, boy. [parture. 
 
 Fool. She that is maid now, and laughs at my de- 
 Shall not be a maid long, unless things be cut shorter. 
 
 \Eieuiit, 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE L—A Court within the Castle of the 
 Earl of Gloster. , 
 
 Enter Edmund and Cup.an, meeting. 
 
 Edm, Save thee, Curan. 
 
 Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your father , 
 and given him notice, that the duke of Cornwall, and 
 Regan his duchess, will be here with him to-night. 
 
 Edm. How comes that ] 
 
 Cur. Nay, I know not: You have heard of the 
 news abroad ; I mean, the whispered ones, for they 
 are yet but ear-kissing arguments ? 
 
 Edm. Not I ; 'Pray you, what are they ? 
 
 Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars towaid, 
 'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany ? 
 
 Edm. Not a word. 
 
 Cur. You may then, in time. Fare you well, sir. [Er. 
 
 E(/w. The duke be here to night? The better! Best! 
 This weaves itself perforce into my businsss ! 
 My father hath set guard to take my brother ; 
 And I have one thing, of a queazy question, 
 W hich I must act :— Briefness, and fortune, work 1 — 
 Brother, a word ; — descend : — Brother, I say ; 
 
 Enter Edcau. 
 My father watches : — O sir, fly this place ; 
 Intelligence is given where you are hid ; 
 You have now the good advantage of the nit^ht : — 
 Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall ? 
 He's coming hither ; now, i' the nigh*, i' tlie haste, 
 And Regan with him ; Have you nothing said 
 Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany ? 
 Advise yourself. 
 
 Edg, I am sure on't, not a word. 
 
 Edm. I hear my father coming, — Pardon me :^ 
 In cunning, 1 must draw my sword upon you : — 
 Draw : Seem to defend yourself : Now quit you well, 
 \ ield : come before my father ; — Light, ho, here ! — 
 Fly, brother; — Torches! torches! — So, farewell.^ 
 
 [E.iif Edgau. 
 Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion 
 
 [ Wounds his arm. 
 Of more fierce endeavour : I have seen drunkards 
 Do more than this in sport. — Father ! father ! 
 Stop, stop 1 No help? 
 
 Enter Gloster and Servants with torches. 
 
 Glo, Now, Edmund, where's the villain? 
 
 Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword cut, 
 Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon 
 To stand his auspicious mistress : — 
 
 ^''"' _ But where is he ? 
 
 Edm. Look, sir, I bleed. 
 
 Gla. Where is the villain. Edmund ? 
 
 Edm, Fled this way, sir. When by no means lie 
 could — 
 
 Gh. Pursue him, ho! — Go after. — [£ait Serv.j 
 By no means. — what \ 
 
 Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your lordship • 
 But that I told him, the revengmg gods 
 'Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend ; 
 Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond 
 The child was bound to the father ; — Sir, in fine, 
 .'^eeing how loathly opposite 1 stood 
 
77< 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion. 
 
 With his prepared sword, lie charges home 
 
 Wy unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm : 
 
 But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits. 
 
 Bold in the quarrel's right, roused to the encounter, 
 
 Or whether pasted by the noise I made, 
 
 Full suddenly he fled. _ 
 
 Qlo, Let him fly far : 
 
 Not in this land shall he remain uncaught ; 
 And found— Despatch—The noble duke my master, 
 Bly worthy arch and patron, comes to-night: 
 By his authority I will proclaim it, 
 That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks. 
 Bringing the murderous coward to the stake ; 
 He, that conceals him, death. .... , 
 
 Eitm When I dissuaded him from his intent 
 And found him pight to do it, with curst speech 
 1 threaten'd to discover him : He replied. 
 Thou vnpossessiiig basutrd! dosl thou thmk. 
 If I uould stand agaimt thee, would the reposal 
 Of unii trust, viitue, or worth, in thee 
 HLke'th, words faith'd? Ko : what I should deny, 
 (As this'I would; ay. though thou didst produce 
 Mu veru character,) I 'd turn it all 
 To thii 'suggestion, plot, and damned practice: 
 And thou must make a dullard of the world, 
 Iftheu not thought the profits of my death 
 iVere'veru pregnant and potential spurs 
 
 To make thee seek it, , , . .j •ii.,;„ i 
 
 0,„ Strong and fasten d villain ! 
 
 Would he deny his letter 1-1 never got him. 
 
 ■" [Trumpets withui 
 
 Hark the dnke's trumpets! Iknow notwhyhecomes: 
 
 All ports I'll bar ; the villain shall not scape • 
 
 The duke must grant me that : besides. Ins picture 
 
 I will send far and near, that all the kingdom 
 
 May have due note of him ; and of my land. 
 
 Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means 
 
 To' make thee capable. 
 
 Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant 
 So much commend itself, you shall be ours ; 
 Natures of such deep trust we shall much need ; 
 You we first seize on. 
 
 Erf,,,. I shall serve you, sir. 
 
 Truly, however else. 
 
 c/o. For hini 1 thank your grace. 
 
 Corn. You know not why we came to visit you,— 
 
 i?cg. Thus outof season ; threading dark-eyed night. 
 Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize. 
 Wherein we must have use of your advice :— 
 Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister. 
 Of differences, which I best thought it fit 
 To answer from our home ; the several messengers 
 From hence attend despatch. Our good old fnend. 
 Lay comforts to your bosom ; and bestow 
 Your needful counsel to our business. 
 Which craves the instant use. 
 
 Q, I serve you, madam : 
 
 Your graces are right welcome. [E.reimt. 
 
 Enter Cornwall, Krc.iN, and Attendants. 
 
 Corn. How now.my noble friendl since I camehither, 
 AVhich 1 can call but now, ) 1 have heard strange news. 
 
 Jiec If it be true, all vengeance comes too short 
 Whicli can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord? 
 
 Gto. O. madam, my old heart is crack d is crack d 
 
 Keg. What, did my father's godson seek your lifel 
 Hewhommy father nam'dl your Edgar ! 
 
 Gh. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid ! 
 
 Be^. Was he not com panion witli the riotous knights 
 
 That'tendupon my fatlierl 
 
 Ql^ I know not, madam : 
 
 It is too bad, too bad. — 
 
 jTrf,,, Yes, madam, he was. 
 
 Ef.^. 'No marvel then, though he were ill afi-ected; 
 
 'Tis they have put him on the old man s death, 
 
 To have the waste and spoil of his revenues. 
 
 1 have this present evening from my sister 
 
 Been well inform d of them ; and with such cautions, 
 
 That, if they come to sojourn at ray house, 
 
 I'll not be there. 
 
 Corn Nor I, assure thee, Regan.— 
 
 Edmund. I hear that you have shewn your father 
 
 A child-like office. 
 
 Edm. 'Twas my duty, sir. 
 
 . Glo He did bewray his practice ; and receiv d 
 
 This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him. 
 
 Co™. Is he pursued 1 j , j l„ ;, 
 
 p. Ay, my good lord, he is. 
 
 Co"r'u If he be taken, he "shall never more 
 Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own purpose 
 How in my strength you please.-For you. Edmund, 
 
 SCENE II. — Before Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Kent and Steward, severally. 
 Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend: Art of the 
 7.- . A„ rhouseJ 
 
 Kent. Ay. i ■> 
 
 Stew. Where may we set our horses T 
 Kent. I'the mire. 
 
 Stew. Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me. 
 Kent. I love thee not. 
 Stew. Why, then I care not for thee. 
 Kent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would 
 
 make thee care for me. , , , , . 
 
 Stew. Why dost thou use me thus 1 I know thee not. 
 
 Kent. Fellow, 1 know thee. 
 
 i'teio. What dost thou know me fori 
 
 Kent A knave ; a rascal , an eater of broken meat ; 
 a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hun- 
 dred-pound, filthy worsted-stocking knave ; a lily- 
 liver'd, action-taking knave; a whorson, glass-gazing, 
 superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheritm^ 
 slave ; one that would'st be a bawd, in way of good 
 service, and art nothing but the composition of a 
 knave be-^ear, coward, pander, and the son and heir 
 of a mongrel bitch: one whom I will beat into cla- 
 morous whining, if thou deny'st the least syllable of 
 thy addition. , „ _, . 
 
 Stew Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou, thus 
 to rail on one, that is neither known of thee, nor 
 
 knows theel , i » j 
 
 Kent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou to deny 
 thou know'st mel Is it two days ago, since I tripp d 
 up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king 1 Draw, 
 you rogue : for, though it be night, the moon shines 
 I'll make a sop o'the moonshine of you : Draw, yoi 
 whorson cullionly barber-monger, draw. 
 
 [Drawing his sword 
 Stew. Away ; I have nothing to do with thee. 
 Kent. Draw, you rascal : you come with letter 
 aeainst the king, and take vanity the puppet s part 
 against the royalty of her father : Draw, you rogue 
 or I'll so carbonado your shanks :— draw, you rascal 
 come your ways. , . , , , 
 
 Stew. Help, ho! murder! help! 
 Kent Strike, you slave; stand, rogue, stand ; yo' 
 neat slave, strike. ^ IBeatmg hm 
 
 Stew. Help, ho! murder! murder! 
 
 Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Glosteb, 
 
 and Servants. 
 Edm How now'! What's the matter T Part. 
 Kent. With you, goodmao boy, if yoti please 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 779 
 
 come, I'll flesh you ; come on, young master. 
 
 Glo. Weapons ! arms ! What's the matter here ^ 
 
 Coin. Keep peace, upon your lives : 
 He dies, that strikes again : What is the matter! 
 
 Ki^^. Tlie messengers from our sister and the king. 
 
 Coin. What is your difference 1 speak. 
 
 Slew. I am scarce in breath, my lord. 
 
 Kent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your va- 
 lour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee ; 
 a tailor made thee. 
 
 CiJH. Thou art a strange fellow : a tailor make a 
 man ! 
 
 • Kent. Ay, a tailor, sir; a stonecutter, or a painter, 
 could not have made him so ill, though they had been 
 but two hours at the trade. 
 
 Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel 1 
 
 Steu-. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have 
 At suit of his grey beard, — [spar'd 
 
 Kent. Thou whoreson zed ! thou unnecessary letter ! 
 — My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this 
 unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a 
 Jakes with him— .Spare my greybeard, you wagtail! 
 
 C.irn, Peace, sirrah ! 
 Vou beastly knave, know you no reverence! 
 
 Kent. Yes, sir ; but anger has a privilege. 
 
 Corn. Why art thou angry! 
 
 Kent. That such a slave as this should wear a sword, 
 Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as these. 
 Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain 
 Which are too intrinse t'unloose : smooth every pas- 
 That in the natures of their lords rebels ; fsion 
 
 Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ; 
 Renege, affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks 
 With every gale and vary of their masters, 
 As knowing nought, like dogs, but following. — 
 A plague upon your epileptic visage ! 
 Smile you my speeches, as 1 were a fool ! 
 Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain, 
 I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot. 
 
 Co™. What, art thou mad, old fellow!, 
 
 GIk. How fell you out ! 
 
 Say that. 
 
 Kent, No contraries hold more antipatliy. 
 Than I and such a knave. 
 
 Corn. Why dost thou call him knave ! What's his 
 
 Kent. His countenance likes me not, [offence ! 
 
 Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or 
 
 Kent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain ; [hers. 
 £ have seen better faces in my time. 
 Than stands on any shoulder that I see 
 Before me at this instant. 
 
 Corn. This is some fellow. 
 
 Who having been prais'd for bluntness, dotff affect 
 A saucy roughness ; and constrains the garb, 
 Quite from his nature ; He cannot flatter, he ! — 
 An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth ; 
 An they will take it, so ; if not, he's plain. 
 These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness 
 Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends. 
 Than twenty silly ducking observants, 
 That stretch tlieir duties nicely. 
 
 Kent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity. 
 Under the allowance of your grand asji^ct. 
 Whose influence like the wreath of radiant fire 
 On tiickeriug Phoebus front, — 
 
 Corn. What mean'st by this ! 
 
 Kent. To go out of my dialect, which vou discom- 
 mend so much. I know, sir. I am no flatterer: he 
 that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain knave: 
 which, for my part, I will not be, though I should 
 win your displeasure to entreat me to it. 
 Coin. What was the ofl'ence you gave him ! 
 
 Sten: Never any: 
 
 It pleas'd the king his master, very late. 
 To strike at me, upon his misconstruction ; 
 ^Vhen he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure, 
 Tripp'd me behind : being down, insulted, rail'd, 
 .And put upon him such a deal of man. 
 That worthy 'd him, got praises of the king 
 For him attempting who was self-subdu'd ; 
 .And, in the fieshment of this dread exploit, 
 Drew on me here. 
 
 Kent. None of these rogues, and cowards, 
 
 But .Ajax is their fool. 
 
 Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho ! 
 
 You stubborn ancient knave, you reverent braggart, 
 We'll teach you — 
 
 Kent. Sir, T am too old to learn : 
 
 Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ; 
 On whose employment I was sent to you : 
 You shall do small respect, shew too bold malice 
 Against the grace and person of my master, 
 Stocking his messenger. 
 
 Coi-n. Fetch forth the stocks : 
 
 As I've life and honour, there shall he sit till noon. 
 Reg. Till noon! tillnight, my lord ; and all night 
 
 too. 
 Kent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog. 
 You should not use me so. 
 
 Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will. 
 
 [.S'(oc/v5 hrouglit out. 
 Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour 
 Our sister speaks of :— Come, bring away the stocks. 
 
 Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so : 
 His fault is much, and the good king his master 
 Will check him for't: your purpos'd low correction 
 Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches. 
 For pilferings and most common trespasses, 
 .Are punish'd with ; the king must take it ill. 
 That he's so slightly valued in his messenger, 
 Should have him thus restrain'd. 
 
 Corn. I'll answer that. 
 
 Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse. 
 To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted. 
 For following her affairs. — Put in his legs. — 
 
 [Kent is put in the stocks. 
 Come, my good lord ; away. 
 
 [Exeunt Regan and Cornwall, 
 Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the duke's 
 pleasure. 
 Whose disposition all the world well knows. 
 Will not be rubb'd. nor stopp'd : I'll entreat for thee. 
 Kent. Pray, do not, sir; 1 have watch'd and tra- 
 vell'd hard ; 
 Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle. 
 .A good man's foitune may grow out at heels -. 
 Give you good morrow ! 
 
 Glo. The duke's to blame in this ; 'twill be ill 
 
 taken. [E.ut. 
 
 Kent. Good king, that must approve the common 
 
 Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st [saw ! 
 
 To the warm sun ! 
 
 Approach, thou beacon, to this under globe. 
 That by thy comfortable beams I may 
 Peruse this letter ! Nothing almost sees miracles. 
 But misery :— I know, 'tis from Cordelia ; 
 Who hath most fortunately been inform 'd 
 Of my obscured course ; and shall find time 
 From this enormous state, — seeking to give 
 Losses their remedies: — All weary and o'er-watch'd, 
 Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold 
 This shameful lodging. 
 
 Fortune, good night ; smile once more ; turn thy 
 wheel ! [We sleeps. 
 
780 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 • SCENE III.— .4 Fart of the Heath. 
 Enter Edcak. 
 
 Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd ; 
 And, by the happy hollow of a tree, 
 Escap'd the hunt. No port is free ; no place, 
 That guard, and most unusual vigilance. 
 Does not attend my taking. While 1 may scape, 
 I will preserve myself : and ain bethought 
 To take the basest and most poorest shape, 
 That ever penury, in contempt of man. 
 Brought near to beast: my face I'll grime with filth ; 
 Blanket ray loins ; elf all my hair in knots; 
 And with presented nakedness out-face 
 The winds, and persecutions of the sky. 
 The country gives me proof and precedent 
 Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices. 
 Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms 
 Pins, wooden pricks, nails, sprigs of rosemary ; 
 And with this horrible object, from low farms. 
 Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes, and mills. 
 Sometime with lunatic bans, sometime with prayers. 
 
 Enforce their charity Poor Turlygood ! poor J'om ! 
 
 That's something yet; — Edgar I nothing am. lExit. 
 
 SCENE IV.— Bc/orc Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Leah, Fool, and Gentleman. 
 
 Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart from 
 And not send back my messenger. [home, 
 
 Gent. As 1 learn'd. 
 
 The night before there was no purpose in them 
 Of this remove, 
 
 Kent. Hail to thee, noble master ! 
 
 Lear. How ! 
 Wak'st thou this shame thy pastime 1 
 
 Kent. No, my lord. 
 
 Fml. Ha, ha; look! he wears cruel garters ! Horses 
 aie tied by the he,ids ; dogs, and bears, by the neck ; 
 monkies by the loins, and men by the legs : when a 
 man is over-lusty at legs, then he wears wooden ne- 
 ther-stocks. 
 
 Lear. What's he, that hath so much thy place mis- 
 To set thee here 'i [took 
 
 Kent. It is both he and she, 
 
 Your son and daughter. 
 
 Lear. No. 
 
 Kent. Yes. 
 
 Lear. No, I say. 
 
 Kent. I say, yea. 
 
 Lear. No, no ; tliey would not. 
 
 Kent. Yes, they have. 
 
 Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no. 
 
 Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay. 
 
 Lear. They durst not do't ; 
 They could not, would not do't ; 'tis worse than mur- 
 To do upon respect such violent outrage : [der. 
 
 Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way 
 Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage. 
 Coming from us. 
 
 Kent. My lord, when at their home 
 
 I did commend your highness' letters to them. 
 Ere I was risen from the place that shew'd 
 My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post, 
 Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth 
 From Goneril his mistress, salutations ; 
 Deliver'd letters, S[>ite of intermission, 
 Which presently they read ; on whose contents 
 They sumnion'd up their meiny, straiglit took horse ; 
 Commanded me to follow, and attend 
 The leisure of their answer ; gave me cold looks : 
 And meeting here the other messenger, 
 
 Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine, 
 (Being the very fellow that of late 
 Display'd so saucily against your highness,) 
 Having more man than wit about me, drew ; 
 He rais'd the house with loud and coward cries : 
 Your son and daughter found this trespass worth 
 The shame wliich here it sutfers. 
 
 Fool. Winter's not gone yet, if the wild geese fly 
 Fathers, that wear rags, [that way. 
 
 Do make their children blind ; 
 But fathers, that bear bags. 
 
 Shall see their children kind. 
 Fortune, that arrant whore. 
 Ne'er turns tlie key to the poor. — 
 But. for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours 
 for thy daughters, as thou canst tell in a year. 
 
 Lear. O, how this mother swells up toward my heart! 
 Hysterica jnissio! — down, thou climbing sorrow. 
 Thy element's below! — Where is this daughter? 
 Kent. AVith the earl, sir, here within. 
 Lear. Follow me not; 
 
 Stay here. [fjK. 
 
 Gent. Made you no more offence than wdiat you 
 Kent. None. [speak of ? 
 
 How chance the king comes with so small a train ? 
 
 Fool. An thou hadst been set i'the stocks for thai 
 question, thou hadst well deserved it. 
 Kent. Why, fool ? 
 
 Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teach 
 thee there's no labouring in the winter. Ail that 
 follow their noses are led by their eyes, but blind 
 men ; and there's not a nose among twenty, but can 
 smell him that's stinking. Let go thy hold, when a 
 great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck 
 with following it ; but the great one that goes up tlie 
 hill, let him draw thee after. When a wise man giv '-s 
 thee better counsel, give me mine again: I would have 
 none but knaves follow it, since a fool gives it. 
 That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain. 
 
 And follows but for form, 
 "VVill pack, when it begins to rain, 
 
 And leave thee in the storm. ,'* 
 
 But I will tarry ; the fool will stay. 
 
 And let the wise man fly : f 
 
 The knave turns fool, that runs away ; 
 The fool no knave, perdy. 
 A'ciit. Where learn'd you this, foon 
 Foot, Not i' the stocks, fool. 
 
 Re-enter Lear, with Gloster. 
 
 Lear. Deny to speak with me t They are sick 1 they 
 are weary ? 
 They have travell'd hard to-night? Mere fetches 
 The images of revolt and flying off! 
 i'etch me a better answer. 
 
 Glo. My de.tr lord. 
 
 You know the fiery quality of the duke ; 
 How unremoveable and fix'd he is 
 In his own course. 
 
 Lear, ^'engeance ! plague! death! confusion! — 
 Fiery? what quality? why, Gloster, Glostei, 
 I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife. 
 
 Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd ihem so. 
 
 Lear. Inform'd them! Dost thou understand me, 
 
 Glo. Ay, my good lord. [nian ? 
 
 Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the 
 
 dear fatlier [vice • 
 
 Would with his daughter speak, commands her sei- 
 
 Are they inform'd of this ? My breath and blood !— 
 
 Fiery? the fiery duke? — Tell the hot duke, that — - 
 No, but not yet : — may be, he is not well : 
 Infirmity doth still neglect all office. 
 
ACT II. —SCENE IV. 
 
 781 
 
 Whereto our health is bound ; we aie not ourselves, 
 When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind 
 To suffer with the body : I'll forbear ; 
 And am fallen out with my more headier will. 
 To take the indispos'd and sickly fit 
 For the sound mao.— Death on my state ! wherefore 
 [Lotiking on Kent. 
 Should he sit here 1 This act persuades me, 
 That this reraotion of the duke and her 
 Is practice only. Give me my servant forth : 
 Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them, 
 Now, presently ; bid them come. forth and hear me, 
 Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum, 
 Till it cry — Sleep to death. 
 
 Gio. I'd have all well betwixt you. [Ejit. 
 
 Lear. rae, my heart, my rising heart! — but, down. 
 
 Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the 
 eels, when she put them i' the paste alive ; siie rapp'd ■ 
 'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, Down, 
 wantons, down : 'Twas her brother, that, in pure kind- 
 oess to his horse, butter'd his hay. 
 
 £nter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants. 
 
 Lear. Good monow to you both. 
 
 Corn. Hail to your grace ! 
 
 [Kent is set at iihertit. 
 
 Reg. I am glad to see your highness. 
 
 Lear, Regan, 1 think you are ; 1 know what reason 
 I have to think so : if thou should'st not be glad, 
 I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb, 
 Sepiilch'ring an adultress. — O, are you free ? 
 
 [To Kent. 
 Some other time for that. — Beloved Regan, 
 Thy sister's naught : O Regan, she hath tied 
 Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture, here, — 
 
 [Pi'ijits ((» his heart. 
 I can scarce speak to thee ; thou'lt not believe. 
 Of how deprav'd a quality — O Regan ! 
 
 Heg. I pray you, sir, take patience ; I have hope, 
 You less know how to value her desert, 
 Than she to scant her duty. 
 
 Lear. Say, how is that? 
 
 Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least 
 Would fail her obligation : If, sir, perchance, 
 She have restrain'd the riots of your followers, 
 'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end. 
 As clears her from all blame. 
 
 Lear. My curses on her ! 
 
 Reg. 0, sir, you are old ; 
 
 Nature in you stands on the very verge 
 Of her confine : you should be rul'd. and led 
 By some discretion, that discerns your state 
 Better than you yourself : Therefore, I pray you, 
 That to our sister you do make return : 
 Say, you have wrong'd her, sir. 
 
 Lear. Ask her forgiveness ? 
 
 Do you but mark how this becomes the house ? 
 Dear daughter, 1 confess that I am old; 
 Age is unnecessary • on my knees I hpg, [Kneeling. 
 TJuit you II vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food, 
 
 Reg. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly tricks : 
 Keturn you to my sister. 
 
 Lear. Never, Regan : 
 
 She hath abated me of half my train ; 
 Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue, 
 I\Iost serpent-like, upon the very iieart ; — 
 All the stor'd venge'inces of heaven fall 
 On her ingrateful top ! Strike her young bones, 
 'Vou taking airs, with lameness ! 
 
 Corn. Fye, fyc, fye ! 
 
 Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding 
 Into her scornful eyes '. Infect her beauty, [flames 
 
 You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
 To fall and blast her pride ! 
 
 Reg. O the blest gods . 
 
 So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on. 
 
 Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse; 
 Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
 Thee o'er to harshness ; her eyes are fierce, but thine 
 Do comfort, and not burn : 'Tis not in thee 
 To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train. 
 To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes. 
 And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
 fVgainst my coming in : thou better know'st 
 The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 
 Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ; 
 Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot, 
 \\' herein I thee endow'd. 
 
 Reg. Good sir, to the purpose. 
 
 [Trumpets uitliin, 
 
 Lear, Who put my man i' the stocks ? 
 
 Cortt. What trumpet's that? 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 
 Reg. I know't, my sister's : this approves her letter. 
 That she would soon be here. — Is your lady come 1 
 
 Lear. This is a slave, whose easy-borrow'd pride 
 Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows : — 
 Out, varlet, from my sight ! 
 
 Corn. What means your graced 
 
 Lear. Who stock'dmyservantl Regan, I have good 
 
 hope [heavens. 
 
 Thou didst not know of 't. — Who comes here I 0, 
 
 Enter Gonehil. 
 If you do love old men, if your sweet sway 
 Allow obedience, if yourselves are old, 
 iNIake it your cause ; send down, and take my part ! — 
 Art not asham'd to look upon this beard 1 — 
 
 [To GONEBIL. 
 
 O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ? 
 
 Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I of- 
 All's not offence, that indiscretion finds, [fended'! 
 And dotage terms so. 
 
 Lear. 0, sides, you are too tough ! 
 
 Will you yet hold 7 — How came my man i' the stocks? 
 
 Corn. I set him there, sir : but his own disorders 
 Deserv'd much less advancement. 
 
 Lear. You ! did you 1 
 
 Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so. 
 If, till the expiration of your month. 
 You will return and sojourn with my sister. 
 Dismissing half your train, come then to me ; 
 I am now from home, and out of that provision 
 Which shall be needful for your entertainment. 
 
 Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'dl 
 Xo, rather 1 abjure all roofs, and choose 
 To wage against the enmity o' the air ; 
 ■fo be a comrade with the wolf and owl, — 
 Necessity's sharp pinch ! — Return with her? 
 Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took 
 Our youngest born, I could as well be brought 
 To knee his throne, and, squire-like, pension beg 
 To keep base life afoot : — Return with her ? 
 Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 
 To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steivard. 
 
 Goji. At your choice, sii". 
 
 Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad; 
 I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell : 
 \\ e'll no more meet, no more see one another : — 
 Rut yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter ; 
 Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh. 
 W hich I must needs call mine ; thou art a boil, 
 A plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle. 
 In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee ; 
 
782 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Let shame come when it will, I do not call it : 
 I do not bid the thundet-bearer shoot, 
 Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove : 
 Mend, vihen thou canst ; be better, at thy leisure : 
 1 can be patient ; I can stay with Regan, 
 I, and my hundred knights. 
 
 Reg. Not altogether so, sir ; 
 
 I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided 
 For your fit welcome : Give ear, sir, to my sister ; 
 For those that mingle reason with your passion, 
 Must be content to think you old, and so — 
 But she knows what she does. 
 
 Leai; Is this well spoken now 1 
 
 Reg. I dare avouch it, sir : What, fifty followers? 
 Is it not well ? U'hat should you need of more t 
 Yea, or so many ? sith that both charge and danger 
 Speak 'gainst so great a number T How, in one house. 
 Should many people, under two commands. 
 Hold amity 1 'Tis hard ; almost impossible. 
 
 Gon. Why might not you , my lord, receive attendance 
 From those that she calls servants, or from mine ? 
 Reg. Why not, my lord ! If then they chanc'd to 
 slack you. 
 We could control them : If you will come to me, 
 (For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you 
 To bring but five and twenty ; to no more 
 Will I give place, or notice. 
 Lear. I gave you all — 
 
 Reg, And in good time you gave it. 
 
 Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries ; 
 But kept a reservation to be follow'd 
 With such a number : What, must I come to you 
 "With five and twenty, Regan 1 said you so ? 
 
 Reg. And speak it again, my lord; no more with me. 
 Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well fa- 
 vour'd. 
 When others are more wicked ; not being the worst. 
 Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ; 
 
 [To GoNEniL. 
 Thy fifty yet doth double five and twenty. 
 And thou art twice her love. 
 
 Gon. Hear me, my lord ; 
 
 What need you five and twenty, ten, or five. 
 To follow in a house, where twice so many 
 Have a command to tend you 1 
 
 Reg. What need one t 
 
 Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggars 
 Are in the poorest thing superfluous : 
 Allow not nature more than nature needs, 
 Man's life is cheap as beast's: thou art a lady ; 
 If only to go warm were gorgeous. 
 Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st, 
 Which scarcely keeps thee warm. — liut, for true need. 
 You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need ! 
 You see me here, you gods, a poor old man. 
 As full of grief as age ; wretched in both ! 
 If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts 
 Against their father, fool me not so much 
 To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger ! 
 O, let not women's weapons, water-drops. 
 Stain my man's cheeks ! — No, you unnatural hags, 
 I will have such revenges on you both. 
 That all the world shall— I will do such things,— 
 What they are. yet I know not ; but they shall be 
 The terrors of the earth. You think, I '11 weep , 
 No. 1 '11 not weep : — 
 
 I have full cause of weeping ; but this heart 
 Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, 
 0>- ere I '11 weep : — O, fool, I shall go mad ! 
 
 ^Exeunt Lear, Glosteh, Kent, mid Fool. 
 Ccini. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm. 
 
 [Storm heard at a dhtance. 
 
 Reg. This house 
 
 Is little ; the old man and his people cannot ] 
 
 Be well bestow'd. 
 
 Goit. 'Tis his own blame ; he hath put 
 
 Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly. 
 
 Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly. 
 But not one follower, 
 
 Gon. So am I purpos'd. 
 
 Where is my lord of Gloster? 
 
 Re-enter Glostek. 
 
 Corn. Follow'd the old man forth : — he is return'd. 
 
 Glo. The king is in high rage. 
 
 Corn. Whither is he going"! 
 
 Glo, He calls to horse ; but will 1 know not whither. 
 
 Corn. 'Tis best to give him way ; he leads himself. 
 
 Gon. My lord, entreat him by no means to stay. 
 
 Glo. Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak winds 
 Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about 
 There 's scarce a bush. 
 
 Reg. 0, sir, to wilful men. 
 
 The injuries, that they themselves procure. 
 Must be their schoolmasters : Shut up your doors ; 
 He is attended with a desperate train ; 
 .^nd what they may incense him to, being apt 
 To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear. 
 
 Co}n. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a wild night; 
 My Regan counsels well : come out o' the storm. 
 
 [E.ieiiut, 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ Heath. 
 
 J. storm is heard, ".vith thunder and lightning. Enter 
 Kent, and a Gentlemen, meeting. 
 
 Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather 1 
 
 Gent. Oneminded like the Heather,most unquietly. 
 
 Kent. I know you ; Where 's the king 1 
 
 Gent. Contending with the fretful element ; 
 Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea. 
 (_)r swell the curled waters 'bove the main, [haijr , 
 That things might change, or cease : tears his white. 
 Which the impetuous blasts with eyeless, rage, j 
 
 Catch in their fury, and make nothing of : 
 Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn 
 The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain. 
 This night, wherein the cubdrawn bear would couch, 
 The lion and the belly-pinched wolf 
 Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs. 
 And bids what will take all. 
 
 Kgitt. But who is with him? 
 
 Gent. None but the fool ; who labours to out-jest 
 His heart-struck injuries. 
 
 Kent. Sir, I do know you ; 
 
 And dare, upon the warrant of my art. 
 Commend a dear thing to you. 'I'here is division, 
 Although as yet the face of it be cover'd 
 With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall; 
 Who have (as who have not, that their great stars 
 Thron'd and set high!) servants, who seem no less; 
 Which are to France the spies and speculations 
 Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen. 
 Either in snuffs and packings of the dukes ; 
 Or the hard rein which both of them have borne 
 Against the old kind king ; or something deeper. 
 Whereof, perchance, these are but fiunishmgs ; 
 But, true it is, from France there comes a power 
 Into this scatter'd kingdom ; who already, 
 Wise in our negligence, have secret feet 
 
ACT III.—SCENE III. 
 
 r83 
 
 In some of our best ports, and are at point 
 
 Tu shew their open banner. — Now to you : 
 
 If on my credit you daie build so far 
 
 To make your speed to Dover, you shall find 
 
 Some that will thank you, making just report 
 
 Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow 
 
 The king hath cause to plain. 
 
 I am a gentleuian of blood and breeding ; 
 
 And, from some knowledge and assurance, offer 
 
 This office to you. 
 
 Gent. I will talk further with you. 
 
 Kent. No, do not. 
 
 For confirmation that I am much more 
 Than my out wall, open this purse, and take 
 What it contains: If you shall see Cordelia, 
 (As fear not but you shall,) shew her this ring ; 
 And she will tell you who your fellow is 
 That yet you do not know. Fye on this storm I 
 I will go seek the king. [say ? 
 
 Cent. Give me your hand : Have you no more to 
 
 Kent. Few words, but, to effect more than all yet ; 
 That, when we have found the king, (in which j'our pain 
 That way ; I '11 this :) he that first lights on him. 
 Holla the other, lExeunt severally. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Another Part of the Heath.—Storm continues* 
 Enter Lear and Fool, 
 Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage! 
 You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout [blow! 
 
 Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! 
 You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
 Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, 
 Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, 
 Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! 
 Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, 
 That make ingrateful man ! 
 
 Fool. O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is 
 better than this rain-water out o'door. Good nuncle, 
 in, and ask thy daughters' blessing ; here's a night 
 pities neither wise men nor fools. 
 ' Lear. Rumble thy bellyful! ! Spit, fire! spout rain! 
 Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters.* 
 I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness, 
 I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children. 
 You owe me no subscription; why then let fall 
 Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand, your slave, 
 A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man: — 
 But yet I call you servile ministers, 
 That have with two pernicious daughters jojn'd 
 Your high engendered battles, 'gainst a head 
 So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul ! 
 
 Fool. He that has a house to put his head in, has a 
 good head-piece. 
 
 The cod-piece that will house^ 
 
 Bejore the head has tiny. 
 The head and he shall louse ; — 
 
 So beggars marrxf mani^. 
 The man that makes his toe 
 
 What he his heart should make, 
 Shall of a corn cry ivoe, 
 And tiirn his sleep to wake, 
 
 — for there was never yet fair woman, but she made 
 mouths in a glass. 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 
 Lear. No. I will be the pattern of all patience, I 
 will say nothing. 
 
 Kent. Who 's there? 
 
 Fool. Blarry, here's grace, and a cod-piece; that's 
 a wise man, and a fool. 
 
 Kent. Alas sir areyouhere? things tltatlove night. 
 Love not such nights as these ; the wrathful skies 
 Gallow the very wanderers of the dark. 
 And make them keep theii caves: Since I was man 
 Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder, 
 Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never 
 Remember to have lieard: man's nature cannot carry 
 The affliction, nor the fear, 
 
 Lear. Let the great gods. 
 
 That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, 
 Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch, 
 That hast within thee undivulged crimes, 
 Unwhipp'd of justice : Hide thee, thou bloody hand; 
 Tliou perjur'd, and thou simular man of virtue 
 That art incestuous : Caitiff, to pieces shake, 
 That under covert and convenient seeming 
 Hast practis'd on man's life! — Close pent-up guilts. 
 Rive your concealing continents, and cry 
 These dreadful summoners grace. — I am a man, 
 More siun'd against, than sinning. 
 
 Kent. Alack, bare headed I 
 
 Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ; 
 Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest ; 
 llepose you there : while I to this hard house, 
 (More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd ; 
 Which even but now, demanding after you, 
 Denied me to come in, J return, and force 
 Their scanted courtesy. 
 
 Lear. My wits begin to turn. — 
 
 Come on, my boy: How dost, my boy? Art cold? 
 I am cold myself. — W^iere is this straw, my fellow? 
 The art of our necessities is strange, 
 That can make vile things precious. Come, your hovel. 
 Poor fool and knave, 1 have one part in my heart 
 That's sorry yet for thee. 
 
 Fool. He that has a little tiny wit, — 
 
 With heigh, ho, the wind and the rain. — 
 Must make content with his fortune Jit ; 
 For the rain it raineth every day, 
 
 Lear. True, my good boy. — Come, bring us to this 
 hovel. [Exeujtt Lear and Kent* 
 
 FonL This is a brave night to cool a courtezan. — 
 I'll speak a prophecy ere 1 go : 
 
 When priests are more in word than matter ; 
 
 When brewers mar their malt with water ; 
 
 When nobles are their tailors' tutors ; 
 
 No heretics burn'd, but wenches* suitors ; 
 
 When every case in law is right; 
 
 No squire in debt, nor no poor knight ; 
 
 When blanders do not live in tongues : 
 
 Nor cutpurses come not to throngs ; 
 
 When usurers tell their gold i'the field ; 
 
 And bawds and whores do churches build ; — 
 
 Tlien shall the realm of Albion 
 
 Come to great confusion. 
 
 Then comes the time, wiio lives to see 't. 
 
 That going shall be us'd with feet. 
 
 This prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live before 
 his time. [Eiit, 
 
 SCENE IIL— ,4 Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Oldster ajid Edmund. 
 Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this un- 
 natural dealing: When I desired their leave that I 
 might pity him, thev took from me the use of mine 
 own house ; charged me on pain of iheir perpetual 
 displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him, 
 nor any way sustain him. 
 
784 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Sdm. IMost savage, and unnatural ! I 
 
 Glo. Go to ; say you nothing : There is division ! 
 between the dukes ; and a worse matter than that : I 
 have received a letter this night ; — 'tis dangerous to j 
 be spoken ; — I have locked the letter in my closet : 
 these injuries the king now bears will be revenged 
 home ; there is part of a power already footed : we 
 must incline to the king. I will seek him, and pri- 
 vily relieve him : go you, and maintain talk with the 
 duke, that my charity be not of him perceived : If he 
 ask for me, I am ill, and gone to bed. If I die for 
 it, as no less is threatejied me, the king my old mas- 
 ter must be relieved. There is some strange thing 
 toward, Edmund ; pray you, be careful. [Eiit. 
 
 Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke 
 Instantly know ; and of that letter loo :^ 
 This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me 
 That which ray father loses ; no less than all ; 
 The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Eii(. 
 
 SCENE IV A Part of the Heath, with a Hovel. 
 
 Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool. 
 
 Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good my lord. 
 The tyranny of the open nieht's too rough [enter: 
 For nature to endure. IStorm still. 
 
 Lear. Let me alone. 
 
 Ke-nt. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Wilt break my heart ? [enter. 
 
 Kent. I'd rather break min^ own: Good my lord, 
 
 Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this contentious 
 Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ; [storm 
 
 But where the greater malady is fix'd, 
 The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear : 
 But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, 
 Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the mind's 
 The body's delicate: the tempest in my mind [free. 
 Doth from my senses lake all feeling else, 
 Save \\ hat beats there. — Filial ingratitude ! 
 Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand, 
 For lifting food to't"! — But I will punish home: — 
 No, I will weep no more. — In such a night 
 To shut me out! — Pour on ; 1 will endure : — 
 In such a night as this ! Regan, Goneril ! — 
 Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, — 
 O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 
 No more of that, — ■ 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, enter here. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek thine own ease ; 
 This tempest will not give me leave to ponder 
 On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go in : 
 In, boy ; go first. — [To the Fool.] You houseless 
 
 poverty,— 
 Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. — 
 
 [Fool goes in. 
 Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
 That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm. 
 How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
 Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, defend you 
 From seasons such as these? U, I have ta'en 
 Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp ; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ; 
 That thou may'st shake the superflux to them, 
 And shew the heavens more just. 
 
 Edg. [Within'] Fathom and half, fathom and half ! 
 Poor Tom! [T/j(?Fool run&oulfromthehovel. 
 . FoA. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit. 
 Help me, help me ! 
 
 Kent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there t 
 
 Fool. A spirit, aspirit ; he says his name's poorToin. 
 
 Kent. W'hat art thou that dost grumble there i the 
 Come forth. [straw ? 
 
 Enter Edgar, disguised as a madman. 
 
 Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows mc ! — ■ 
 Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind.— 
 Humph ! go to thy cold bed and warm tliee. 
 
 Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters ? 
 And art thou come to this ? 
 
 Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom? whom 
 the foul fiend hath led through fire and througli Hame, 
 through ford and whirlpool, over bog and quagmire ; 
 that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in 
 his pew ; set ratsbane by his porridge : made hira 
 proud of heart, to ride on a bay trotting horse over 
 four-inched bridges, to course his own sliadow for a 
 traitor: — Bless thy five wits! Tom's a-cold. — O, do 
 de, do de, do de. — Bless thee from whirlwinds, star- 
 blasting, and taking ! Do poor Tom some charity, 
 whom the foul fiend vexes: There could I have hira 
 now, — and there, — and there, — and there again, and 
 there. [Sttyrin continnes. 
 
 Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to this 
 pass ? — 
 Could'st thou save nothing ? Did'st thou give them all? 
 
 Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had all 
 been shamed. 
 
 Lfur. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous air 
 Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters ! 
 
 Kent. He hath no daughters, sir. [nature 
 
 Lettr. Death, traitor! nothing could have subdu'd 
 To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters — 
 It is the fashion, that discarded fathers 
 Should have this little mercy on their flesh ? 
 Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot 
 Those pelican daughters. 
 
 Edg. Pillicock sat on pillicock's hill; — 
 Halloo, halloo, loo, loo ! 
 
 Foot. This cold night will turn us all to fools ani 
 inadmeji. 
 
 Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : Obey thy p; 
 rents ; keep thy word justly; swear not; commit no? 
 with man's sworn spouse ; set not tliy sweet licart on 
 proud array : Tom's a-cold. 
 
 Lear. What hast thou been ? 
 
 Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ; 
 that curled my hair ; wore gloves in my cap, served 
 the lust of my mistress' heart, and did the act of dark- 
 ness with her ; swore as many oaths as I spake wordb, 
 and broke them in the sweet face of heaven : one, 
 that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do 
 it : Wine loved I deeply ; dice dearlv ; and in woman, 
 out-paramour'd the I'urk : False of heart, light of ear, 
 bloody of hand ; Hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf 
 in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let 
 not the creaking of shoes, nor the tvstling of silks, 
 betray thy poor heart to women ; Keep tliy foot out 
 of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy pen from 
 lenders' books, and dtfy the foul fiend. — Still through 
 the hawthorn blows the cold wind : Says suum, mun, 
 ha no nonny, dolphin my boy, my boy, sessa ; let 
 him trot by. [Storm still continnes. 
 
 Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than 
 to answer with thy uncover'd body this extremity of 
 the skies, — Is man no more than this? Consider him 
 well: Thou owest the worm no silk, the beast no 
 hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume : — Ha' 
 here's three of us are sophisticated I — Thou art the 
 thing itself: unaccommodated man is no more but such 
 a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art. — Off, off, 
 you lendings : — Come ; unbutton here. — 
 
 [ Tearing of his clothes. 
 
 Foot. Pr'ythee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a 
 naughty night to swim in. — Now a little fire in a wild 
 
 i 
 
 ot^ 
 
ACT III.— SCENE VI. 
 
 785 
 
 field were like an old lecher's heart ; a small spark, 
 all the rest of his body cold. — Look, here comes a 
 walkiDg fire. 
 
 Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet : he be- 
 gins at curfew, and walks till the first cock ; he gives 
 the web and the pin, squints the eye, and makes the 
 hare-lip ; mildews the white wheat, and hurts the 
 poor creature of earth. 
 
 Saint Wilholdfooled thrice the wold; 
 He met the night-mare, and her nine-fold ; 
 Bid her alight, 
 And her troth plight, 
 And, aroint thee, tvitch, aroint thee ! 
 Kent. How fares your grace ? 
 
 tenter Gt-OSTER, uitft a torch, 
 
 Lear. What 's he 1 
 
 Jfenf. Who's there? What is't you seek? 
 
 Gh. What are you there ? Your names ? 
 
 Hdg. Poor Tom; that eats the swimming frog, the 
 toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water ; that 
 in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend rages, 
 eats cow-dung for sallets ; swallows the old rat, and 
 the ditch-dog , drinks the green mantle of the stand- 
 ing pool ; who IS whipped from tything to tything, 
 and Stocked, punished, and imprisoned ; who hath 
 had three suits to his back, six shirts to his body, 
 horse to ride, and weapon to wear. 
 
 But mice, and rats, and such small deer. 
 Have been Tom's food for seven loyig year. 
 
 Beware my follower •. — Peace, Smolkin ; peace, thou 
 fiend ! 
 
 Glo. What, hath your grace no better company? 
 
 Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman ; 
 Modo he 's call'd, and Mahu. 
 
 Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile. 
 That it doth hate what gets it. 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold. 
 
 Glo. Go in with me ; my duty cannot suflTer 
 To obey all your daughters' hard commands : 
 Though their injunction be to bar my doors, 
 And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you ; 
 Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out. 
 And bring you where both fire and wood is ready. 
 
 Lear. First let me talk with this philosopher : — 
 What is the cause of thunder ? 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, take his offer ; 
 Go into the house. 
 
 Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned The- 
 What is your study ? [ban ; — 
 
 Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill vermin. 
 
 Lear. Let me ask you one word in private. 
 
 Kent. Importune him once more to go, my lord. 
 His wits begin to unsettle. 
 
 Glo. Can'st thou blame him ? 
 
 His daughters seek his death: — Ah, that good Kent! — 
 He said it would be thus : — Poor banish'd man !— 
 Thou say'st the king grows mad ; I'll tell thee, friend, 
 I am almost mad myself: I had a son, 
 Now outlaw *d from my blood : he sought my life, 
 But lately, very late ; 1 lov'd him, friend. — 
 No father his son dearer : true to tell thee, 
 
 [5form continues. 
 The grief hath crai'd my wits. What a night's this ! 
 1 do beseech your grace, 
 
 Ijear. O, cry you mercy, 
 
 Noble philosopher, your company. 
 
 Edg. Tom's a-cold. 
 
 G/o. In, fellow, there to the hovel: keep thee warm. 
 
 Lear. Come, let's in all. 
 
 Kent. This way, my lord. 
 
 Lear. With him : 
 
 I will keep still with my philosopher. 
 
 Kent. Good my lord, sooth him; let him take the 
 
 Glo. Take him you on. [fellow. 
 
 Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us. 
 
 Lear. Come, good Athenian. 
 
 Glo. No words, no words : 
 
 Hush. 
 
 Edg. Child Rowlajtd to the dark tower came, 
 His word was still, — Fie.foh, andfum, 
 
 I smell the blood of a British man. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— ^ Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Cornwall and Edmund. 
 
 Corn. I will have my revenge, ere I depart his house. 
 
 Edm. How, mv lord, I may be censured, that na- 
 ture thus gives way to loyalty, something fears me 
 to think of. 
 
 Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your 
 brother's evil disposition made him seek his death ; 
 but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable 
 badness in himself. 
 
 Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must 
 repent to be just! This is the letter he spoke of, 
 which approves him an intelligent party to the ad- 
 vantages of France. O heavens ! that this treason 
 were not, or not I the detector! 
 
 Corn. Go with me to the duchess. 
 
 Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you 
 have mighty business in hand. 
 
 Corn. True, or false, it hath made thee earl of 
 Gloster, Seek out where thy father is, that he may 
 be ready for our apprehension. 
 
 Edm. [Aside.l If 1 find him comforting the king, 
 it will sfuft' his suspicion more fully. — I will perse- 
 vere in my course of loyalty, though the conflict be 
 sore between that and my blood. 
 
 Corn. I will lay trust upon thee ; and thou shalt 
 find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 A Chamber in a Fai-m-House, adjoining the Castle. 
 
 Enter Gloster, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar. 
 
 Glo. Here is better than the open air ; take it 
 
 thankfully ; I will piece out the comfort with what 
 
 addition I can : I will not be long from you. 
 
 Kent. All the power of his wits has given way to 
 his impatience : — The gods reward your kindness ! 
 
 [Exit Gloster. 
 Edg. Frateretto calls me ; and tells me, Nero is 
 an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent, 
 and beware the foul fiend. 
 
 Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a madman 
 be a gentleman, or a yeoman ? 
 Lear. A king, a king! 
 
 Foal. No; he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to 
 his son ; for he's a mad yeoman, that sees his son a 
 gentleman before him. 
 
 Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits 
 Come hizzing in upon them : — 
 
 Edg. The foul fiend bites my back. 
 Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a 
 wolf, a horse's health, aboy's love, or a whore's oalli. 
 Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them straight: — 
 
 Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer ; 
 
 [To Edgar. 
 Thou, sapient sir, sit here. [To the Fool.] . — Now, 
 you she foxes ! — 
 Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! — 
 Wantcst thou eyes at trial, madam ? 
 3D 
 
786 KING LEAR. 
 
 Come o^ei- the bourn, Bessy, to me : — 
 Fool, Her boat hath a leak. 
 And she must Jtot apeak 
 Why she doves not come over to thee* 
 
 Fdg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice 
 of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for 
 two white herring'. Croak not, black angel ; I have 
 no food for thee. 
 
 Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so amaz'd: 
 Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions'? 
 
 Leur. I '11 see their trial first : — Bring in the evi- 
 dence. — 
 Thou robed man of justice, take thy place ; — 
 
 [To Edgar, 
 And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To the Fool. 
 Bench by his side : — You are of the commission, 
 Sit you too. [To Kent. 
 
 Edg. Let us deal justly. 
 
 Steepest orwahest thmi, jolly shepherd? 
 
 Thy sheep be in the com; 
 And for one blast of' thy minikin mouth, 
 
 Thy sheep shall take no harm. 
 
 Pur ! the cat is grey. 
 
 Lear. Arraign her first : 'tis Goneril. I here take 
 my oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked 
 the poor king her father. 
 
 Fool. Come hither, mistress; IsyournameGoneril? 
 
 Lear. She cannot deny it. 
 
 Fool. Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool. 
 
 Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks pro- 
 claim 
 What store her heart is made of. — Stop her there ! 
 Arms, arms, sword, fire! — Corruption in the place ! 
 False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape? 
 
 Edg. Bless thy five wits ! 
 
 Kent. pity ! — Sir, where is the patience now, 
 That you so oft have boasted to retain ? 
 
 Edg. I\Iy tears begin to take his part so much, 
 They'll mar my counterfeiting. [_Aside. 
 
 Lear. The little dogs and all, 
 Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me. 
 
 Fdg. Tom will throw his head at them: — Avaunt, 
 you curs ! 
 
 Be thy mouth or black or white, 
 Tooth that poisons if it bite ; 
 Mastiff, grey-hound, mongrel grim, 
 Hound, or spaniel, brach, or lym ; 
 Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail ; 
 Tom will make them weep and wail : 
 For, with throwing thus my head: 
 Dogs leap the hatcii, and all are fled. 
 
 Do de, de de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and 
 fairs, and market towns: — Poor Tom, thy horn is dry. 
 
 Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan, see what 
 breeds about her heart: Is there any cause in nature, 
 that makes these hard hearts?— You, sir, I entertain 
 you for one of my hundred ; only, I do not like the 
 fashion of your garments : you will say, they are Per- 
 sian attire ; but let them be changed. [To Edgah. 
 
 Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile. 
 
 Lear. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw the 
 curtains: So, so, so : We'll go to supper i'the morn- 
 ing: So, so, so. 
 
 Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon. 
 
 Be-eitter Gi.oster. 
 
 Glo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king my 
 
 master ? [gone. 
 
 Kent, Here, sir ; but trouble him not, his wits are 
 
 Glo* Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy arras j 
 I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him : 
 There is a lilter ready ; lay him in 't, [meet 
 
 And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt 
 Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master ; 
 If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life. 
 With thine, and all that offer to defend him, 
 Stand in assured loss ; Take up, take up ; 
 And follow me, that will to some provision 
 Give thee quick conduct. 
 
 Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps : — 
 
 This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses. 
 Which, if convenience will not allow, 
 Stand in hard cure. — Come, help to bear thy master j 
 Thou must not stay behind. [To the Fool. 
 
 Glo. Come, come, away, 
 
 [Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the FooJ, 
 bearing off the King. 
 
 Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes. 
 We scarcely think our miseries our foes. 
 Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind ; 
 Leaving free things, and happy shows, behind : 
 But then the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip, 
 When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship. 
 How light and portable my pain seems now, 
 When that, which makes me bend, makes the king 
 He childed, as I father'd ! — Tom, away : [bow j 
 Mark the high noises : and thyself bewray. 
 When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles thee. 
 In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles tliee. 
 What will hap more to-night, save 'scape the king* 
 Lurk, lurk. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE Yll.—A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 
 Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, 
 and Servants. 
 
 Corn. Post speedily to my lord your husband ; 
 shew him this letter: — the army of France is landed : 
 — Seek out the villain Gloster. 
 
 [Exeu}it some of the Servants. 
 
 Beg. Hang him instantly. 
 
 Gon. Pluck out his eyes. 
 
 Corn. Leave him to my displeasure. — Edmund, 
 keep you our sister company ; the revenges we are 
 bound to take upon your traitorous father, are not 
 fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you 
 are going, to a most festinate preparation ; we are 
 bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift, and in- 
 telligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister ; — fare- 
 well, my lord of Gloster. 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 
 How now ? Where's the king ? 
 
 Steu: ]My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him hence : 
 Some five or six and thirty of his knights, 
 Hot questrists after him, met him at gate ; 
 Who, with some other of the lord's dependants, 
 Are gone with him towards Dover ; where they boast 
 To have well armed friends. 
 
 Corn. Get horses for your mistress, 
 
 Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister. 
 
 [Exeu)tt Goneril a}id Edmund, 
 Corn, Edmund, farewell, — Go, seek the traitor 
 Gloster, 
 Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us : 
 
 [Ejeunt other Servants. 
 Though well we may not pass upon his life 
 Without the form of justice ; yet our power 
 Shall do a courtesy to our wrath, which men 
 May blame, but not control. Who 's there ? The 
 traitor 1 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 787 
 
 Re enter Servants, with Glostkr. 
 
 • Jteg. Ingrateful fox ! 'tis he. 
 
 Corn. Bind fast his corky arms. 
 
 Glo. What mean your graces? Good my 
 
 friends, consider 
 You are niv guests : do me no foul play, friends. 
 
 Corn. Bind iiim, I say. [Servants bind him. 
 
 Reg. Hard, hard :— O filthy traitor ! 
 
 Gto, Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none. 
 
 Corn. To this chair bind him : — Villain, thou shalt 
 find — [Regan jiluciis his hea7-ii. 
 
 Glo. By the kind gods, 'tis most ignobly done 
 To pluck me by the beard. 
 
 lieg. So white, and such a traitor ! 
 
 G/ii. Naughty lady, 
 
 These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin, 
 M'ill quicken, and accuse thee : I am your host ; 
 With robbers' hands, my hospitable favours 
 You should not ruffle thus. What will you do ? 
 
 Corn, Come, sir, what letters had you late from 
 France f 
 
 Bfg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth. 
 
 Corn. And what confederacy have you with the 
 Late footed in the kingdom ? [traitors 
 
 Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatic king ? 
 Speak. 
 
 Glo. I have a letter guessingly set down, 
 Which came from one that's of a neutral heart, 
 And not from one oppos'd. 
 
 Corii. Cunning. 
 
 Reg. And false. 
 
 Corn, Where hast thou sent the king? 
 
 Glo. To Dover. 
 
 Reg. Wherefore 
 
 To Dover'! AVast thou not charg'd at thy peril — 
 
 Com, Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer 
 that. 
 
 Glo. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the 
 
 Reg. Wherefore to Dover 1 [course. 
 
 Glo. Because 1 would not see thy cruel nails 
 Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce sister 
 Tn his anointed flesh stick boarisli fangs. 
 The sea, with such a storm as his bare head 
 In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up 
 And quench'd the stelled fires : yet, poor old heart, 
 He holp the heavens to rain. 
 If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time. 
 Thou should'st have said. Good porter, tin-n the key ; 
 All cruels else subscrib'd : — But I shall see 
 The winged vengeance overtake such children. 
 
 Corn. See it shalt thou never: — Fellows, hold the 
 
 Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot, [chair; — 
 
 [GLOSTEn IS held down in his chair, while Cornwall 
 
 plucks out one of his eyes, and sets his foot on it. 
 
 Glo. He, that will think" to live till he be old. 
 Give me some help : — O cruel ! O ye gods ! 
 
 Reg. One side will mock another ; the other too. 
 
 Corn. If you see vengeance, — 
 
 Serv. Hold your hand, my lord ; 
 
 I have serv'd you ever since I was a child ; 
 But better service have I never done you 
 Than now to bid you hold. 
 
 Reg. How now, you dog? 
 
 Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your chin, 
 I'd shake it on this quarrel : What do you mean ? 
 
 Corn. My villain! [Draws, and runs at him. 
 
 S?ra.Nay,then come on, and take the chance of anger. 
 
 [Draws. Theujight. Cornwall is Koujidcrf. 
 
 Reg. Give me thy sword. — [To another Servant.] 
 A peasant stand up thus \ 
 l^Snatches a sword, comes behind, and stabs him. 
 
 Serv, 0, I am slain I — My lord, you have one eye 
 left 
 To see some mischief on him : — ! [Dies, 
 
 Corn, Lest it see more, prevent it: — Out, vile jelly ! 
 Where is tiiv lustre now I 
 
 [Tears out Gloster's other eye, and throws 
 it on the ground. 
 
 Gto. All dark and comfortless. — Where's my son 
 Edmund ? 
 Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature. 
 To quit this horrid act. 
 
 Reg. Out, treacherous villain ! 
 
 Thou call'st on him that hates thee : it was he 
 That made the overture of thy treasons to us *, 
 Who is too good to pity thee. 
 
 Glo. my follies ! 
 
 Then Edgar was abus'd.— 
 Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him ! 
 
 Reg. Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell 
 His way to Dover. — How'st, mylord? How look you? 
 
 Corn. 1 have receiv'd a hurt : — Follow me, lady. — 
 Turn out that eyeless villain ; — throw this slave 
 Upon the dunghill. — Regan, I bleed apace : 
 Untimely comes this hurt ; Give me your arm. 
 
 [Exit Cornwall, Ud by Regan ; — Servants 
 unbind Glosteu, and lead him out. 
 
 1 Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I do, 
 If this man come to good. 
 
 a Serv. If she live long. 
 
 And, in the end, meet the old course of death, 
 Women will all turn monsters. [lam 
 
 1 Sen-. Let's follow the old earl, and get the Bed- 
 To lead him where he would ; his roguish madness 
 Allows itself to any thing. 
 
 2 Serv. Go thou ; I'll fetch some flax, and whites 
 
 of eggs. 
 To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help 
 him I [Eieunt severally. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCEXE l.^Tke Heath. 
 
 Enter Edgar. 
 
 E(}g. Yet better thus, and known to be contema'd, 
 Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst, 
 The lowest, and most dejected thing of fortune. 
 Stands still in esperance, lives not in fear: 
 The lamentable change is from the best; 
 The wor.'>t returns to laughter. Welcome then, 
 Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace ! 
 The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst, 
 Owes nothing to thy blasts. — But who comes here' — 
 
 Enter Gloster, led bit an Old Man. 
 
 My father, poorly led 1 World, world, O world ! 
 But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee. 
 Life would not yield to age. 
 
 Old Man. O my g'ood lord, I have been your te- 
 nant, and your father's tenant, these fourscore years. 
 
 Glo. Awav, get thee awav ; good friend, be gone : 
 Thy comforts can do me no good at all, 
 Thee they may hurt. 
 
 Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way. 
 
 Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes ; 
 I stumbled when I saw : Full oft 'tis seen, 
 Our mean secures us ; and our mere defects 
 Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear son Edgar, 
 The food of thy abused father's wrath ! 
 Might 1 but live to see thee in my touch, 
 I'd say, 1 had eyes again ! 
 
 3D 3 
 
788 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Old Man, How now ? Who's there ? 
 
 I^dg, [Aside.'\ O gods ! Who is't can say, / am at 
 I am worse than e'er I was. [the worst ? 
 
 Old Man, 'Tis poor mad Tom. 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] And worse I may be yet : The worst 
 So long as we can say, This is the worst. [is not, 
 
 Old Man. Fellow, where goestl 
 
 Glo, Is it a beggar -man? 
 
 Old Man. Madman and beggar too. 
 
 Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg. 
 I* the last night's storm I such a fellow saw; 
 Which made me think a man a worm : My son 
 Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind 
 Was then scarce friends with him : I have heard more 
 As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods ; [since : 
 They kill us for their sport. 
 
 Kdg. How should this be 1 
 
 Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow, 
 Ang'ring itself and others. [Aside.'} — Bless thee, 
 
 Glo. Is that the naked fellow? [master! 
 
 Old Man, Ay, my lord. 
 
 Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone: If, for my sake, 
 Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain, 
 r the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ; 
 And bring some covering for this naked soul. 
 Whom I'll entreat to lead rae^ 
 
 Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad. 
 
 Glo. 'Tis the times' plague when madmen lead the 
 Do as I bid thee, or rather do tliy pleasure ; [blind. 
 Above the rest, be gone. 
 
 Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parrel that I have, 
 Come on't what will. [Exit. 
 
 Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow. 
 
 Edg. Poor Tom's a cold. — I cannot daub it fur- 
 ther. [Aside. 
 
 Glo. Come hither, fellow. 
 
 Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. — Bless thy sweet 
 eyes, they bleed. 
 
 Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover? 
 
 Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way, and foot- 
 path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good 
 wits : Bless the good man from the foul fiend ! Five 
 fiends have been in poor Tom at once ; of lust, as 
 Obidicut ; Hobbididance, prince of dumbness ; Mahu, 
 of stealing; Modo, oi murder; and Flibbertigibbet, 
 of mopping and mowing ; who since possesses cham- 
 ber-maids and waiting-women. So, bless thee, master! 
 
 Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the heaven's 
 plagues 
 Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched, 
 Makes thee the happier : — Heavens, deal so still ! 
 Let the superfluous, and lust-dieted man, 
 That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
 Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly ; 
 So distribution should undo excess, 
 And each man have enough. — Dost thou know Dover? 
 
 Edg. Ay, master. 
 
 Ob. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head 
 Looks fearfully in the confined deep : 
 Bring me but to the very brim of it. 
 And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear, 
 With something rich about me : from that place 
 I shall no leading need. 
 
 Edg. Give me thy arm ; 
 
 Poor Tom shall lead thee. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE U.— Before the Duke of Albany's Palace. 
 
 Enter Gonehil and Edmund ; Steward meeting them. 
 
 Gon. Welcome, my lord : I marvel, our mild hus- 
 band 
 Not met us on the way : — Now, wliere's your master? 
 
 Stew. Madam, within; but never man so cbang'd: 
 I told him of the army that was landed ; 
 He smil'd at it : I told him, you were coming ; 
 His answer was, The worse : of Gloster's treachery, 
 And of the loyal service of his son. 
 When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot ; 
 And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out : — 
 What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to Iiim ; 
 What like, offensive. 
 
 Gon, Then shall you go no further. 
 
 [TV Edmund. 
 It is the cowish terror of his spirit, 
 That dares not undertake ; he'll not feel wrongs, 
 W hich tie him to an answer : Our wishes, on the way, 
 May prove eflfects. Back, Edmund, to my brother j 
 Hasten his musters and conduct his powers : 
 I must change arms at home, and give the dislaflT 
 Into my husband's hands. This trusty sei-vant 
 Shall pass between us : ere long you are like to hear. 
 If you dare venture in your own behalf, 
 A mistress's command. Wear this ; spare speech j 
 
 [Giving a favour. 
 Decline your head : this kiss, if it durst speak, 
 Would stretch tliy spirits up into the air j — 
 Conceive, and fare thee well. 
 
 Edm. Yours in the ranks of death. 
 
 Gon. My most dear Gloster ! [Exit Edmund. 
 
 0, the difference of man, and man! To thee 
 A woman's services are due ; my fool 
 Usurps my bed. 
 
 Stew. Madam, here comes my lord. [Exit Steward. 
 
 Enter Albany. 
 
 Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 
 
 Alh. O Goneril ' 
 
 You are not worth the dust which the rude wind 
 Blows in your face. — I fear your disposition : 
 That nature, which contemns its origin. 
 Cannot be border'd certain in itself; 
 She that herself will silver and disbranch 
 From her material sap, perforce must wither. 
 And come to deadly use. 
 
 Gon. No more ; the text is foolish. 
 
 Aib. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile ; 
 Filths savour but themselves. What have you done? 
 Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd ? 
 A father, and a gracious aged man. 
 Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick, 
 Most barbarous, most degenerate ! have you madded- 
 Could my good brother suffer you to do it ? 
 A man, a prince, by him so benefited? 
 If that the heavens do not their visible spirits 
 Send quickly down to tame these vile offences, 
 'Twill come. 
 
 Humanity must perforce prey on itself. 
 Like monsters of the deep. 
 
 Gon. Milk-liver'd man ! 
 
 That bear'st a cheek for blows, a head for wrongs ; 
 Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning 
 Thine honour from thy suffering ; that not know'st. 
 Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd 
 Ere they have done theirmischief. Where's thy drum? 
 France spreads his banners in our noiseless land j 
 With plumed helm thy slayer bcijlns threats ; 
 Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and ciy'st, 
 .■Hack ! why does he so ? 
 
 Alb. See thyself, devil! 
 
 Proper deformity seems not in the fiend 
 So horrid, as in woman. 
 
 Gon. O vain tool ! 
 
 ii/6.Thou changed and self-cover 'd thing, for shame, 
 Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my htncsa 
 
ACT IV.- -SCENE IV. 
 
 789 
 
 To let these hands obey niy blood, 
 They are apt enough to dislocate and tear 
 Thy flesh and bones : — Howe'er thou art a fiend, 
 A woman's shape doth shield thee. 
 GoH. Marry, your manhood now ! — 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Alh. What news ? 
 
 iliess. O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall's 
 Slain by his servant, going to put out [dead ; 
 
 The other eye of Gloster. 
 
 Alb. Gloster's eyes ! 
 
 Mess. A servant that he bred, thriU'd with remorse, 
 Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword 
 To his great master; who, thereat enrag'd. 
 Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead : 
 But not without that harmful stroke, which since 
 Hath pluck'd him after. 
 
 Alb. This shews you are above, 
 
 You justicers, that these our nether crimes 
 So speedily can venge ! — But, poor Gloster ! 
 Lost he his other eye ! 
 
 Mess. Both, both, my lord.— 
 
 This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer ; 
 'Tis from your sister. 
 
 Gon, [Aside,] One way I like this well ; 
 But being widow, and my Gloster with her. 
 May all the building in my fancy pluck 
 Upon my hateful life : Another way, 
 The news is not so tart. — I'll read, and answer. [Exit. 
 
 Alh. Where was his son, when they did take his 
 
 Mess. Come with my lady hither, [eyes ? 
 
 Alb. He is not here. 
 
 Mess. No, ray good lord ; I met him back again. 
 
 AUi, Knows he the wickedness? [him; 
 
 Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 'twas he infonn'd against 
 And qu't the house on purpose, that their punishment 
 Miglit have the freer course. 
 
 Alb. Gloster, I live 
 
 To thank thee for the love thou shew'dst the king, 
 And to revenge thine eyes. — Come hither, friend ; 
 3"ell me what more thou knowest. [Exeunt- 
 
 SCENE 111.— The French Camp, near Dover. 
 Enter Kent and a Gentleman. 
 
 Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly gone 
 back know you the reason 1 
 
 Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state. 
 Which since his coming forth is thought of ; which 
 Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger. 
 That his personal return was most requir'd. 
 And necessary. 
 
 Kent. Who hath he left behind him general 1 
 
 Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur leFer. 
 
 Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any de- 
 monstration of grief I 
 
 Gent. Ay, sir ; she took them, read them in my 
 presence ; 
 And now and then an ample tear trill'd down 
 Her delicate clieek : it seem'd, she was a queen 
 Over her passion ; who. most rebel-iike. 
 Sought to be the king o'er her. 
 
 Kent, O, then it mov'd her. 
 
 Gent. Not to rage : patience and sorrow strove 
 Who should express her goodliest. You have seen 
 Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears 
 Were like a better day : Those happy smiles, 
 That play'd on her ripe lip. seem'd not to know 
 What guests were in her eyes ; which parted thence, 
 As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. — In brief, sorrow 
 Would be a rarity most belov a, if all 
 
 Could so become it. 
 
 Kent. Made she no verbal (juestion ? 
 
 Gent. 'Faith, once or twice she heav'd the name of 
 Panlingly forth, as if it press'd her heart ; [father 
 Cried, Sisters! sisters! — Shame of ladies ! sisters! 
 Kent ! father ! sisters ! What 1 V the storm? i' the night? 
 Let -pity not be believed I — There she shook 
 The holy water from her heavenly eyes. 
 And clamour raoisten'd: — then away she started 
 To deal with grief alone. 
 
 Kent. It is the stars. 
 
 The stars above us, govern our conditions ; 
 Else one self mate and mate could not beget 
 Such different issues. You spoke not with her since? 
 
 Gent. No. 
 
 Kent. Was this before the king return'd 1 
 
 Gent. No, since. 
 
 A'efit.Well, sir; the poor distress'd Lear is i'the town: 
 Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers 
 What we are come about, and by no means 
 Will yield to see his daughter. 
 
 Gent. Why, good sir? [kindness 
 
 KeJit. A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own un- 
 That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her 
 To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights 
 To his dog-hearted daughters, — these things sting 
 His mind so venomously, that burning shame 
 Detains him from Cordelia. 
 
 Gent. Alack, poor gentleman .' 
 
 Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you heard 
 
 Gent. *Tis so ; they are afoot. [not ? 
 
 Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master, Lear, 
 And leave you to attend him : some dear cause 
 Will in concealment wrap me up awhile ; 
 When I am known aright, you shall not grieve 
 Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go 
 Along with me. [Eieunt 
 
 SCENE IV. — The same. A TeJit. 
 Entei' Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers, 
 
 Cor. Alack, 'tis he ; why, he was met even now 
 As mad as the vex'd sea: singing aloud : 
 Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds. 
 With harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, 
 Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow 
 In our sustaining corn. — A century send forth ; 
 Search every acre in the high-grown field. 
 And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] — What 
 
 can man's wisdom do. 
 In the restoring his bereaved sense 1 
 He, that helps him, take all my outward worth. 
 
 Phu. There is means, madam : 
 Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, 
 The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, 
 Are many simples operative, whose power 
 Will close the eye of anguish. 
 
 Cor. All bless'd secrets, 
 
 All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth. 
 Spring with my tears ! be aidant, and remediate, 
 In the good man's distress ! — Seek, seek for him ; 
 Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life 
 That wants the means to lead it. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. !\Iadam, news 
 
 The British powers are marching hither\vard. 
 
 Cor. Tis known before ; our preparation stands 
 In expectation of them, — O dear father. 
 It is thy business that I go about ; 
 Therefore great France 
 My mourning, and important tears, hath pitied. 
 
790 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 No blown ambition doth our arms incite, 
 
 Bat love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right : 
 
 Soon may 1 hear, and see him ! [ Exnmt. 
 
 SCENE v. — A Room in Gloster's Castle. 
 Enter Regan and Steward. 
 
 Reg, But are my brother's powers set forth t 
 
 Stew. Ay, madam. 
 
 Reg. Himself 
 
 In person there 1 
 
 Stew. Madam, with much ado : 
 
 Your sister is the better soldier. 
 
 flfg.Lord Edmund spake notwith your lord athome? 
 
 Stew. No, madam. 
 
 Reg. W hat might import my sister's letter to him ? 
 
 Stew. I know not, lady. 
 
 Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter. 
 It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out. 
 To let him live ; where he arrives, he moves 
 All hearts against us ; Edmund, I think, is gone, 
 In pity of his misery, to despatch 
 His nighted life ; moreover, to descry 
 The strength o'the enemy. 
 
 Slew. I must needs after him, madam, with my letter. 
 
 Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow ; stay with us ; 
 The ways are dangerous. 
 
 Steio. I may not, madam ; 
 
 My lady charg'd my duty in this business. 
 
 JJe^. VVhyshouldshe write to Edmund'! Might not 
 Transport her purposes by words t Belike, [you 
 Something— I know not what : — I'll love thee much. 
 Let me unseal the letter. 
 
 Steio. Madam, I had rather — 
 
 Reg. I know, your lady does not love her husband ; 
 I ajn sure of that : and, at her late being here, 
 She gave strange oeiliads, and most speaking looks 
 To noble Edmund : I know, you are of her bosom. 
 
 Stew. I, madam? 
 
 Reg. I speak in understanding ; you are, I know it : 
 Therefore, I do advise you, take this note : 
 My lord is dead ; Edmund and I have talk'd ; 
 And more convenient is he for my hand, 
 Than for your lady's : — You may gather more. 
 If you do find him, pray you, give him tliis ; 
 And when your mistress hears thus much from you, 
 I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her. 
 So, fare you well. 
 
 If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor. 
 Preferment falls on him that cuts him off. 
 
 Stew. 'Would I could meet hira, madam! I would 
 What party I do follow. [shew 
 
 Reg. Fare thee well. \_Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE VI.— ne Country near Dover. 
 Entei' Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a peasant. 
 
 Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same hill? 
 
 Edg. You do climb up it now : look how we labour. 
 
 Glo. Methinks, the ground is even. 
 
 Edg. Horrible steep : 
 
 Hark, do you hear the sea ? 
 
 Glo. No, truly. 
 
 Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect 
 By your eyes' anguish. 
 
 Glo. So may it be, indeed: 
 
 Methinks, thy voice is alter'd ; and thou speak'st 
 In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst 
 
 Edg. You are much deceiv'd; in nothing am I 
 But in my garments. [chang'd, 
 
 Glo. Methinks, you are better spoken. 
 
 Edg. Come on, sir; here's the place ; — stand stil!, 
 — How fearful 
 And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low ! 
 The crows, and choughs, that" wing the midway air. 
 Shew scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire ; dreadful trade ! 
 Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head : 
 The fishermen, that walk upon the beacli. 
 Appear like mice ; and yon tall auchoring bark, 
 Diminisli'd to her cock ; her cock, a buoy 
 Almost too small for sight : The murmuring surge. 
 That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes. 
 Cannot be heard so high : — I'll look no more , 
 Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight 
 Topple down headlong. 
 
 Glo. Set me where you stand. 
 
 Edg. Give me your hand: You are now within a foot 
 Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the moon 
 Would I not leap upright. 
 
 Glo, Let go my hand. 
 
 Here, friend, is another purse; in it, a jewel 
 Well worth a poor man's taking : Fairies, and gods. 
 Prosper it with thee ! Go thou further off; 
 Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going. 
 
 Edg. Now fare you well, good sir. [Seems tn go. 
 Glo. With all my heart. 
 
 Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair. 
 Is done to cure it. 
 
 Glo. O you mighty gods ! 
 
 This world I do renounce ; and, in your sights. 
 Shake patiently my great affliction off : 
 If 1 could bear it longer, and not fall 
 To quarrel with your great opposeless wills. 
 My snuft', and loathed part of nature, should 
 Burn itself out. If Edgar lives, O, bless him ! — 
 Now, fellow, fare thee well. 
 
 [He leaps, and falls along, 
 Edg. Gone, sir? farewell. — 
 
 And yet I know not how conceit may rob 
 The treasury of life, wiieu life itself 
 Yields to the theft : Had he been where he thought. 
 By this, had thought been past. — Alive, or dead ? 
 Ho, you sir ! friend ! — Hear you, sir ? — speak ! 
 Thus might he pass indeed : — Vet he revives • 
 What are you, sir? 
 
 Glo. Away, and let me did 
 
 Edg. Had'st thou been aught but gossoraer, feathers. 
 So many fathom down precipitating, [aii. 
 
 Thou had'st shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost 
 breathe ; [sound. 
 
 Hast heavy substance ; bleed'st not ; speak'st ; art 
 Ten masts at each make not the altitude, 
 U'hich thou hast perpendicularly fell ; 
 Thy life 's a miracle : Speak yet again. 
 Glo. But have I fallen, or no? 
 Edg. From the dread summitof this chalky bourn . 
 Look up a-heiglit ; — the shriU-gorg'd lark so far 
 Cannot be seen or heard ; do but look up. 
 
 Glo. Alack, 1 have no eyes. — 
 Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit. 
 To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort. 
 When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage. 
 And frustrate his proud will. 
 
 Edg. Give me your arm : 
 
 Up :■ — So ; — How is't ? Feel you your legs ? You 
 Glo. Too well, too welU [stand. 
 
 Edg. 1 his is above all strangeness. 
 
 Upon the crown o' the cliff, what thing was that 
 Which parted from you? 
 
 Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar. 
 
 Edg. As I stood here below, methouglit, his eyea 
 Were two full rooons ; he had a thousand noses. 
 
ACT IV.-SCENE VT. 
 
 79] 
 
 Horns whelk'd, and wav'd like the eniidged sea ; 
 It was some fiend : Therefore, thou happy father, 
 Think that the clearest gods, who make them honours 
 Of men's impossibilities, have preserv'd lliee. 
 
 Ch'. I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear 
 Affliction, till it do cry out itself, 
 Enou<^li, enough, and, die. That thing you speak of, 
 I took it for a man ; often 'twould say. 
 The fiend, thejiend: he led me to that place. 
 
 t,dg. l$ear free and patient thoughts. — But who 
 comes here ? 
 
 'F.uter l,ifi-R, fantastically dressed up with Jlowers. 
 The safer sense will ne'er accommodate 
 His master thus. 
 
 I ear. No, they cannot touch me for coining ■ 
 I am the king himself. 
 
 Edg. thou side-piercing sight ! 
 
 Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — There's 
 your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like 
 a crow-keeper ; draw me a clotliier's yard. — Look, 
 look, a mouse ! Peace, peace ; — this piece of toasted 
 cheese will do't. — There's my gauntlet ; I'll prove 
 it on a giant. — Bring up the brown bills. — 0, well 
 flown, bird? — i' the clout, i' the clout: hewgh 1 — 
 Give the word. 
 
 Edg. Sweet marjoram. 
 
 Lear. Pass. 
 
 Glo. I know that voice. 
 
 Lear. Ha ! Goneril ! — with a white beard ! — They 
 flatter'd me like a dog ; and told me, 1 had white 
 hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there. 
 To say ati, and no, to every thing I said ! — Ay and 
 no too was no good divinity. \\ hen the rain came 
 to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter ; 
 when the thunder would not peace at my bidding ; 
 there I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to, 
 they are not men o'their words : they told me 1 was 
 every thing ; 'tis a lie ; I am not ague-proof. 
 
 Gio The trick of that voice I do well remember : 
 Is't not the king 1 
 
 Lear. Ay, every inch a king : 
 
 When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes. 
 I pardon that man's life : What was thy cause! — 
 Adulteiy. — 
 
 Thou shalt not die : Die for adultery ! No : 
 The wren goes to 't, and the small gilded fly 
 Does lecher in my sight. 
 
 Let copulation thrive, for Gloster's bastard son 
 Was kinder to his father, than my daughters 
 Got 'tween the lawful sheets. 
 To't, luxury, pell-mell, for I lack soldiers. — 
 Behold yon' simpering dame, ^ 
 
 Whose face between her forks presageth snow ; 
 That minces virtue, and does shake the head 
 To hear of pleasure's name ; 
 The fitchew, nor the soiled horse, goes to 't 
 ^^'ith a more riotous appetite. 
 Down from the waist they are centaurs. 
 Though women all above : 
 But to the girdle do the gods inherit. 
 Beneath is all the fiends' ; there's hell, there's dark- 
 ness, there is the sulphurous pit, burning, scalding, 
 stench, consumption; — Fye, fye, fye! pah; pah! 
 Give me an ounce of civet, good apothecary, to 
 sweeten my imagination : there 's money for thee. 
 Glo. O, let me kiss that hand ! 
 Lear. Let me wipe it first: it smells of mortality. 
 Gh. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world 
 Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me ? 
 Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost 
 thou squiay at me ? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid ; 
 
 I '11 not love. — Read thou this challengo ; mark but 
 the penning of it. 
 
 Gin. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one. 
 
 Edg. I would not take this from report ; — it is, 
 And my heart breaks at it, 
 
 Lear. Read. 
 
 G/o. What, with the case of eyes ? 
 
 Lear. O, ho, are you there with mel No eyes in 
 your head, nor no money in your purse? Your eyes 
 are in a heavy case, your purse in a light : Yet you 
 see how this world goes. 
 
 Gin. I see it feelingly. 
 
 Lear. What, art mad? A man may see how this 
 world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears : see 
 how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple thief. Hark, 
 in thine ear : Change places ; and, handy-dandy, 
 which is the justice, which is the thief! — Thou hast 
 seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar? 
 
 Gio. Ay, sir? 
 
 Lear. And the creature run from the cur? 
 There thou might'st behold the great image of autho- 
 rity : a dog *s obeyed in office. — 
 Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand : 
 Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back; 
 Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind [cozener. 
 For which thou whipp'st her. The usurer hangs the 
 Through tatter'd clothes small vices do appear ; 
 Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. PI ate sin with gold. 
 And the strong lance of justice hurtless brea'ks : 
 Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it. 
 None does offend, none, I say, none ; I '11 able 'em ; 
 Take that of me, my friend, w-ho have the power 
 To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes ; 
 And, like a scurvy politician, seem 
 To see the things thou dost not. — N ow, now, now, now* 
 Pull off ray boots : — harder, harder ; so. 
 
 Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd ! 
 Reason in madness ! 
 
 Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes. 
 I know thee well enough ; thy name is Gloster : 
 Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither. 
 Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air. 
 We wawl, and cry : — I will preach to thee ; mark me. 
 
 Gin. Alack, alack, the day ! 
 
 Lear. W^hen we are born, we cry, that we are come 
 
 To this great stage of fools ; This a good block l~~ 
 
 It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe 
 .\ troop of horses with felt : I '11 put it in proof ; 
 And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law. 
 Then, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman, with Attendants. 
 
 Gent. O, here he is ; lay hand upon him. — Sir, 
 Your most dear daughter 
 
 Leitr. No rescue? What, a prisoner? I am even 
 The natural fool of fortune. — Use me well ; 
 You shall have ransome. Let me have a surgeon, 
 I am cut to the brains. 
 
 Gent. You shall have anv thing. 
 
 Lear. No seconds? all myself? 
 Why, this would make a man, a man of salt. 
 To use his eyes for garden water-pots, 
 Ay, and for laying autumn's dust. 
 
 Gent. Good sii,- 
 
 Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom ; What? 
 I will be jovial ; come, come j I am a king, 
 My masters, know you that? 
 
 Gf!i(. You are a royal one, and we obey you. 
 
 Lear. Then there 's'life in it. Nay, an you get it, 
 you shall gel it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa. 
 
 [Exit running; Attendants foi/mo. 
 
 Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch ; 
 
792 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 Past speaking of in a king ! —Thou hast one daughter, 
 Who redeems nature from the general curse 
 Which twain have brought her to. 
 
 EWff. Hail, gentle sir. j~- ^--,. . 
 
 Gml. Sir, speed you : What 's your will ? i your apciwnale iervant 
 
 Edg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward! ' 
 
 Gent. Most sure, and vulgar : every one hears that, 
 Which can distinguish sound. 
 
 Edg. But, by your favour, 
 
 How near's the other army ? 
 
 Gent. Near, and on speedy foot ; the main descry 
 Stands on the hourly thought. 
 
 £,/g. I thank you, sir : that s all. 
 
 Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is 
 
 Her army is mov'd on. [here, 
 
 Edg. I thank you, sir. [Eiit Gent. 
 
 Glo. You ever gentle gods, take my breath from me; 
 
 Let not my worser spirits tempt me again 
 
 To die before you please! 
 
 jFrf„. Well pray you, father. 
 
 Gto. Now, good sir, what are you t [blows ; 
 
 Edg. A most poor man, made tame by fortune's 
 Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows. 
 Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand, 
 1 '11 lead you to some biding. 
 
 Glo. Hearty thanks : 
 
 The bounty and the benizon of heaven 
 To boot, and boot ! 
 
 Enter Steward. 
 Steio. • A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy ! 
 
 That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh 
 To raise my fortunes.— Tliou old unhappy traitor. 
 Briefly thyself remember :— The sword is out 
 That must destroy thee. . ,, ■ > 
 
 gjii. Now let thy fnendly hand 
 
 Put strength enough to it. [Edgar opposes. 
 
 Stj^,. Wherefore, bold peasant, 
 
 Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor l Hence; 
 Lest that the infection of his fortune take 
 Like hold on thee. Let go his arm. 
 
 Edg. Chill not let go, zir, without vurther'casion. 
 Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest. _ 
 Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor 
 volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out of ray 
 life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vort- 
 night. Nay, come not near the old man; keep out, 
 che vor'ye, or ise try whether yourcostard or my bat 
 be the harder : Ch'ill be plain with you. 
 Slew. Out, dunghill ! 
 
 Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no matter 
 vor your foins. 
 
 [Then fght ; and Edgar hioeks him down. 
 Stew. Slave, "thou hast slain me :— Villain, take my 
 If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ; [purse ; 
 And give the letters, which thou find'st about me. 
 To Edmund earl of Gloster ; seek him out 
 Upon the British party :—0, untimely death! [Dies. 
 
 Edg. 1 know thee well : A serviceable villain ; 
 As duteous to the vices of thy mistress, 
 As badness would desire. 
 
 (3/(,. What, is he dead? 
 
 Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you. — 
 Let's see his pockets : these letters that he speaks of, 
 May be my friends.— He is dead ; I am only sorry 
 He had no other death's-man.— Let us see : — 
 Leave, gentle wax : and, manners, blame us not: 
 To know our enemies' minds, we 'd rip their hearts ; 
 Their papers, is more lawful. 
 
 [Reads.] Let onr reciprocal vows be remembered. 
 Ymi have many opportunities to cut him of : if your 
 will want not, time and place will beJruHjully offered. 
 
 There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror ; Then 
 am I the prisoner, and his bed my gaol ; from the 
 loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place 
 for uour labour. Your wife, (so 1 would say.) and 
 
 '■' ^ .. ■ . GONERIL. 
 
 undistinguish'd space of woman's will ! — 
 
 A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ; 
 
 And the exchange, my brother !— Here, in the sands. 
 
 Thee 1 '11 rake up, the post unsancli6ed 
 
 Of murderous lechers : and, in the mature time. 
 
 With this ungracious paper strike the sight 
 
 Of the death-practis'd duke: For him 'tis well. 
 
 That of thy death and business I can tell. 
 
 [Exit Edgar, dragging out the body, 
 Glo. The king is mad : How stifl' is my vile sense. 
 That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling 
 Of ray huge sorrows ! Better I were distract : 
 So should'ray thoughts be sever'd from my griefs ; 
 And woes, by wrong imaginations lose 
 The knowledge of themselves. 
 
 Re-enter Edgar. 
 Edg. Give me your hand : 
 
 Far oflf, raethinks, I hear the beating drum. 
 Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend. [Eieunt. 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 A Tent in the French Cump. — Lear ona Bed, asleep; 
 
 Physicians, Gentlemen, and others, attending. 
 
 Enter Cordelia and Kent. 
 Cor. thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work. 
 To match thy goodness 1 My life will be loo short, 
 And every measure fail me. 
 
 Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'er-paid. 
 All my reports go with the modest truth ; 
 Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so. 
 
 C„i.. Be better suited : 
 
 These weeds are memories of those worser hours ; 
 1 pr'ythee, put them off. 
 
 Kent. Pardon me, dear madam ; 
 
 Yet to be known, shortens my made intent : 
 My boon I make it, that you know me not. 
 Till time and 1 think meet. 
 
 Cor. Then be it so, my good lord. — How does the 
 king ] [To the Physician. 
 
 Phys. Madam, sleeps still. 
 Cor. O you kind gods. 
 Cure this great breach in his abused nature ! 
 The untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up, 
 Of this child- changed father ! 
 
 Phiis. So please your majesty. 
 
 That vve may wake tlie king 1 he hath slept long. 
 
 Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed 
 I' the sway of your own will. Is he array 'd ! 
 
 Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep. 
 We put fresh garments on him. 
 
 Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him ; 
 I doubt not of his temperance. 
 
 Cor. Very well. [there. 
 
 Phys. Please you, draw near. — Louder the music 
 Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang 
 Thy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss 
 Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters 
 Have in thy reverence made ! 
 
 Kent. Kind and dear princess I 
 
 Cor. Had you notbeen their father, these white flakes 
 Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face 
 To be expos'd against the warring winds ! 
 To stand against the deep dread bolted thunder? 
 In the most terrible and nimble stroke 
 
/SSi»amuaiiiiiJ?Js£^j;;../^«aiaaK^^ 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 793 
 
 Of quick, cross-lightning? to watch (poor perdu !) 
 
 With this thin helm t Mine enemy's dog. 
 
 Though he had bit me, should have stood that night 
 
 Against my fire ; And wast thou fain, poor father, 
 
 To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn. 
 
 In siiorty and musty straw ? Alack, alacli ! 
 
 'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once 
 
 Had not concluded all. — He wakes; speak to him. 
 
 Phtfs. Jladam, do you ; 'tis fittest. [majesty? 
 
 Cor. How does my royal lord ? How fares your 
 
 Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o'the grave : — 
 Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound 
 Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears 
 Do scald like molten lead. 
 
 Cor. Sir, do you know me ? 
 
 Lear. You are a spirit, I know ; When did you die ? 
 
 Cor. Still, still, far wide ! 
 
 Phiis. He's scarce awake ; let him alone awhile. 
 
 Lear. Where have I been 1 Where am I ? — Fair 
 day-light? — 
 I am mightily atms'd. — T should even die with pity. 
 To see another thus. — I know not what to say. — 
 I will not swear, these are my hands ; — let'j see ; 
 I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assur'd 
 Of my condition. 
 
 Cor, O, look upon me, sir, 
 
 And hold your hands in benediction o'er me : — 
 No, sir, you must not kneel. 
 
 Leiir. Pray, do not mock me ; 
 
 I am a very foolish fond old man. 
 Fourscore and upward ; and, to deal plainly, 
 I fear, I am not in my perfect mind. 
 Methinks, I should know you, and know this man ; 
 Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant 
 What place this is : and all the skill I have 
 Kemembers not these garments ; nor I know not 
 Where I did lodge last night : Do not laugh at me ; 
 For. as I am a man, I think this lady 
 To be my child Cordelia. 
 
 Cor. And so I am, I am. 
 
 Lear. Be your tears wet? Yes. 'faith. I pray, weep 
 If you have poison for me, I will drink it. [not : 
 
 I know, you do not love me ; for your sisters 
 Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: 
 You have some cause, they have not. 
 
 Cor. No cause, no cause. 
 
 Lear. Am I in France ! 
 
 Kent. In your own kingdom, sir. 
 
 Lear. Do not abuse me. 
 
 Phys. Be comforted, good madam: the great rage, 
 You see, is cur'd in him : and yet it is danger 
 To make him even o'er the time he has lost. 
 Desire liim to go in ; trouble him no more. 
 Till further settling. 
 
 Cor. Will't please your highness walk ? 
 
 Lear. You must bear with me : 
 
 Pray now, forget and forgive : I am old, and foolish. 
 
 [ErfKHf Lear, C'okdflia, Physician, and Attend. 
 
 Gent. Holds it true, sir. 
 That the duke of Cornwall was so slain ? 
 
 Kent. Most certain, sir. 
 
 Cent. Who is conductor of his people ? 
 
 Kent. As 'tis said. 
 
 The bastard son of Gloster. 
 
 Gent. They say, Edgar, 
 
 His banish'd son, is with the earl of Kent 
 In Germany. 
 
 Kent. Keport is changeable. 
 
 *Tis time to look about ; the powers o'the kingdom 
 Approach apace. 
 
 Gent. The arbitrement is like to be a bloody. 
 Fare you well, sir. [Eiit. , 
 
 Kent. My point and period will be throughly 
 wrought. 
 Or well, or ill, as this day's battle's fought. [E.iit. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE l.—The Camp of the British Forces, 
 near Dover. 
 
 Enter, with drums and'cotours, Edmund, Regan, 
 Officers, Soldiers, and others. 
 
 Edm. Know of the duke, if his last purpose hold ; 
 Or, whether since he is advis'd by aught 
 To change the course : He's full of alteration. 
 And self-reproving : — bring his constant pleasure. 
 [To an Officer, who goes out* 
 
 2?e^. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried. 
 
 Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam. 
 _ Peg. Now, sweet loid. 
 
 You linow the goodness I intend upon you : 
 Tell me, — but truly, — but then speak the truth. 
 Do you not love my sister? 
 
 Edm. In honour'd love. 
 
 Reg. But have you never found my brother's way 
 To the forefended place ? 
 
 Edm. That thought abuses you. 
 
 Peg. I am doubtful that you have been conjunct 
 And bosom'd with her, as far as we call hers. 
 
 Edm. No, by mine honour, madam. 
 
 Reg. I never shall endure her : Dear my lord, 
 Be not familiar with her. 
 
 Edm. Fear me not ; — 
 She, and the duke her husband, 
 
 Enter Albany, Goneril, and Soldiers. 
 
 Gou. I had rather lose the battle, than that sister 
 Should loosen him and me. [Aside. 
 
 Alb. Our very loving sister, well be met 
 
 Sir, this I hear, — The king is come to his daughter. 
 With others, whom the rigour of our state 
 Forc'd to cry out. Where I could not be honest, 
 I never yet was valiant : for this business. 
 It toucheth us as France invades our land. 
 Not holds the king ; with others, whom, I fear. 
 Most just and heavy causes make oppose. 
 
 Edm. Sir, you speak nobly. 
 
 Reg. Why is this reason'd ? 
 
 Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy : 
 For these domestic and particular broils 
 Are not to question here. 
 
 ^ib. Let us then determine 
 
 With the ancient of war on our proceedings. 
 
 Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent. 
 
 Reg. Sister, you'll go with us ? 
 
 Gon. No. 
 
 Reg. 'Tis most convenient ; pray you, go with us. 
 
 Gon. O, ho, I know the riddle: [Aside.] I will go. 
 As they are going out, enter Edgar, disguised. 
 
 Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with man so poor. 
 Hear me one word. 
 
 Alb. I'll overtake you.— Speak. 
 
 [Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Officers, 
 Soldiers, and Attendants. 
 
 Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter. 
 If you have victory, let the trumpet sound 
 For him that brought it; wretched though I seem, 
 I can produce a champion, that will prove 
 What is avouched there : If you miscarry. 
 Your business of the world hath so an end. 
 And machination ceases. Fortune love you ! 
 
 Alb. Stay till I have read the letter. 
 
794 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 nr powers. 
 i forces 
 
 „f^-. I was forbid it. 
 
 "Bea Dme ini^i serve, let but the hecaJd cry, 
 And III appear a^ain. • CEzit. 
 
 Alb. VV ay, fare -Jjee well ; I will oeriook tliy paper! 
 Re-tnter Ei>3iv>i>. 
 
 Kjti. Tbe eaemv's in view ■ — - 
 Eere is tie jness of their tm^ 
 By liiLi^eot Jiscovery ; — bur. 
 I> O0W urg'd aa yoa. 
 
 ■^j*" ,- ,. We will greet the time. [Eat. 
 
 £dm. To both diese sisters have I swom my love ; 
 Each jealous of the other, as the string 
 Sx^ of the adder. Which of them shall I take T 
 Both ? one ! or neither ? Neither can be enjoy 'd. 
 If both remain alive : To take the widow. 
 Exasperates, makes mad her aster G<nienl ■ 
 And tardlT shall I cainr out mv side. 
 
 ■: 'I nse 
 : -ag doae, 
 
 -- oiF. As : - 
 
 - 5o Lear, a.-. i. — 
 
 i a= -a:^e .iuae. and they wicain uar puwer. 
 Shall never see his 3a."Ioii : for mv state 
 Stands oa me to deieod, not to defaau:. [Erit. 
 
 SCENE H, — A Fie!d between the iica Campt. 
 Alarum mtkin. Eater, with dmimt mui caiotirf. Lija, 
 
 That ebb and fiow bv the mooa. 
 
 Edm. Taie them awar. 
 
 teitr. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, [thetj ? 
 
 ht 
 
 The ^ods themselves throw ioceose. 
 
 He that pa-ts us. shall bring a bra.-. 
 
 -A.nd fire us beace. Tike f'jr.es. W:-,: 
 
 The joujee-- 
 
 Eretheysh^ - :--,.. 
 
 Come. 1 ,_ .■ .■. 32l; ; . ^ , ' •Lai. 
 
 ^'^'"- C- . . hark. [to^j.-i>on ; 
 
 Takethoa-. ^ ,- juper.] 50, follow them 
 
 One step 1 ha-'e ativanc a thee : if thon dost 
 .is this intmcts thee, thon dost make thy way 
 To noble fortuaes : Know thon this,— that men 
 .ire as the time is : to be tender-minded 
 Uoes not become a sword : — Thy great emplovment 
 Will not bear question ;— «ther'say, thon'lt do't. 
 Or thrive bv other means. 
 
 Of. ' m do't, my loid. 
 
 Z4m. .ibont it : and write happy, when thon hast 
 Mark. — I >u ■. and carry it so, [done. 
 
 As I have s^: 
 
 Ojf. 1 ca^_-... -.».. i cart, nor eat dried oats -. 
 If a be man's work, 1 will do if. [Exit Otficer. 
 
 FUmriA. Enter Ax.a.i.>rr. Gowbku,, RrciX, 
 OSceis, ami Attendants. 
 
 Coaiyet,iA, and their Fijreet ; arui ezeuytc. 
 Eiuer Enc&A and Glosteji- 
 
 ?oaaow of tiiis tree 
 - *Jie right mav tnrive 
 
 ::a of yofi ; so to use them, 
 ...eir merits and our sofecv 
 
 Alanam ; (^iermardt z Uetreat. Se-enter EncAa. 
 rive me tiiy hand, awaT ■ 
 ijii ais lianghier ta'ea : 
 
 ^ i uian ma^ rot even her?. 
 
 - - .itsag^ia? >IenmasiendiiEe 
 
 icnce. even as ttier comiag hxtixer i 
 
 »» e '- . 
 Asw, 
 
 May e<jia_7 .uicermme. 
 
 Eiim. 
 To send :h*? "" ' ~-- — - 
 j To some r» 
 lEzit EncAS. ! "^"i"** age . . . .. _. . _. ..,_ ■j.cse aioit. 
 To pluck the conmott oosom on ins aide, 
 Aad turn onr i!T!?r^ss''i iaacss in oar eves 
 
 Sir I bought it St 
 
 i-i : Come 00. 
 -iaa that's tme too, 
 
 [£r«nnr. 
 
 SCENE HL- 
 
 ~The British Cxnrp near Dover. 
 .Jiier, ni cmumt^, vith dram ^nd coiourt. Enanrrnj ; 
 L£i2 and Coansiii, a prismerti Oficers, Sel- 
 lers, je. 
 
 •.".rsScen ake diemiway: goodgaard; 
 ."eaier pleasures irst oe knowa 
 - - :ensQie tnem. 
 
 *■""- We are not -Jie 3r«t, 
 WHO, wiiii be«t ig e - ^ u i: :- ,^ hrr^ ".-'TTrT ; tae worst. 
 For rfiee, o. ' j 
 
 3*7se£f cou. -itoro- I 
 
 Waichdoc; 
 yij reason i 
 To-.morrow 
 Waer^ jq^ , 
 We sweat, a.. - 
 And die best i{aa.- 
 Bv those fft ^r iee^ 
 
 With him I sentthe qaeen, 
 and thev are readv 
 
 -j time 
 
 -i fnend ; 
 
 ■ '-.■at, arecnis'i 
 .*ss: — 
 
 The question of CGr'.:^i_a, t^m her &ther, 
 Ee<rnTes a Stter place. 
 
 AJi. Sir. by yoar patience, 
 
 I hold yon but a subject of this war, 
 Not as a bmner. 
 
 •See. 
 ^iettiinks. oin* tA^ a 
 
 » list 07 grace hinb 
 i""; b»:en demanded 
 v^rs ; 
 
 And ca4 itself your brother. 
 
 G«n. Jim so hot : 
 
 In 313 Twa grace he ioA. esait oimseii, 
 yiuK tiian la vonz advaniaaBent^ 
 
 la my rights, 
 jvested, he cumpeeis the best. 
 That were su mnct. ifh^ shtraidhssbaat jaa. 
 Jesteo da ■& gnve pvpbeou 
 
 H.-Ha. holla ' 
 
 ncxsamt sects 
 
 \ Gftn. 
 
 1 That »- 
 
 fie?; 
 
 - — From, I __ 
 
 — I T^e tfaov ai^ faftges^. foeaaa^ p miimiuy ; 
 I ZHspoK of t&eniv of ae f the waOsaae tmw^ 
 
 WitsKB tfae warili, list I aeaze Aee ben 
 I jfj* lan vtB. ntufitt^t 
 
 ■J -ufjvia;r taimac-i. — '^^tOhri. 
 
ACT V._SCENE HI. 
 
 795 
 
 Cim. Mean you to enjoy him? 
 
 Alb. Tli« let-alone lies not in your good will. 
 
 l.dm. Nor in thine, lord. 
 
 Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes. 
 
 litg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title tliine. 
 
 ^To Edmi'nd. 
 
 Alb. Slay yet ; hear reason : — Edmund, I arrest 
 On capital treason ; and, in thy arrest, [thee 
 
 This gilded serpent: [Fainting to Gon] — for your 
 
 claim, fair sister, 
 I bar it in the interest of my wife ; 
 'Tis she is sub contracted to this lord. 
 And I, her husband, contradict your bans. 
 If you will marry, make your love to me, 
 Mr lady is bespoke. 
 
 Gt»«. An interlude ! 
 
 Alb. Thou art arm'd, Glosier : — Let the trumpet 
 If none appear to prove upon thy person, [sound: 
 Thy heinous, mamfest, and many treasons, 
 There is my pledge ; \Thrcuing Joicit a gUn-e.^ I'll 
 
 prove it on thy heart. 
 Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less 
 Than I have here proclaim'd thee. 
 
 Ilrg. Sick, 0, sick ! 
 
 Con. If not, I'll ne'er trust poison. [Jsi'cie. 
 
 Edm, There's my exchange: l^TJirowing doi^n a 
 glove.'] what in the world he is 
 That names me traitor, villain like he lies : 
 Call by thy trumpet : he that dares approach, 
 On him, on you, (who not ^) 1 will maintain 
 My truth and honour firmly. 
 
 'Alh. A herald, hoi 
 
 y.dm. A herald, ho, a herald ! 
 
 Alb. Trust to thy single virtue ; for thy soldiers. 
 All levied in my name, have in my name 
 Took their discbarge. 
 
 Reg. This sickness grows upon me. 
 
 Enter a Herald. 
 Alb. She is not well ; convey her to my tent 
 
 [Erit Recjn, led. 
 Come hither, herald, — Let the trumpet sound, — 
 And read out this. 
 
 Ojf'. Sound, trumpet. [J trumpet souiidi. 
 
 Herald reads. 
 
 If any man of quality, or degree, tpitfcin the lists of 
 the armu, will maintain upon Edmund, supposed earl 
 of Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him appear 
 at the third sound of the trumpet : He is bold in his 
 defence. 
 
 Earn, Sound. [l Trumpet. 
 
 Her, Again. [ii Trumpet. 
 
 Her, Again. [3 Trumpet. 
 
 \Tmmpet ansurers urithin. 
 
 Enter Edcar, armed, preceded bit a trumpet, 
 
 Aib. Ask him his purposes, why he appears 
 Upon this call o'the trumpet. 
 
 Her. What are you 1 
 
 Vour name, your quality? and why you answer 
 This present summons 1 
 
 Edg, Know, mv name is lost ; 
 
 By treason's tooth bare gnawn, and can'ier-blt 
 Vet am I noble, as the adversary 
 I come to cope withal. 
 
 Jib. Which is that adversary ' [Gloster? 
 
 Edg. What's he that speaks for Edmund earl of 
 
 Edm. Himself; — What say'st thou to him? 
 
 Edg. Draw thy sword ; 
 
 T'lat, if ny speech offend a noble heart. 
 Thy arm may do thee justice : here is mine. 
 IkboUl, It is the privilege of mine honours. 
 
 My oath, and my profession; I protest, — 
 Maugre thy strength, youth, place, and eminence. 
 Despite thy victor sword, and fire-new fortune. 
 Thy valour, and thy heart, — thou art a traitor : 
 False to thy gods, ihv brother, and thy father ; 
 Conspirant' 'gainst this high illustrious prince ; 
 .■Vnd, from the eitremest upward of thy head. 
 To the descent and dust beneath thy feet, 
 .\ most toad-spotted traitor. Say ihou, A*a, 
 This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent 
 To prove upou thy heart, whereto I speak. 
 Thou liest. 
 
 Edm. In wisdom, I should ask thy name ; 
 
 But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike. 
 And that thy tongue some 'say of breeding breathes. 
 What safe and nicely I might well delay 
 By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn: 
 Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ; 
 With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart; 
 Which, (for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,) 
 This sword of mine shall give them instant way. 
 Where they shall rest for ever. — Trumpets, speak. 
 [Alarums. Theu fight. Eduvvd falls. 
 Alb. save him, save him ! 
 Gon. This is mere practice, Gloster : 
 
 By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer 
 An unkno^'n opposite : thou art not vanquish'd. 
 But cozen'd and beguil'd. 
 
 .ilb. Shut your mouth, dame. 
 
 Or with this paper shall I stop it : — Hold, sir : — 
 Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil : — 
 Xo tearing, lady; I perceive you know it. 
 
 [Giles the Utter to Edmcnd. 
 Gon. Say, if I do : the laws are mine, not thine : 
 Who shall arraign me for't? 
 
 .ilb. Most monstrous ! 
 
 Know'st thou this paper? 
 
 Gon. Ask me not what I know. [Exit Gosep.il. 
 Atb. Go after her ; she's desperate ; govern her, 
 
 [To an Officer, vho goes out, 
 Edm. What you have charg'd me with, that have 
 I done ; 
 .\nd more, much more : the time will bring it out ; 
 'Tis past, and so am I : But what art thou. 
 That hast this fortune on me ? If thou art noble, 
 1 do forgive thee. 
 
 Edg. Let's exchange charity. 
 
 I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund; 
 If more, the more thou hast wrongd me. 
 My name is Edgar, and thy father's son. 
 The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
 Make instruments to scourge us : 
 The dark and vicious place where thee he got. 
 Cost him his eyes. 
 
 Edm. Thou hast spoken right, 'tis trtie ; 
 
 The wheel is come full circle ; I am here. 
 
 Alb. Methought thy ver)- gait did prophesy ' 
 \ royal nobleness : 1 must embrace thee ; 
 Let sorrow split mv heart, if e»er I 
 Did hate thee, or tliy father! 
 
 ^S- Worthy prince, 
 
 I know it well. 
 
 Atb. Where have you hid yourself? 
 
 How have you known the miseries of your father ? 
 Edg. By nursing them, mv lord. — List a brief 
 tale ; — 
 And, when 'tis told, O. that my heart would burst !^ 
 The bloody proclamation to escape. 
 That follow'd me so near, (O our lives' sweetness ! 
 That with ihe pain of death we'd hourly die. 
 Rather than die at once ! ) taught me to shift 
 Into a mad-man's rags ; to assume a semblance 
 
796 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 
 That very dogs djsdain'd ; and in this habit 
 Met I my fatlier with his bleeding rings, 
 Their precious stones new lost ; became his guide, 
 Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair; 
 Never (0 fault!) reveal'd myself unto him, 
 Until some half hour past, when I was arra'd, 
 Not sure, though hoping, of this good success, 
 I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last 
 Told him my pilgrimage : But his flaw'd heart, 
 (Alack, too weak the conflict to support !) 
 'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief, 
 Burst smilingly. 
 
 Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me. 
 
 And shall, perchance, do good : but speak you on ; 
 You look as you had something more to say. 
 
 Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in ; 
 For I am almost ready to dissolve. 
 Hearing of this. 
 
 £(/». This would have seem'd a period 
 
 Te such as love not sorrow ; but another. 
 To amplify too-much, would make much more. 
 And top extremity. 
 
 Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man, 
 "Who having seen me in my worst estate, 
 Shunn'd my abhorr'd society ; but then, finding 
 Who 'twas that so endur'd, with his strong arms 
 He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out 
 As he'd burst heaven ; threw him on my father : 
 Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him. 
 That ever ear receiv'd : which in recounting 
 His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life 
 Began to crack : Twice then the trumpet sounded. 
 And there I left him tranc'd. 
 
 Alb. But who was this 1 
 
 Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent ; who in disguise 
 Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service 
 Improper for a slave. 
 
 Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody knife. 
 
 Gent. Help ! help ! help ! 
 
 Edg. \Vhat kind of help 1 
 
 Alb. Speak, man. 
 
 Edg. What means that bloody knife ? 
 
 Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes ; 
 
 It came even from the heart of — 
 
 Alb. Who, . man 1 speak. 
 
 Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister 
 By her is poison'd ; she confesses it. 
 
 Edm. I was contracted to them both ; all three 
 Now marry in an instant. 
 
 Alb. Produce their bodies, be they alive or dead ! — 
 This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble. 
 Touches us not with pity. [L.u't Gentleman. 
 
 Enter Kent. 
 
 Edg. 
 • Alb. O ! it is he. 
 The time will not allow the compliment, 
 Which very manners urges. 
 
 Kent. I am come 
 
 To bid ray king and master aye good night ; 
 Is he not here 1 
 
 Alb. Great thing of us forgot ! — 
 
 Speak, Edmund, where's the king ; and where's Cor- 
 See'st thou this object, Kent \ [delia ? — 
 
 [The bodies of' Gos. and Reg. are brought in. 
 
 Kent. Alack, why thus ? 
 
 Edm. Yet Edmund was beloved : 
 
 The one the other poison'd for my sake, 
 And after slew herself. 
 
 Alb. Even so. — Cover their faces. 
 
 Edm. I pant foi life : — Some good I mean to do, 
 
 Here comes Kent, sir. 
 
 Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, — 
 Be brief in it. — to tlie castle ; for my writ 
 Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia: — 
 Nay, send in time. 
 
 Alb. Run, run, O, run — 
 
 Edg. To who, my lord 1 — Who has the office 1 send 
 Thy token of reprieve. 
 
 Edm, Well thought on ; take my sword. 
 Give it the captain. 
 
 Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. [Eiit Edgar. 
 
 Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me 
 To hang Cordelia in the prison, and 
 To lay the blame upon her own despair, 
 That she fordid herself. 
 
 Alb. The gods defend her ! Bear him hence awhile. 
 [Edmund is borne off. 
 
 Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his arms; 
 Edgar. Officer, and others. 
 
 Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howi ! — 0, you are men 
 of stones ; 
 Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so 
 That heaven's vault should crack : — 0, she is gone 
 
 for ever ! — 
 I know when one is dead, and when one lives ; 
 She's dead as earth : — Lend me a looking-glass ; 
 If that her breath will mist or stain the stone, 
 Whv, then she lives. 
 
 Kent. Is this the promis'd end 1 
 
 Edg. Or image of that horror ! 
 
 Alh. Fall, and cease ! 
 
 Lear. This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, 
 It is a chance that does redeem all sorrows 
 That ever I have felt. 
 
 A"e;it. my good master ! [KneeUn:'. 
 
 Lear. Pr'ythee, away. 
 
 Edg. 'Tis noble Kent, your friend. 
 
 Lenr. A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all I 
 I might have sav'd her ; now siie's gone for ever ! — 
 Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha! 
 What is't thou say'sti — Her voice was ever soft. 
 Gentle, and low ; an excellent tiling in woman ■ — 
 I kill'd the slave that was a hanging thee. 
 
 Off. 'Tis true, my lords, he did. 
 
 Lear. ■ Did I not, fellow ? 
 
 I have seen the day, with my good biting faulchion 
 I would have made them skip : I am old now. 
 And these same crosses spoil me. — Who are you ? 
 Mine eyes are none o'thebest: — I'll tell you straight. 
 
 Kent. If fortune brag of two she lov'd and hated. 
 One of them we behold. 
 
 Lear. This is a dull sight ; Are you not Kent ? 
 
 Kent. The same. 
 
 Your servant Kent : Where is your servant Caius ? 
 
 Lear. He's a good fellow, I can tell you that ; 
 He'll strike, and quickly too : He's dead and rotten. 
 
 Kent. No, my good lord ; I am the very man ; — 
 
 Lear. I'll see that straight. 
 
 Kent. That, from your first of difference and decay, 
 Have follow'd your sad steps. 
 
 Lear. You are welcome hither. [deadly. — 
 
 Kent. Nor no man else ; all's cheerless, dark, and 
 Your eldest daughters have fore-doom'd themselves, 
 .\nd desperately are dead. 
 
 Lear. Ay, so I think. 
 
 Alb. He knows not what he says ; and vain it is 
 That we present us to him. 
 
 Edg. Very bootless. 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 Off. Edmund is dead, my lord. 
 Aib. That's but a trifle here.— • 
 
 You lords, and noble friends, know our intent. 
 
ACf V.-SCENE III. 
 
 797 
 
 What comfort to this great decay may come, 
 Shall be applied : For us, we will resign, 
 During the life of this old majesty, 
 To him our absolute power :— You, to your rights ; 
 
 [To Edgar and Kent. 
 With boot, and such addition as your honours 
 Have more than merited. — AH friends shall taste 
 The wages of their virtue, and all foes 
 The cup of their deservings. — O, see, see ! 
 
 Leai\ And my poor fool is hang'd ! No, no, no life : 
 Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, 
 And thou no breath at all 1 0, thou wilt come no more. 
 Never, never, never, never, never! — 
 Pray you, undo this button : Thank you, sir, — 
 Do you see this ? Look on her, — look, — her lips, — 
 Look there, look there ! — [He dies. 
 
 Edg. He faints! — My lord, my lord, — 
 
 Kent. Break, heart ; 1 pr'ythee, break ! 
 
 Edg. Look up, my lord. 
 
 AV;U. Vex not his ghost: O, let him pass! he hates 
 That would upon the rack of this tough world [him, 
 Stretch him out longer. 
 
 Edg. O, he is gone, indeed. 
 
 Kent. The wonder is, he hath endur'd so long: 
 He but usurp'd his life. 
 
 Alb. Bear them from hence. — Our present business 
 Is general woe. Friends of my soul, you twain 
 
 [To Ken't and Edgar* 
 Rule in this realm, and the gor'd state sustain. 
 
 Kent. I have a journey, sir, shortly to go j 
 My master calls, and I must not say, no. 
 
 Alb. The weight of this sad time we must obey ; 
 Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. 
 The oldest hath borne most : we, that are voung. 
 Shall never see so much, nor live so long. 
 
 lExeu7it, with a dead march» 
 
 The traged> of Lear is deservedly celebrated amoDEthedra- 
 tnas of Shakspeare. There is perhaps oo play which seeps the 
 attention so strongly fixed ; whioh so moch agitates our passioos, 
 and interests our curiosity. 1 he artful lovoIulioDs ot distinct 
 interests, the striking oppositions of contrary characters, the 
 sudden changes of fortune, and the quick suct'ession of events, 
 fill the mind with a perpetual tumult of indignation, pity, and 
 hope. There is no scene which does not contribute to the ag- 
 RTavation of the distress or conduct of the action, and scarce a 
 line which does not conduce to the progress of the scene. So 
 powerful is the curreut of the poet's imagination, that the mind 
 which once ventures within u, is hurried irresistibly aloncr. 
 
 On the seeming improbability of Lear's conduct, it may be 
 observed, that he is represented according to histories at that 
 time vulgarly received as true. And, perhaps, if we turn our 
 thoughts upon the barbarity and ignorance ot the age to which 
 this story is referred, it will appear not so unlikely as while we 
 estimate Lear's manners by our own. Such preference of one 
 dnaghter to another, or resignation of dominion on such condi- 
 tions, would be yet credible, if told of a petty prince of Guinea 
 or Madagascar. Shakspeare, indeed, by ine mention of his earls 
 and dukes, has given us the idea of times more civilized, and of 
 life regulated by softer manners ; and the truth is, that though 
 he so nicely discriminates, and so minutely describes the cha- 
 racters of men, he commonly neglects and confounds the charac- 
 ters of ages, by mingling customs ancient and modem, English 
 and foreign. 
 
 My learned friend, Mr. Warlon, [afterwards Dr. Joseph War- 
 ton.] who has in The Adventurer very minutely criticised this 
 play, remarks, that the instances of cruelty are too savage and 
 shocking, and that the intervention of Edmund destroys the 
 simplicity of the story. These objections may, I think, be an- 
 swered, by repeating, that the cruelly of the daucbters is an 
 historical fact, to which the poet has added little, naving only 
 drawn it into a series of dialogue and action. But I am not able 
 to apologise with equal plausibility for the extrusion of Gloster's 
 eyes, which seems an act too horrid to be endured in dramatic 
 exhibition, and such as must always compel the mind to relieve 
 its distresses by increduHiy. Yet let it be remembered that our 
 author well knew what would please the audience for which 
 he wrote. 
 
 The injury done by Edmund to the simplicity of the action is 
 abondantlv recompensed by the addition of variety, by the art 
 with which he is made to co-optrate with the chief design, and 
 llie opportunity which he ^ives the poet of combining perfidy 
 with perfidy, and connecting the wicked son with the wicked 
 daughters, to impress this important moral, that villany is never 
 nt a stop, that crimes lead to crimes, and at last terminate in ruin. 
 
 iiuc though this moral be incidentally enforced, Shakspeare 
 
 has suffered the virtue of Cordelia to perish in a just cause, 
 contrary to the natural ideas of justice, to the hope of the reader, 
 and, what is yet more strange, to the faith of chronicles. Yet 
 this conduct IS justified by TAe Spectator, who blames Tate for 
 giving Cordelia success and hapjjiness in his alteration, and de- 
 clares, that in his opinion, the Tragedy has lost half its beauty. 
 Dennis has remarked, whether justly or not, that, to secure the 
 favourable reception oiLato, the ton-n -was poisoned with much 
 false and abominable criticiim, and that endeavours had beea 
 used to discredit and decry poetical justice. A play in which 
 the wicked prosper, anul the virtuous miscarrr, may doubtless 
 be good, because it is a just reprcseniatiou of the common events 
 of human life; but since all reasonable beings naturally love 
 justice, I cannot easily be persuaded, that the observation of 
 justice makes a play worse; or, that if other excellencies ar« 
 equal, the audience will not always rise better pleased from tha 
 final triumph of persecuted virtue. 
 
 In the present case the public has decided. Cordelia, from 
 the time of Tate, has always retired with victory and felicity. 
 And, if my sensations could add any thing to the general suffrage, 
 I might relate, 1 was many years ago so shocked by Cordelia's 
 deatQ, that I know not whether I ever endured to read again 
 the last scenes of the play till 1 undertook to revise them as an 
 editor. 
 
 There is another controversy among the critics concerning 
 this play. It is disputed whether the predominant image iu 
 Lear's disordered mind be the loss of his kingdom or the cru- 
 elty of his daughters. Mr. Mnrphy, a very judicious critic, 
 has evinced by induction of particular passages, that the cru- 
 elty of hib daughters is the primary source of his distress, and 
 that the loss ot royalty affects him only as a secondary and 
 subordinate evil. He observes, wiih great justness, that Lear 
 would move our compassion but little, did we not rather con- 
 sider the injured father than the degraded king. 
 
 The story of this play, except theepisode of Edmund, which 
 is derived, 1 think, from Sidney, is taken originally from Geof- 
 fry of Monmouth, whom Holinshed generally copied ; but per- 
 haps immediately from an old historical ballau. ."Sly reason 
 for believing that the play was posterior to the ballad, rather 
 than the ballad to the play, is, that the ballad has nothing of 
 Shakspeare's nocturnal tempest, which is too striking to have 
 been omitted, and that it follows the chronicle ; it has the rudi- 
 ments of the play, but none of its amplufications : it first hinted 
 Lear's madness, but did not array it in cir«umsiances. The 
 writer of the ballad added somethint; to the history, which is a 
 
 E roof that he would have added more, if more had occurred to 
 is mind, and more must have occurred if he had swd Sh^- 
 speare.— Johnson. 
 
ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Of this play tnere were four qaarto editions published during 1 
 the life of the author; the first of which was publislied in 1597. 
 
 The original author of tne story was Luigi da Torto, a g^euile- I 
 man of V icenza, who died in 1529. His novel did not apiear ! 
 till sonw \ears after his death, being first printed at Venice in 
 1535. under the title of La Gtulietta. 
 
 The story had been dramatized in this country, before 156C. fop 
 in that year Arthur Brooke published his poem, called The 
 Iragical Hystory of Romeiis a/id Juliet, and in his advertise- 
 ment to the reader says, that he had seen "the same argument I 
 
 lately set forth on tltestage with more commendation thiD I can 
 look lor. ' lo this obsolete play, and Brooke's nu'-m. Shak- 
 speiire was most probably indebted for those rude niateridls 
 which he has rendered so valuable by his exquisite skill and 
 management in the tragedy before us. 
 Breval sayi in the 1 ravels, that on a strict inquiry into the his- 
 tories ot \ erona, he found that Shakspeare had varied very 
 little Irom the truth, either in the names, characters, or other 
 cipi^um stances. Malone supposes this play to have been writ- 
 teD in 1506. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Esc*LTJS, Prince n/' Verona. 
 
 Paris, a young nobleman, kinsman to the Prince. 
 
 Montague, ^ heads of two houses, at variance 
 
 Capulet, \ with each other. 
 
 An old Man, uncle to Capulet. 
 
 Romeo, son to Montague. 
 
 METicvTio,kinsmanto thePnnce. and friend to'Romeo. 
 
 Bexvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo. 
 
 Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet. 
 
 Friar Laurence, afranciscaa. 
 
 Friar John, of the same order. 
 
 Balthazar, servant to Romeo. 
 
 Sampson, Gregory, servants to Capulet. 
 
 Abram, servant to Montague. 
 
 An Apothecary, Three Musicians. 
 
 Chorus. Roy. Page to Paris. 
 
 Peter. An Officer. 
 
 Lady Montague, wife to Montague. 
 Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet. 
 Juliet, daughter ts Capulet. 
 Nurse to Juliet. 
 
 Citiseitsn/" Verona; several Men and Women, relations 
 to both houses; Maskers, Guards, Watchmen, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 SCENE, — during the greoter part of the Play, in 
 Verona: once, in the Ffth Act, at Mantua. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Two households, both alilie in dignity. 
 
 In fair Verona, where we lay our scene. 
 From ancient grudge break to new mutiny. 
 
 Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
 From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 
 
 A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life ; 
 Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows 
 
 Do, with their death, bury their parents' strife. 
 The fearful passage of their" death-mark 'd love. 
 
 And the continuance of their parents' rage. 
 Which, but their cliildren'send, noughtcould remove. 
 
 Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage ; 
 The which if you with patient ears attend, 
 What here shall miss, our toil sliall strive to mend. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— A public Place. 
 
 Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with 
 swords and bucklers. 
 Sam. Gregory, o'my word, we'll not carry coals. 
 Gre. No, for then we should be colliers. 
 
 Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. 
 
 Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of 
 the collar. 
 
 Sam. I strike quickly, being moved. 
 
 Ore. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. 
 
 Sam. A dog of the house of iMontague moves me. 
 
 Gre. To move is — to stir ; and to be valiant, is — 
 to stand to it : therefore, if thou art mov'd, thon 
 run'st away. 
 
 Smn. A dog of that house shall move me to stand : 
 I will take the wall of anyman or maid of Montague's. 
 
 Gre. That shews thee a weak slave ; for the weakest 
 goes to the wall. 
 
 Sam. True ; and therefore women, being the weaker 
 vessels, are ever thrust to the wall : — therefore I will 
 push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his 
 maids to the wall. 
 
 Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us 
 their men, 
 
 Sam. 'Tis all one, I will shew myself a tvrant: 
 when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with 
 the maids ; I will cut oft" their heads. 
 
 Gre. The heads of the maids ? 
 
 Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maiden ■ 
 heads ; take it in what sense thou wilt. 
 
 Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it. 
 
 Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: 
 and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh, 
 
 Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish ; if thou hadst, 
 thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool ; here 
 comes two of the house of the ^Montagues. 
 
 Enter Abram and Balthasar. 
 
 Sam. My naked weapon is out ; quarrel, I will 
 back thee. 
 
 Gre. Howl turn thy back, and runl 
 
 Sam. Fear me not. 
 
 Grf . No, marr}' : I fear thee ! 
 
 Sam. Let us take the law of our sides j let them 
 begin. 
 
 Gre. I will frown, as I pass by ; and let them take 
 it as they list. 
 
 Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at 
 them ; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it. 
 
 Abr. Do you bite j'our tliumb at us, sir ? 
 
 Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir. 
 
 Abr, Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? 
 
 Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say — ay ? 
 
 Gre. No. 
 
 Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir j 
 but I bite my thumb, sir. 
 
 Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? 
 
 Abr. Quarrel, sir ? no, sir. 
 
 Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you ; I serve as good 
 a man as you. 
 
 Ahr. No better. 
 
 Sam. Well, sir. 
 
ACT L- -SCENE I. 
 
 709 
 
 Tliiter Benvolio, at a distance. 
 
 Gee. Say— better ; here comes one of my master's 
 kinsmen. 
 
 Sam. Ves, better, sir. 
 
 Abr, Vou lie. 
 
 iium. Draw, if you be men. — Gregory, remember 
 thy swa-ihing blow. [They Jight. 
 
 Ben. Part, fools ; put up your swords ; you know 
 not what you do. [Beats down their swoids. 
 
 Enter Tybalt. 
 
 T<ib. What, art thou drawn among these hartless 
 Turn tliee, Uenvolio, look upon thy death, [hinds! 
 
 Ben. I do but keep the peace ; put up thy swoid. 
 Or manage it to part these men with me. 
 
 Tt/I). What, drawn, and Talk of peace! I hate the 
 As i hate hell, all Jlontagues, and thee : [wold 
 Have at thee, coward. [Theujight 
 
 Enter several partizans of both houses, who join the 
 
 frau ; then enter Citizens, with clubs. 
 1 Cit. Clubs, bills, and partizans ! strike ! beat 
 them down ! 
 Down with the Capulets ! down with the Montagues 
 
 Enter Capulet, in his gown ; and Lady Capulet. 
 Cap. What noise is this? — Give me my long 
 
 sword, ho ! [a sword 
 
 La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch ! — Why call you for 
 Cap. i\Iy sword, 1 say ! — Old Montague is come 
 And nourishes his blade in spite of me. 
 
 Enter Montague and Lady RIontague. 
 Moil. Thou villain Capulet, — Hold me not, let 
 
 me go. 
 La. Mon. Thou sbalt not stir one foot to seek a foe. 
 
 Enter Prince, with Attendants. 
 
 Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, 
 Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, — 
 Will they not hear? — wliatho! you men, you beasts, — 
 That quench the fire of your pernicious rage 
 With purple fountains issuing from your veins, 
 On pain of torture, from those bloody hands 
 Throw your mistemper'd weapons to tlie ground, 
 And hear the sentence of your moved prince. — 
 Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word. 
 By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, 
 Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets ; 
 And made Verona's ancient citizens 
 Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments. 
 To wield our partizans, in hands as old, 
 Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate : 
 If ever you disturb our streets again. 
 Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. 
 For this time, all the rest depart away: 
 Vou, Capulet, shall go along with me ; 
 And, Montague, come you this afternoon, 
 To know our further pleasure in this case. 
 To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. 
 Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. 
 
 [Eieiint PuiNCE and Attendants ; Cam'LET, Lady 
 CAPtrLET, Tytiai.t, Citizens, and Servants. 
 
 Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach ? — 
 Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began I 
 
 Ben. Irlere were the servants of your adversary, 
 And yours, close fighting ere I did approach : 
 I drew to part them ; in the instant came 
 The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd ; 
 Which, as he breath 'd defiance to my ears. 
 He swung about his head, and cut the winds, 
 "Wlio, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn ; 
 W.hile we were interchanging thrusts and blows, 
 Came more and more, and fought on part and part, 
 
 Till the prince came, who parted either part. 
 
 La. Men. O, where is Romeo ! — saw you him to- 
 Right glad I am, he was not at this fray. [dayl 
 
 Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun 
 Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, 
 A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad ; 
 Where, — underneath the grove of sycamore, 
 That westward rooteth from the city's side, — • 
 So early walking did I see your son : 
 Towards him I made ; but lie was 'ware of me, 
 And stole into the covert of the wood ; 
 I, measuring his affections by my own, — • 
 That most are busied when they are most alone, — 
 Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his. 
 And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. 
 
 Mon. j\Iany a morning hath he there been seen. 
 With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, 
 Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs* 
 But all so soon as the all-cheering sun 
 Should in the further east begin to draw 
 The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, 
 Away from light steals home my heavy son, 
 And private in his chamber pens himself ; 
 Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out. 
 And makes himself an artificial night: 
 Black and portentous must this humour prove, 
 Unless good counsel may the cause remove. 
 
 Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? 
 
 Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. 
 
 Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? 
 
 Mon, Both by myself, and many other friends : 
 But he, his own affections' counsellor. 
 Is to himself — I will not say, how true — 
 But to himself so secret and so close, 
 So far from sounding and discovery. 
 As is the bud bit with an envious wonn. 
 Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, 
 Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. 
 Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. 
 We would as willingly give cure, as know. 
 
 Eiiter Romeo, at a distance. 
 
 Ben. See, where he comes : So please you, step 
 I'll know his grievance, or be much denied, [aside; 
 
 Mon. I would, thou wert so happy by thy stay. 
 To hear true shrift. — Come, madam, let's away. 
 
 [Eieunt Montague and Lady. 
 
 Ben. Good morrow, cousin. 
 
 ]i"m. Is the day so young ? 
 
 Ben. But new struck nine. 
 
 Rom. Ah me! sad hours seem long. 
 
 Was that my father that went hence so fast? 
 
 Ben, It was : — What sadness lengthens Romeo's 
 hours? 
 
 7?. mi. Not having that, which, having, makes them 
 
 Ben. In love' [short. 
 
 li-m. Out.— 
 
 Ben. Of love? 
 
 Bom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. 
 
 Ben, Alas, that love, so gentle in his view. 
 Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof ! 
 
 Horn. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, 
 Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will ! 
 \\'here shall we dine ? — O me ! — What fray was here ? 
 Vet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 
 Here's much to do with hate, but more with love: — 
 Why then, brawling love ! O loving hate ! 
 O any thing, of nothing first create ! 
 O heavy lightness ! serious vanity ! 
 IMis-shapen chaos of well-seeming fonns ! 
 Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! 
 Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is ' — 
 
800 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET, 
 
 This love feel I, that feel no love in this. 
 Dost thou not laugh 1 
 
 Ben, No, coz, I rather weep. 
 
 Jiom. Good heart, at what ? 
 
 Ben. At thy good heart's oppression. 
 
 Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. — ■ 
 Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast ; 
 Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest 
 With more of thine : this love, that thou hast shewn. 
 Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. 
 Love is a smoke rais'd with the fume of sighs ; 
 Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes ; 
 Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears : 
 VVhat is it else 1 a madness most discreet, 
 A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. 
 Farewell, my coz. [^Going. 
 
 Ben. Soft, I will go along ; 
 
 An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. 
 
 Rom. Tut, I have lost myself ; I am not here ; 
 This is not Romeo, he 's some other where. 
 
 Ben, Tell me in sadness, who she is you love. 
 
 Rom. What, shall I groan, and tell thee"? 
 
 Ben. Groan ■? why, no; 
 
 But sadly tell me, who, 
 
 Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness makes his will : — 
 Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill ! — 
 In sadness, cousin, I do love a wouian. 
 
 Ben. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. 
 
 Rom. A right good marks-man ! — And she 's fair 
 I love. 
 
 Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. 
 
 Rom. Well, in that hit, you miss : she'll not be hit 
 With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit ; 
 And, in strong proof of chastity \^'*^\\ iirrnM. 
 From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. 
 She will not stay the siege of loving terms, 
 Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, 
 Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold : 
 O, she is rich in beauty; only poor, 
 That when she dies, with beauty dies her store. 
 
 Ben. Then she hath sworn, that she will still live 
 chaste 1 [waste ; 
 
 Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge 
 For beauty, starv'd with her severity. 
 Cuts beauty off from ail posterity. 
 She is too fair, too wise ; wisely too fair, 
 To merit bliss by making me despair : 
 She hath forsworn to love ; and, in that vow, 
 Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. 
 
 Ben. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her. 
 
 Rom. O teach me how 1 should forget to think. 
 
 Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes ; 
 Examine other beauties. 
 
 Ro. 
 
 'Tis the way 
 
 To call hers, exquisite, in question more: 
 These happy masks, that kiss fair ladies' brows, 
 Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair ; 
 He, that is strucken blind, cannot forget 
 The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: 
 Shew me a mistress that is passing fair. 
 What doth her beauty serve, but as a note 
 Where I may read, who pass'd that passing fair? 
 Farewell ; thou canst not teach me to forget. 
 Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt. 
 
 [Exeitnt, 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Street. 
 Enter Capulet, Paris, and Servant. 
 Cap. And Montague is bound as well as I, 
 In penalty alike ; and 'tis not hard, I think. 
 For men so old as we to keep the peace. 
 
 Par. Of honourable reckoning are you both ; 
 
 And pity 'tis, you liv'd at odds so long. 
 But now, my lord, what say you to my suiti 
 
 Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before : 
 My cliild is yet a stranger in the world. 
 She hath not seen the change of fourteen years j 
 Let two more summers wither in their pride, 
 Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. 
 
 Par. Younger than she are happy mothers mad^ 
 
 Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made, 
 The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, 
 She is the hopeful lady of my earth : 
 But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, 
 My will to her consent is but a part ; 
 An she agree, within h^r scope of choice 
 Lies my consent and fair according voice. 
 This night 1 hold an old accustomed feast, 
 Whereto I have invited many a guest. 
 Such as I love ; and you, among the store, 
 One more, most welcome, makes my number more. 
 At my poor house, look to behold thi^ night 
 Earth treading stars, that make dark heaven light ; 
 Such comfort, as do lusty young men feel 
 When well apparell'd April on the heel 
 Of limping winter treads, even such delight 
 Among fresh female buds shall you this night 
 Inherit at my house ; hear all, all see, 
 And like her most, whose meritmost shall be : 
 Such, amongst view of many, mine, being one. 
 May stand in number, though in reckoning none. 
 Come, go with me ; — Go, sirrah, trudge about 
 Through fair Verona; find those persons out, 
 Whose names are written there, [gives a paper.] and 
 
 to them say. 
 My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. 
 
 [Exeunt Capulet and Paris. 
 
 Serv. Find them out, whose names are written 
 here ? It is written — t,h.T.t the shoemaker should nnul- 
 dle with his yard, and the taylor with his last, the 
 fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets ; 
 but 1 am sent to find those persons, whose names are 
 heie writ, and can never find what names the writing 
 person hath here writ. I must to the learned : — In 
 time. 
 
 Enter Benvolio and Romeo. 
 
 Ben. Tut, man ! one fire burns out another's burn- 
 One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish ! [ing. 
 Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning ; 
 
 One desperate grief cures with another's languish ; 
 Take thou some new infection to thy eye, 
 And the rank poison of the old will die. 
 
 Rom. Your plaintain leaf is excellent for that. 
 Ben. For what, I pray thee ? 
 Rom. For your broken shin. 
 
 Ben. Why, Romeo, art thou mad? 
 Rom. Not mad, but bound more than a madinan is : 
 Shut up in prison, kept without ray food, [low. 
 
 Whipp'd, and tormented, and — Good-e'en, good fel- 
 Serv. God gi' good e'en. — I pray, sir, can you read] 
 Rom. Ay, mine own fortune in my misery. 
 Serv. Perhaps you have learn'd it without book : 
 But I pray, can you read any thing you seel 
 
 Rorn. Ay, if I know the letters, and the language. 
 
 Serv. Ye say honestly ; Rest you merry ! 
 
 Rom. Stay, fellow : I can read. [Reads, 
 
 Signior Slartino, and his wife and daughters ; 
 
 Counti) Anselme, and his beauteous sisters ; the lady 
 
 ividow o/' Vitruvio ; Signior Placentio, and his lovely 
 
 nieces; Mercutio, a/id Ais 6ro(/u'r Valentine ; Mine 
 
 uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters ; My fair niece 
 
 Rosaline ; Livia ; Sigttior Valentio, and his cousin 
 
 Tybalt; Lucio, and the lively Helena. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE III. 
 
 801 
 
 Igives back the note,] Whither [ 
 [should they come ? 
 
 A fair assembly ; 
 
 Sen:. Up. 
 
 Rom. Whither' 
 
 Serv. To supper; to our house? 
 
 Rom. Whose house? 
 
 Serv. My master's. 
 
 Rom, Indeed. I should have asked you that before. 
 
 Serv. Now I'll tell you without asking: My mas- 
 ter is the great rich Capuiet ; and if you be not of 
 the house of Montagues, I pvay, come and crush a 
 cup of wine. Rest you merry. [EjU. 
 
 Ben. At this same ancient feast of Capulet's 
 Sups the fair Rosaline, whom thou so lov'st j 
 With all the admired beauties of Verona : 
 Go thither; and, with unattainted eye. 
 Compare her face with some that I shall siiew, 
 And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. 
 
 Rom. When the devout religion of mine eye 
 
 Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires ! 
 And these, — who, often drown'd, could never die, — 
 
 Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars ! 
 One fairer than my love ! the all-seeing sun 
 Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. 
 
 Ben. Tut ! you saw her fair, none else being by. 
 Herself pois'd with herself in either eye : 
 But in those crystal scales, let there be weigh 'd 
 Your lady's love against some other maid 
 That 1 will shew you, shining at this feast, 
 And she shall scant shew well, that now shews best. 
 
 Rom. I'll go along, no such sight to be shewn, 
 But to rejoice in splendour of mine own. [^E-ieunt. 
 
 SCEN-E III.— .4 Rw>m in Capulet's House, 
 Enter Lady Cavvlzt and Nurse. 
 La. Cap. Nurse, -where's my daughter? call her 
 forth to me. [old, — 
 
 Knrse. Now, by inv maiden-head, — at twelve year 
 I bade her come. — \Vli:^t, lamb ! what, lady-bird ! 
 God forbid! where's^this girl t — what, Juliet! 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 
 Jul, How now, who calls? 
 
 Nurse, Your mother. 
 
 Jul. Madam, I am here. 
 
 What is your will? [awhile, 
 
 La. Cap. This is the matter ; — 'Nurse, give leave 
 W^e must talk in secret.. — Nurse, come back again ; 
 I have remember 'd me, thou shalt hear our counsel. 
 Thou know'st, my daughter's of a pretty age. 
 
 Nurse. 'Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. 
 
 La. Cap. She's not fourteen. 
 
 Nurse. I'll lay fourteen of my teeth, 
 
 And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four, — 
 She is not fourteen — How long is it now 
 To Lamraas-tide ? 
 
 La. Cap, A fortnight, and odd days. 
 
 Nurse. Even or odd, of all days in the year, 
 Come Lammas-eve at night, shall she be fourteen. 
 Susan and she, — God rest all Christian souls ! — 
 Were of an age. — Well, Susan is with God ; 
 She was too good for me : But, as 1 said. 
 On Laramas-eve at night sliall she be fourteen ; 
 That shall she, marry ; I remember it well. 
 *Tis since the earthquake now eleven years ; 
 And she was wean'd, — 1 never shall forget it, — 
 Of all the days of the year, upon that day : 
 For I had then laid wormwood to my dug. 
 Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall. 
 My lord and you were then at Mantua : — 
 Nay. I do bear a brain : — but, as I said, 
 When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 
 Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool I 
 
 To see it tetchy, and fall out with the dug. 
 Shake, quoth the dove-house : 'twas no need, I trow, 
 To bid me trudge. 
 
 And since that time it is eleven years : 
 For then she could stand alone ; nay, by the rood. 
 She could have run and waddled all about. 
 For even the day before, she broke her brow ; 
 And then my husband — God be with his soul ! 
 'A was a merry man ; — took up the child : 
 Yen, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy face 1 
 Thou iriltjall backuard, when thou hast 77wre wit ; 
 Wilt thou not, Julel and. by my holy dam. 
 The pretty wretch left crying, and said — Ay : 
 To see now, how a jest shall come about ! 
 I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, 
 I never should forget it; Wilt thou not, J ule? quoth he: 
 And, pretty fool, it stinted, and said — Ay. [peace. 
 La. Cup. Enough of this ; I pray thee, hold thy 
 Nurse. Yes, madam ; yet 1 cannot choose but laugh, 
 To think it should leave crying, and say — Ay : 
 And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow 
 A bump as big as a young cockrel's stone ; 
 A parlous knock ; and it cried bitterly. 
 Yen, quoth my husband, /u//'s( upon thy face? 
 T/iim uiltjati backward, when thou contest to age ; 
 Wilt thou not, Jule ? it stinted, and said — At^. 
 Jul. And stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. 
 Nu}-se, Peace, I have done. God mark thee to 
 his giace ! 
 Thou wast the prettiest babe that ere I nurs'd 
 An I might live to see thee married once, 
 I have my wish. 
 
 La. Cap, Marry, that marry is the very theme 
 I came to talk of: — Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
 How stands your disposition to be married ? 
 JuL It is an honour that I dream not of. 
 Nurse. An honour ! were not I thine only nurse, 
 I'd say, thou hadst suckVl wisdom ficm thy teat. 
 
 La, Cap. Well, think of marriage now; younger 
 Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, [than you. 
 
 Are made already mothers : by my count, 
 I was your mother much upon these years 
 That you are now a maid. Thus then, in brief ; — 
 The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. 
 
 Nurse. A man, young lady ! lady, such a man. 
 As all the world — Why, he's a man of wax. 
 
 La. Cap, Verona's summer hath not such a flower. 
 Nurse, Nay, he's a flower ; in faith, a very flower. 
 La. Cap. What say you ? can you love the gentle- 
 This night you shall behold him at our feast : [man ? 
 Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, 
 And find delight writ there with beauty's pen ; 
 Examine every married lineament, 
 And see how one another lends content ; 
 And what obscur'd in this fair volume lies. 
 Find written in the margin of his eyes. 
 This precious book of love, this unbound lover. 
 To beautify him, only lacks a cover : 
 The fish lives in the sea ; and 'tis much pride. 
 For fair without the fair, within to hide : 
 That book in many's eyes doth share the glory 
 That in gold clasps locks in the golden st uy ; 
 So shall you share all that he doth possess, 
 By having him, making yourself no less. 
 
 Nui-se. No le^sl nay, bigger; women grow by men 
 La. Cap. Speak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? 
 Jul. I'll look to like, if looking liking move : 
 But no more deep will I endart mine eye, 
 Than your consent gives strength to make it fly. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv, Madam, the guests are come, supper served 
 3 E 
 
802 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse 
 
 cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity, 
 
 I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. 
 
 La. Cap. We follow thee. — .luliet, the county stays. 
 
 Kurse. Go, girl, seek happy nights to happy days. 
 
 [Eteunt. 
 SCENE IV.— A Street. 
 
 Enter Romeo, Merci'tio, Ben'volio, with Five or 
 Six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and nihers. 
 
 Rom.W hat,sh;al] this speech be spoke for our excuse? 
 Or shall we on without apology ! 
 
 Ben. The date is out of such prolixity : 
 We '11 have no Cupid hood-wink"d with a scarf, 
 Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of l,uU, 
 Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper ; 
 Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke 
 After the prompter, for our entrance ; 
 But let them measure us by what tliey will. 
 We '11 measure them a measure, and be gone. 
 
 Ram. Give me a torch. — I am not for this ambling ; 
 Being but heavy, I will bear the iiglit. 
 
 Mer. Xay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. 
 
 Ram.. Not I, believe me : you have dancing shoes. 
 With nimble soles : 1 have a soul of lead. 
 So stakes me to the ground, I cannot move. 
 
 Mer. \ ou are a lover ; borrow Cupid's wings. 
 And soar with them above a common bound. 
 
 Ram. I am too sore enpierced with his shaft. 
 To soar with his light feathers ; and so bound, 
 I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe : 
 Under love's heavy burden do I sink. 
 
 Mer. And, to sink in it, should you burden love ; 
 Too great oppression for a tender thing. 
 
 Rom. Is love a tender thing 1 it is too rough. 
 Too rude, too boist'rous ; and it pricks like thorn. 
 
 Mer. If love be rough with you, be rough with love ; 
 Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. — 
 Give me a case to putmy visage in: [Putting on a mask. 
 A visor for a visor ! — what care 1, 
 AVhat curious eye doth quote defoimilies? 
 Here are the beetle-brows, shall blush for me. 
 
 Ben. Come, knock, and enter; and no sooner'in. 
 But every man betake him to his legs. 
 
 Rom. A torch for me : let wantons, light of heart, 
 Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels ; 
 For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase, — 
 I'll be a candle-holder, anj look on, — 
 The game was ne'er so fair, and 1 am done, [word ; 
 
 Mer. Tut ! dun's the mouse, the constable's own 
 If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire 
 Of this (save reverence) love, wherein thou stick'st 
 Up to the ears. — Come, we burn day-light, ho. 
 
 Rom. Nay, that's not so. 
 
 Mer. I niean, sir, in delay 
 
 We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. 
 Take our good meaning ; for our judgment sili 
 Five times in that, ere once in our five wits. 
 
 Rom. And we mean well, in going to this mask ; 
 But 'tis no wit to go. 
 
 ^er. Why. may one ask ? 
 
 Rom. I dreamt a dream to-night. 
 
 ■Mer. And so did I. 
 
 Rom. Well, what was yours ? 
 
 Mer. That dreamers often lie. 
 
 Rom. Inbed, asleep, while they do dream things true. 
 
 Mer. 0, then, I see, queen Mab hath been with you. 
 She is the fairies' midwife ; and she comes 
 In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 
 On the fore-finger of an alderman. 
 Drawn with a team of little atomies 
 Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep ; 
 
 Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' lea« , 
 The cover, of the wings of grasslioppers ; 
 The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
 The colhars, of the moonshine's wat'ry beams : 
 Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; 
 Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, 
 Not half so big as a round little worm 
 Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid : 
 Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut. 
 Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub. 
 Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers. 
 .\nd in this stale she gallops night by night 
 Through lovers' brains, and then tliey dream of love' 
 On courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight 
 O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees ; 
 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses dream ; 
 Which oft the angry Jlab with blisters plagues, 
 Because their breaths with sweet-meats tainted are. 
 Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, 
 And then dreams he of smelling out a suit: 
 And sometimes comes she with a lithe-pig's tail. 
 Tickling a parson's nose as 'a lies asleep. 
 Then dreams he of another benefice : 
 Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck. 
 And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats. 
 Of breaches, arabuscadoes, Spanish blades. 
 Of healtlis five fathom deep ; and then anon 
 Drums in his ear ; at which he starts, and wakes ; 
 And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two. 
 And sleeps again. Ihis is that very Aiab, 
 That plats the manes of horses in the night ; 
 -■Vnd bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs. 
 Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. 
 This is the hag. when maids lie on their backs. 
 That presses them, and learns them first to bear, 
 i\Iaking them women of good carriage. 
 This, this is she — 
 
 Rom. Peace, peace, Alercutio, peace; 
 
 Thou talk'st of nothing. 
 
 Mer. True, I talk of dreams ; 
 
 Which are the children of an idle brain, 
 Begot of nothing but vain fantasy ; 
 ^Vhich is as thin of substance as the air; 
 And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes 
 Even now the frozen bosom of the north. 
 And. being anger'd, puffs awav from thence. 
 Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. 
 
 Ben. This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; 
 Supper is done, and we shall come too late. 
 
 Kom. 1 fear, too early : for my mind misgives, 
 Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars, 
 Shall bitterly begin his fearful date 
 With this night's revels ; and expire the term 
 Of a despised life, clos'd in my breast. 
 By some vile forfeit of untimely death : 
 But He, that hath the steerage of my course. 
 Direct my sail! — On, lusty gentlemen. 
 
 Ben. Strike, drum. [EieuiU. 
 
 SCENE X.—A Hall in Capulet's Ho,tse. 
 Musicians u-aiting. Knter Servants. 
 
 1 Serv. Where's Potnan, that he helps not to take 
 away ? he shift a trencher '. he scrape a tr>Ticher ! 
 
 2 Serv. When good manners shall lie all in one or 
 two men's hands, and they unwashed too, 'tis a f<>ul 
 thiug. 
 
 1 Serv. Away with the joint-stools, remove the 
 court-cupboard, look to the plate : — good thou, save 
 me a piece of marchpane : and, as thou lovest me, 
 let the porter jet in Susan Grindstone, and Neil.— 
 -Vntony ! and Potpan ! 
 
ACT I.— SCENE V. 
 
 803 
 
 9 Serv, Ay, boy ; ready. 
 
 t Scit\ You are looked for, and called for, asked 
 for, and sought for, in the great chamber. 
 
 'JServ. We cannot be here and there too. — Cheerly, 
 
 boys ; be brisk a while, and the longer liver take all. 
 
 [They retire behind. 
 
 Enter Capulet, ^'c. with the Guests, and the Maskers. 
 
 Cap. Gentlemen, welcome! ladies. thathavetheirtoes 
 Unpiagu'd with corns, will have a bout with you: — 
 Ah !ia, mv mistresses! which of you all 
 Win now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, she, 
 I'll swear, hath corns ; Am I come near you now ! 
 You are welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day, 
 That I have worn a visor ; and coiald tell 
 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. 
 Such as would please ; — 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone : 
 You are welcome, gentlemen! — Come, musicians, 
 A hall \ a hall I give room, and foot it, girls, [play. 
 [-Vks/c piaus, and they dance. 
 More light, ye knaves ; and turn the tables up. 
 And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. — 
 Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. 
 Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet ; 
 For you and" I are past our dancing days : 
 How long is't now, since last yourself and I 
 Were in a maskt 
 
 ii Cap. By'r lady, thirty years. 
 
 1 Cap, What, man ! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so 
 'Tis since the nuptial of Lucentio, [much : 
 
 Come pentecost as quickly as it will, 
 Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. 
 
 y Cap. 'Tis more, 'tis more : his son is elder, sir j 
 His son is thirty. 
 
 1 Cap. Will you tell me thatf 
 
 His son was but i ward two years ago. 
 
 Rom. What lady's that, which doth enrich the hand 
 Of yonder knight"? 
 
 Serv. I know not, sir. 
 
 lioin, O, she doth teach the torches to bum bright ! 
 Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night 
 Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear : 
 Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear I 
 So shews a snowy dove trooping with crows, 
 As yonder lady o'er her fellows shews. 
 The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand. 
 And, touching hers, make happy my rude hand. 
 Did my heart iove till now? forswear it, sight ! 
 For 1 ne'er saw true beauty till this night. 
 
 Tub. This, by his voice, should be a Montague : — 
 Fetch me my rapier, boy : — What! dares the slave 
 Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, 
 To fleer and scorn at our solemnity ? 
 Now, by the stock and honour of my kin. 
 To strike him dead I hold it not a sin. [you so? 
 
 1 Cap, Why, how now kinsman ? wherefore storm 
 
 Tijh, Uncle, this is a INIontague, our foe ; 
 A villain, that is hither come in spite, 
 To scorn at our solemnity this night. 
 
 1 Cap. Young Romeo is't ? 
 
 Tyb. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo. 
 
 1 Cap. Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone. 
 Pie bears him like a portly gentleman ; 
 And, to say truth, Verona brags of him, 
 To be a virtuous and weli-govern'd youth : 
 1 would not for the wealth of all this town. 
 Here in my house do him disparagement : 
 Therefore be patient, take no note of him, 
 It is my will ; the which if thou respect. 
 Shew a fair presence, and put off the*;e frowns. 
 An ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. 
 
 Tyb. It fits, when such a villain is a guest; 
 
 I'll not endure him. 
 
 1 Cap, He shall be endur'd ; 
 
 What, goodraan boy ! — I say, he shall ; — Go to ; — 
 Am 1 the master here, or you ? go to. 
 You'll not endure him ! — God shall mend my souW— 
 You'll make a mutiny among mj' guests I 
 You will set cock-a-hoop ! you'll be the man ! 
 
 Tub. Why, uncle, 'tis a shame. 
 
 1 Cap, Go to, go to. 
 
 You are a saucy "boy : — Is't so, indeed ? — 
 This trick may chance to scath you ; — I know what. 
 You must contrary me ! many, 'tis time — 
 Well said, my hearts : — You are a princox ; go : — 
 Be quiet, or — INIore light, more light, for shame !^ — 
 I'll make you quiet; What! — Cheerly, my hearts. 
 
 Tub. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting 
 Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. 
 I will withdraw . but this intrusion shall, 
 Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. [I^n'C. 
 
 Rom. If 1 profane with my unworthy hand 
 
 [To Juliet. 
 This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this,— 
 My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 
 
 To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 
 
 /((/.Good pilgrim , j'ou do wTongy our hand too much, 
 AVhich mannerly devotion shews in this ; 
 For saints have hands that pilgrims" hands do touch, 
 And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. 
 
 Rom. Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too? 
 
 Jul. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. 
 
 Rom. (_) then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do ; 
 They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 
 
 Jul, Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' 
 sake. [take. 
 
 Rom. Then move not, while my prayer's effect I 
 Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg'd. 
 
 [A'/ssmo- her, 
 
 Jul. Then have my lips the sin that they have took. 
 
 Rom. Sin from my lips ? O trespass sweetly urg'd ! 
 Give me my sin again. 
 
 Jul, You kiss by the book. 
 
 AWse. Madam, your mother craves a word with you 
 
 Rom. What is her mother ? 
 
 Nurse. Marry, bachelor. 
 
 Her mother is the lady of the house. 
 And a good lady, and a wise, and virtuous : 
 I nurs'd her daughter, that you talk'd witha! ; 
 I tel! you, — he, that can lay hold of her, 
 Shall have the chinks. 
 
 Ro 
 
 Is she a Capulet? 
 
 dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 
 Ben, Away, begone ; the sport is at the best. 
 Rom. Ay, so 1 fear ; the more is my unrest. 
 
 1 Cap. Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone ; 
 We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. 
 Is it e'en so ? Why, then I thank you all ; 
 
 1 thank you, honest gentlemen ; good ni-^ht : — 
 i\Iore torches here ! — Come on, then let's to bed. 
 Ah, sirrah, [To 'ii Cap-I by my fay, it waxes late; 
 I'ii to my rest. [Eiennt all but Juliet aiid Nurse. 
 
 Jul. Come hither, nurse ; What is yon gentleman? 
 
 Nurse. The son and heir of old Tiberio. 
 
 Jul, What's he, that now is going out of door? 
 
 Nurse. Marry, that, I think, be young Petruchio. 
 
 Jul. What's he, that follows there, that would not 
 
 Nurse. I know not. [dance? 
 
 JuL Go, ask his name : — if he be married. 
 My grave is like to be my wedding bed. 
 
 Nurse. His name is Romeo, and a Montague ; 
 The only son of your great enemy. 
 
 Jul. My only love sprung from ray only hate \ 
 Too early seen unknown, and known too late I 
 3 K % 
 
^.. .... - - ^- . -, 
 
 *j<e»»^4 
 
 N^. 
 
 
 
 i*>H <«##•'•- 
 
 v 
 
 "^ 
 
 » T-7-.'IlvVH^ ■• V*» » \.."^'n^ >-^Tiv 
 
 ACT R 
 
 r» 
 
 
 'ttK^i :^' 
 
 
 ^U»f 
 
 ■*-■'•• 
 
 
 
ACT ir. SCRNR II, 
 
 80/i 
 
 lliul I ll writUii, I woiilr) Unki i\n: wuiil. 
 
 Jni. My t!ii(» liAvf. iioi ytflilrunk k liuii'lri^l woriln 
 f Jl fliul Uitl^uti\ ulUiriiiit:«, yttt I know Uic Kouii'l ; 
 Art tliou iKii K'iiiittn, Hritl ft MoriU|£tii; t 
 
 Jtiitn. Nf;itlicr, fail »utiit, i( fMUtit Uii:4: rJivliU, 
 Jut. Huv, lani'rtt lliou liillu:r, li;ll mt:' uii'l wlierc- 
 Tluj urrlitiril miiIU uri: Ut^fU, iiii(i Kuid lo ' limlj , | Utfti t 
 Ami lilt; \Atuu'. liuntU , i:oiiki(li:iiii[^' wImj tliuu arl, 
 if any ol my kinkiimd ll(i<l tlH;« iit^re. 
 
 ffom. Wtili luvti'kli^lil wiiiub fJiil I ()'i:r-|i«rrh Ui«tfi«t 
 For atuny JtiiiiU cfiiifKit ItuM lovt; out ; jwaJJii ^ 
 
 Ami wltut love vmt iU>, lltut ijiirf;« iovtt ntlempt ; 
 'Mitiicforc lliy kimincri nft: no lt;( lo rmt, 
 
 ^o/, it Ilioy <i(t 111' lli»Mr, ttiify will tiHinlirr tlii«, 
 /^lrfl. Altti'k ! tli);n: lien iiioic {N:ril in tliiiit eyi;, 
 'I'liuii iwtjiity of liii^ii ftwofiln ; louk ttiou but Kwvet, 
 Ami 1 ttin jiKMif U({iiiiifct tht^ii i;iiiiii(y. 
 
 Jul. J wnulil holfur tlt*i woilil, tlivy ftaw tlif!*! h(;r«i. 
 Uvm 1 lijivi; (iii./|irKrlrtuk totiiffe iiu; from tlii'ir iii(;lit ; 
 Ami, bill iImmi lovti iiii;, l(;l lliititi Hmi iii<! lujr« : 
 My Jitn wt'.Ui lii;t(i;r ';mluU liy tlicir liuU;, 
 'J'haii (Jisitli tmiro|{iii;<l, watilhui of lliy lovo. 
 
 Jiittliy wlioitciliiectifiii foutiu'kl tliouout tliiii {ila/'<:? 
 lUm. My liivt:, wliufiutili'l |fruiii(tl im: Uj iii'|Uiic ^ 
 H« li;iit (iiu couiiMrl, uml I l«Mit liiin i;yt:ii. 
 I uiM no pilot; yi^t, wf^rl tliuo aj* iar 
 Afe tliul vunt blioii: wiiitli'd with iIm; fuitttoH Uti, 
 1 woiilij itilvfiitiin; f(;r Mtv.h niiircliiintliiie. 
 
 Jul. J'lioii kuow'ht, (lie i!i->i>.V, of iii^lit ik 00 my fa/re ; 
 KIm! woulil (1 nuidiMi lilu^li liiMjuintiuy f:lici:k. 
 For timt wliK.'li tliou lia^t licaiu lu*: ii|H;ak to-nigliL 
 Kuiii would I dwell oil form, fitiii, fuio dt^iy 
 Wliat 1 liavv !t|>oki; ; iJut (urcwcll roiN|)liincfil ! 
 Doiil ilion love mo ( 1 know, tliou wilt Ray— Ay ; 
 Add 1 will take thy word : y«t, if thou itw<;ar'fct, 
 Thuu fiiiiy'Kt pruvu fuliH; ; at luvi;rti' ncrjurius, 
 'iUvy huy, Juvc laughi. i), uvntle Uonuio, 
 If thou (lohl love, proiiounct: it faithfully ; 
 Ol if Uiuu thirik'ttl J am too quickly won, 
 I'll fjuwji.and b<j jx,Tver«>e, and >.ay lliee ii;ty. 
 So tliou wilt woo; hut, tli^a, not for the world. 
 In truth, fair Moiita|{ue, 1 a»i too fond ; 
 And therefore thou may'kt think my haviour light: 
 !iut iru^t ifiti, ^eutluniari, 1 'II jiruve iiioic true 
 Than tho^u that have more cu^nin^ Ui he ktrango, 
 I hIiomM have been iiiuie strange, 1 rnuhl confenk, 
 Jiul that thuu overdieaid'st, ere I wak ware. 
 My true love's j>ah%ioii : lher<;fore pardon me ; 
 And not impuU; this yielding to li(^ht love, 
 VVIiieh (he dark ni(jht hath hO discovered. 
 
 /^|/M. I-udy, hy yoiidi-r hiehud moon i kwear, 
 Thill tiptt with tiilver all lliene fruit-tree loin, - 
 
 Jul O, kwear not hy tlje moon, the in<:onkUiotrnoon 
 7'hal montlily ehari^^'eit in her circletl oih, 
 i^cit Ihul thy love prove likewiM; variahle. 
 KoiH. What khall 1 hwear by ? 
 Jul. Do not iwear at all ; 
 
 Or. if thou wilt, kwear by thy (^raoiouk »elf, 
 VVhieli Ik the i^/ui of my idolatry. 
 And 1 'II hclitive thee. 
 
 Uoin, If my liuart** d«ar Iov€ — 
 
 Jul. Well, do not swear: altliouf^h 1 joy in thee, 
 J have no joy of thik contr£ict to-uif^ht : 
 jl ik Uiu rafih, too luiadvik'd, too nudiien ; 
 Too like the lightning', which doth cea%« to be, 
 Ere one can kay — it li^hteiik. Sweet, good night I 
 Thik hud of love, hy kumuier'k lijtcnin^ breath, 
 May prove a heauteuuk ilower when next we meet. 
 Good ni^dii, j/ood ni^^ht! aii kweet repoM and rest 
 Cowt to tijy iieart, an that within niy breast ! 
 iOim. (), wilt thou leave me so un^atihtied ? 
 Jul* VVhalkalitfactiou cauktthou have tO'night! 
 
 iL)in. The cxchanifc t>( thy love's fkithful vow fur 
 riiinu. 
 
 Jut. J |f«vo th«e inirw l>i:fure thuu didst requ«f tit; 
 Ami yet I would it were Vt give kifain. [I(r/felf 
 
 lljtni. Would'kt tliou withdrawit ! for what purpofte, 
 
 Jul. lUn to he jiarik, and give it thee again. 
 And yet 1 wikh but Utr the thing ] have: 
 My bounty ik a^i honndleik a* the utn. 
 My love, ak deep ; the rnoie 1 give to ttiee, 
 Tlitt more I have, for hoili are iufinitis 
 
 [Nurse rfjlt$ wUhin. 
 ear love, 
 
 1 hearsoiiU! noik« within ; Dear love, adieu ! 
 Aiion, g<M>d nufke"? — Swejjl Monta;jue, he t/ue, 
 Slav hut u little, I will come again, {Pilt* 
 
 lOmu <) hkkMMl blekkf;il ni>dit ! 1 arri afeard, 
 Kein^i; in ni^dit, all this is but a dr'-am, 
 Too flattei:iug-Hwr;et to be subkrantial. 
 
 iU-eutgf JijiAti, ahohK. 
 Jut. Three words, dear lif^rneo, aiuJ good night, iti' 
 If that thy tient of love be houourablfe, [<l««d, 
 
 Thy piirpukC inariiage, wjiid rri« word U*-ii>oriow, 
 liy one thai I 'U procure lo <;j^jine U* tJ»ee, 
 Where, and what tinu:, (hou wilt [>eiforin tlie rite ; 
 And all my fortuncB at thy foot J 11 lav, 
 Anil follow thee my lord throughout l/ie worlds 
 
 Kurm. [ l('i//iin.J Ma/lain, 
 
 Jut. 1 come, anori : — but if tfiou mean'kt not well, - 
 I dfi hekWif.'h lhe«,— 
 
 A'urw. I Wuhm.\ Ma^iarn. 
 
 Jul. iJy and by, I cx/ine .— 
 
 To cease thy ttuil, and leave me \u my grief: 
 To-morrow will 1 send. 
 
 iium, Hfi thrive my loul, — 
 
 Jul. A thousand times good night! [Kiit, 
 
 Jloin.A thuusand timekthe worke,t/j want thv light,— 
 Ix>vegoekt«wardlyve,a*ikchool-boykfron. ♦' '. 
 I Uut love from love, toward sc|u>oi widi i 
 
 \iUi' .. ,. 
 
 jU-enter Jvuf.r, attitve. 
 
 Jul, lliht! Uomeo, htkt! — O, for a falconer's voice, 
 I To lure this taksclgerrtle l>fli;k again ! 
 ' Hundage ii li'>ark<, and may not hpcuk aloud; 
 KIso would f U:ar ttu: cave where echo lies, 
 And make Iter airv tongu«* more hoarse tlian mine 
 With repeliiion of my Uomco's narnc. 
 
 It/iiu It ik rny soul, that calls upon rny name : 
 How silver swe«t uiund hiver's tongues by uight. 
 Like softest music to attending ea/s I 
 
 Jut. lUniteo ! 
 
 Itom. My tweet ! 
 
 Jut, At what o'clock to-morrow 
 
 Shall I send to thee? 
 
 Itnn. At the hour of nine. 
 
 Jul. I will not fail , 'tis twenty years till tiieo. 
 I have forgot why I did call thee hack, 
 
 Itnn. 1 yet me stand here till thou rememlx^r it. 
 
 Jul. f khall forget, to have thee Htill stand there, 
 Rememh'ring how 1 love thy company* 
 
 Hum And I'll still htay, to have thee still forget, 
 Forgettinf( any other lionie but ttiis. 
 
 Jut. 'J'lK almost morning, 1 would have thee gone : 
 And yet no further than a wanton's bird ; 
 Who lets it liop a little from her hand, 
 Like a poor prisoner in hii twisted gyves. 
 And wiUi a kilk thread plucks it ba/jk again 
 So loving-jealous of hik liberty. 
 
 Horn. I would, I were thy bird. 
 
 Jut. Hweet, so would I : 
 
 Vet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 
 Cior>d night, good night! parting iniuch k wee t sorrow, 
 That I shall say — good night, till it lie morrow. \^KiiU 
 
800 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Ki^M. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace ia thy 
 breast ! — 
 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to lestl 
 Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; 
 His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [E.rtf. 
 
 SCENE 111.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 
 Enter Friar Laurence, icith a basket. 
 
 Fri.The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, 
 Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light ; 
 And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
 From fortl^day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels: 
 Now ere the sun advance his burning eye, 
 The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, 
 I must up-fill this osier cage of ours, 
 With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers. 
 The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb; 
 What is her burying grave, that is her womb : 
 And from her womb children of divers kind 
 We sucking on her natural bosom find ; 
 Many for many virtues excellent, 
 None but for some, and yet all different. 
 O, mickle is the powerful grace, that lies 
 In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: 
 For nought so vile that on the earth doth live. 
 But to the earth some special good doth give ; 
 Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use, 
 Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse : 
 Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied ; 
 And vice sometime's by action dignified. 
 Witliin the infant rind of this small flower 
 Poison hath residence, and med'cine power : 
 For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; 
 Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. 
 Two such opposed foes encamp tiiem still 
 In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will ; 
 And, where the worser is predominant, 
 Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Rom. Good morrow, father ! 
 
 Fri. Benedicite! 
 
 What early tongue so sweet salutelh me 1 — 
 Young son, it argues a distemper'd head, 
 So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed : 
 Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye. 
 And where care lodges, sleep will never lie ; 
 But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain 
 Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign : 
 Therefore thy earliuess doth me assure. 
 That thou art up-rous'd by some distemp'rature, 
 Or if not so, then here 1 hit it right — 
 Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. 
 
 Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine. 
 
 Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? 
 
 Rom, With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no ; 
 1 have forgot that name, and that name's woe. 
 
 Fri. That's my good son : But where hast thou 
 been then ? 
 
 Rom. I "11 tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 
 I have been feasting with mine enemy ; 
 Where, on a sudden, one halh wounded me, 
 That's by me wounded ; both our remedies 
 Within thy help and holy physic lies: 
 I bear no hatred, blessed man ; for, lo. 
 My intercession likewise steads my foe. 
 
 Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; 
 Riddling confession finds but riddling thrift. 
 
 Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set 
 On the fair daughter of rich Capulet : 
 As mine on her's, so her's is set on mine ; 
 
 And all combin'd, save what thou must combine 
 By holy marriage; When, and where, and how. 
 We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vo\7, 
 Iftll tell thee as we pass ; but this I pray, 
 That thou consent to marry us this day. 
 
 Fri. Holy Saint Francis ! what a change is here ^ 
 Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, 
 So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies 
 Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes, 
 Je6u Miuia ! what a deal of brine 
 Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! 
 How much salt water thrown away in waste, 
 To season love that of it doth not taste! 
 The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, 
 Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears ; 
 Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit 
 Of an old tear that is not wash'd oft' yet : 
 If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine. 
 Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline ; 
 And art thou chang'd? pronounce this sentence then — 
 Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. 
 
 Rom* Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. 
 
 Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. 
 
 Rom. And bad'st me bury love. 
 
 Fri. Not in a grave. 
 
 To lay one in, another out to have. 
 
 Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she, whom I love now. 
 Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ; 
 The other did not so. 
 
 Fri. 0, she knew well, 
 
 Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell. 
 But come, young waverer, come go with me, 
 In one respect I'll thy assistant be ; 
 For this alliance may so happy prove. 
 To turn your households' rancour to pure love. 
 
 Rom. O, let us hence ; I stand on sudden haste. 
 
 Pri. Wisely, and slow; They stumble, that run fast. 
 
 ^Eieiuttt 
 
 SCENE IV.— .4 Street. 
 
 Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. 
 
 Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be? — 
 Came he not home to-night 1 
 
 Ben. Not to his father's ; I spoke with his man. 
 
 Mer. Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, liial 
 Rosaline, 
 Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. 
 
 Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, 
 Hath sent a letter to his father's house. 
 
 Mer. A challenge, on my life. 
 
 Ben. Romeo will answer it. 
 
 Mer. Any man that can vvrite, may answer a letter. 
 
 Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how 
 he dares, being dared. 
 
 Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead ! stabbed 
 with a white wench's black eye ; shot thorough the 
 ear with a lovc-song ; the very pin of his heart cleft 
 with the blind bow- boy's butt-shaft ; And is he a man 
 to encounter Tybalt] 
 
 Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? 
 
 Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, 
 he is the courageous captain of complimtots. He 
 fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, 
 and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, 
 and the third in your bosom ; the very butcher of a 
 silk button, a duellist, a gentleman of the very first 
 house, — of the first and second cause: Ah, the im- 
 mortal passado ! the punto reverso ! the hay ' 
 
 Ben. The what? 
 
 Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fan- 
 tasticoes ; these new tuners of accents ! — By Je^u, a 
 very good blade I — a very tali nian i — a very ^ood 
 
ACT II.— SCENE IV. 
 
 807 
 
 whore ! — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grand- | 
 sire, that we should be thus afflicted with tliese 
 strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardon- 
 ne:-mi>u's, who stand so much on the new form, that 
 they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their 
 bans, their bans. 
 
 Enter Komeo. 
 
 Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 
 
 Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring: — O, 
 flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified ! — Now is he for the 
 numbeis that Petrarch flowed in : Laura to his lady, 
 was but a kitchen-wench ; — marry, she had a better 
 love to be-rhyme her : Dido, a dowdy ; Cleopatra, 
 a gipsy ; Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots ; 
 Thisbe, a gray eye or so, but not to the purpose. — 
 Signior Romeo, bonjour] there's a French salutation 
 to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit 
 fairly last night. 
 
 lioiii. Good morrow to you both. What counter- 
 feit did I give you 1 
 
 Mer. The slip, sir, the slip ; Can you not receive 1 
 
 Rom. Pardon, good ^lercutio, my business was 
 great ; and, in such case as mine, a man may strain 
 courtesy. 
 
 Mer. That's as much as to say — such a case as 
 yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 
 
 Bom. Meaning — to court'sy, 
 
 Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it. 
 
 Bom. A most courteous e.xposition. 
 
 Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy. 
 
 Rom. Pink for flower. 
 
 Mer. Right. 
 
 Rom. Why, then is my pump well flowered. 
 
 Mer. Well said : Follow me this jest now, till thou 
 liast worn out thy pump ; that, when the single sole 
 of it is worn, the jest may remain, after the wearing, 
 solely singular. 
 
 Rom. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the 
 singleness! 
 
 Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio ; my wits fail. 
 
 Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs ; or I'll 
 cry a match. 
 
 Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I 
 have done ; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in 
 one of thy wits, than, I am sure. I have in my whole 
 five : Was 1 with you there for the goose 1 
 
 Rom. Thou wast never with me for any thing, when 
 fhou wast not tliere for the goose. 
 
 Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest. 
 
 Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 
 
 Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting ; it is a 
 most sharp sauce. 
 
 Rom. And is it not well served in to a sweet goose ? 
 
 ilier. 0, here's a wit of cheverel, that stretches 
 from an inch narrow to an ell broad ! 
 
 Rom. I stretch it out for that word — broad: which 
 added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad 
 goose. 
 
 Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning 
 for love 1 now art thou sociable, now art thou Ro- 
 meo ; now art thou what thou art. by art as well as 
 by nature : for this drivelling love is like a great na- 
 tural . that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble 
 In a hole. 
 
 Ben. Stop there, stop there. 
 
 Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against 
 the hair. 
 
 Ben. Thou would'st else have made thy tale large. 
 
 Mer. O. thou art deceived, I would have made it 
 sliort : for I was come to the whole depth of my tale : 
 and meaut, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. 
 
 Rom. Here's goodly geer ! 
 
 Enter Nurse aiid Peter. 
 
 Mer. A sail, a sail, a sail ! 
 
 Ben. Two, two ; a shirt, and a smock. 
 
 Nurse. Peter ! 
 
 Peter. .\non ? 
 
 A'ujse. Jly fan. Peter. 
 
 Mer. Pr'ytliee, do, good Peter, to hide her face ; 
 for her fan's the fairer of the two. 
 
 Nitrae. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. 
 
 Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman. 
 
 Nurse. Is it good den 1 
 
 Mer. 'Tis no less, I tell you ; for the bawdy hand 
 of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. 
 
 Nurse. Out upon you ! what a man are you ? 
 
 Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made him- 
 self to mar. 
 
 Nurse. By my troth, it is well said ; — For himself 
 to mar, quoth'al — Gentlemen, can any of you tell 
 me where I may find the young Romeo ? 
 
 Roni. I can tell you ; but young Romeo will be 
 older when you have found him, than he was when 
 you sought him : I am the youngest of that name, 
 for 'fault of a worse. 
 
 Nurse. You say well. 
 
 Mer. Yea, is the worst well t very well took, 
 i'faith ; wisely, wisely. 
 
 Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence 
 with you. 
 
 Ben. She will indite him to some supper. 
 
 Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd ! So ho '. 
 
 Rom. What hast thou found "*. 
 
 Mer. No hare, sir; unless a iiare,sir, in alenten pie, 
 that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. 
 
 An old hare hoar, 
 
 And an old hare hoar. 
 Is very good meat in tent : 
 
 But a hare that is hoar. 
 
 Is too much for a seore. 
 When it hoars ere it be spent. — 
 
 Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to din- 
 ner thither. 
 
 Rom. I will follow you. 
 
 Mer. Farewell, ancient lady ; farewell, lady, lady, 
 lady. [Eveunt MtncuTio and Benvolio. 
 
 Nurse. Marry, farewell ! — I pray you, sir, what 
 saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery ? 
 
 Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear him- 
 self talk ; and will speak more in a minute, than he 
 will stand to in a month. 
 
 Nurse. An 'a speak any thing against me, I'll take 
 him down an 'a were lustier than he is, and twenty 
 such Jacks ; and if I cannot. I'll find those that 
 shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his fliit-gills : 
 I am none of. his skains-mates : — .\nd thou must 
 stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his 
 pleasure 1 
 
 Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure ; if I 
 had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I 
 wairant you ; I dare draw as soon as another man, 
 if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on 
 my side. 
 
 Nurse, Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every 
 part about me quivers. Scurvy knave ! — Pray you, 
 sir, a word : and as 1 told you, my young lady bade 
 me inquire you out ; v/hat she bade me say, I will 
 keep to myself : but first let me tell ye, if ye should 
 lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a 
 very gross kind of behaviour, as they say : for the 
 gentlewoman is young ; and, therefore, if you should 
 
808 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 deal double with her, truly, it were an ill thing '.o be 
 offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. 
 
 Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mis- 
 tress. I protest unto thee, — 
 
 Nurse. Good heart! and, i' faith. Twill tell her 
 as much: Lord, lord, she will be a joyful woman. 
 
 Bom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse 1 thou dost 
 not mark me. 
 
 Nurse. I will tell her, sir, — that you do protest ; 
 which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. 
 
 jRom. Bid her devise some means to come to shrift 
 This afternoon ; 
 
 And there she shall at friar Laurence' cell 
 Be shriv'd, and married. Here is for thy pains. 
 
 Nurse. No, truly, sir ; not a penny. 
 
 Hoin^ Go to; I say, you shall. 
 
 iVurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. 
 
 Unm. And stay, good nurse, behind the abbey-wall : 
 Within this hour my man shall be with thee ; 
 And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair: 
 "Which to the high top-gallant of my joy 
 IMust be my convoy in the secret night. 
 Farewell! — Be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains. 
 Farewell! — -Commend me to thy mistress. 
 
 Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee ! — Hark you. 
 
 Rom. What say'st thou, ray dear nurse ? [sir. 
 
 Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne'er hear 
 Two may keep counsel, putting one away? [sav — 
 
 Jiom. I warrant thee , my man's as true as steel. 
 
 Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady 
 — Lord, lord ! — v.hen 'twas a little prating thing. — 
 O, there's a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would 
 fain lay knife aboard ; but she, good soul, had as 
 lieve see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger 
 her sometimes, and tell her that Paris is the properer 
 man ; but, I'll warrant you. when I say so, she looks 
 as paie as any clout in the varsal world. Doth not 
 rosemary and Romeo betrin both with a letter ? 
 
 Rom. Ay, nurse ; ^^'hat of that ? both %vith an R. 
 
 Nurse. Ah, mocker ! that's the dog's name. R. 
 is for the dog. No ; I know it begins with some 
 other letter : and she hath the prettiest sententious 
 of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good 
 to hear it. 
 
 Rom, Commend me to thy lady. [EjU. 
 
 Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. — Peter ! 
 
 Pet. Anon? 
 
 Nurse Peter, Take my fan, and go before. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Capulefs Garden, 
 
 Enter Jvuet. 
 
 Ju I. The clock struck nine .when I did send the nui'se ; 
 In half an hour she promis'd to return. 
 Perchance, she cannot meet him : — that's not so. — 
 O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, 
 Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams. 
 Driving back shadows over low'ring hills : 
 Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love. 
 And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. 
 Now is the sun upon the highmost hill 
 Of this day's journey ; and from nine till twelve 
 Is three long hours, — yet she is not come. 
 Had she affections, and warm youthful blood. 
 She'd be as swift in motion as a ball ; 
 I\Iy words would bandy her to my sweet love, 
 And his to me : 
 
 But old folks, may feign as they were dead ; 
 Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. 
 
 Enter Nurse and Peter. 
 
 O God, she comes !— honey nurse, what news? 
 
 Hast thou met with him ? Send thy man away* 
 
 Nurse. Peter, stay at the gate. [Exit Peteh. 
 
 Jut. Now, good sweet nurse, — lord ! why look'st 
 thou sad ? 
 Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily ; 
 If good, thou sham'st the music of sweet news 
 By playing it to me with so sour a face. 
 
 Nurse. I am aweary, give me leave a vvhile ; — 
 Fye, how my bones ache! What a jaunt have I had! 
 
 Jul. I would, thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: 
 Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; — good, good nurse, 
 speak. 
 
 Nurse, Jesu, What haste? can you not stay awhile? 
 Do you not see, that I am out of breath? 
 
 Jul. How art thou out of breath, when thou hast 
 To say to me — that thou art out of breath? [breath 
 The e.xcuse. that thou dost make in this delay, 
 Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. 
 Is thy news good, or bad ? answer to that ; 
 Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: 
 Let me be satisfied, Is't good or bad ? 
 
 Nurse. Well, you have made a simple choice ; you 
 know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not 
 he ; though his face be better than any man's, yet his 
 leg excels alt men's ; and for a hand, and a foot, and 
 a body, — though they be not to be talked on, yet they 
 are past compare: He is not the flower of courtesy, 
 — but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. — Go thy 
 ways, wench ; serve God.^What, have you dined 
 at home ? 
 
 JuL No, no : But all this did I know before ; 
 What says he of our marriage ? what of that ? 
 
 Nurse. Lord, how my headaches! what ahead have 
 It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces, [1 1 
 
 My back o' t' other side, — O, my back, my back! — 
 Beshrew your he^rt, for sending me about, 
 To catch my death with jaunting up and down ? 
 
 Jul. T'faith, I am sorry that thou art not well : 
 Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me. whatsays my love"* 
 
 Nurse. Vour love says like an honest gentleman. 
 And a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, 
 And, I warrant, a virtuous: — Where is your mother? 
 
 Jul. Where is my mother? — why, she is within ; 
 AVhere should she be? How oddly thou reply'st? 
 Your love says like an honest gentleman, — 
 Where is your mother 1 
 
 Nurse. O, God's lady dear I 
 
 Are you so hot? Marry, come up, I trow ; 
 Is this the poultice for my aking bones ? 
 Henceforward do your messages yourself. 
 
 Jul. Here's such a coil. — Come, what savs Romeo? 
 
 Nurse. Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day? 
 
 Jul. I have. 
 
 Nurse. Then hie you hence to friar Laurence' cell. 
 There stays a husband to make you a wife : 
 Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks. 
 They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. 
 Hie you to church : I must another way. 
 To fetch a ladder, by the which vour love 
 Must climb a bird's nest soon, when it is dark : 
 1 am the drudge, and toil in your delight ; 
 But you shall bear the burden soon at night. 
 Go, I'll to dinner ; hie you to the cell. 
 
 JuL Hie to high fortune! — honest nurse, fare- 
 well. [E.\eunU 
 
 SCENE \1.— Friar Laurence's Cell. ' 
 
 Enter Friar Laurence and Romeo. 
 
 Fri. So smile the heavens upon this holy act, 
 That after-hours with sorrow chide us not ! 
 
 Rom. Amen, amen ! but come what sorrow can, 
 

ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 809 
 
 It ca*nnot countervail the exchange of joy 
 That one short minute gives me in her sight : 
 Do thou but close our hands with holy words. 
 Then love-devouring death do what he dare, 
 It is enough I may but call lier mine. 
 
 Fri. These violent delights have violent ends, 
 And in their triumph die; like fire and powder. 
 Which, as they kiss, consume : The sweetest honey 
 Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, 
 And in the taste confounds the appetite: 
 Therefore, love moderately ; long love doth so ; 
 Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow. 
 
 Enter Juliet. 
 Here comes the lady; — O, so light a foot 
 Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint : 
 A lover may bestride the gossomers • 
 That idle in the wanton summer air. 
 And vet not fall ; so light is vanity, 
 
 Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor. 
 
 Fi-i. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. 
 
 Jul. .\s much to him, else are his thanks too much. 
 
 Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy 
 Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more 
 To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath 
 This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue 
 Unfold the imagin'd happiness that both 
 Receive in either by this dear encounter. 
 
 Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words. 
 Brags of his substance, not of ornament : 
 They are but beggars that can count their worth ; 
 But my true love is grown to such excess, 
 .''f^^annot sum up half my sum of wealth. 
 
 rri. Come, come, with me, and we will make short 
 For. by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, [work ; 
 Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I.— ^ public Place. 
 Ent^ Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants. 
 
 Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire ; 
 The day is hot, the Capulets abroad. 
 And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl ; 
 For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. 
 
 Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when 
 he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword 
 upon the table, and savs, G^'rf send mc no need of 
 thee ! and, by the operation of the second cup, draws 
 it on the drawer, wiien, indeed, there is no need. 
 
 Ben. .\m I like such a fellow? 
 
 Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy 
 mood as any in Italy ; and as soon moved to be 
 moody, and as soon moody to be moved. 
 
 Ben. And what to 1 
 
 Mer. Nay, an there were two such, we should have 
 none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou ! 
 why thou wilt quarrel witli a man that hath a hair 
 more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast. 
 Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, 
 having no other reason but because thou hast hazel 
 eyes ; What eve. but such an eye, would spy out 
 such a quarrel ! Thy head is as full of quarrels, as 
 an egg is full of meat ; and yet thv iiead hath been 
 beaten as addle as an egg. for quarrelling. Thou 
 hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, 
 because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lam 
 asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a 
 tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? 
 uith another, for tying his new shoes with old rib- 
 
 band? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! 
 
 Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any 
 man should buy the fee simple of my life for au hour 
 and a quarter. 
 
 Mer. The fee-simple ? simple ! 
 
 Enter Tybalt, and others. 
 
 Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. 
 
 Mer. By my heel, I care not. 
 
 Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. 
 Gentlemen, good den ; a word with one of you. 
 
 Mer. .And but one word with one of us ? Couple 
 it with something ; make it a word and a blow. 
 
 Tub. Vou will find me apt enough to that, sir, if 
 you will give lue occasion. 
 
 Mer. Could you not take some occasion without 
 givmg? 
 
 Ti/6. Jlercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo, — 
 
 Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels! 
 an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing 
 but discords : here's my fiddlestick ; here's that shall 
 make you dance. 'Zounds, consort ! 
 
 Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men : 
 Either withdraw into some private place, 
 Or reason coldly of your grievances. 
 Or else depart ; here all eyes gaze on us. 
 
 Mer. Jlen's eyes were made to look, and let them 
 I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I. [gaze ; 
 
 Enter Romeo. 
 
 Tiib. Well, peace be with you, sir! here comes ray 
 man. 
 
 Mer. But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery : 
 JIarry, go before to field, he 'II be your follower ; 
 Your worship in that sense, may call him — man. 
 
 T\ib. Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford 
 No better term than this — Thou art a villain. 
 
 7?i)m. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee 
 Doth much excuse the appertaining rage 
 To such a greeting: — Villain am I none; 
 Therefore, farewell ; I see, thou know'st me not. 
 
 Tub. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries 
 That thou hast done me ; therefore turn, and draw. 
 
 Rom. I do protest. I never injur'd thee; 
 But love thee belter than thou canst devise, 
 Till thou shall know the reason of my love : 
 .\nd so, good Capulet, — which name I tender 
 .A.S dearly as mine own, — be satisfied. 
 
 Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! 
 A la stoccata carries it awav. [Draws. 
 
 Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk ? 
 
 Tub. What would'st thou have mth me ? 
 
 Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your 
 nine lives ; that 1 mean to make bold withal, anil, as 
 you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the 
 eight. Will you pluck your sword out o^' his pilcher 
 by the ears ? make haste, lest mine be about your 
 ears ere it be out. 
 
 Tub. I am for you. [Drawing. 
 
 Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. 
 
 Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [Theu fight. 
 
 Rom. Draw, Benvolio ; 
 Beat down their weapons : — Gentlemen, for shame,' 
 Forbear this outrage ; — Tybalt — Jlercutio— 
 The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying 
 In Verona streets : — hold, Tybalt ;— good Mercutio. 
 [Eieunt Tyb.alt and his Partizans, 
 
 Mer. I am hurt ; — 
 A plague o' both the houses! — I am sped : 
 Is he gone, and hath nothing? 
 
 Ben. What, art thou hurt ? [enough.- 
 
 Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry, 'tis 
 
ROMEO AKD JULIET. 
 
 Wiere is my page ! go, vjllair., fetch s snrgeoa. 
 
 [Era Psge. 
 ^/ns, Ccmrage, mas; the hurt cannot be inncb. 
 
 JUtr. No. 'tis not «" ^—- ■.■'-■ — ^...:-), .., 
 £ chcrch-dooT ; bot 
 
 me to-roorrow, and ^ - ^ 
 
 1 am peppered,! wairanl, lor ibis noriti; — A 
 cl>oth vonT 4)«nse£ ! — 'Zomnik. a^og. a rat, a : 
 a I . ' h a man Ja dcaih ! a braggart, a 
 
 a r i'hts by the bonk of arithn c 
 
 A^ .. • . ..-^ ^ , came you betweeti ns J 1 **i^ ,.^. 
 
 uader your arm. 
 
 Jlflm- i thought all for the best. 
 
 Mer. Help me into some bousie, BenvoKo, 
 Or I shall faist. — A plague o'both your booses, 
 Fiiey )iave made vothi's meat of me : 
 I have it, and soandlv too ; — Yoar h-suses. 
 
 jjr,,„. ... ^i,„„...... ...,^ BrwMJO. 
 
 Rfim. This genilt: ^ar aily. 
 
 My vety friend, hatf. _ :t 
 
 In my behalf; my reputation siaia d 
 With Tybalt's slander. Tybalt, thai sti bonr 
 Hath been my l-insnian : — v ■ " ti. 
 
 Thy bea;;ty hath made mi- ; 
 And in my temper soften c .^.^^, ,- tit^cl. 
 
 Re-enter BrarvoLro. 
 
 Bev^ "Romeo, K . " utio's dead ; 
 That g-allant spirit >... Js. 
 
 AVhich too iintimely ; .--.... earth. 
 
 B/im. This day's black fate on more days doth de- 
 This but begins the woe. others must eni [pend : 
 
 Jie-enlfT T\'bai.t« 
 
 Brn. Here c^mes the furious Tybalt back again. 
 
 Rom. Alive ! in trinmph '. and Slercutio slain ! 
 Away to heaven, respective lenity. 
 And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now ! — 
 Xow, Tybalt, take the vW^iv hack again, 
 Tkat late thon gav'si me ; for Mercntio's sonl 
 Is but a little way above our heads. 
 Staying for thine to keep him company : 
 Either thon, or I. or both, must go with him. 
 
 Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort lum 
 Sbait with him hence. T'*^'^ 
 
 S/im. This shall determine that. 
 
 ITJinpgh; T'^^AXX JaJts. 
 
 Ben. Komeo, awav, be cone 1 
 The citizens are np, and Tybalt slain: — 
 Stand not amaz'd: — the prince will doom thee death. 
 If tbon art taken : — hence ! — ^be gone! — awav! 
 
 Rniii. O ! 1 am fortune's fool ! 
 
 £e.ii. Why dost thou stay ? [£j-it Romeo. 
 
 Enter Citizens, i!t, 
 
 1 Gt. Which way ran he, that kili'd Mercntio! 
 Tybalt, that murderer, which war ran be ? 
 
 Bn. There lies that Tybalt. 
 
 1 Cit. Up, sir, go with me ; 
 
 I charge thee in the prince's name obey. 
 
 Knter Pri5«x, attended ; MoXTAGtn;, CAPrLET, 
 their irires, and Hher&. 
 
 Prill. Where are the xile be^nners of this fray ? 
 
 Ben. O noble prince, I can Jiscover all 
 The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl : 
 There lies the man, slain by youcg Komeo. 
 That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercv.iio. 
 
 La. Cap. Tybalt, my cou.sin 1 — O my brother's 
 Unhappy sight! ah me, the blood is spill'd [child! 
 Of my tiear kinsman. — Prince, as thou an true. 
 Tor blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. — 
 O cousin, cousin ! 
 
 Prin, Benvft'io. '«*n beg«Ti this bloodT fray ' 
 
 Ben. T> - fo's hand clij 
 
 Romeo ; '.ir.k '^s'av , 
 
 '--■■ - :r,al " ' 
 
 ■f.i 
 
 :.L\ bow'd. — 
 Uik-e trace with the unniiy spleen 
 deaf TO peace, but That he tilts 
 , ^ ;l" ..: ":■ ." 'T: :,- ,;:io's breast ; 
 .t to point. 
 
 — .». ;.,,.,.,. 4..;.i >.ne hand beats 
 
 aside, and witli the otber sends 
 Tybalt, whose dexterity 
 iieiiUis It; Romeo he cries aloud, 
 }i-'id, friendfJ Jriendf^. part! *?w1 swifVer than his 
 His agile arm beats down t': ; ' :s. [tongot^ 
 
 And 'twixt them rushes ; i:. 't.iseaim 
 
 .\n en\'ious thrust fror^ "^^ ' .:. ...e 
 
 Of stout Mercutjo, an : fiei ; 
 
 B« by and by comes ; oo, 
 
 \\ ho had but newly enteriain'd revenge. 
 And to't tbey go like lightning ; for. ere I 
 Could draw to pan them, was stout Tybalt slain; 
 .\nd, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly ; 
 This is the truth, or let Benvdio die. 
 
 Ijfl. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague, 
 .A.ifection makes him false, he speaks not true . 
 Some twenty of them fought in this black strife. 
 And all those twenty could but kill one life; 
 I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give ; 
 Romeo skw Tybalt. Romeo must not live. 
 
 Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio ; 
 Wbo now the price of his dear blood doth owe 7 
 
 Mm, Xot Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's fiiend ; 
 His fault coticludes but, what the law should end, 
 The life of Tybalt. 
 
 Priru And, for that offence, 
 
 Immediatelv we do exile hira hence : 
 I ha\e an interest in your hates proceeding. 
 My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding, 
 But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine. 
 That you shall all repent the loss of mine : 
 1 will be deaf to pleaJing and excuses ; 
 Nor tears, nor prayers, shall purchase out abuses. 
 Therefore use none : let Romeo hence in haste. 
 Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. 
 Bear hence his body, and attend our will : 
 Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kifl. 
 
 SCEXE n.— .4 R.w>n in Capulet's Hoius. 
 
 Enter Jcurr. 
 
 JnL Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, 
 Toward's Phcebus' mansion ; such a waggoner 
 As Phaeton would whip you to the west, 
 And bring in cloudy i;ighi immediately. — 
 Spread thy close curtain, love-per'"."- - ■- r "^ : '.t ! 
 Thai run-a«*ay*s eyes may wink ; .. 
 Leap to these arms, untalkd of. a — 
 
 Lovers can see to do their amorous ntes 
 By tbeir own beauties : or, if love be blind. 
 It best agrees with night..— Come, civil nigbt. 
 Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, 
 .\rd learn me how to lose a winnmg match, 
 Plav'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods : 
 Hood my nnroann'd blood bating in my cheeks. 
 With thy black mantle ; till stra.ige love, grown bold. 
 Think true love acted, simple modesty. 
 Come, night ! — Come, Romeo ! come, thou day in 
 For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night [night! 
 Whiter than new snow on a ra^-en's back.— 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 811 
 
 Come. gentle night; come, loving, black-brow 'd night. 
 
 Give nie my Romeo: and, when he shall die, 
 
 Take him and cut him out in little stars. 
 
 And he will make the face of heaven so fine. 
 
 That all the world will be in love with night, 
 
 And pay no worship to the garish sun. 
 
 O, I have bought the mansion of a love. 
 
 But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold, 
 
 Sot yet enjoyed : So tedious is this day. 
 
 As i-. the nignt before some festival 
 
 To a:i impatient child, that hath new robes. 
 
 And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, 
 
 Enlfr Nurse, willi corils. 
 
 And she brings news ; and eveiy tongue that spealcs 
 But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.— 
 Now, nurse, what new,! What hast thou there? the 
 That Roraco hade thee fetch ! cords, 
 
 yuise. Ay, ay, the cords. [Thrnu-s them dnwn. 
 
 Jul. Ah me! what news! why dost thou wrin 
 thy hands ? 
 
 Nurse, .Ah well-a-day! he*s dead, he's dead, he's 
 We are undone, lady, we are undone !— [dead I 
 Alack the day ! — he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead ! 
 
 Jul, Can heaven be so envious? 
 
 Xurse, Romeo can, 
 
 Though heaven cannot : —0 Romeo, Romeo ! — ■ 
 Who ever would have thought it ] — Romeo ! 
 
 Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? 
 1'his torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. 
 Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but /, 
 And that hare vowel / shall poison more 
 Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice : 
 I am not I, if there be such an / ; 
 Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, 7. 
 If he he slain, say — I ; or if not, no : 
 Brief sounds determine of my weal, or woe. 
 
 Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes. — 
 God save the maik ! — here on his manly breast. 
 A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse ; 
 Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood. 
 All in gore blood ; — 1 swooned at the sight 
 
 Jul. O break, my heart ! — poor bankrupt, break at 
 To prison, eves ! ne'er look on libertv! [once '. 
 
 Vile earth, to earth resign ; end motion here ; 
 And thou, and Ronico, press one heavy bier! 
 
 Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend 1 had ! 
 O courteous Tybalt I honest gentleman ! 
 That ever I should live to see thee dead! 
 
 Jul, What storm is this, that blows so contrary ? 
 Is Romeo slaugliter'd ; and is Tybalt dead ? 
 My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer loni ? — 
 Then, dreadful trumjiet, sound the general doom! 
 For who is liviqg, if those two are gone? 
 
 Nurse, Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished ; 
 Romeo, that kill'd him, lie is banished. [blood? 
 
 Jul. O God! — did Romeo's hand shod Tybalt's 
 
 Nune. It did. it did ; alas the day ! it did. 
 
 Jul, serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face ! 
 Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave ? 
 Beautiful tyrant ! fiend angelical ! 
 Dove-t'eather'd raven I wolvish-ravening lamb! 
 IJespiseil substance of divinest show ! 
 Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, 
 A damned saint, an honourable villain ! — 
 O. nature ! what hadst thou to do in hell, 
 \\'hen thou did'st how?r the spirit of a fiend 
 In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ? — 
 "Was ever book, containing such vile matter. 
 So fairly bound ! O, that deceit should dwell 
 In such a gorgeous palace ! 
 
 Nurse. There's no trust, 
 
 No faith, no honesty in men ; all perjur'd, 
 All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. — 
 Ah, whcre's my man I give me some aqua vitit : — 
 These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old 
 .Shame come to Romeo ! 
 
 Jul, Blister'd be thy tongue, 
 
 For such a wish ! he was not born to shame ! 
 I'pon his brow shame is asham'd to sit ; 
 For 'tis a throne where honour may he crown'd 
 .'^ole monarch of the universal earth. 
 0, what a beast was I to chide at him ! [cousin? 
 
 Nune. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your 
 
 Jul, Shall I speak ill of him that is my hu..band ? 
 Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name. 
 When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it? — 
 But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin'! 
 That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: 
 Hack, foolish tears, back to your native spring ; 
 \'our tributary drops belong to woe, 
 Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. 
 My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain 
 A nd Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband : 
 .■\li this is comfort ; Wherefore weep I then ? 
 Some word there was, worser than 'J'ybalt's death, 
 That murder'd me : I would forget it fain ; 
 liut, O ! it presses to my memory, 
 I-ike damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds : 
 Tfjhalt is dead, and Uorneo— bauished. 
 That — banished, that one word — banished, 
 Halh slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death 
 Was woe enough, if it had ended there : 
 Or, — if sour woe delights in fellowship, 
 .•\nd needly will be rank'd with other griefs, — 
 Why follow'd not, when she said — Tybalt's dead. 
 Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both. 
 Which modern lamentation might have mov*d ? 
 Hut, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 
 Romen is banished, — to speak that word. 
 Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo. Juliet, 
 .All slain, all dead : — Unmeo is bnnif.hed, — 
 There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, 
 In that word's death ; no words can that woe sound.— 
 Where is my futlier, and iny mother, nurse 1 
 
 Nurse. \Veeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse : 
 Will you go to them ! I will bring you thither. 
 
 Jul, Wash they his wounds with tears, mine shall 
 be spent. 
 When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. 
 Take up tho.se cords: — Poor ropes, you are beguil'd, 
 Hoth you and I ; for Romeo is exii'd : 
 Me made you for a highway to my bed ; 
 But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed ; 
 Come, cords; come, nurse; I'll to my wedding bed; 
 And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhe.id ! 
 
 Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Roineo 
 To comfort vou : — J wot well where he is.. 
 Mark ye, your Romeo will be here at night ; 
 ril to him ; he is hid at Laurence' cell. 
 
 Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight. 
 And bid him pome to take his last farewell. [Kieunl. 
 
 SCENE III.— IVinr Laurence's Cell. 
 Enter Friar Lai'rf.nce and Ro.Mto. 
 
 Fri. Romeo, come forth ; come forth, thou fearful 
 .Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, [man ; 
 
 .And thou art weddeil to calamity. [doom? 
 
 Rom. Father, what news? what is the prince's 
 What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand. 
 That 1 yet know not ? 
 
 Fri. Too familiar 
 
 Is my dear son with such sour company j 
 
812 
 
 ^ fft! '\tV''^\"S^ °f "'^ P"^'^^'-^ doom 
 «<.-»MUa. less than doo.s.da,is"heprinee-s 
 
 Is death mis-term^d .,, • i'^? banishment 
 
 AndHtt.emout:Vven'uS,::,';hm''''^' 
 L.ve herein heaven, aid mavloik on L 
 But Romeo may not-More validity ' 
 
 On the ,vhi?r::oit ^fi:: j: it^-r^r;- 
 ^:^n-^;:'ataf^^:^S 
 
 Tf::?4tn;tVa^^-^r^'^^ 
 V. r'v ,'f- 't* "■" ■" ta-M. 
 
 E?;i; 9" »"-»;»""''■'■' 
 
 R^.^i'oTclnrtt r'"- ',''^^ "' "-y -'^'- 
 Wert thou ::;::' i:V'j±f,7''T """' ''"■^ ""• 
 
 An hour but iarrie^d Tvblu ^ 7 '7'' t^^^' •■ 
 Doting Ukeme, and kV!;r'Citd' 
 
 TaUngthe^measureof^^^u^nL:^::; f"^'^' 
 
 f". Arise; one knocks; good R^ome", hide thy- 
 Som. Not I ; unless the hr,., ,K f i^ ""''^"g "''<*"'• 
 
 Mist-like, infold mrfit 'ii?tcl;r;;';^--' 
 
 '''"K^n^ra:5^;'-^'-^Vhoe;"l 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Thou wilt be taken :-S.aya,vhiIe:-s,and up; 
 Run to my study :— Bv and h„ . /- j. f '',""*«?• 
 What wu/ulness'is ^^-llzTco::^ ' 
 
 '"'"'"°;o:r^:,liT^''^'>~«yoK:^^ 
 
 1 come from lady Juliet. ' 
 
 ^^'elcome then. 
 Enter Xurse. 
 
 ''""^;»;.^'^:A;^"-ho,y.iar. 
 
 wu ■ - '"*'■. U, te 1 me hnJv c 
 
 Just in her ^ase ! "-' '"'"'■"^ ''^^. 
 
 Pi<^ouspredicamen?."°'^"''-™P^"'y' 
 
 Akiw. Ah sir! ah Mri— AWii j i.. , f'*"- 
 
 ^."«. Spak'st thou of Juliet' h "^ ' "'" '■°'' "^ 
 
 Do^h she n^ot think me^an-oM mu'Zrr " """ ''''' 
 
 Where i^l:?''^^'"" ""'-^ f™" h" o,^^. 
 
 ^i^^:i'di^ttz eit^i-d^tr^r^^^ 
 
 Horn. " A •/ t 
 
 ^hot from the deadly level of fgin!'""""'' 
 
 whatvi,:ptrfti7a^r„r^'"-'^"-. 
 
 Art thou a man ' thv forL '^ desperate hand : 
 Thy tears axr,':.om'aiishr,hT:.ld"'a: n "' " 
 1 he unreasonable fury of a ifealt ^"""' 
 
 Lnseemly woman in'a seeming man! 
 
 Ur lil-beseeming beast, in seeining both ' 
 
 1 hou l,ast amaz-d n.e : by my hoW order 
 thought thy disposition betfer temper'd 
 
 Hast hou slain Tybalt? wilt thou sL; thyself > 
 
 And slay thy lady too that lives in Uiee, 
 
 m doing damned hate upon ihyself* 
 
 Digressing from the valour of a man:' 
 Ihy dear love, sworn, but hollow periurv 
 Killing that love which thou hast Zli^\o cherish 
 Ihy wit, that ornament to shape and love 
 B is-shapen in the conduct of fhem both ' 
 Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask' 
 Won fire by thine own ignorance '^'' 
 And thou disnoember'd with thine own defence 
 ^Vhat, rouse thee, man I thy Juliet is alive 
 
ACT III.-SCENE V. 
 
 813 
 
 For whose dear sake tiiou wast but lately dead j 
 There art thou happy : Tybalt would kill thee, 
 But thou slew'st 1 ybalt ; there art thou happy too ; 
 The law, that threateo'd death, becomes thy frieud, 
 And turns it to exile ; there art thou happy : 
 A pack of blessings lights upon thy back ; 
 Happiness courts thee in her best array; 
 But, like a misbehav'd and sullen wench, 
 Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: 
 Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. 
 Go, gel thee to thy love, as was decreed, 
 Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her ; 
 But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set, 
 For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ; 
 Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time 
 To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, 
 Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back 
 With twenty hundred thousand times more joy 
 Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. — 
 Go, before, nurse : commend me to thy lady ; 
 And bid her hasten all the house to bed, 
 Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: 
 Borneo is coming. 
 
 Nurse. O Lord , I could have staid here all the night, 
 To hear good counsel : O, what learning is ! — 
 ftly lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. 
 
 Rom. Do so, and bid ray sweet prepare to chide. 
 
 Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: 
 Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. 
 
 [Erit Nurse. 
 
 Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this ? 
 
 Fri. Go hence : Goodnight; and here stands all 
 your state ; 
 Kither begone before the watch be set. 
 Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence : 
 Sojourn in Mantua ; i'U 6nd out your man. 
 And he shall signify from time to time 
 Every good hap to you, that chances here : 
 Give me thy hand ; 'tis late : farewell ; good night. 
 
 Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, 
 It were a grief, so brief to part with thee : 
 Farewell. [Exeuiit. 
 
 SCENE,IV.— ^ Room in Capulet's House. 
 Enter Cafvlet, Lady Capulet, and Paris. 
 
 Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily. 
 That we have had no time to move our daughter: 
 Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly. 
 And so did I ; — \Vell ; we were born to die. — 
 *Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: 
 I promise you, but for your company, 
 I would have been a-bed an hour ago. 
 
 Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo ; 
 Aladam, good night : commend me to your daughter. 
 
 La. Cap. 1 will, and know her mind early to-mor- 
 To night she's mew'd up to her heaviness. [row ; 
 
 Cap. Sir Paris, 1 will make a desperate tender 
 Of my child's love : I think she will be ruTd 
 In all respects by me ; nay more, I doubt it not. 
 Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed ; 
 Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love ; 
 And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next^ 
 But, soft ; What day is this 1 
 
 Par. Monday, my lord. 
 
 Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too 
 0" Thursday let it be ;— o' Thursday, tell her, [soon. 
 She shall be married to this noble earl : — 
 Will you be ready"? do you like this haste t 
 We'll keep no great ado ; — a friend, or two : — 
 For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, 
 It may be thought we held him carelessly, 
 
 Being our kinsman, if we revel much : 
 Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, 
 And there an end. But what say you to Thursday ? 
 
 Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Cap. Weil, get you gone . — 0* Thursday be it 
 Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, [then :— 
 
 Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. — 
 Farewell, my lord. — Light to my chamber, ho ! 
 Afore me, it is so very late, that we 
 May call it early by and by : — Goodnight, [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE v.— Juliet's Chamber. 
 Enter Romeo and Juliet, 
 
 Jul, Wilt thou be gone ? it is not yet near day : 
 It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
 That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
 Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : 
 Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 
 
 Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, 
 No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks 
 Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: 
 Night's candies are burnt out, and jocund day 
 Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops ; 
 I must be gone and live, or stay and die. 
 
 /((/. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I : 
 It is some meteor that the sun exhales. 
 To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, 
 And light thee on thy way to INIantua : 
 Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. 
 
 Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death ; 
 I am content, so thou wilt have it so. 
 I'll say, yon gray is not the morning's eye, 
 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow ; 
 Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat 
 The vanity heaven so high above our heads: 
 I have more care to stay than will to go -.^ 
 Come, death, and welcome ! Juliet walls it so. — 
 How is't, ray soul t let's talk, it is not day. 
 
 Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away; 
 It is the lark that sings so out of tune, 
 Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. 
 Some say, the lark makes sweet division ; 
 This doth not so, for she divideth us : 
 Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes , 
 O, now I would they had chang'd voices too.' 
 Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray. 
 Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day. 
 0, now be gone ; more light and light it grows. 
 
 Rom, More light and light? — more dark and dark 
 our woes. 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Madam ! 
 
 Jul. Nurse ? [her: 
 
 Nurse. Your lady mother's coming to your cham- 
 The day is broke ; be wary, look about. [Et. Nurse 
 
 Jul.' Then, window, let day in, and let life out. 
 
 Rom. Farewell, farewell ! one kiss, and I'll de- 
 scend. [Romeo descends. 
 
 Jul. Art thou gone so? my love ! my lord! ray 
 I must hear from thee every day i* the hour, [friend! 
 For in a minute there are many days' 
 ! by this count I shall be much in years. 
 Ere I again behold my Romeo. 
 
 Rom. Farewell! 1 will omit no opportunity 
 That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. 
 
 Jul. O, think'st thou, we shall ever meet again? 
 
 Rom. I doubt it not ; and all these woes shall serve 
 For sweet discourses in our time to come. 
 
 Jul. O God ! I have an ill-divining soul ; 
 ilethiuks, I see thee, now thou art below. 
 
-*s m: 3*.t,, 
 
 ■"tt « a iKB>>, . 
 
 ROMEO AXO JILIKT. 
 
 -^«. O t^invw,. vcToM.. 5,71 .^^ 
 
 
 ' Au: : 
 
 •"Vi. t*>. 
 
 ■ -'.■SI 
 
 ■ ■ .■ t". 
 
 
 -tJtea»r 
 
 
 
 
 
 -<t «* ««i, J**. ,ji, W^ij^ 
 -.::as» 
 
 
 Th. - 
 
 .s. 
 
 JMC 
 
 
 TDUl 
 
 ;<i! 
 
 > :i!oss i^ 
 
 [nail. «,^.-\,v. TIT. ;;j-, ^, . -. " "" *••■■ ■•'!;' J.1EC0C. 
 
 *'<«'«- TOO amnAGfipl^if 
 
 aot. ^ 
 
 
 £(»ie j»wjs. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I, 
 
 81.j 
 
 Pronorlion'J ai onc'ii heart could wish a man, — 
 
 And llicn to have a wrelclied puling fool, 
 
 A whining niainmet, in lii'r fmtunu'H tender, 
 
 To auKwcr — /'/( tml wed, — / cannot l(w<i, 
 
 J aif tiin vnuui;, — / prini you, pordon me, ; — 
 
 Hut, an vou will not wed, 1 '11 pardon you : 
 
 Graze wfiere you will, you shall not house with me: 
 
 Look to 't, think on 't, 1 do not me to jest. 
 
 'J'huriiday is near ; lay hand on heart, advise: 
 
 An you be mine, I'll (five you to my friend ; 
 
 An you be not, hanc, he(,', starve, die i' tli(.- streets, 
 
 For, by my soul, 1 '11 ne'er acknowledge thee, 
 
 Nor what is mine shall never do thee good : 
 
 Trust to't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn. [Exit. 
 
 Jul. Is there no pity sitting in the clouds, 
 That sees into the bottom of- my grief! 
 O, sweet my mother, east me not away ! 
 Delay this marriage for a month, a week ; 
 Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed 
 In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 
 
 l.a. Crip. 'I'alk not to mo, fori 'II not speak a word; 
 Do as thou will, for I have done with tfiee. [I'-'-'i'- 
 
 y»/.OGod ! — () nurse! bowsiiall this be prevented? 
 My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven ; 
 How shall that faith return again to earth. 
 Unless that husband send it me from heaven 
 IJy leaving earth 1 — comfort me, counsel me, — 
 Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems 
 Upon so soft a subject as myself! — 
 What say'st thou 1 hasl thou not a word of joy 1 
 Some comfort, nurse. 
 
 Nurse. 'Faith, here 'tis : Romeo 
 
 Is banished ; and all the world to nothing. 
 That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you ; 
 Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. 
 Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, 
 I think it best you niarried with the county. 
 O, he 's a lovely gentleman ! 
 Romeo's a dishclout to him ; an eagle, madam. 
 Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye, 
 As Paris hath, Beshrcw my very heart, 
 I think you are hapi)y in this second match. 
 For it excels your hrst : or if it did not. 
 Your first is dead ; or 'twere as good he were. 
 As living here and you no use of him. 
 
 .ltd. Speakest thou from thy heart? 
 
 Ntirse. From my soul too ; 
 
 Or else beshrew them both. 
 
 Jul. Amen ! 
 
 Nurse. To what 1 
 
 Jut. Well, thouhastcomfortedmemarvellousmuch. 
 Go in ; and tell my lady I am gone. 
 Having displcas'd my father, to Laurence* cell. 
 To m.ake confession, and to be absolv'd. 
 
 Nurse* Marry, 1 will ; and this is wisely done. 
 
 [ICzit. 
 
 Jut. Ancient damnation ! O most wicked fiend I 
 Is It more sin — to wish me thus forsworn, 
 Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue 
 Which she hath jirais'd him with above compare 
 So many tiiousand times l — Go, counsellor ; 
 Thou and my bosom henceforth siiall be twain. — 
 I '11 to the friar, to know his remedy ; 
 If all else fail, myself have power to die. [Kiit. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I.— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 
 Enter Friar I.AonENCK a7td PAltls. 
 Fri. On Thursday, sir? the time is very short. 
 Pur. My father Capulet will have it so ; 
 
 And I am nothing slow, to slack his haste. 
 
 Fri. \i)u say, you do not know the lady's rnind j 
 Uneven is the course, I like it not. 
 
 I'ar. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death. 
 And therefore have I little talk'd of love ; 
 For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. 
 Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous, 
 'I'bat she doth give her sorrow so much sway j 
 And, in his wisdom, hastes our marriage, 
 To stop the inundation of her tears j 
 Which, too much minded by herself alone. 
 May be put from her by society : 
 Now do you know the reason of this haste. 
 
 I'ri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. 
 
 [Aiide. 
 Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell. 
 
 Enter JuMET. 
 
 I'ur. Happily met, my lady, and my wife ! 
 
 Jut. That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. 
 
 Pur. That may be, must be, love, oo Thursday next. 
 
 Jul. What must be, shall be. 
 
 Fri. That's a certain text. 
 
 Pur. Come you to make confession to this father' 
 
 Jut. 'i'o answer that, were to confess to you. 
 
 Pur. Do not deny to him, that you love me. 
 
 Jut. I will confe:iS to you, that I love him. 
 
 Pur. So will you, I am sure, that you love me. 
 
 Jul. If I do so, it will be of more price, 
 lieing spoke behind your back, than to your face. 
 
 Pur. Poor soul, thy face is much abus d with tears. 
 
 Jul. The tears have got small victory by that ; 
 For it was bad enough, before their spite. [port. 
 
 7'ar.Thouwrong'stit, more than tears, with that re- 
 
 Jul. That is no slander, sir, that is a truth ; 
 And what I spake, I spake it to my face. 
 
 Par. Thy face is mine, and thou ha-st slander'd it. 
 
 Jul. It may be so, for it is not mine own. — 
 Are you at leisure, holy father, now ; 
 Or shall 1 come to you at evening mass? 
 
 Fri. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter,now : — 
 ;\Iy lord, we must entreat the time alone. 
 
 Pur. God shield, 1 should disturb devotion ! — 
 Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse you : 
 Till then, adieu ! and keep this holy kiss. [Kiit Paris. 
 
 Jut. O, shut the door! and when thou hast done so. 
 Come weep with me : Past hope, past cure, past help ! 
 
 Fri. Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief; 
 It strains me past the comjrdss of my wits : 
 I hear thou must, and nothing must prorogue it. 
 On Thursday next be married to this county. 
 
 Jul. Tell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this. 
 Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it : 
 If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help. 
 Do thou but call my resolution wise. 
 And with this knife I 'II help it presently. 
 God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands , 
 And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seai'd, 
 Shall be the label to another deed. 
 Or my true heart with treacherous revolt 
 Turn to another, this shall slay them both : 
 Therefore, out of thy long-experienc'd time. 
 Give me some present counsel ; or, behold, 
 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife 
 Shall play the umpire ; arbitrating that 
 \V liicli the commission of thy years and art 
 CouIq to no issue of true honour bring. 
 Be not so long to speak ; I long to die. 
 If what thou speak'st speak not of remedv. 
 
 Fri. Hold, daughter ; I do spy a kind of hope, 
 Wiiich craves as desperate an execution 
 As that is desperate which we would prevent. 
 
016 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 If, rather than to marry county Paris, 
 
 Thou hast the strength of will' to slay thyself ; 
 
 Then is it likely, thou wilt undertake 
 
 A thing like death to chide away this shame. 
 
 That cop'st with death himself to scape from it ; 
 
 And, if thou dar'st, I '11 give thee remedy. 
 
 Jul. O, bid me leap, rather than many Paris, 
 From off the battlements of yonder tower ; 
 Or walk in thievish ways ; or bid me lurk 
 Where serpents are ; chain me with roaring bears ; 
 Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, 
 O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones ; 
 With reeky shanks, and j-ellow chapless sculls; 
 Or bid me go into a new-made grave. 
 And hide me with a dead man in his shroud ; 
 Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble ; 
 And 1 will do it without fear or doubt. 
 To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. 
 
 Fri. Hold, then ; go home, be merry, give consent 
 To marry ^aris : Wednesday is to-morrow ; 
 To-morrow night look that thou lie alone. 
 Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber : 
 Take thou this phial, being then in bed. 
 And this distilled liquor drink thou off: 
 When, presently, through all thy veins shall run 
 A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize 
 Each vital spirit ; for no pulse shall keep 
 His natural progress, but surcease to beat: 
 No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou liv'st ; 
 The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade 
 To paly ashes ; thy eyes' windows fall. 
 Like death, when he shuts up the day of life ; 
 Each part, depriv'd of supple government. 
 Shall stiff, and stark, and cold, appear like death : 
 And in tliis borrow'd likeness of shrunk death 
 Thou shalt remain full two and forty hours, 
 And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. 
 Now when the bridegroom in the morning comes 
 I'd rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead : 
 Then (as the manner of our country is,) 
 In thy best r/Dbes uncover'd on the bier, 
 Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault, 
 Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. 
 In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, 
 Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift ; 
 And hither shail he come ; and he and I 
 Will watch thy waking, and that very night 
 Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. 
 And this shall free thee from this present shame ; 
 If no unconstant toy, nor womanish fear. 
 Abate thy valour in the acting it. 
 
 Jul. Give me, give me ! tell me not of fear. 
 
 Fri. n«ld ; get you gone, be strong and prosperous 
 In this resolve : I '11 send a friar with speed 
 To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. 
 
 Jul. Love, give me strength 1 and strength shall help 
 afford. 
 Farewell, dear father ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — .i Room in Capulet's House. 
 Enter Capulet, Ladii Capulet, Nurse, and Servants. 
 
 Cap. So many guests invite as here are writ. — 
 
 [Eii'i Servant. 
 Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. 
 
 5! Serv. You shall have none ill, sir ; for I '11 try if 
 they ciin lick their fingers. 
 
 Cap. How canst thou try them so ■• 
 
 2 Serr. Marry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick 
 his own fingers : therefore he, that cannot lick his 
 fingers, goes not with me. 
 
 Cap. Uo, begone. — [Exit Servant. 
 
 We shall be much unfurnish'd for this time.— 
 What, is my daughter gone to friar Laurence ! 
 
 Nurse. Ay, forsooth. 
 
 Cap. Well, he may cliance to do some good on her: 
 A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. 
 
 Enter Jui-Iet. 
 
 Nurse. See, where she comes from shrift with merry 
 look. [been gadding? 
 
 Cap. How now, my headstrong? where have you 
 
 Jul. Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin 
 Of disobedient oppoMtion 
 To you, and your behests ; and am enjoin'd 
 By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, 
 And beg your pardon : — Pardon, I beseech you! 
 Henceforward I am ever rul'd by you. 
 
 Cap. Send for the county ; go tell him of this 5 
 I '11 have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. 
 
 Jw/. I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell j 
 And gave him what becomed love I might. 
 Not stepping o'er the bounds of modesty. 
 
 Cap. \'V'hy. lam glad on't ; this is well, — -stand up: 
 This is as 't should be. — Let me see the county : 
 Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. — 
 Now, afore God. this reverend holy friar. 
 All our whole city is much bound to him, 
 
 Jul. Nurse, %viil you go with me into my closet, 
 To help me sort such needful ornaments 
 As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? 
 
 La. Cap. No. not till Thursday; there is time enough, j 
 
 Cap. Go, nurse, go with her : — we '11 to church to- I 
 morrow. [Exe?/?(£ .Iuliet nfK^ Nurse. i 
 
 La. Cap. We shall be short in our provision ; 
 'Tis now near night. 
 
 Cap. Tush ! I will stir about. 
 
 And all things shall be well, I warriint thee, wife : 
 Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her ; 
 I '11 not to bed to-night ; — let me alone ; 
 I '11 play the housewife for this once. — What, ho ! — 
 They are all forth : Well, I will walk myself 
 To county Paris, to prepare him up 
 Against to-morrow : my heart is wond'rous light. 
 Since this same way ward girl is soreclaim'd. [E.ieHnf. 
 
 SCENE III.— Juliet's Chamber. 
 Enter Juliet and Nurse, 
 Jul. Ay, those attires are best : — But, gentle nurse, 
 I pray thee, leave me to myself to-night ; 
 For I have need of mauy orisons 
 To move the heavens to smile upon my state. 
 Which, well thou know'stf is cross and full of sin. 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet. 
 
 La. Cap. What, are you busy? do you need my help? 
 
 Jul. No, madam; we have cuH'd such necessaries 
 As are behoveful for our state to-morrow : ' 
 So please you, let me now be left alone. 
 And let the nurse this night sit up with you ; 
 For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, 
 In this so sudden business. 
 
 La. Cap. Good night ! 
 
 Get thee to bed, and rest ; for thou hast need. 
 
 [Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. 
 
 Jul. Farewell ! — God knows, when we shall meet 
 again. 
 I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins. 
 That almost freezes up the heat of life : 
 I 'II call them back again to comfort me ; — 
 Nurse ! — What should she do here ? 
 My dismal scene I needs must act alone. — 
 Come, phial. — 
 What if this mixture do not work at all? 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE V. 
 
 817 
 
 Must I of force be married to the county ? — 
 No, no ; — this shall forbid it : — lie thou there. — 
 
 [^Lai/iiig down a dagger. 
 What if it be a poison, which the friar 
 Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead ; 
 Lest in this marriage he should be di^iionour'd. 
 Because he married me before to Romeo 1 
 I fear, it is; and yet, metliinks, it should not, 
 For he hath still been tried a holy man ; 
 1 will not entertain so bad a thought. — 
 How if, when I am laid into the tomb, 
 I wake before the time that Romeo 
 Come to redeem me ? there 's a fearful point ! 
 Shall I not then be stifled in the vault, 
 To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, 
 And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes t 
 Or, if I live, is it not very like, 
 The horrible conceit of death and night, 
 Together with the terror of the place, 
 As in a vault, an ancient receptacle. 
 Where, for these many hundred years, the bones 
 Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd ; 
 Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, 
 Lies fest'ring in his shroud ; where, as they say. 
 At some hours in the night spiiits resort ; — - 
 Alack, alack ! is it not like, that I, 
 So early waking, — what with loathsome smells ; 
 And shrieks like mandrakes, torn out of the earth. 
 That living mortals, hearing them, run mad ; — 
 O ! if I wake, shall 1 not be distraught, 
 Lnvironed with all these hideous fears 1 
 And madly play with my forefathers' joints 1 
 And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud ''. 
 And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone. 
 As with a club, dash out my desperate brains ? 
 O, look ! methinks, I see my cousin's ghost 
 Seeking out Romeo, that <lid spit his body 
 Upon a rapier's point : — Stay, Tybalt, stay ! — 
 Koraeo, I come ! this do I drink to thoe. 
 
 l_She throws herself on the heth 
 
 SCENE IV.— Capulet's Hall. 
 
 Enter Ladit Capulet and Nurse. 
 La. Cap. Hold, take these keys, and fetch more 
 
 spices, nurse. 
 Kune. They call for dates and quinces in the pastry. 
 
 Enter Capulet. 
 Cap. Come, stir, stir, stir ! the second cock hath 
 crow'd. 
 The curfeu bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock : — 
 Look to the bak'd meats, good Angelica : 
 Spare not for cost. 
 
 Nurse. Go, go, you cot-quean, go. 
 
 Get you to bed ; 'faith, you '11 be sick to-morrow 
 For this night's watching. 
 
 Cap. No, not a whit; What! Ihavewatch'dere now 
 AU night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. 
 La. Cap. Ay, you have been a mouse-hunt in your 
 time ; 
 But I will watch you from such %vatching now. 
 
 [Exeunt Ladii Capulet aiid Nurse. 
 
 Cap. A jealous-hood, a jeaious-hood ! — Now, fel- 
 
 W hat's there? [low. 
 
 Enter Servants, with spits, logs, and baskets. 
 
 1 5eru. Things for the cook, sir; but Iknownotwhat. 
 Cap. Jlake haste, make haste. [£.tit 1 Serv.J — 
 
 Sirrah, fetch drier logs ; 
 Call Peter, he will shew thee where they ore. 
 
 2 Serr. I have a head, sir, that will find out logs, 
 And never trouble Peter for the matter. [Eii(. 
 
 Cap. 'Mass, and well said; A merry whoreson! ha, 
 Thou shah be logger-head. — Good faith, 'tis day; 
 Tile county will be here with music straight, 
 
 [Music within. 
 For so he said he would. I hear him near : — 
 Nurse ! — Wife ! — what, ho ! — what, nurse, 1 say ! 
 
 Enter Nurse. 
 Go, waken Juliet, go, and trim her up ; 
 I '11 go and chat with Paris : — Hie, make haste, 
 Make haste ! the bridegroom he is come already: 
 Make haste, I say. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Juliet's Chamber ; Juliet on the bed. 
 Enter Nurse. 
 
 Nurse. Mistress I — what, mistress ! — Juliet ! — fast, 
 
 I warrant her, she ; — 
 Why, lamb ! — why, lady ! — fye, you slug-a-bed !— 
 Why, love, I say! — madam! sweet-heart! — why, 
 
 bride ! — 
 What, not a word? — you take your pennyworths now; 
 Sleep for a week ; for the next night, I warrant. 
 The county Paris hath set up his rest. 
 That you shall rest but little. — God forgive me, 
 (Marry, and amen !) how sound is she asleep ! 
 I needs must wake her ; — Madam, madam, madam ! 
 Ay, let the county take you in your bed ; 
 He '11 fright you up, i' faith — Will it not be 1 
 What, drest ! and in your clothes ! and down a^ain! 
 I must needs wake you : Lady ! lady ! lady ! 
 Alas ! alas ! — Help ! help ! my lady's dead ! — 
 O, weli-a-day, that ever I was born ! — 
 Some aqua-vitie, ho ! — my lord ! ray lady ! 
 
 Enter Lady Capulet. 
 
 La. Cap. What noise is here 1 
 
 Nurse. lamentable day ! 
 
 La. Cap. What is the matter 1 
 
 Nurse. Look, look! heavy day ! 
 
 La. Cap. me, me ! — my child, my only life, 
 Revive, look up, or I will die with thee ! — 
 Help, help I— call help. 
 
 Enter CAPiaEX. 
 
 Cap. For shame, bring Juliet forth ; her lord is come. 
 
 Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd, she's dead ; alack the 
 day ! [she 's dead. 
 
 La. Cap. Alack the day ! she 's dead, she 's dead. 
 
 Cap. Ha! Ictmeseeher: — Out, alas! she's cold; 
 Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; 
 Life and these lips have long been separated : 
 Death lies on her, like an untimely frost 
 Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. 
 .\ccursed time I unfortunate old man ! 
 
 Nurse. O lamentable day ! 
 
 La. Cap. woful time ! 
 
 Cap. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me 
 Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak, [wail, 
 
 Ejiter Friar Laurence and Paris, with musieians. 
 
 Fri. Come, is the bride ready to go to church 1 
 
 Cap. Ready to go, but never to return : 
 son, the night before thy wedding-day 
 Hath death lain with thy bride :— See, there she lies. 
 Flower as she was, deflowered by him. 
 Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir ; 
 My daughter he hath wedded ! I will die. 
 And leave him all ; life leaving, all is death's. 
 
 Far. Have I thought long to see this morning's face, 
 And doth it give me such a sight as this 1 
 
 La. Cap. Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day 
 Most miserable hour, that ere time saw 
 SF 
 
818 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 In lasting labour of his pilgrimage ! 
 
 But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, 
 
 But one thing to rejoice and solace in, 
 
 And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight. 
 
 Nurse. O woe ! O woful, woful, woful day ! 
 Most lamentable day ! most woful day, 
 That ever, ever, I did yet behold ! 
 day ' U day 1 O day ! O hateful day ! 
 Never was seen so black a day as this : 
 woful day, O woful day ! 
 
 Par. Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! 
 Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, 
 By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown ! — 
 love ! O life ! — not life, but love in death ! 
 
 Cap. Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! — 
 Uncomfortable time ! why cam'st thou now 
 To murder murder our solemnity? 
 child ! child ! — my soul, and not my child ! — 
 Dead ait thou, dead ! — aiack ! my child is dead ! 
 And; with my child, my joys are buried ! 
 
 Fri. Peace, ho, for shame ! confusion's cure lives 
 In these confusions. Heaven and yourself [not 
 Had part in this fair maid ; now heaven hath all, 
 And all the better is it for the maid : 
 Your part in her you could not keep from death ! 
 Bui heaven keeps his part in eternal life. 
 The most you sought was — her promotion ; 
 For 'twas your heaven, she should be advanc'd : 
 And weep ye now, seeing she is advanc'd, 
 Above tbe clouds, as high as heaven itself? 
 0, in this love, you luve your child so ill. 
 That you run mad, seeing that she is well : 
 She 's not well married, that lives married long ; 
 But she 's best married, that dies married young. 
 Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary 
 On this fair corse ; and, as the custom is. 
 In all her best array bear her to church : 
 For though fond nature bids us all lament, 
 Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. 
 
 Cup. All things, that we ordained festival, 
 Turn from their office to black funeral : 
 Our instruments, to melancholy bells ; 
 Our wedding cheer, to a sad burial feast ; 
 Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ; 
 Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, 
 And all things change them to the contrary. 
 
 Fri. Sir, go you in, — and, madam, go with hira ; — 
 And go, sir Paris ; — every one prepare 
 To follow this fair corse unto her grave : 
 The heavens do low'r upon you, for some 111 ; 
 Move them no more, by crossing their high will. 
 [^Exeunt Capulet, Ladij Capulet, Paris, and Friar, 
 
 1 Mns. 'FaithjWe may put up our pipes, and begone. 
 
 Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up, 
 
 For, wejlyou know, this is a pitiful case. [£ii( Nurse. 
 
 1 Mus, Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. 
 
 Enter Peter. 
 
 Pet, Musicians, 0, musicians, Hearths ease, hearts 
 ease ; 0, an you will have me live, play — hearths ease. 
 
 1 Mus. Why heart's ease? 
 
 Pet, O musicians, because my heart itself plays — 
 ]^y heart is full of woe: 0, play me some merry dump, 
 to comfort me. 
 
 2 Mus. Not a dump we ; 'tis no time to play now. 
 Pet. You will not, then ] 
 
 Mus. No. 
 
 Pet. 1 will then give it you soundly. 
 1 Mus. What will you give us? 
 Pet. No money, on my faith ; but the gleek : I 
 will give you the minstrel. 
 
 1 JUui. Then will I give you the serving-creature. 
 
 Pet. Then will I lay the serving-creature's dagger 
 on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, 
 1*11 fa you ; Do you note me I 
 
 1 Miis. An you re us, and /a us, you note us. 
 
 2 Mus. Pray you, put up your dagger, and put 
 out your wit. 
 
 Pet. Then have at you with my wit ; I will dry- 
 beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dag- 
 ger : — Answer me like men : 
 
 When griping grief the heart doth wmindf 
 And doleful dumps the mind oppress, 
 Then music, with her silver sound } 
 
 Why, silver sound? why, music with her silver soimd? 
 What say you, Simon Catling? 
 
 1 Mus. Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet 
 sound. 
 
 Pet, Pretty ! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? 
 
 2 Mus. I say — silver sound, because musicians 
 sound for silver. 
 
 Pet. Pretty, too! Whatsay you, JamesSoundpost? 
 
 3 Mus. 'Faith, I know not what to say. 
 
 Pet. O, I cry you mercy ! you are the singer .• I 
 willsay for you. It is — music with her silver sound.. 
 because such fellows as you have seldom gold for 
 sounding : — • 
 
 Then music with her silver sound. 
 With speedy help doth lend redress. 
 
 l^Exitf singing, 
 
 1 Mns. What a pestilent knave is this same ? 
 'Z Mns. Hang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; 
 tarry for the mo\irners, and slay dinner. \E.ieunt, 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— Mantua. A Street, 
 
 Enter Komeo. 
 
 Bom. If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, 
 My dreams presage some joyful news at hand : 
 ]My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne i 
 And, all this day, an uuaccustorn'd spirit 
 Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. 
 I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead ; 
 (Strange dream ! thatgivesadead man leave to think,) 
 And breath'd such life with kisses in my lips, 
 That I reviv'd, and was an emperor. 
 Ah me ! iiow sweet is love itself possess'd, 
 When but love's shadows are so rich in joy? 
 
 Enter Balthasar. 
 
 News from Verona! — How now, Balthasar? 
 Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar'' 
 How doth my lady ? Is my father well ? 
 How fares my Juliet? That I ask again ; 
 For notliing can be ill, if she be well. 
 
 Bill. Then she is well, and nothing can be ill ; 
 Her body sleeps in Capels' monument, 
 And her immortal part with angels lives. 
 I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, 
 And presently took post to tell it you : 
 O pardon me for bringing these ill news. 
 Since you did leave it for my office, sir. 
 
 Bom. Is it even so ? then I defy you, stars ! — 
 Thou know'st my lodging : get me ink and paper. 
 And hire post-horses : I will hence to-night. 
 
 Bal. Pardon me, sir, I will not leave you thus : 
 Your looks are pale and wild, and do import 
 Some misadventure. 
 
 Rom. Tush, thou ait decelv'd j 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 819 
 
 I/Savc me, and do the thing I bid thee do . 
 Hast thou no letters to me from the friar 1 
 But. No, my good lord. 
 
 Horn. No matter : get thee gone, 
 
 And hire those horses ; I'll be witii thee straight. 
 
 [Eiit Balthasar. 
 Well, .Tuliet, I will lie with thee tonight. 
 Let's see for itieans : — O, mischief! thou art swift 
 To enter in the tho'jgi'.ts of desperate men ! 
 I do remember an apothecary, — ■ 
 And hereabouts he dwells, — whom late I noted 
 In tatter 'd weeds, with overwiielming brows, 
 Culling of simples ; meager were his looks. 
 Sharp misery had worn him to the bones : 
 And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, 
 An alligator stuff'd, and otiier skins 
 Of ill-shap'd fishes ; and about his shelves 
 A beggarly account of empty boxes. 
 Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty seeds, 
 Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, 
 Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. 
 Noting his penury, to myself I said — 
 An if a man did need a poison now. 
 Whose sale is present death in JNlantua, 
 Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him. 
 O, this same thought did but fore-run my need ; 
 And this same needy man must sell it me. 
 As I remember, this should be the house : 
 Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. — 
 "What, ho ! apothecary ! 
 
 Enter Apothecary. 
 
 jlp. Who calls so loud 1 
 
 Rom. Come hither, man. — I see, that thou art poor : 
 Hold, there is forty ducats : let me have 
 4 dram of poison ; such soon-speeding gear 
 As will disperse itself through all the veins. 
 That the life-weary taker may fall dead ; 
 And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath 
 As violently, as hasty powder fir'd 
 Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. 
 
 Ap, Such mortal drugs I have ; but Mantua's law 
 Is death, to any he that utters them. 
 
 Rom. Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, 
 And fear'st to die ? famine is in thy cheeks, 
 Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes, 
 Upon thy back hangs ragued misery. 
 The worid is not thy friend, nor the world's law ; 
 The world affords no law to make thee rich ; 
 Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. 
 
 Ap. My poverty, but not my will, consents. 
 
 Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not tiiy will. 
 
 Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will. 
 And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 
 Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. 
 
 Rom. There is thy gold ; worse poison to men's souls. 
 Doing more murders in this loathsome world. 
 Than these poor compounds that ihou may'st not sell : 
 I sell thee poison, thou hast sold me none. 
 Farewell : buy food, and get thyself in flesh. — 
 Come, cordial, and not poison ; go with me 
 To Juliet's grave, for there must 1 use thee. [Exennt. 
 
 SCENE JL— Friar Laurence's Cell. 
 
 Enter Friar John. 
 
 John, Holy Franciscan friar I brother, ho I 
 
 Enter Friar Laurence. 
 
 Lan. This same should be the voice of friar John. — 
 Welcome from Mantua ; What says Romeo 1 
 Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. 
 
 John. Going to find a bare-foot brother out. 
 One of our order, to associate me, 
 Here in this city visiting the sick, 
 .■\nd finding him, the searchers of the town, 
 Suspecting, that we both were in a house 
 Where the infectious pestilence did reign, 
 Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth ; 
 So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. 
 
 Lau. Who bare my letter then to Romeo ? 
 
 Joliiu I could not send it, — here it is again. 
 Nor get a messenger to bring it thee. 
 So fearful were they of infection. 
 
 I^ti. Unhappy fortune ! by my brotherhood, 
 The letter was not nice, but full of charge. 
 Of dear import ; and the neglecting it 
 May do much danger : Friar John, go hence ; 
 Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight 
 Unto ray cell. 
 
 John. Brother, I'll go and bring it th.ee.' ££rif, 
 
 Lau. Now must I to the monument alone ; 
 Within this three hours will fair Juliet wake ; 
 .She will beshrew me much, that Romeo 
 flalh had no notice of these accidents ; 
 But I will wnte again to Mantua, 
 And keep her at my cell till Romeo come ; 
 Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb ! [EiJ!. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Church-Yard ; in it, a Monument 
 belongiyig to the Capulets. 
 
 Enter Paris, and h is Page, bearing Jiou-ers and a torch. 
 Par. Give me thy torch, boy : Hence, and stand 
 
 Yet put it out, for 1 would not' be seen. [aloof- 
 
 Under yon yew-trees lay thee all along, 
 Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground ; 
 So shall no foot upon the church-yard tread. 
 (Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,) 
 Hue thou shalt hear it : whistle then to me 
 Ai signal that thou hear'st something approach. 
 Give me those flowers. Do as I bid tliee, go. 
 
 Page. I am almost afraid to stand alone 
 Here in the church-yard; yet I will adventure [Retires. 
 Par. Sweet flower, with flowers I strew thy bridal 
 Sweet tomb, that in thy circuit dost contain [bed : 
 ■Jhe perfect model of eternity ; 
 Fair Juliet, that with angels dost remain, 
 .■Vccept this latest favour'at my hands ; 
 That living honour'd thee, and, being dead. 
 With funeral praises do adorn tliy tomb ! 
 , . I'J'lie Boy whistles. 
 
 I he boy gives warning, something doth approach. 
 What cursed foot wanders this way to-night. 
 To cross my obsequies, and true love's rites 1 
 What, with a torch !— muffle me, night, a while. 
 
 [i^efjVfs. 
 Enter Romeo and Balthasar with a torch, 
 mattock, Sfc. 
 Rom. Give me that mattock, and the wrenching iron. 
 Hold, take this letter ; early in the mornino- 
 See thou deliver it to my lord and father. ° 
 Give me the light : Upon thy life I charge thee, 
 Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof. 
 And do not interrupt me in my course. 
 Why I descend into this bed of death. 
 Is, partly, to behold my lady's face : 
 But, chiefly, to take thence from her dead finger 
 A precious ring ; a ring, that I must use 
 In dear employment : therefore hence, be gone : — 
 But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry 
 In what I further shall intend to do. 
 By heaven. I will tear thee joint by joint. 
 And strew this hungry church-yard with thy limbs • 
 3F 8 
 
820 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 The time and my intent* are savage-wild ; 
 llore fierce, and more inexorable far, 
 Than empty tigers, or the roaring sea. 
 
 Bal. I will be gone, sir, and not trouble you, 
 Horn, So shalt thou shew me tViendship. — Take 
 thou that : 
 Live, and be prospei'ous ; and farewell, good fellow. 
 
 Bill. For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout ; 
 His looks 1 fear, and his intents 1 doubt. [Itetirfs. 
 Rum. Tliou detestable maw, thou womb of deatii, 
 Gorg'd witli tlie dearest morsel of the earth, 
 Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open. 
 
 [^Breciking open the door oj the monument. 
 And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food ! 
 
 Ptn: This is that banish'd liaughty Montague, 
 That murder'd my love's cousin ; — with which grief, 
 It is supposed, the fair creature died, — 
 And here is come to do some viUanous shame 
 To the dead bodies : 1 will apprehend him. — 
 
 \_Ad varices. 
 Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague; 
 Can vengeance be pursu'd further than death ■; 
 Condemn'd villain, I do apprehend thee : 
 Obey, and go with me ; for thou must die. 
 
 Rom. I must, indeed ; and thereforecame I hither.— 
 Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man. 
 Fly hence and leave me ; — think upon the.se gone ; 
 Let them aft'riglit thee : — I beseech thee, youth, 
 Heap not anotiier sin upon my head, 
 By urging me to fury . — O. be gone ! 
 By heaven, 1 love thee better than myself ; 
 For I come hither arm'd against myself: 
 Stay not, be gone ;— live, and hereafter say — 
 A madman's 'nercy bade thee run away. 
 
 Par. I do defy thy conjurations. 
 And do attach thee as a felon here. 
 
 Rom. Wilt thou provoke me ! thenhaveatthee,boy. 
 
 [ThenJight. 
 Page. Olord! they fight: I will go call the watch. 
 
 [Hxit Page. 
 Par. O, I am slain '. [Ri(/s.] — If thou be merciful. 
 Open the tomb, lay me with .luliet. \_Dm. 
 
 Rom. In faith, I will : — Let nie peruse this face ; — 
 Mercutio's kinsman, noble county Paris: — 
 ^^■hat said my man, when my betossed soul 
 Did not attend him as we rode ? I think, 
 He told me, Paris should have married Juliet: 
 Said he not so ! or did I dream it so ? 
 Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, 
 To think it was so ? — O, give me thy hand. 
 One writ with me in sour misfortune's book ! 
 I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave, — 
 A grave ] 0, no ; a lantern, slaughter'd youth. 
 For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes 
 This vault a feasting presence full of light. 
 Death, lie thou tliere, by a dead man interr'd. 
 
 \hnying Paris in the monument. 
 How oft when men are at the point of death. 
 Have they been merry 1 which their keepers call 
 A lightning before deatli ; 0, how may 1 
 Call this a lightning 1 — O, my love ! my wife ! 
 Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, 
 Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: 
 Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet 
 Is crimson in thy lips, and in thy cheeks. 
 And death's pale Hag is not advanced theie — ■ 
 Tybalt, best thou there in thy bloody sheet 1 
 O, what more favour can I do to thee. 
 Than with that hand that cut tliy youth in twain. 
 To sunder his that was thine enemy '. 
 Forgive me. cousin ! — Ah. dear Juliet. 
 ■Why art thou yet so fair 1 Shall I believe 
 
 That unsubstantial death is amorous ; 
 
 And that the lean abhorred monster keeps 
 
 Thee here in dark to be his paramour? 
 
 For fear of that, I will still stay with thee; 
 
 And never fiom this palace of dim night 
 
 Depart again ; here, here will 1 remain 
 
 With worms that are thy chamber-maids; 0, heie 
 
 Will I set up my everlasting rest ; 
 
 And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars 
 
 From this world-wearied flesh. — Eyes, look your last ! 
 
 Arms, take your last embrace ! and lips, O you 
 
 The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss 
 
 A dateless bargain to engrossing death ! — 
 
 Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide ! 
 
 Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on 
 
 The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark ! 
 
 Here's to my love ! — [Drinki.] O, true apothecary ! 
 
 Thy drugs are quick. — Thus with a kiss 1 die. [Dies, 
 
 Enter, at the other end of the church'yard, Friar 
 Laurence, with a lantern, crow, and spade, 
 
 Fri. Saint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night 
 Have my old feet stumbled at graves? — Who's there t 
 Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead 1 [well. 
 Bal. Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you 
 Fri. Bliss be upon you ! Tell me, good my friend. 
 What torch is yond', that vainly lends his light 
 To grubs and eyeless sculls ; as I discern. 
 It burnetii in the Capel's monument. 
 
 Bai. It doth so, holy sir ; and there's my master, 
 One that you love. 
 
 -Fri. Who is it? 
 
 Bal. Romeo. 
 
 Fri, How long hath he been there ? 
 Bal. Full half an hour. 
 
 Fri. Go with me to the vault. 
 Bal. I dare not, sir : 
 
 My master knows not, but I am gone hence ; 
 And fearfully did menace me with death. 
 If I did stay to look on his intents. 
 
 Fri. Stay then, I'll go alone ; — Fear comes upon 
 O, much 1 fear some ill unlucky thing. [me , 
 
 Bal. As 1 did sleep under this yew-tree here, 
 I dreamt my master and another fought. 
 And that my master slew him. 
 
 Fri. Romeo ! — [.Idvances, 
 
 Alack, alack, what blood is this, wliich stains 
 The stony entrance of this sepulchre ? — 
 What mean these masterless and gory swords 
 To lie discolour'd by this place of peace 1 
 
 [Ewters the monument, 
 Romeo ! O, pale ! — Who else? what, Paris too? 
 And steep'd in blood ? — Ah, what an unkind hour 
 Is guilty of this lamentable chance ! — 
 The lady stirs. [Juliet wakes and stirs, 
 
 Jul. O, comfortable friar! where is my lord? 
 I do remember well where I should be. 
 And there 1 am : — Where is my Romeo ? 
 
 [A'^oise within. 
 Fri. I hear some noise. — Lady, come from that nest 
 Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep ; 
 A greater Power than we can contradict 
 Hath thwarted our intents ; come, come away : 
 Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead ; 
 And Paris too ; come, I'll dispose of thee 
 Among a sisterhood of holy nuns : 
 Stay not to question, for the watch is coming ; 
 Come, go, good Juliet, — [Noise again.] I dare stay 
 no longer. [Eiil. 
 
 Jul. Go, get Thee hence, for I will not away. — 
 What's here? a cup. clos'd in my true love's hand? 
 Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: — 
 
ACT v.— SCENE III. 
 
 821 
 
 O churl! drink all ; and leave no friendly drop, 
 
 To help me after ^ — I will kiss thy lips j 
 
 Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, 
 
 To make me die with a restorative. [A'issfs him. 
 
 Thy lips are warm ! 
 
 1 Wtitch, [Within.] Lead, boy : — Which way I 
 
 Jut. Yea, noise 1 — then I'll be brief, — O happy 
 
 dagger! [Snatching Rohieo's dagger. 
 
 This is thy sheath ; [Stabs herself ] there rust, and let 
 
 me die. [Falls on Romeo's bodii, and dies. 
 
 Enter Watch, with the Page o/" Paris. 
 
 Page. This is the place ; there, where the torch 
 doth burn. 
 
 1 Watch, The ground is bloody ; Search aboutthe 
 
 church-yard: 
 Go. some of you, whoe'er you find, attach. [Ex. some. 
 Pitiful sight ! here lies the county slain ; — 
 And Juliet bleeding ;^warm, and newly dead, 
 Who here halh lain these two days buried. — 
 Go, tell the prince, — run to the Capulets, — 
 Raise up the INlontagues, — some others search ; — 
 
 [Erennt other Watchmen, 
 We see the ground whereon these woes do lie ; 
 But the true ground of all these piteous woes, 
 We cannot without circumstnnce descry. 
 
 Enter some. of the Watch, with Balthasah. 
 
 2 Watch. Here's Romeo's man, we found him in 
 
 the church-yard. [hither. 
 
 1 Watch. Hold him in safety, till the prince come 
 
 Enter another Watchman, icith Friar Laurence. 
 
 3 Watch. Here is a friar, tliat trembles, sighs, and 
 
 weeps : 
 We took this mattock and this spade from him. 
 As he was coming from this church-yard side. 
 1 Watch. A great suspicion ; Stay the friar too. 
 
 Enter the Prince, and Attendants. 
 Prince. What misadventure is so early up, 
 That calls our person from our morning's rest? 
 
 Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and others. 
 
 Cup. What should it be, that they so shriek abroad ! 
 
 La. Cap. The people in the street cry — Romeo, 
 Some — Juliet, and some Paris ; and all run, 
 With open outcry, toward our monument. 
 
 pT-njcf. What fear is this, which startler in our ears 1 
 
 1 ir«/c/i. Sovereign, here iiesthe county Parisslain ; 
 And Romeo dead ; and Juliet, dead before, 
 Warm and new kill'd. 
 
 Prince, Search, seek, and know how this foul mur- 
 der comes. 
 
 1 Watch. Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's 
 With instruments upon them, fit to open [man; 
 
 These dead men's tombs. 
 
 Cap. O, heavens! — 0, wife ! look how our daugh- 
 ter bleeds ! 
 This dagger halh raista'en. — for. lo ! his house 
 Is empty on the back of Montague,— 
 And it mis-sheathcd in my daughter's bosom. 
 
 La. Cap. O me ! this sight of death is as a bell, 
 That warns my old age to a sepulchre. 
 
 Enter Montague and others. 
 
 Prince. Come, Montague ; for thou art early up, 
 To see thy son and heir more early down. 
 
 ^ Mon. Alas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night ; 
 Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath : 
 What further woe conspires a^inst mine age ? 
 
 prince. Look, and thou shalt see. 
 
 Mon. thou untaught ! what manners is in this. 
 To press before thy father to a graved 
 
 Prince. Sea! up the mouth of outrage for a while, 
 Till we can clear these ambiguities. 
 And know their spring, their head, their true descent ; 
 And tlien will I be general of your woes. 
 And lead you even to death : Meantime forbear, 
 And let mischance be slave to patience. — 
 Bring forth the parties of suspicion. 
 
 Fri. I am the greatest, able to do least, 
 Vet most suspected, as the time and place 
 Doth make against me, of this direful murder ; 
 And here 1 stand, both to impeach and purge 
 Myself condemned and myself excus'd. 
 
 Prince.Then say at once what thou dost know in this. 
 
 Fri, I will be brief, for my short date of breath 
 Is not so long as is a tedious tale. 
 Komeo there dead, was husband to that Juliet. 
 And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife : 
 I married them ; and their stolen marriage-day 
 Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death 
 Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from tliis city ; 
 For whom and not for Tybalt, Juliet pin'd. 
 You — to remove that siege of grief from her, — 
 Betroth'd, and would have married her perforce, 
 To county Paris : — Then comes she to me ; 
 And, with wild looks, bid me devise some means 
 To rid her from this second marriage. 
 Or. in my cell there would she kill herself. 
 Then gave 1 her, so tutor'd by my art, 
 A sleeping potion ; which so took effect 
 As I intended, for it wrought on her 
 The form of death : meantime 1 writ to Romeo, 
 That he should hither come as this dire night, 
 To help to take her from her borrow'd grave. 
 Being the time the potion's force should cease. 
 But he which bore my letter, friar John, 
 Was staid by accident ; and yesternight 
 Ueturn'd ray letter back : Then all alone. 
 At the prefixed hour of her waking, 
 Came I to take her from her kindred's vault ; 
 Meaning to keep her closely at mv cell. 
 Till I conveniently could send to Romeo : 
 But when I came, (some minute ere the time 
 Of her awaking,) here untimely lay 
 The noble Paris, and true Romeo, dead. 
 She wakes ; and I entreated her come forth, 
 And bear this work of heaven with patience : 
 But then a noise did scare me from the tomb ; 
 And she. too desperate, would not go with me, 
 But (as it seems) did violence on herself. 
 All this I know ; and to tlie marriage 
 Her nurse is privy : And. if aught in this 
 IMiscarried by my fault, let my old life 
 Be sacrific'd, some hour before his time. 
 Unto the rigour of severest law. 
 
 Prince. We still have known thee for a holy man. — 
 Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this ? 
 
 Bat. I brought my master news of Juliet's death ; 
 And then in post he came from Mantua, 
 To this same place, to this same monument. 
 This letter he early bid me give his father : 
 And threatened me with death, going in the vault. 
 If I departed not. and left him there. 
 
 Prirtce. Give me the letter, I will look on it. — 
 ^yhere is the county's page, that rais'd the watch ? — » 
 Sirrah, what made your master in this place? 
 
 Page. He came with flowers to strew his lady's 
 And bid me stand aloof, and so I did : [grave; 
 
 Anon, comes one with light to ope the tomb ; 
 And, by and by, my mazier drew on him ; 
 And then I ran away to call the watch. 
 
822 
 
 ROMEO AND JULIET. 
 
 Frinte. This letterdoth make good the fiiar's words, 
 Their course of love, tlie tidings of her death : 
 And here he writes — that he did buy a poison 
 Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal 
 Came to this vault to die. and lie with Juliet. — 
 Where be these enemies'! Capulet ! Montague! — 
 See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, 
 That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! 
 And I, for winking at your discords too, 
 Have lost a brace of kinsmen : — all are punish 'd. 
 
 Cap. O, brother Montague, give me thy hand : 
 This is my daughter's jointure, tor no more 
 Can 1 demand. 
 
 Muiu But lean give thee more: 
 
 For I will raise her statue in pure gold ; 
 That, while Verona by tliat name is known, 
 'I'here shall no figure at such rate be set, 
 As that of true and faithful Juliet. 
 
 Cap. As rich shall Romeo by his lady lie , 
 Poor sacrifices of our enmity ! [brings ; 
 
 Frince. A glooming peace this morning with it 
 The sun for sorrow will not shew his head : 
 Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things : 
 Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: 
 For never was a story of more woe 
 Tlian this of Juliet and her Komeo. [Exeuut, 
 
 This play is one of (he most pleasing of our author's perform- f 
 ancea. Ihe scenes are busy and various, th»; iucidemsare nu- 
 merous and important, the causirnphe iiresLSLil)ly afrijctiiig-, 
 and the process of the action carried on with such probability, 
 at k-asl with such coiiyruiiy to popular opinions, as tragedy 
 requires- 
 
 Uere is one of the few attempts of Shakspeare to exhibit the 
 conversation of fjenllemen, to represent the airy sprishtliness of 
 juvenile elegant-c. Mr. IJrydfn mentions a tradition, which 
 might easily reach his lime, of a declaration made by Shaks- 
 pt5.re, that /ic was o/>lit,'ed to kill Mercutio m the ihiid act. l^st he 
 should have been killed by him. Yet he thinks him no iuchj'or- 
 midahle perwti, hut that he might have lived through the play, 
 and died in his bed, without danger to the poet. Drydea well 
 knew, had he been in quest of truth, in a pointed sentence, that 
 tnore regard is commonly had to the words than the thought, 
 and that it is very seldom to be rigorously understood. Mer- 
 
 cutio's wit, gaiety, and courage, will always procure him friends 
 that wish liim a longer life ; but his death is not precipitated, he 
 has lived out lUe time allotted him in the construction of the 
 play; nor do I doubt the ability of Shakspeare to have conti- 
 nued his existence, though some of bis sallies are perhaps om 
 of the reach of Urydeu ; whose genius was not very fertile of 
 merriment, nor ductile to humour, but acute, argumentative, 
 comprehensive, and sublime. 
 
 the N urse is one of tlie characters in whicli the author delight- 
 ed : he has, with great subtlety of distinction, drawn her otonoe 
 loquacious and secret, obsequious and insolent, trusty and dis< 
 honest. 
 
 His comic scenes are happily Avroucht, but his pathetic strains 
 are always i)olluied with some unexpected depravations. His 
 persons, however distressed, have a conceit left them in their 
 misery, a miserable runcfir.^JoHNsON. 
 
 HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK. 
 
 Th e first edition of this splendid tragedy, which has been re- 
 cently discovered, was printed in 1C03. It wasaniongthe ear- 
 liest of our Author's works; and ^teivens saw a copy of 
 Speghl's edition of Chaucer, which formerly belonged to Dr. 
 Gabriel Harvey ithe antagonist of Nash), who, in his own 
 handwriting, has set down Hamlet, as a performance with 
 which he was well acquainted, in 15<J3. His words are these : 
 "ihe younger sort take much deligut in Shakspeare 's f-'eniis 
 and Adonis ; but hisL«cra'5, and his tragedy, of Hamlet, Prince 
 
 of Denmark, have it in them to please the wiser sort, 1598." 
 In the books of the Stationers' Company, this play was entered 
 by James Roberts, July 2b. 1602, undir the title of "A booke 
 c:\.\\v:iX The Helens e of liamlelt. Piwue of DenmarAe, as it waa 
 lately acted by the Lord Chamberlain his servantes." 
 The story on which the play is built, may be found in Saxo 
 Grammaiicus. the Danisn historian. From thence I'lClleforest 
 adopted it in his collection of novels; and from this latter 
 work, the Historie of 7Jawii/cf<, quarto. bl. 1. was translated. 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Claudius, King o/' Denmark. 
 
 Hamlet, son to thej'onner, and neplern to tJie 
 
 present King. 
 PoLONius, Lord Chaiiibertain. 
 Horatio, ^nVn// to Hamlet. 
 Laertes, son to Polonius. 
 
 YoLTiMAND, Cornelius, ) 
 
 Er> i courtiers. 
 
 OSENCRANTZ, (jUILDENSTERN, ^ 
 
 OsRic, a conrtier. 
 Another Courtier, 
 A Priest. 
 
 IMarcei.lus, ) ,*. 
 
 B; Officers, 
 ERNARDO, \ ■'' 
 
 Francisco, a soldier. 
 
 Keynai.do, servant to Polonius. 
 
 A Captain. 
 
 An Ambassador. 
 
 Ghost of Ha.m\et's father. 
 
 FoRTiNHRAs, Prince o/' \onvay. 
 
 •Gertrude, Quepn o/' Denmark, and mother 0/ Hamlet. 
 Ophelia, daughter 0/' Polonius. 
 
 IjOrds, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Players,CravediggerSt 
 Sailors^ Messengers, and other Attendants. 
 
 SCENE,— Elsinobe. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Elsinore. A Platform before the Castle. 
 Francisco on liis post. Enter to hiin Bernardo. 
 
 Ber. Who's there 1 
 
 Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold 
 
 Yourself. 
 
 Ber. Long live the king ! 
 
 Fran. Bernardo 1 
 
 Ber. He. 
 
 Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. 
 
 Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to bed, 
 ^ Francisco. 
 
 f inn. For this relief, much thanks : 'tis bitter cold. 
 And I am sick at heart. 
 
 Ber. Have you had quiet guard ? 
 
 Fran. Not a mouse stirring. 
 
 Ber. Well, good night. 
 If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
 The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 
 
 Enter Horatio ami Marcellus. 
 frail. I think, I hear them. — Stand, ho ' Who is 
 Hor. Friends to this ground. [there! 
 
 Mar. And liegemen to the Dane. 
 
 Fran. Give you good night. 
 
ACT I —SCENE T. 
 
 1)23 
 
 Mar. O, farewell, honest soldier : 
 
 Who hath rellev'd you 1 
 
 Fran. Bernardo hath my place. 
 
 Give you good night. [Exit Francisco. 
 
 Mar. Holla, Bernardo ! 
 
 Ber. Say. 
 
 What, is Horatio there ? 
 
 Hor. A piece of him. 
 
 Ber. Welcome, Horatio ; welcome, good Marcellus. 
 
 JHfor. What, has this thing appear'd again to-night? 
 
 Ber. I have seen nothing. 
 
 Mar, Horatio says, 'tis but our fantasy ; 
 And will not let belief take hold of him, 
 Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : 
 Therefore I have entreated him, along 
 With us to watch the minutes of this night •, 
 That, if again this apparition come. 
 He may approve our eyes, and speak to it. 
 
 Hor. Tush! tush! 'twill not appear. 
 
 Ber. Sit down awhile ; 
 
 And let us once again assail your ears, 
 That are so fortified against our story, 
 What we two nights have seen. 
 
 Hor. Well, sit we down, 
 
 And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 
 
 Ber. Last night of all. 
 When yon same star, that's westward from the pole, 
 Had made his course to illume that part of heaven 
 Where now it burns, Marcellus, and myself, 
 The bell then beating one. — [again ! 
 
 Mar. Peace, break thee off i look, where it comes 
 
 Knter Ghost. 
 
 Brr. In the same figure, like the king that's dead. 
 
 Mar. Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio. 
 
 Ber. Looks it not like the king? mark it, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. Most like : — it harrows me with fear, and 
 
 Ber. It would be spoke to. [wonder. 
 
 Mar. Speak to it, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. What art thou, that usurp'st this time of night, 
 Together with that fair and warlike form 
 In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
 Did sometimes march 1 by heaven I charge thee, speak. 
 
 Mar. It is offended. 
 
 Ber. See ! it stalks away. 
 
 Hor. Stay; speak: speak I charge thee, speak. 
 
 [Eiit Ghost. 
 
 Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. 
 
 Ber. How now, Horatio? you tremble, and look 
 Is not this something more than fantasy ? [pale : 
 What think you of it? 
 
 Hor. Before my God. I might not this believe. 
 Without tlie sensible and true avouch 
 Of mine own eyes. 
 
 Mar. Is it not like the king? 
 
 Hor. As thou art to thyself : 
 Such was the very armour he had on, 
 When he the ambitious Norway combated ; 
 So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 
 He smote the sledded Polack on the ice. 
 'Tis strange. 
 
 Ma?-. Thus, twice before, andjump at this dead hour. 
 With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch- 
 
 Hor. In what particular thought to work, I know 
 But, in the gross and scope of mine opinion, [not; 
 This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
 
 Mar. Good now, sit down, and tell me, b« that 
 knows, 
 Why this same strict and most observant watch 
 So nightly toils the subject of the land ? 
 And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, 
 And foreign mart for implements of war • 
 
 Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
 Does not divide the Sunday from the week : 
 What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
 Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day ; 
 Who is 't, that can inform me ? 
 
 H,>r. That can I ; 
 
 At least, the whisper goes so. Our last king. 
 Whose image even but now appear'd to us. 
 Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
 Thereto prick'd on by a most emulate pride, 
 Dar'd lo the combat ; in which our valiant Hamlet 
 (For so this side of our known world esteem'd him.) 
 Did slay this Fortinbras ; who, by a seal'd compact, 
 Weil ratified by law, and heraldry. 
 Did forfeit, wilii his life, all tiiose his lands. 
 Which he stood seiz'd of, to the conqueror : 
 Against the which, a moiety competent 
 Was gaged by our king ; which had return 'd 
 To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
 Had he been vanquisher ; as, by the same co-mait, 
 And carriage of the article design'd. 
 His fell to Hamlet: Now, sir, young Fortinbras, 
 Of unimproved mettle hot and full. 
 Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, 
 Shark 'd up a list of landless resolules. 
 For food and diet, to some enterprize. 
 That hath a stomach in 't : which is no other 
 (As it doth well appear unto our state,) 
 But to recover of us by strong hand. 
 And terms compulsatory, those 'foresaid lands 
 So by his father lost : And this, I take it. 
 Is the main motive of our preparations ; 
 The source of this our watch ; and the chief head 
 Of this post-hasle and romacje in the land. 
 
 Ber. I think, it be no other, but even so : 
 Well may it sort, that this portentous figure 
 Comes armed through our watch ; so like the king 
 That was, and is, the question of these wars. 
 
 Hor. A mote it is, to trouble the mind's eye. 
 In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
 A little ere the mightiest Julius fell. 
 The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
 Did squeak and gibber in the Koman streets. 
 
 As, stars with trains of fire shed dews of blood. 
 Disasters dimm'd the sun ; and the moist star. 
 Upon whose infiuence Neptune's empire stands. 
 Was sick almost to dooms-day with eclipse. 
 And even the like precurse of fierce events, — 
 As harbingers pieceditig still the fates, 
 And prologue to the omen coming on, — 
 Have heaven and earth together demonstrated 
 Unto our climatures and countrymen. — 
 
 lie-enter Ghost. 
 
 But, soft ; behold I lo, where it comes again ! 
 
 Yl\ cross it, though it blast me. — Stay, illusioo ! 
 
 If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 
 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If there be any good thing to be done. 
 
 That may to thee do ease, and grace to me. 
 
 Speak to me : 
 
 If thou art privy to thy country's fate. 
 
 Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, 
 
 O, speak ! 
 
 Or, if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 
 
 Extorted treasure in the womb of earth. 
 
 For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, 
 
 [Cock cvous. 
 Speak of it : — stay, and speak. — Stop it. JMarcellus- 
 
 Mar. Shall 1 strike at it with my partizaa ? 
 
 Hor, Do, if it will not stand. 
 
824 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Ber, 'Tis heie ! i 
 
 Hor. 'Tis here ! 
 
 Mar. 'Tis gone ! [Exit Gliost. j 
 
 We do it wrong, being so majestical, 
 To offer it the show of violence ; i 
 
 For it is, as the air, invulnerable, i 
 
 And our vain blows malicious raockery. i 
 
 Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock crew, 
 
 Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
 Upon a fearful summons. I have heard, 
 The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, 
 Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
 Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, 
 "Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, 
 Tlie extravagant and erring spirit hies 
 To his confine : and of the truth herein 
 This present object made probation. 
 
 Mar. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
 Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes 
 Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 
 This bird of dawning singeth all night long : 
 And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
 The nights are wholesome ; then no planets strike, 
 No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, 
 So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 
 
 Hor. So have I heard, and do in part believe it. 
 But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill : 
 Break we our watch up ; and, by my advice. 
 Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
 Unto young Hamlet: for, upon my life, 
 This spirit, dumb to us. will speak to him : 
 Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, 
 As needful in our loves, fitting our duty ? 
 
 Mar. Let's do't, I pray; and I this morning know 
 Where we shall find him most convenient. lE,ieuitt. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same. A Boom nf State in the same, 
 
 Eiiterf/icKiNG, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, 
 Voi.TiMAND, Cornelius, Lords, &^ Attendants. 
 
 King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's 
 death 
 The memory be green ; and that it us befitted 
 To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom 
 To be contracted in one brow of woe ; 
 Yet so far hath discretion fouglii with nature. 
 That we with wisest sorrow think on him, 
 Together with remembrance of ourseUes. 
 Therefore our sometime sistej', now our queen, 
 The imperial jointress of this warlike state. 
 Have we, as 'twere, with a defeated joy, — 
 With one auspicious, and one dropping eye ; 
 With mirth and funeral, and with dirge in marriage, 
 In equal scale, weighing delight and dole,— 
 Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 
 Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone 
 With this affair along:— For all, our thanks. 
 
 Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, — 
 Holding a weak supposal of our worth*; 
 Or thinking, by our late dear brother's death, 
 Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 
 CoUeagued with this dream of his advantage. 
 He hath not fail'd to pester us with message. 
 Importing the surrender of those lands 
 Lost by his father, with all bands of law, 
 To our most valiant brother. — So much for hira. 
 Now for ourself, and for this time of meeting. 
 Thus much the business is : We have here writ 
 To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, — 
 Who, impotent and bed-rid' scarcely hears 
 Of this his nephew's purpose, — to suppress 
 
 His further gait herein ; in that the levies. 
 The lists, and full proportions, are all made 
 Out of his subject : —and we here despatch 
 You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
 For bearers of this greeting to old Norway ; 
 Giving to you no further personal power 
 To business with the king, more than the scope 
 Of these dilated articles allow. 
 Farewell ; and let your haste commend your duty. 
 Cor. Vol. In that, and all things, will we shew otir 
 
 duty. 
 King, We doubt it nothing ; heartily farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Voltimand and Cornllius. 
 And now, Laertes, what's the news with you 1 
 You told us of some suit? What is't, Laertes? 
 You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
 And lose your voice: \^'hat would'st thou beg, Laer- 
 That shall not be my offer, not thy asking"! [les. 
 The head is not more native to the heart, 
 The hand more instrumental to the mouth, 
 Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. 
 What would'st ihcu have, Laertes '. 
 
 Laer. My dread lord. 
 
 Your leave and favour to return to France ; 
 From whence thougli willingly I came to Denmark, 
 To shew my duty in your coronation ; 
 Yet now, 1 must confess, that duty done. 
 My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, 
 And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. 
 King. Have you your father's leave? What says 
 
 Polonius t 
 Pol. He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow 
 By laboursonie petition ; and, at last. [leave. 
 
 Upon his will I seal'd my hard consent: 
 I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
 
 King. Take thy fair hour, Laertes ; time be thine, 
 And thy best graces : spend it at thy will. — 
 
 But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, 
 
 Ham, A little more than kin, and less than kind. 
 
 [Aside. 
 King. How is it that the clouds still hang on you 1 
 Ham, Not so, my lord, I am too much i' the sun. 
 Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off. 
 And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
 Do not, for ever, with thy vailed lids 
 Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
 Thou know'st, 'tis common ; all that live, must die. 
 Passing through nature to eternity. 
 Ha/n. Ay, madam, it is common. 
 Queen. If it be, 
 
 Why seems it so particular with thee ? 
 
 Ham. Seems, madam! nay. it is ; 1 know not seems, 
 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
 Nor customary suits of solemn black. 
 Nor windy suspiration of forc'd breath. 
 No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
 Nor the dejected 'haviour or the visage, 
 Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief. 
 That can denote me truly : Tliese, indeed, seem. 
 For they are actions that a man might play : 
 But 1 have that within, wiiich passeth show ; 
 These, but the trappings and the suits of woe. 
 King. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, 
 Hamlet, 
 To give these mourning duties to your father : 
 But, you must know, your father lost a father ; 
 That father lost, lost his ; and the survivor bound. 
 In filial obligation, for some terra 
 To do obsequious sorrow : But to pers6ver 
 In obstinate condolement, is a course 
 Of impious stubbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief: 
 ! It shews a will most incorrect to heaveu : 
 
ACT T.— SCENE II. 
 
 825 
 
 A heart unfortified, or mind impatient : 
 An understanding simple and unschool'd : 
 For what, we know, must be, and is as common 
 As any of the most vulgar thing to sense, 
 Why should we, in our peevish opposition, 
 Take it to heart? Fye ! 'tis a fault to heaven, 
 A fault against the dead, a fault to nature. 
 To reason most absurd ; whose common theme 
 Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, 
 From the first corse, till he that died to-dav. 
 This must be so. We pray you, throw to earth 
 This unprevailing woe ; and think of us 
 As of a father: for let the world take note, 
 You are the most immediate to our throne ; 
 And. with no less nobility of love, 
 Than that which dearest father bears his son, 
 Do I impart toward you. For your intent 
 [u going back to school in Wittenberg, 
 £t is most retrograde to our desire : 
 And. we beseech you, bend you to remain 
 Here, in the cheer and comfort of our eye, 
 Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 
 
 Queen. Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet ; 
 I pray thee, stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 
 
 Ham. 1 shall in all my best obey you, madam. 
 
 King. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply ; 
 Be as ourself in Denmark. — Madam, come ; 
 This gentle and unfoic'd accord of Hamlet 
 Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof, 
 Ko jocund health, that Denmark drinks to-day, 
 But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell ; 
 And the king's rouse the heaven shall bruit again, 
 Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. 
 
 ^Exeunt King, Queen, Lords, i<;c. Poloniuf, 
 and Laertes. 
 
 Ham. O, that this too too solid flesh would melt. 
 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ' 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God! 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world! 
 Fye on't I O fye ! 'tis an unweeded garden. 
 That grows to seed ; things rank, and gross in nature. 
 Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
 But two months dead! — nay, not so much, not two; 
 So excellent a king ; that was, to this. 
 Hyperion to a satyr : so loving to my mother, 
 That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
 Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
 Must I remember 1 why, she would hang on him, 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 By what it fed on : And yet, within a month, — 
 Let me not think on't ; — Frailty.thy name is woman! — 
 A little month ; or ere those shoes were old. 
 With %vhich she follow'd my poor father's body, 
 Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — 
 O heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
 Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my uncle, 
 My father's brother ; but no more like my father. 
 Than I to Hercules: Within a month ; 
 Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
 Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 
 She married : — O most wicked speed, to post 
 With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
 It is not. nor it cannot come to. good ; 
 But break, my heart ; for I must hold my tongue ! 
 
 Enter Horatio, BERNAnDO. and Marcellus. 
 
 /for. Hail to your lordship! 
 Ham. I am glad to see you well : 
 
 Horatio, — or I do forget myself. 
 
 Hoi\ The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 
 
 Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that name 
 with you. 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio 1 — 
 ISlarceilus ? 
 
 Mar. My good lord. 
 
 Ham. I am very glad to see you ; good even, sir, — 
 But what, in faith, make you from \\ ittenberg] 
 
 Hor, A truant disposition, good ray lord. 
 
 Ham. 1 would not hear your enemy say so \ 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence. 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 Against vourself : I know, you are no truant. 
 But what is your affair in Elsinore? 
 We'll teach you to drink deep, ere you depart. 
 
 Hor. My lord, 1 came to see your fathers funeral. 
 
 Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student j 
 I think, it was to see my mother's wedding. 
 . Hor. Indeed, my lord, it follow'd hard upon. • 
 
 //um. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral bak'd meats 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
 'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
 Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ? — 
 !My father, — Methinks, I see my father. 
 
 Hor. Where, 
 
 My lord t 
 
 Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 Hor. I saw him once, he was a goodly king. 
 
 Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Hor. My lord, 1 think I saw him yesternight. 
 
 Ham. Saw ! who 1 
 
 Hor, I\Iy lord, the king your father. 
 
 Ham, The king my father! 
 
 Hor. Season your admiration for a while 
 With an attent ear ; till 1 may deliver, 
 Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
 This marvel to you. 
 
 Ham, For God's love, let me hear, 
 
 Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
 Marcellusand Bernardo, on their watch, 
 In the dead waist and middle of the night, « 
 Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, 
 Armed at point, exactly, cap-a-pe, 
 j Appears before them, and. with solemn march. 
 Goes slow and statelv by them : thrice he walk'd. 
 By their oppress'd and fear-surprized eyes. 
 Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, distill'd 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
 In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
 And I with them, the third night kept the watch: 
 Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, 
 Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
 'ihe apparition comes : I knew your father ; 
 These hands are not more like. 
 
 Ham. But where was this? 
 
 Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we w alch'd. 
 
 Ham. Did you not speak to it? 
 
 Hor. My lord, I did: 
 
 But answer made it none : yet once, methought, 
 It lifted up its head, and did address 
 itself to motion, like as it would speak : 
 But. even then, the morning cock crew loud ; 
 -And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
 And vanish'd from our sight. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis very strange. 
 
 Hor. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true ; 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty. 
 To let you know of it. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
 Hold you the watch to-night? 
 
 Ail, We do, my lord. 
 
826 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 fitim. Ann'd say you ? 
 
 All, ' Ann'd, my lord. 
 
 Ham. From top to toe 1 
 
 All. 3Iy lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Ham, Then saw you not 
 
 His face. 
 
 Hor. O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 
 
 Ham. Wiiat, look'd he frowningly ! 
 
 Hnr. A countenance more 
 
 In sorrow than in anger. 
 
 Ham. Pale, or red" 
 
 Hoi . Jfay, very pale. 
 
 Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you 1 
 
 Hor. Most constantly. 
 
 Ham. I would, I had been there. 
 
 Jior. It would have much amaz'd you. 
 
 Ham. Very like, 
 
 Very like : Stay'd it long 1 
 
 Her. While one with moderate haste might tell a 
 
 jMar. Ber. Longer, longer. [hundred. 
 
 Hi>r. Not when I saw it. 
 
 Ham. His beard was grizzl'd! no ? 
 
 Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
 A sable siU-er'd. 
 
 Ham. I will watch to-night ; 
 
 Perchance, 'twill walk again. 
 
 Hor. I warrant, it will. 
 
 Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, 
 I'll speak to it, though iiell itself should gape, 
 And bid me hold mv peace. I pray you all. 
 If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night. 
 Give it an understanding, but no tongue ; 
 I will requite your loves : So, fare you well : 
 Vpon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
 I'll visit you. 
 
 All. Our duty to your honour. 
 
 Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : Farewell. 
 [Er«K«I Horatio, ^Iarcellus, and Bernardo. 
 5Iy father's spirit in amis ! all is not well ; 
 I doubt some foul play : 'would, the night were come ! 
 Till then sit still, my soul : Foul deeds will rise. 
 Though all the earth o'erwhelms them, to men's eves. 
 
 [liiir. 
 
 SCENE III.— j1 Room in Polonius' House. 
 E7iter Laertes ajid Othelia. 
 
 Laer. My necessaries are embark 'd ; farewell ; 
 And. sister, as the winds give benefit. 
 And convoy is assistant, do not sleep. 
 But let me hear from you. 
 
 Oi>h. Do you doubt that 1 
 
 Laer. For Hamlet, and the trilling of his favour. 
 Hold it a fashion, and a toy in blood ; 
 A violet in the youth of primy nature. 
 Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
 No more. 
 
 Oph. No more but so 1 
 
 Laer, Think it no more ; 
 
 For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
 In thews, and bulk -, but, as this temple waxes, 
 The inward sen'ice of the mind and soul 
 Grows wide withal. Perhaps, he loves you now ; 
 And now no soil, nor cautel, doth besmirch 
 The virtue of his will : but. you must fear. 
 His greatness weigh'd. his will is not his own ; 
 For he himself is subject to his birth : 
 He may not, as unvalued persons do, 
 Carve for himself ; for on his choice depends 
 
 The safety and the health of the whole st.ite , 
 
 And therefore must his choice be circuuiscrib'd 
 
 Unto the voice and yielding of tiiat bodv. 
 
 Whereof he is the head ; Then if he says, he loves vou, 
 
 It wits your wisdom so far to believe it, 
 
 As he in his particular act and place 
 
 May give his sa\-ing deed ; which is no further. 
 
 Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
 
 Then weigh what loss your honour may sxistain. 
 
 If with too credent ear you list his songs ; 
 
 Or lose your heart ; or your chaste treasure open 
 
 To his unniaster'd importunitv. 
 
 Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my ^ear sister ; 
 
 And keep you in the rear of your affection. 
 
 Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
 
 The chariest maid is prodigal enough, 
 
 If she unmask her beauty to the moon : 
 
 A'irtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes : 
 
 The canker galls the infants of the spring. 
 
 Too oft before their buttons be disclos'd ; 
 
 And in the morn and liquid dew of youth 
 
 Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
 
 Be w-ary then : best safety lies in fear ; 
 
 Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. 
 
 Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson keep, 
 .^s watchmen to my heart : But, good my brother. 
 Do not, as some ungracious pastors do. 
 Shew me the steep and thorny way to lieaven ; ^ 
 \\'hilst, like a puff"d and reckless libertine. 
 Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads. 
 And recks not his own read. 
 
 Laer. O fear me no;. 
 
 I stay too long ; — But here my father comes. 
 
 lEnter PoLONirs. 
 
 A double blessing is a double grace ; 
 Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 
 
 Pol. Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, for shaTnt ; 
 The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail. 
 And you are staid for : There, my blessing widi you • 
 [LayiH^ his hand on Laertes' heath 
 And these few precepts in thy memory , 
 Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue. 
 Nor any unproportion'd thought his act. 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried. 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
 Hut do not dull thy palm v.iih entertainment 
 Of each new-hatoh'd, unfiedg'd comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel : but. being in. 
 Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 
 Give ever)' man thine ear, but few thy voice : 
 Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
 But not express'd in fancy: rich, not gaudy: 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; 
 And they in France, of the best rank and station. 
 Are most select and geneixtus. chief in that. 
 Neither a borrower, nor a lender be : 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
 This above all, — To thine ownself be true ; 
 .And it must follow, as the night the day. 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 Farewell ; my blessing season this in thee ! 
 
 Laer. Alost humbly do I take my leave, my lord. 
 
 Pot. The time invites you ; go, your servants lend. 
 
 J.aer. Farewell. Ophelia : and remember well 
 What I have said to you. 
 
 Uph, 'Tis in my memory lock'd, 
 
 .\nd you yourself shall keep the key of it. 
 
 Laer. Fareivell. [Kiil Laertes. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE IV. 
 
 827 
 
 Pot. What is't, Ophelia, he said to you 1 
 
 Oph. So please you, something touching the lord 
 
 Pol. IMarry, well bethought: [Ilauilct. 
 
 'Tis told me. he hath very oft of late 
 Given private time to you : and you yourself 
 Have of your audience been most free and bounteous : 
 If it be so, (ai so 'tis put on me, 
 And that in way of caution,) I must tell you, 
 You do not understand yourself so clearly, 
 As it behoves my daughter, and your honour: 
 What is between you ^ give me up the truth. 
 
 Opk. He hath, my lord, of late, made many tenders 
 Of his aflection to me. 
 
 Pfli Affection! puh ! you speak like a green girl, 
 Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
 Do you believe his tenders, as you call them ? 
 
 Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should think. 
 
 Pol. ^larry, I'll teach you: think yourself a baby ; 
 That you have ta'en these tenders for true pay. 
 Which are notsterling. Tender yourself more dearly ; 
 Or, (not to crack the wind of the poor phrase. 
 Wronging it tlius,") you'll tender me a fool 
 
 Oph. My lord, he hath imp6rtun'd me with love, 
 In honourable fashion. 
 
 Pol, Ay, fashion you may call it ; go to, go to. 
 
 Oph. And hath given countenance to his speech, 
 W^ith almost all the holy vows of lieavea. [my lord, 
 
 Pol. Ay, springes, to catch woodcocks. I do know, 
 When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
 Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daughter, 
 Giving more light than heat,— extinct in both, 
 Even in their promise, as it is a making, — 
 Y.mi must not take for fire. From this time, 
 Be somewhat scanter of your maiden presence ; 
 Set your entreatments at a higher rat§. 
 Than a command to parley. For lord Hamlet, 
 Believe so much in him. That he is young, 
 And with a larger tether may he wafk, 
 Than may be given you : In few, Ophelia, 
 Do not believe his vows: for they are brokers 
 ,J*Jot of that die which their investments shew, 
 •But mere implorators of unholy suits. 
 Breathing like sanctified'aod pious bonds, 
 The better to beguile. This is for all, — • 
 I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth. 
 Have you so slander any moment's leisure. 
 As to give words or talk with the lord Hamlet. 
 Look to't, I charge you ; come your ways. 
 
 Oph. I shall obey, my lord. lEieunt. 
 
 SCENE lV.~r/te Platform. 
 Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcei.lus. 
 
 Ham, The air bites shrewdly ; it is very cold. 
 
 Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 
 
 Ham, What hour now? 
 
 Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 
 
 Mar. No, it is struck. 
 
 Hor. Indeed? I heardit not ; then it draws near the 
 
 Wherein tite spirit held his wont to walk, [season, 
 
 [^A Jlourish of trumpeti, and ordnance shot off , uilh'm. 
 
 What does this mean, my lord? [rouse. 
 
 Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his 
 Keeps wassel, and the swaggering up spring reels ; 
 And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down^ 
 The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
 The triumph of his pledge. 
 
 Hor. Is it a custom "i 
 
 Hum. Ay, marry, is't : 
 . But to my mind,— though I am native here. 
 And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
 More hojiour'd in the breach, than the observance. 
 
 This heavy-headed revel, east and west, 
 
 INTakes us traduc'd, and tax'd of other nations : 
 
 They clepe us, drunkards, and with swinish phrase 
 
 Soil our addition ; and, indeed, it takes 
 
 From our achievements, though perform'd at heiglil 
 
 The pith and marrow of our attribute. 
 
 So, oft it chances in particular men, 
 
 That for some vicious mole of nature in them 
 
 -Vs, in their birth, (wherein they are not guilty, 
 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin,) 
 
 By the o'ergrowth of some complexion, 
 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason j 
 
 Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 
 
 The form of plausive manners ; — that these men, — 
 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect ; 
 
 Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, — 
 
 Their virtues else (be they as pure as grace. 
 
 As infinite as man may undergo,) 
 
 Sliall in the general censure take corruption 
 
 From tliat particular fault : The dram of base 
 
 Doth all the noble substance often dout. 
 
 To his own scandal. 
 
 Enter Ghost 
 
 Hor. Look, my lord, it comes \ 
 
 Hum. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! — 
 Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd. 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
 Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 
 Thou com'st in such a questionable shape. 
 That I will speak to thee ; I'll call thee Hamlet, 
 King, father, royal Dane: O, answer me : 
 Let me not burst jn ignorance ! but tell, 
 Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, 
 Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre. 
 Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urn'd, 
 Hath op'd bis ponderous and marble jaws, 
 To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
 Tliat thou, dead corse, again, in c6mplete steel, 
 Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
 Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, 
 So horribly to shake our disposition, 
 With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? 
 Say, why is this ? wherefore? what should we do? 
 
 Hor. It beckons you to go away with it. 
 As if it some impartment did desire 
 To you alone. 
 
 Mar. Look, with what courteous action 
 
 It waves you to a more removed ground : • 
 
 But do not go with it. 
 
 Hor. No, by no means. 
 
 Ham. It will not speak; then I will follow it. 
 
 7tor. Do not, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, what should be the feai ? 
 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
 And, for my soul, what can it do to that. 
 Being a thing immortal as itself ? 
 It waves me forth again ; — I'll follow it. 
 
 Hor, What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my 
 Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, [lord. 
 
 That beetles o'er his base into the sea? 
 And there assume some other horrible form, 
 Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, 
 And draw you into madness? think oY it: 
 The very place puts toys of desperation. 
 Without more motive, mto every brain. 
 That looks so many fathoms to the sea. 
 And hears it roar beneath. 
 
 Hatn. It waves me still :^ 
 
 Go on, I'll follow thee. 
 
 Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 
 
 Ham, Hold off your hands. 
 
828 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Hiir. Be rul'd, you shall not go. 
 
 Ham. My fate cries out, 
 
 And makes each petty artery in this body 
 As hardy as the J\'eraean lion's nerve. — 
 
 [Ghost beckom. 
 Still am I call'd ; — unhand me, gentlemen • — 
 
 [Breaking from them. 
 By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me: — 
 I say, away: — Go on, I'll follow thee. 
 
 [Kieiint Ghost and Hami.et. 
 . Hnr. He waxes desperate with imagination. 
 
 Mar. Let's follow; 'tis not (it tlius to obey him. 
 
 Hor. Have after:— To what issue will this"corae! 
 
 Mai'. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. 
 
 Hor. Heaven will direct it. 
 
 Mar. Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — A more remote Part of the Platform, 
 lie-eiiter Ghost and Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Whither will thou lead me? speak, I'll go no 
 
 Ghost. Mark me. [further. 
 
 Ham. 1 will. 
 
 Ghost. My hour is almost come, 
 
 When I to sulphurous and tormenting fiames 
 Must render up myself. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poor ghost I 
 
 Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
 To what I shall unfold. 
 
 Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 
 
 Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. 
 
 Ham. What? 
 
 Ghost. I am thy father's spirit ; 
 Doom'd for a certain terra to walk the night. 
 And, for the day confin'd to fast in fires. 
 Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature. 
 Are burnt and purg'd away. But tliat I am forbid 
 To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
 I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
 Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; 
 Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; 
 Thy knotted and combined locks to part. 
 And each particular hair to stand on end. 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 
 But this eternal blazon must not be 
 'J'o ears of flesh and blood :— List, list, O list!^ 
 If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 
 
 Ham. heaven ! 
 .Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural mur- 
 
 Ham. Murder! [der. 
 
 Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
 But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 
 
 Ham. Haste me to know it ; that I, with wings as 
 As meditation, or the thoughts of love, [swift 
 
 May sweep to my revenge. 
 
 Ghost. I find thee apt ; 
 
 And duller .should'st thou be than the fat weed 
 That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf. 
 Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear : 
 'Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard, 
 A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Denmark 
 Is by a forged process of my death 
 Rankly abus'd : but know, thou noble youth, 
 The serpent that did sting thy father's life, 
 Now wears his crown. 
 
 Ham. O, my prophetic soul ! my uncle! 
 
 G'losf. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, 
 With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, 
 <0 wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power 
 So tt) seduce !) won to his shameful lust 
 The will of my most seeming virtuous queen : 
 O, Hamlet, what a falling-oif was there ! 
 
 From mc, whose love was of that dignity, 
 That it went hand in hand even with the voiv 
 I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
 Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
 I'o those of mine ! 
 
 But virtue, as it never will be mov'd. 
 Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven ; 
 So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, 
 ' Will sate itself in a celestial bed, 
 .A.nd prey on garbage. 
 
 But, soft ! melhinks, I scent the morning air ; 
 Brief let me be : — Sleeping within mine orchard, 
 My custom always of the afternoon. 
 Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole. 
 With juice of cursed heb'enon in a vial, 
 And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
 I'he leperous distilraent ; whose etiect 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man, 
 That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
 .A-nd, with a sudden'vigour, it doth posset 
 And curd, like eager droppings into milk. 
 The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine ; 
 And a most instant tetter bark'd about. 
 Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust. 
 All my smooth body. 
 
 Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand. 
 Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatch'd . 
 Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
 Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd ; 
 No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
 With all my imperfections on my head. 
 
 Ham. O, horrible ! O, horrible ! most horrible ! 
 
 Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
 Let not the royal bed of Denmark be 
 X couch for luxury and damned incest, 
 iiut, howsoever thou pursu'st this act, 
 I'aint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contnve 
 -Against thy mother aught ; leave her to heaven. 
 And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
 I'o prick and sting her. Fare thee ivell at once ! 
 The glow worm shews the matin to be near. 
 And 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire : 
 Adieu, adieu, adieu ! remember me. [E.iit. 
 
 Ham. Uall youhostofiieaven ! Uearth! Whatelse! 
 And shall I couple hell! — O fye ! — Hold, hold, my 
 And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, [heart ; 
 liut bear me stiffly up ! — Remember thee ! 
 Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
 In this distracted globe. Remember thee ' 
 Yea, from the table of my memory 
 I'll wipe away all trivial fond records. 
 All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past 
 I'hat youth and observation copied theie ; 
 .\nd thy commandment all alone shall live 
 Within the book and volume of my brain. 
 Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven. 
 O most pernicious woman ! 
 
 villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! 
 My tables, — meet it is, 1 set it down. 
 
 That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain ; 
 At least, I am sure, it may be so in Denmark : 
 
 [ Writing, 
 So, tincle, there you are. Now to my word; 
 It is, Adieu, adieu! remember me. 
 
 1 have sworn't. 
 
 Hor. [Within.l My lord, my lord, 
 
 Mar. [Within.] Lord Hamlet, 
 
 Hor. [Within.] Heaven secure him,' 
 
 Ham. So be It . 
 
 ilar. [Within.] lUo, ho, ho, my lord! 
 Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy I come, bird, come. 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 829 
 
 Enter HonATio mid Mahcellus. I 
 
 Mm. How is't, my noble lord ? 
 
 Hor. Wliat news, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. O, wonderful! 
 
 Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 
 
 Ham. No ; 
 
 You will reveal it. 
 
 Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
 
 Mar, Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. How say you then ; would heart of man once 
 think it ?— 
 But you'll be secret, 
 
 Hor. Mar. Ay, by heaven, my lord. 
 
 Ham. There's ne'er a villain, dwelling in all Den- 
 But he's an arrant knave. [mark, 
 
 H'ir. I'lifcie needs no ghost, my lord, come from the 
 To tell us this. [grave, 
 
 Ham. Why, right ; you are in the right ; 
 
 And so, without more circumstance at all, 
 I hold it fit that we shake hands, and part ; 
 Vou, as your business, and desire, shall point you ; — 
 For every man hath business, and desire, 
 Such as it is, — and for my own poor part, 
 Look you, I will go pray. 
 
 Hor. These are butwild and whirling words, my lord. 
 
 Haw. I am sorry they offend you, heartily ; yes, 
 'Faith, heartily. 
 
 Hor. There's no offence, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Yes, by St. Patrick, but there is, Horatio, 
 And much offence too. Touching this vision here, — 
 It is an honest ghost, then let me tell you ; 
 For your desire to know what is between us, 
 O'er-master it as you may. And now, good friends. 
 As you are friends, scholars, anAsoldiers, 
 Give me one poor request. 
 
 Hor. . What is 't, my lord 1 
 
 We will. [night. 
 
 Ha7n. Never make known what you have seen to- 
 
 Hor. Mar. My lord, we will not. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but swear't. 
 
 Hor. In faith. 
 
 My lord, not I. 
 
 Mar^ Nor I, my lord, in faith. 
 
 Ham. Upon my sword. 
 
 Mar. We have s\vorn, my lord, already. 
 
 Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 
 
 Ha7n. Ha, ha, boy ! say'st thou so ^ art thou there, 
 true-penny 1 
 Gome on. — you hear this fellow in the cellarage, — 
 Consent to swear. 
 
 Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Never to speak of tliis that you have seen, 
 Swear by ray sword. 
 
 GJioit. [Beneath,] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Hicet ubiqne? then we'll shift our ground : — 
 Come, hither, gentlemen, 
 And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
 Swear by my sword. 
 Never to speak of this that you have heard. 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear by his sword. 
 Ham. Well said, old mole ! can'stwork i' the earth 
 so fast? 
 A worthy pioneer ! — Once more remove, good friends. 
 Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous strange ! 
 Ham. And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio. 
 Than aae dreamt of in your philosophy. 
 
 But come ; 
 
 Here, as befAe, never, so help you mercy ! 
 How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, 
 As I, perchance, hereafter, shall think meet . 
 
 To put an antic disposition on. — 
 
 That you, at such times seeing me, never shall 
 
 W nil arms encumber'd thus, or this head-shake. 
 
 Or bv pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, 
 
 As, Weil, well, we hinw ; — or, We could, and if ve 
 
 would; — or, If we list to speak ; — or. There be, an if 
 
 theu might ; — 
 
 Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
 
 That you know aught of me : — This do you swear, 
 
 So grace and mercy at your most need help you ! 
 
 Ghost. [Beneath.] Swear. 
 
 Ham. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! So, gentlemen. 
 With all my love I do commend me to you : 
 And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
 May do, to express his love and friending to you, 
 God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together ; 
 And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
 The time is out of joint ; — O cursed spite ! 
 That ever I was born to set it right ! 
 Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt* 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Boom hi Polonius' House. 
 Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. 
 
 Pol. Give him tliis money, and these notes, Rey- 
 
 lieii- I will, ray lord. [naldo. 
 
 Pol. You shall do marvellous wisely, good Rey- 
 Before you visit hira, to make inquiry [naldo, 
 
 Of his behaviour. 
 
 Rey. My lord, I did intend it. 
 
 Pot. IMarry, well said : very well said. Look you. 
 Inquire me irrst what Dauskers are in Paris ; [sir, 
 And how, and who, what means, and where they keep. 
 What company, at what expense ; and finding, 
 By this encompassment and drift of question. 
 That they do know my son, come you more nearer 
 Than your particular demands will touch it : 
 Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge of him; 
 As thus, — 1 know Idsjtither, and his friends, 
 And, in part, him ; — Do you mark this, Reynaldo 1 
 
 Beii. Ay, very well, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And, inpart, him; — bnt, you maysay, notwell: 
 But, ij't be he I mean, he'sveru wild ; 
 Addicted so and so ; — and there put on him 
 ^Vhat forgeries you please ; marry, none so rank 
 As may dishonour him ; take heed of that ; 
 But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips. 
 As are companions noted and most known 
 To youth and liberty. 
 
 Bey. As gaming, my lord. 
 
 Pol. Ay.or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, 
 Drabbing : — You may go so far. 
 
 Beti. Jly lord, that would dishonour him. 
 
 Pol. 'Faith, no : as you may season it in the charge. 
 You must not put another scandal on him. 
 That he is open to incontinency ; 
 That's not my meaning : but breathe his faults so 
 That they may seem the taints of liberty : [quaintly. 
 The flash and out-break of a fiery mind ; 
 A savageness in unreclaimed blood. 
 Of general assault. 
 
 Bet). But, my good lord, 
 
 Pol. Wherefore should you do this? 
 
 Beit. Ay, my lord, 
 
 I would know that. 
 
 Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift; 
 
 And, I believe, it is a fetch of warrant : 
 You laying these slight/sullies on my son. 
 
830 
 
 Ok> »? e^'V HAMLET. 
 
 As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 
 Mark you 
 
 Your party in converse, him you would sound, 
 Having ever seen, in the prenominate crimes. 
 The youth you breath of, guilty, be assur'd. 
 He closes with you in this consequence ; 
 Good sir, or so ; or friend, or gentlemari, — - 
 According to the phrase, or the addition. 
 Of man, and country. 
 
 lieu. Very good, my lord. 
 
 Pol. And then, sir, does he this, — He does— 
 What was I about to say 1 By the mass, I was about 
 to say some something: — Where did I leave 1 
 
 Reij. At, closes in the consequence. 
 
 Pol. At, closes in the consequence, — Aif, marry , 
 He closes with you thus ; — I know the gentleman ; 
 I saw him yesterday^ or toother daiit 
 Or then, or then ; with such, or such ; and, as you say , 
 There ivas he gaming ; there e^ertook in his rouse : 
 There falling out at tenjiis ; or, iperchance, 
 I saw him enter such a house of sale, 
 (Videlicet, a brothel,^ or so forth. — 
 See you now ; 
 
 Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth : 
 And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, 
 With windlaces, and with assays of bias, 
 By indirections find directions out ; 
 So, by my former lecture and advice, 
 Shall you my son : You have me, have you not? 
 
 Rey, My lord, I have. 
 
 Pol, God be wi' you ; fare you well. 
 
 Rey. Good my lord, 
 
 Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. 
 
 Reij. I shall, my lord 
 
 PoL And let him ply his music. 
 
 Well, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Ophfiia. 
 
 Farewell! — How now, Ophelia? what's the 
 matter l 
 
 Oph. O , my lord , my lord, I have been so affrighted ! 
 
 Pol. With what, in the name of heaven? 
 
 Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, 
 Lord Hamlet,— with his doublet all unbrac'd ; 
 No hat upon his head ; his stockings foul'd, 
 Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle ; 
 Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each other ; 
 And with a look so piteous in purport, 
 As if he had been loosed out of hell, 
 To speak of horrors, — he comes before me. 
 
 Pol. Mad for thy love ? 
 
 Oph. My lord, I do not know ; 
 
 But, truly, I do fear it. 
 
 Pol. What said he? 
 
 Oph. He took me by the wrist, and held me hard ; 
 Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; 
 And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow. 
 He falls to such perusal of my face. 
 As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so ; 
 At last, — A little shaking of mine arm, 
 And thrice his head thus waving up and down, — 
 He rais'd a sigh so piteous and profound, 
 As it did seem to shatter all his bulk, 
 And end his being : That done, he lets me go : 
 And, with his head over his shoulder turned, 
 He scera'd to find his way without his eyes ; 
 For out o'doors he went without their helps. 
 And, to the last, bended their light on me. 
 
 PoL Come, go with me ; I will go seek the king. 
 This is the very ecstacy of love ; 
 AVhose violent property foredoes itself. 
 And leads the will to desperate undertakings. 
 
 Rey, 
 
 Pol. 
 
 As oft as any passion under heaven, 
 
 That does afflict our natures. I am sorry,— 
 
 What, have you given him any hard words of late ? 
 
 Oph. No, my good lord; but, as you did command, 
 I did repel his letters, and denied 
 His access to me. 
 
 PoL That hath made him mad. 
 
 I am sorry, that with better heed, and judgment, 
 I had not quoted him : I fear'd, he did but trifle, 
 And meant to wreck thee; but, beshrew my jealousy! 
 It seems, it is as proper to our age 
 To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions, 
 As it is common for the younger sort 
 To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king : 
 This must be known ; which, being kept close, might 
 More grief to hide, than hate to utter love. [move 
 Come. [£.ieuiit. 
 
 SCENE II A Room in the Castle, 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Rosenchantz, Guildenstern, 
 and Attendants. 
 
 King. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz, and Guiklen- 
 Moreover that we much did long to see you, [stern! 
 The need, we have to use you, did provoke 
 Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
 Of Hamlet's transformation ; so I call it, 
 Since not the exterior nor the inward man 
 Resembles that it was : What it should be, 
 Alore than his father's death, that thus hath put him 
 So much from the understanding of himself, 
 I cannot dream of: I entreat you both, 
 That, — being of so young days brought up with him j 
 And, since, so neig^our'dto his youth and humour, — 
 That you vouchsafPyoUr rest here in our court 
 Some little time : so by your companies 
 To draw him on to pleasures ; and to gather. 
 So much as from occasion you may glean. 
 Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him thus, 
 That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 
 
 Queen. Goodgentlemen, he hath much talk'd of you; 
 And, sure I am, two men there are not living, 
 To whom he more adheres. If it will please you 
 To shew us so much gentry, and good will, 
 As to expend your time with us a while. 
 For the supply and profit of our hope, 
 Your visitation shall receive such thankr, 
 As fits a king's remembrance. 
 
 /?()5. Both your majesties 
 
 Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
 Put your dread pleasures more into command 
 Than to entreaty. 
 
 Guil. But webotli obey ; 
 
 And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, 
 'J'o lay our service freely at your feet, 
 To be commanded. [stern. 
 
 King. Thanks, Rosencrantz, and gentle Guilden- 
 
 Qneen. Thanks, Guildenstern, and gentle Rosen- 
 And I beseech you instantly to visit [crantz: 
 
 My too much changed son. — Go, some of you. 
 And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 
 
 GuiL Heavens make our presence, and our practices. 
 Pleasant and helpful to him ! 
 
 Queen. Ay, amen ! 
 
 [Exeunt Rosencrantz, GuiLDENsxEnN* 
 and some Attendants. 
 
 Enter Polonios. 
 
 PoL The embassadors from Norway, my good lord, 
 Are joyfully return'd. « 
 
 King. Thou still hast been the father of good news. 
 PoL Have I, i^ lord ? Assure you, ray good liege, 
 
 ^kjuu. 
 
ACT II.--SCENE II. 
 
 031 
 
 I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, 
 Both to my God, and to my gracious king : 
 And I do think, (or else this brain of mine 
 Hunts not the trail of policy so sure 
 As it hath us'd to do.) that I have found 
 The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 
 
 King. 0, speak of that ; that do I long to hear. 
 
 Pol. Give first admittance to the embassadors ; 
 My news shall he the fruit to that great feast. 
 
 King. Thyself do grace to tliem, and bring them in. 
 
 [Elit POLONIUS. 
 
 He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found 
 The head and source of all your son's distemper. 
 
 Queen. I doubt, it is no other but the main ; 
 His fatlier's dea^h^ /and our o'ef hasty marriage. 
 
 - ' '-■" '' -^ *" :V; ^/ / 
 Re-eKter Polonius, with Voltimand aud ConNXLius. 
 
 King. Well, we shall sift him — Welcome, my good 
 friends ! 
 Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway 1 
 Volt. Most fair return of greetings, and desires. 
 Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
 His nephew's levies ; which to him appear'd 
 To be a preparation 'gainst the Polacli ; 
 B^, better look'd into, he truly found 
 It was against your highness : Whereat griev'd, — 
 That so his sickness, age, and impotence. 
 Was Talselyji.oine ia hand, — sends out arrests 
 On- FiJrflnbras ; which he, in brief, obeys ; 
 - ■'Receives rebuke from Norway ; and, in fine. 
 Wakes vow before his uncle, never more 
 To give the assay of arms against your majesty, 
 with joy, 
 in annual fee ; 
 ose soldiers, 
 'olack : 
 ,er shewn, [Givesa paper. 
 give quiet pass 
 r lliis enterprize ; 
 
 Whereon old Norway, oven 
 
 Gives him three thousand 
 
 And his commission, to ei 
 
 So levied as before, againi 
 
 With an entreaty, hereinfj 
 
 That it might please you' 
 
 Through your dominions' 
 
 On such regards of safety, and allowance. 
 
 As therein are set down. 
 
 Kin<r. It likes us well ; 
 
 And, at our more consider'd time, we'll read. 
 Answer, and think upon this business. 
 Mean time, we thank you for yourwell-took labour : 
 Go to your rest ; at night we'll feast together : 
 Most welcome home ! 
 
 lEieunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
 
 Pot. This business is well ended. 
 
 My liege, and madam, to expostulate 
 What majesty should be, what duty is. 
 Why day is day, night, night, and time is time. 
 Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. 
 Therefore, — since brevity is the soul of wit. 
 And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, — 
 I will be biief : Your noble son is mad : 
 JIad call I it : for, to define true madness. 
 What is't, but to be nothing else but mad : 
 But let that go. 
 
 Queen. More matter, with less art. 
 
 Pol. Madam, I swear, I use no art at all. 
 That he is mad, 'tis true : 'tis true, 'tis pity ; 
 And pity 'tis, 'tis true : a foolish figure • 
 But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
 Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, 
 That we find out the cause of this effect ; 
 Or, rather say, the cause of this defect ; 
 For this eft'ect, defective, comes by cause 
 Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
 Perpend. 
 
 I have a daughter ; have, while she is mine ; 
 Who. in her duty and obedience, mark. 
 
 Hath given me this : Now gather, and surmise. 
 
 — Ti< the celestial, and my soul's idol, the mou beauti- 
 
 Jied Ophelia, 
 
 That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; beautifed is a vile 
 phrase ; but you shall hear. — Thus : — 
 
 hi her e.JccUent uhite bosom, these, iic. — 
 
 Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her'' 
 
 Pot. Good madam, slay awliile ; I will be faithful. — 
 Doubt thon, the stars are Jire ; [Reads. 
 
 Douht, that the sun doth move; 
 Doubt truth to be a liar ; 
 But never doubt, I love. 
 
 dear Ophelia, / am ill at these numbers ; 1 have 
 not art to reckon my groans : but that I love thee best, 
 most best, believe it. Adieu. 
 
 Thine evermore, most dear ladit, whilst 
 
 this machine is to him, Hamlet. 
 This, in obedience, hath my daughter shewn me : 
 And more above, hath his solicitings, 
 .As thev fell out by time, by means, and place, 
 All given to mine ear. 
 
 King. But how hath she 
 
 Receiv'd his love? 
 
 Pol. What do you think of me? 
 
 King. As nf a man faithful and honourable, 
 
 Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might you 
 When I had seen this hot love on the wing, [think, 
 (.\s I perceiv'd it, I must tell you that. 
 Before my daughter told me,) what might you, 
 Or my dear majesty your queen here, think. 
 If I had play'd the desk, or table-book ; 
 Or given my heart a working, mute and dumb , 
 Or look'd upon this love with idle sight ; 
 What might you think 1 no, I went round to work, 
 And mv young mistress thus did I bespeak ; 
 Lord Hamlet is a priiice out of thy sphere ; 
 This must 7uH be: and then 1 precepts gave her. 
 That she should lock herself from his resort. 
 Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
 Which done, she took the fruits of my advice , 
 .Vnd he, repulsed, (a short tale to make,) 
 Fell into a sadness ; then into a fast ; 
 Thence to a watch ; thence into a weakness ; 
 i'hence to a lightness ; and, by this declension. 
 Into the madness wherein now he raves, 
 And all we mourn for. 
 
 King. Do you think, 'tis this ? 
 
 Queen. It may be, very likely. 
 
 Pol. Hath there been such a time, (I'd fain know 
 That I have positively said, 'Tis so, [that,) 
 
 When it prov'd otherwise 1 
 
 King. Not that I know. 
 
 Pol. Take this from this, if this be otherwise : 
 
 [Pointing to his head and shoulder. 
 If circumstances lead me, 1 will find 
 Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
 Within the centre. 
 
 King. How may we try it further ? 
 
 Pol. Y'ou know, sometimes he walks four hours to- 
 Here in the lobby. [gether. 
 
 Queen. So he does, indeed. 
 
 Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter to him : 
 Be you and I behind an arras then ; 
 Mark the encounter : if he love her not. 
 And be not from his reason fallen thereon. 
 Let me be no assistant for a state. 
 But keep a farm, and carters. 
 
 King. We will try it. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, reading. 
 Queen . But , look, where sadly the poor wretch comes 
 reading. 
 
8.']2 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 Pel. Away, I do beseech you. both away ; 
 
 I'll boaij him presently: — O, give me leave. 
 
 [Eieuitt King, Queen, and Attendants. 
 How does my good lord Hamlet ? 
 Hum. Well, god-'a-mercy. 
 Pol. Do you know me, my lord 1 
 Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 
 Pol. Not I, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Then I would you were so honest a man. 
 Pol. Honest, my lord ( 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this world goes, is 
 lobe one man picked out of ten thousand. 
 Pol. That's very true, my lord. 
 Ham. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, 
 
 beingagod,lcissingcarrion, llaveyouadauo-hter ! 
 
 Pol. I have, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Let her not walk i' the sun : conception is a 
 blessing; but asyour daughter may conceive,— friend, 
 look to't. 
 
 Pol. How say you by that 1 [Aside.] Still harping 
 on my daughter :— yet he knew me not at first ; he 
 said 1 was a fishmonger : He is far gone, far gone : 
 and truly in my youth I sufl'ered much extremity for 
 love ; very near this. Til speak to him again.— 
 What do you read, my lord ? 
 Ham. Words, words, words ! 
 Pol. What is the matter, my lord? 
 Ham. Between who ? 
 
 Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my lord. 
 Ham. .Slanders, sir : for the satirical rogue says 
 heie, that old men have grey beards ; that their faces 
 are wrinkled ; their eyes purging thick amber, and 
 plum-tree gum ; and that they have a plentiful lack 
 of wit, together with most weak hams: All of which, 
 sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe! 
 yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down • 
 for yourself, sir, shall be as old as I am, if, like a 
 crab, you could go backward. 
 
 Pol. Though this be madjiess, yet there's method 
 in it. [Aside.] Will you walk out of the air, my 
 lord 1 
 
 Ham. Into my grave 1 
 
 Pol, Indeed, that is onto' the air. — How pregnant 
 sometimes his replies are ! a happiness that often 
 madness hits on, which reason and sanity could not 
 so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him, 
 and suddenly contrive the means of meeting between 
 him and my daughter.— My honourable lord, I will 
 most humbly take my leave" of you. 
 
 Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any thing that 
 I will more willingly part withal; exceptmy life, ex- 
 cept my life, except my life. 
 Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 
 Ham. These tedious old fools I 
 
 Enter Rosencrantz and GuiLDENSTEnN. 
 Pol. You go to seek the lord Hamlet ; there he is. 
 Bos. God save you, sir ! [To Polonius. 
 
 [Exit POLONICS. 
 
 Guil. My honour'd lord 1 — 
 
 Ros. My most dear lord ! — 
 
 Ham. My excellent good friends! How dost thou, 
 Guildensternl Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do 
 ye both ? 
 
 Bos. As the indift'erent children of the earth. 
 
 Guil. Happy, in that we are not overhappy ; 
 On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 
 
 Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe ? 
 
 Ros. Neither, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Then you live about her waist, or in the 
 middle of her favours 1 
 
 Guil, 'Faith, her privates we. 
 
 Ham. In the secret parts of fortune? O, most true • 
 she is a strumpet. What news? ' 
 
 Ros. None, my lord ; but that the world 's grown 
 honest. 
 
 Ham, Then is dooms-day near : But your news is 
 not true. Let me question more in particular: What 
 have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands o) 
 fortune, that she sends you to prison hither ? 
 Guil. Prison, my lord? 
 Ham. Denmark's a prison. 
 Ros. Then is the world one. 
 
 Ham. A goodly one ; in which there are many con- 
 fines, wards, and dungeons ; Denmark being one of 
 the worst. 
 
 Ros. We think not so, my lord. 
 Ham. Why, then 'tis none to you : for there is no- 
 thmg either good or bad, but thinking makes it so : 
 to me it is a prison. 
 
 Ros. Why, then your ambition makes it one ; 'tis 
 too narrow for your mind. 
 
 Ham. God! I could be bounded in a nut-shell, 
 and count myself a king of infinite space ; were it 
 not that I have bad dreams. 
 
 Guil. Which dreams, indeed, are ambition ; for the 
 very substance of the ambitious is merely the sliadAr 
 of a dream. 
 
 Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 
 Bus. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and lio-ht 
 a quality, that it is but a shadow's shadow. " 
 
 Ham. Then are our beggars, bodies ; and our mo- 
 narchs, and outstretch'd heroes, the beggars' sha- 
 dows : Shall we to the court ? for, by my lay, I can- 
 not reason. tt^L 
 
 Ros. Guil. We'l^^^Kpon you. 
 Ham.. No such m^^Vwill not sort you with the 
 rest of my servant^^^o speak to you like an 
 honest man, I am most drBlfully attended. But in 
 the beaten way of friencMip, what make vou at 
 Elsinore ? • '' 
 
 Ros. To visit you, my lord ; no other occasion. 
 Ham. Beggar that 1 am, 1 am even poor in thanks ; 
 but I thank you : and sure, dear friends, my thanks 
 are too dear, a half-penny. Were you not sent for? 
 Is it your own inclining ? Is it a free visitation ? 
 Come, come ; deal justly with me ; come, come • nav 
 speak. ' • J> 
 
 Guil. What should we say, my lord ? 
 Ham. Any thing — but to the purpose. Y'ou were 
 sent for ; and there is a kind of confession in your 
 looks, which your modesties have not craft enough to 
 colour: I know, the good king and queen have'sent 
 for you. 
 
 Ros. To what end, my lord ? 
 Ham. That you must teach me. But let me con- 
 jure you, by the rights of our fellowship, by the con- 
 sonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever- 
 preserved love, and by what more dear a better pro- 
 poser could charge you withal, be even and direct 
 with me, whether you were sent for, or no ? 
 
 Ros. What say you? [To Guildenstern. 
 
 Ham. Nay, then I have an eye of you; [Aside.]— 
 if you love me, hold not off.' 
 
 Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 
 Ham. I will tell you why ; so shall my anticipa- 
 tion prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the 
 king and queen moult no feather. I have of lale 
 (but, wherefore, I know not,) lost all my mirth, for- 
 gone all custom of exercises : and, indeed, it goes so 
 heavily with my disposition, that this goodly "frame, 
 the earth, seems to me a steril promontory; this most 
 excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'er- 
 hanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with 
 
ACT II.— SCENE II. 
 
 83.3 
 
 golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me, 
 than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. 
 What a piece of work is a man I How noble in rea- 
 son ! how infinite in faculties ! in form, and moving, 
 iiow express and admirable ! in action, how like an 
 angel 1 in apprehension, how like a god '. the beauty 
 of "the world ! the paragon of animals ! And yet, to 
 nie, what is this quintessence of dust! man delights 
 not me, nor woman neither; though, by your smiling, 
 you seem to say so. 
 
 Has. My lord, there Is no such stuff in my thoughts. 
 
 Ham. \Vhy did you laugh then, when I said, JlIo;i 
 delights not me ? 
 
 Mos. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, 
 what lenten entertainment tiie players shall receive 
 from you : we coted them on the way ; and hither are 
 tliey coming, to offer you service. 
 
 Ham. He that plays the king shall be welcome ; 
 ■his majesty shall have tribute of me: the adventurous 
 knight shall use his foil and target : the lover shall 
 not sigh gratis ; the humorous man shall end his part 
 in peace : the clown shall make those laugh, whose 
 lungs are tickled o'the sere ; and the lady shall say 
 her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. — • 
 What players are they 1 
 
 lios. Even those you were wont to take such de- 
 'light in, the tragedians of the city. 
 
 Hum. How chances it, they travel 1 their residence, 
 both in reputation and profit, was better both ways. 
 
 Rns. I tliink, their inhibition comes by the means 
 of the late innovation. 
 
 Ham. Do they hold the same estimation they did 
 when I was in the city? Are they so followed ! 
 
 Has. No, indeed, they are not. 
 
 Ham. How comes it! Do they grow rusty? 
 
 lios. Nay, their endeavourkeeps in the won ted pace : 
 But there is, sir, an aiery of children, little eyases, 
 that cry out on the top of question, and are most 
 tyrannically clapped for't : these, are now the fashion ; 
 and so berattle the common stages, (so they call 
 them) that many wearing rapiers, are afraid of goose 
 quills, and dare scarce come thither. 
 
 JIam. What, are they children? who maintains 
 them ? how are they escoted ? Will they pursue the 
 quality no longer than they can sing? will they not 
 say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to 
 common players, (as it is most like, if their means are 
 no better.) their writers do them wrong, to make them 
 exclaim against their own succession ? 
 
 Ros. 'Faith tliorc has been much to do on botli 
 sides ; and the nation holds it no sin, to tarre them 
 on to controversy: there was, for a while, no money 
 bid for argument, unless the poet and the player went 
 to cuffs in the question. 
 
 Ham. Is it possible ? 
 
 Cuil. O, there has been much throwing about of 
 brains. 
 
 Ham. Do the boys carry it away ? 
 
 Ros. Ay, that they do, my loid ; Hercules and his 
 load too. 
 
 Hum. It is not very strange: for my uncle is king 
 of Denmark ; and those, that would make mouths at 
 him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, 
 an hundred ducats a-piece, for his picture in little. 
 'Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, 
 if philosophy could find it out. 
 
 [Flourish of trumpets withi}i. 
 
 Giii. There are the players. 
 
 Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. 
 Your hands. Come then : the appurtenance of wel- 
 come is fashion and ceremony : let me comply with 
 you in this garb ; lest my extent to the players, 
 
 which, I tell you, must shew fairly outward, should 
 more appear like entertainment than yours. You are 
 welcome : but my uncle-father, and aunt-mother, are 
 deceived. 
 
 Giiil. In what, my dear lord? 
 
 Ham. I am but mad north-north-west: when the 
 wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand-saw. 
 
 £ii(er PoLONii's. 
 
 Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen! 
 
 Ham. Hark you, Guildenstern, — and you too ;^ 
 "at each ear a hearer; that great baby, you see there, 
 is not yet out of his swaddling clouts. 
 
 Ros. Happily, he 's the second time come to them ; 
 for, they say, an old man is twice a child. 
 
 Ham. I will prophecy, he comes to tell me of the 
 players ; mark it. — You say right, sir : o' Monday 
 morning ; 'twas then, indeed. 
 
 Pol. ily lord, I have news to tell you. 
 
 Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. When 
 Koscius was an actor in Rome, 
 
 Pol, The actors are come hither, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Unz, buz! 
 
 I'ol. Upon ray honour, 
 
 Ham. Thefi came each actor on his ass, 
 
 Pol. The best actors in the world, either for tra- 
 gedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, 
 historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comi- 
 cal, historical-pastoral, scene individable. or poem 
 unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus 
 too light. For the law of writ, and the lioerty, these 
 are the only men. 
 
 Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, — -what a trea- 
 sure hadst thou ! 
 
 Pol. What a treasure had he. my lord? 
 
 Ham. Why — One fair daughter, and no more. 
 The uhich he loved passing uell. 
 
 Pol. Still on my daughter. \_Aside. 
 
 Ham. Am not I i' the right, old Jephthah ? 
 
 Pol. If you call me .Tephthah, my lord, I have a 
 daughter, that I love passing well. 
 
 Ham. Nay, that follows not. 
 
 Pol. What follows then, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. Why, As by lot, God wot, and then, you know. 
 It came to pass, As most like it was, — The first row of 
 the pious chanson will shew you more : for look, my 
 aJDridgraent comes. 
 
 Enter Four or Five Players. 
 
 You are welcome, masters ; welcome, all : — I am 
 glad to see thee well: — welcome, good friends. — O, 
 old friend ! AA^hy, thy face is valanced since I saw 
 tiiee last ; Com'st thou to beard me in Denmark ? — 
 What! my voung lady and mistress! By-'r-lady, 
 your ladyship is nearer to heaven, than when I saw 
 you last, by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God, 
 your voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not 
 cracked within the ring. — Masters, you are all wel- 
 come. ^\'e'll e'en to't like French falconers, fly at 
 any thing we see: We'll have a speech straight: 
 Come, give us a taste of your quality ; come, a pas- 
 sionate speech. 
 
 1 Plat). What speech, my lord ? 
 
 Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, — but 
 it was never acted ; or, if it was, not above once ; 
 for the play, I remember, pleased not the million ; 
 'twas caviare to the general : but it was (as X received 
 it, and others, whose judgments, in such matters, 
 cried in the top of mine,) an excellent play ; well 
 digested fn the scenes, set down with as much mo- 
 desty as cunning. I remember, one said, there were 
 no sallets in the lines, to make ths matter savoury; 
 3 G 
 
834 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 nor no matter in the phrase, that might indite the au- 
 thor of affection ; but called it, an honest method, as 
 wholesome as sweet, and by very much more hand- 
 some than fine. One speech in it I chiefly loved : 
 'twas Eneas' tale to Dido ; and thereabout of it, es- 
 
 fiecialiy, where he speaks of Priam's slaughter : If it 
 ive in your memory, begin at this Ime ; let me see, 
 let me see ; — 
 
 The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast, — 
 *tis not so ; it begins with Pyrrhus. 
 
 The rugged Pvyrlius, — he, vkose sable arvis, 
 Black as his purpose, did the uigltt resemble 
 When he lay couched in the ominous horse. 
 Hath 710W this dread aud black complexion smear'd 
 With heraldry more dismal; head to foot 
 Now is he total gules; horridlij trick'd 
 With blood of fathers^ mothers, daughters, sons; 
 Bak^d and impasted, with the parching streets. 
 That lend a tyrannous and a damned light 
 To their lord's miirder : Roasted in ivrath, andjire, 
 And thus o'er-sized vith coagulate gore. 
 With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus 
 Old grandsire Priam seeks ;- So proceed you. 
 Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken; with good 
 accent, and good discretion. 
 1 Play. Anon hejinds him 
 Striking too short at Greeks ; his antique sword. 
 Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls. 
 Repugnant to command : Unequal mMtch*d, 
 Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage, strikes wide; 
 But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword 
 ■ The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, 
 Seeming to feel lliis blow, withjiaming top 
 Stoops to his base; and with a hideous crash 
 Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear : for, to ! his sword 
 Wftich was declining on the rnilky head 
 Of reverend Priam, seem'd V the air to stick: 
 So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood; 
 And, tike a neutral to his will and inatter, 
 Did iiothing. 
 
 But, as we often see, against some storm, 
 A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, 
 The bold winds speechless, and the orb below 
 As hush as death: anon the dreadful thunder 
 Doth rend the region: So, ajter Pyrrhus^ pause, 
 A roused vengeance sets him new a work ; 
 And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
 On Mars's ar7nour, forg'd for proof eterne. 
 With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding sword 
 Now falls on Priam. — 
 
 Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods, 
 In general synod, take awa>i her power ; 
 Break all the spokes and Jellies from her wheel, 
 And bowl the round 7iaie down the hill of heaven. 
 As low as to the fends! 
 Pol. This is too long. 
 
 Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your beard.— 
 Pr'ythce, say on : — He'sforajig. oratale ofbawdry, 
 or he sleeps: — say on : come to Hecuba. 
 
 1 Play. But icho, ah woe! had seen the mobled 
 
 Ham. The mobled queen 1 [queen 
 
 Pol. That's good ; mobled queen is good. 
 
 1 Play. Run barefoot up and down, threatening the 
 
 With bif-son rheum ; a clout upon tltat head, [Jlames 
 
 Where late the diadem stood ; and, for arobe, 
 
 About her lank and all o^er-teemed loins, 
 
 A blanket in the alarm of fear caught up; 
 
 Who this had seen, loith tongue in venoin steep'd, 
 
 'Gainst Jortune's state would treason have pro- 
 
 But if the gods themselves did see her thei\, [nounc'd: 
 
 When she saw Pi^rrlnts make malicious sport 
 
 In mincing wijh his sword her huiband's limbs ; 
 
 The i?istant burst of clamour that she made, 
 (^U?iless things mortal move them 7wt at all,) 
 
 Would have made milch the burning eye of heaven, 
 And passion in the gods. 
 
 Pol, Look, whether he has not turn'd his colour 
 and has tears in his eyes. — Pr'ythee, no more. 
 
 Ham. 'Tis well ; I'll have thee speak out the rest 
 of this soon. — Good my loid, will you see the players 
 well bestowed 1 Do you hear, let them be vvell used ; 
 for they are the abstract, .and brief chronicles, of the 
 time : After your death you were better have a bad 
 epitaph, than their ill report while you live. 
 
 Vol. My lord, 1 will use them according to their 
 desert. 
 
 Ham. Odd's bodikin, man, much better : Use 
 every man after his desert, and who shall 'scape 
 whipping ! Use them after your own honour ap.d 
 dignity : The less they deserve the more merit is in 
 your bounty. Take them in. 
 
 Pol. Come, sirs. 
 
 [Eiit PoLONius with soyne of the Players. 
 
 Ham. Follow him, friends : we'll hear a play to- 
 morrow. — Dost thou hear me, old friend ; can you 
 play the murder of Gonzago 1 
 
 1 Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. We'll have it to-morrow night. You could, 
 for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen 
 lines, which I would set down, and insert in't? could 
 you not t 
 
 1. Play. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Very well. — follow that lord; and look you 
 mock him not. [Exit Player.] My good friends, [7'o 
 Ros. and GuiL.J I'll leave you till night : you are 
 welcome to Elsinore. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord ! 
 
 [Exeunt RosENCRANTZ and Guir.DENSTEnN, 
 
 Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' you : — Now I am alone. 
 O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
 Is it not monstrous, that this player here, 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit. 
 That from her working all his visage wann'd ; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 With forms to his conceit "J and all for nothing! 
 For Hecuba ! 
 
 What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
 That he should weep for her? What would he do. 
 Had he the motive and the cue for passion, 
 That 1 have? He would drown the stage with tears, 
 And cleave the general ear, with horrid speech; 
 Make mad the guilty, and appal the free. 
 Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed, 
 The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
 Yet 1, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
 Like John a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
 And can say nothing ; no, not for a king. 
 Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
 A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward T 
 Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across ? 
 Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
 Tweaks me by the nose ! gives me the He i'the throat, 
 As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this ? 
 Ha! 
 
 Why, I should take it : for it cannot be, 
 But 1 am pigeon-liver'd and lack gall. 
 To make oppression bitter ; or, ere this, 
 r should have fatted all the region kites 
 With this slave's offal : Bloody, bawdy villain ! 
 Remorseless, treacher(ms, lecherous, kindless villain! 
 1 ^Vhy, what an ass am 1 ? This is most brave ; 
 
ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 835 
 
 That I, the SOB of a dear father murder "d, 
 
 I'rompted to my revenge by heaven and hell. 
 
 Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words, 
 
 And fall a cursing like a very drab, 
 
 A scullion! [heard, 
 
 Fye upon't ! foh ! About my brains ! Humph ! I have 
 
 That guilty creatures sitting at a play, 
 
 Have by the very cunning of the scene 
 
 Been struck to the soul, that presently 
 
 They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 
 
 For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 
 
 With most miraculous organ- I'll have these players 
 
 Play something like the murder of my father. 
 
 Before n;ine uncle : I'll observe his looks ; 
 
 I'll tent him to the quick ; if he do blench, 
 
 I know my course. The spirit that I have seen, 
 
 Jlay be a devil : and the devil hath power 
 
 I'o assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and, perhaps. 
 
 Out of my weakness, and my melancholy, 
 
 (As he is very potent with such spirits,) 
 
 Abuses me to damn me : I'll have grounds 
 
 More relative than this : the play's the thing, 
 
 Wherein I'll catch the conscienceiof the king. [Eii(. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, RoseN' 
 CKASTZ, and Guildenstehn. 
 
 King. And can you, by no drift of conference 
 Get from him, why he puts on this confusion ; 
 Grating so harshly all his days of quiet 
 With turbulent and dangerous lunacy ? 
 
 Ros. He does confess, he feels himself distracted 
 But from what cause he will by no means speak. 
 
 GiM. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded ; 
 But, with a crafty madness keeps aloof, 
 Wlien we would bring him on to some confession 
 ■ Of his true state. 
 
 Queen. Did he receive you well ? 
 
 Ros. Most like a gentleman. 
 
 Giiil. But with much forcing of his disposition. 
 
 Ros. Niggard of question ; but, of our demands. 
 Most free in his reply. 
 
 Queen. Did you assay him 
 
 To any pastime 1 
 
 R<is. Madam, it so fell out, that certain players 
 We o'er-raught on the way : of these we told him ; 
 And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
 To hear of it : Thev are about the court ; 
 And, as I think, they have already order 
 This night to play before him. 
 
 Poi. *Tis most true : 
 
 And he beseech'd mc to entreat your majesties, 
 To hear and see the matter. 
 
 King. With all my heart; and it doth much con- 
 To hear him so inclin'd, [tent me 
 Good gentlemen, give him a further edge. 
 And drive his purpose on to these delights. 
 
 Has. We shall, my lord, 
 
 \^E.ietint ROSENCUANTK and Gl'II.DENSTEnv. 
 
 King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too : 
 
 Vor we have closely sent for Hamlet hither ; 
 That he, as 'twere by accident, may here 
 Affront Ophelia: 
 
 Her father, and myself (lawful espials,) 
 Will so bestow ourselves, that, seeing, unseen, 
 We may of their encounter frankly judge : 
 And gather by him, as he is behav'd. 
 
 irt be the affliction of his love or no, 
 I'hat tlius he suffers for. 
 
 Queen. I shall obey you : 
 
 And, for your part, Ophelia, I do wish, 
 I'hat your good beauties he the happy cause 
 Of Hamlet's wildness ; so sh.all 1 hope your virtues 
 Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
 I'o both your honours. 
 
 Oph. Madam, I wish it may. [Eiit Queen. 
 
 Pol. Ophelia, walk you here : — Gracious, so please 
 you. 
 We will bestow ourselves : — Read on this book; 
 
 [To Ophelia. 
 That show of such an exercise may colour 
 Your loneliness. — We are oft to blame in this, — 
 'Tis too much prov'd, that, with devotion's visagCt 
 And pious action, we do sugar o'er 
 The devil himself. 
 
 Kin'. O, 'tis too true ! how smart 
 
 A lash that speech doth give my conscience ! 
 The ballot's cheek, beautied with plast'ring art. 
 Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it. 
 Than is my deed to my most painted word ; 
 O heavy burden ! [Aside. 
 
 Poi. 1 hear him coming ; let ^ withdraw, my lord. 
 [Eieunt KiVG and Polonius. 
 
 Enter H-amlf.t. 
 
 Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question ; — 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 The sling and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 And, by opposing, end them I — To die, — to sleep, — 
 No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 The heart-ach, and the thousand natural shocks 
 That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ; — to sleep ; — 
 To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay. there's the rub , 
 For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. 
 When we have shuffled oft' this mortal coil, , 
 ^lust give us pause : there's the respect, .< 
 That makes calamity of so long life : 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 
 The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely 
 The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay. 
 The insolence of otfice, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin 1 who would fardels bear, 
 To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 
 But that the dread of something after death, — ■ 
 The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 
 No traveller returns, — puzzles the w-ill ; 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
 Than fly to others that we know not of! 
 Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
 And enterprizes of great pith and moment. 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 And lose the name of action. — Soft you, now ' 
 The fair Ophelia: — Nymph, in thy orisons 
 Be all my sins remember'd. 
 
 Oph. Good my lord. 
 
 How does your honour for this many a dayl 
 
 Ham. I humbly thank you ; well. 
 
 Oph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours 
 That I have longed long to re-deliver : 
 I pray you, now receive them. 
 
 Ham. No, not I ; 
 
 I never gave you aught. [did , 
 
 Oph, My honour'dlord, you know right well, you 
 3 G 2 
 
830 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 And, with tlicm, words of so sweet breath compns'd 
 As made the things more rich : their perlumy iost, 
 Take these again ; for to tlie noble mind, 
 Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind. 
 There, iny lord. 
 
 Hum. Ha, ha ! are you honest? 
 
 Oph. Uy lord? 
 
 Ham. Are you fair 1 
 
 Oph. What means your lordship ? 
 
 Ham. 'I'hatifyou be honest and fair, your honesty 
 should admit no discourse to your beauty. 
 
 Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better com- 
 merce than with honesty \ 
 
 Hum. Ay, truly ; for the power of beauty will 
 sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd, 
 than the force of honesty can translate beauty into 
 his likeness ; this was some time a paradox, but nov* 
 the time gives it proof. I did love you once. 
 
 Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made rae believe so. 
 
 Hum. Vou should not have believed me: for vir 
 tue cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall 
 relish of it : I lov'd you not. 
 
 Oph. I was the more deceived. 
 
 Hum. Get thee to a nunnery; Why would'st thou 
 be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent 
 honest ; but yet I could accuse me of such things, 
 that it were better, my mother had not born me : 
 I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious ; with more 
 offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them 
 in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act 
 them in : What should such fellows as I do crawling 
 between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, 
 ail ; believe none of us : Go thy ways to a nunnery. 
 Where's your father ? 
 
 Oph. At home, my lord. 
 
 Hum. Let the doors be shut upon him ; that he 
 may play the fool no where but in 's own house, 
 i'arevvell. 
 
 Oph. O, help him, you sweet heavens ! 
 
 Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague 
 for thy dowry ; Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as 
 snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to 
 a nunnery ; farewell : Or, if thou wilt needs marry, 
 marry a fool ; for wise men know well enough, what 
 monsters you make of them. To a nunnery, go ; 
 and quickly too. Farewell. 
 
 Oph. Heavenly powers, restore him ! 
 
 Ham. I have heard of your paintings too, well 
 enough ; God hath given you one face, and you 
 make yourselves another ; you jig, you amble, and 
 you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make 
 your wantonness your ignorance : Go to, I'll no more 
 oft; it hath made me mad. I say, we will have no 
 more marriages : those that are manied already, all 
 but one, shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. 
 To a nunnery, go. \_Eiii Hami.kt. 
 
 Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
 The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword: 
 The expectancy and rose of the fair state. 
 The glass of fashion, and the mould of form, 
 'j'he observ'd of all observers ! quite, quite down ! 
 And 1, of ladies most deject and wretched, 
 That suck'd the honey oi' his music vows, 
 Now see that noble and most sovereign reason. 
 Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh ; 
 That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth. 
 Blasted with ecstasy : O, woe is me ! 
 To have seen what I have seen, see what I see ! 
 
 Re-enter King aiid Polovuts. 
 Kh)g. Love ! ins affections do not that way lend ; 
 Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little. 
 
 Was not like madness. There's something m his soul, 
 
 O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
 
 And, I do doubt, the hatch, and the disclose. 
 
 Will be some danger : Which for to prevent, 
 
 I have, in quick determination, 
 
 Thus set it down ; He shall with speed to England 
 
 For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
 
 Haply, the seas, and countries different, 
 
 With variable objects, shall expel 
 
 This something-settled matter in his heart ; 
 
 Whereon his brains still beating, puts him thus. 
 
 From fashion of himself \Mut think you on't? 
 
 Pol. It shall do well ; but yet I do believe. 
 The origin and commencement of his grief 
 Sprung from neglected love. — How now, Ophelia? 
 You need not tell us what lord Hamlet said ; 
 We heard it all. — ]My lord, do as you please ; 
 But, if you hold it fit, aftei the play. 
 Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
 To shew iiis grief; let her be round with him; 
 And I'll be plac'd, so please you, in the ear 
 Of all their conference : If she find him not, 
 To England send him : or confine him, where 
 Your wisdom best shall think. 
 
 King, It shall be so : 
 
 JMadness in great ones must not unwatchd go. 
 
 lEveuTiJ, 
 
 SCENE IL— il HaU in the same. 
 
 Enter Hamlet, and certain Players. 
 
 Ham. Speak the speech. I pray you, as I pro- 
 nounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if 
 you mouth it, as many of our players do, 1 had as lief 
 the town-crier spo^e my lines. Nor do not saw the 
 air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gent- 
 ly: for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may 
 say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire 
 and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness. 
 0, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious 
 periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very 
 rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, fuff 
 the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable 
 dumb shows, and noise : 1 would have such a fellow 
 whipped for o'erdoing Termagant ; it out-herods He- 
 rod : pray you, avoid it. 
 
 1 Plaij. 1 warrant your honour. 
 
 Hum, Be not too tame neither, but let your own 
 discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, 
 the word to the action ; with this special observance, 
 that you o'er-step not the modesty of nature ; for any ' 
 thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing, 
 whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, 
 to hold, as 'twere, the mirrour up to nature ; to shew 
 virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the 
 very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. 
 Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it 
 make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judi- 
 cious grieve ; the censure of which one, must, in 
 your allowance, o'er-weigh a whole theatre of others. 
 O, there be players, that I have seen play, — and 
 heard others praise, and that highly, — not to speak 
 it profanely, that, neither having the accent of chris- 
 tians, nor the gait of christian, pagan, nor man, have 
 so strutted, and bellowed, that 1 have thought some 
 of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made 
 them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 
 
 1 Plati, I hope, we have reformed that indifferently 
 with us. 
 
 Ham. O, reform it altogether. And let those, that 
 play your clowns, speak no more than is set down 
 for them : for there be of them, that will themselves 
 laugh, to set on some quantity uf barren spectators 
 
ACT III.— SCENE II. 
 
 837 
 
 lo laugh too ; though, in the mean time, some neces- 
 sary question of the play be then to be considered : 
 tiiat's villanous ; and shews a most pitiful ambition 
 in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready. 
 
 ' [Exeunt Players. 
 
 Enter Polonivs. Rosencrantz, iSj'Guildenstern. 
 How now, my lord I will the king hear this piece of 
 work ? 
 
 Pol. And the queen too, and that presently. 
 
 Ham. Bid the players make haste. — [Exit Pol. 
 Will you two help to hasten them } 
 
 Both. Ay, my lord. [Eieunt Rosen, l^" Guild. 
 
 Ham. What, ho ; Horatio ! 
 
 Enter Houatio. 
 
 Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 
 
 Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
 As e'er my conversation cop'd vvithal- 
 
 Hor. O, my dear lord, — ■ 
 
 Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter : 
 
 For what advancement may 1 hope from thee, 
 That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits, 
 To feed, and clothe thee ^ Why should the poor be flat- 
 No, let the candied tonT;ue lick absurd pomp ; [ter'd ? 
 And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? 
 Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice', 
 And could of men distinguish her election, 
 She hath seal'd tliee for herself: for thou hast been 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing ; 
 A man, that fortune's bufl^ets and rewards 
 Hath ta'en with equal thanks : and bless'd are those, 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled, 
 That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
 To sound what stop she please : Give me that man 
 That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him 
 In my hearts core, ay, in my heart of heart. 
 As I do thee — Something too much of this. — 
 There is a play to-night before the kin? ; 
 One scene of it comes near the circumstance, 
 Which I have told thee of my father's death. 
 I pr'ythee, when thou seest that act a-foof. 
 Even with the very comment of thy soul 
 Observe mv uncle : if his occulted guilt 
 Do not itself unkennel in one speech. 
 It is a damned ghost that we have seen ; 
 And my imaginations are as foul 
 As Vulcan's stithy. Give him heedful note : 
 For I mine eyes will rivet to his face ; 
 And, after, we will both our judgments join 
 In censure of his seeming. 
 
 Hor. Well, my lord: 
 
 If he steal aught, the while this play is playing. 
 And scape detecting. I will pay the theft. 
 
 Ham. They are coming to the play ; I must be idle : 
 Get you a place. 
 Danish march. A Jiourish. Enter King, Queen, 
 
 PoLoxius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guilden- 
 
 STERN, and others. 
 
 King, How fares our cousin Hamlet"? 
 
 Ham. Excellent, i ' faith ; of the camelion's dish: 
 I eat the air, promise-crammed : You cannot feed 
 capons so. 
 
 King. I have nothing with this ans\\er, Hamlet ; 
 these words are not mine. 
 
 Ham* No, nor mine now. My lord. — you played 
 once in the university, you say ? [To Polonius. 
 
 Pot. That did I, my lord ; and was accounted a 
 good actor. 
 
 Ham. And what did you enact? 
 
 Pol. I did enact Julius Caisar : I was killed i'the 
 Capitol J Brutus killed me. 
 
 Ham. It was a brute part of him, to kill so capital 
 a calf there.- — Be the players ready? 
 
 Pos. Ay, my lord ; they stay upon your patience. 
 
 Qnecn. Come hither, mv dear Hamlet, sit by me. 
 
 Ham. No.goodmother, here's metal more attractive. 
 
 Pol. ho ! do you mark that? [To the King. 
 
 Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap? 
 
 [I'Uing doivn at Ophelia 's/eet. 
 
 Oph, No, my loid. 
 
 Hain. 1 mean, my head upon your lap? 
 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham, Do you think, I meant country matters ? 
 
 Oph. I think nothing, my lord. 
 
 /f(/m. That's a fair thouj»ht to lie between maid's legs. 
 
 Oph. What is, my lord? 
 
 Ham. Nothing. 
 
 Oph, You are merry, my lord. 
 
 Hum. Who, I? 
 
 Oph. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. 0! your only jig-maker. What sliould a 
 man do, but be merry? for, look you, how cheer- 
 tuUy my motlier looks, and my father died within 
 these two hours. 
 
 Oph, Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 
 
 Ham. So long? Nay, then let the dovil wear black, 
 for I'U have a suit of sables. heavens ! die two 
 months ago, and not forgotten yet ? Then there's 
 hope, a great man's memory may outlive his life half 
 a year : But, by'r-lady, he must build churches then : 
 or else shall he suffer not thinking on, with the hobby- 
 horse ; whose epitaph is, For, 0, for, 0, the hobby- 
 horse is forgot. 
 
 Trumpets sound. The dumb show follows. 
 
 Enter a King and a Queen, very lovingly ; the Queen 
 embracing him, and he her. She kneels, and makes 
 show of protestation unto him. He takes hemp, a}ul 
 declines his head upon her neck : laijs him down upi^n 
 a bankofjlotvers ; she, seeing him asleep, leaves him. 
 Anon comes in a fellow, takes off his crown, kisses it, 
 and pours poison in the King's ears, and exit. The 
 Queen returns -.finds the King dead, and makes pas- 
 sionate action. The poisoner, with some two or three 
 mutes, comes in again, seeming to larnent with her. 
 The dead body is carried away. The poisoner wooes 
 the Queen with gifts ; she seems loath and unwilliner 
 auhiie, hut, in the end, accepts his love. ^Exeunt, 
 Oph, What means this, my lord? 
 Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho ; it means 
 
 mischief. 
 
 Oph. Belike, this show imports the argument of 
 
 the play. 
 
 Enter Prologue. 
 
 Hain, We shall know by this fellow : the players 
 cannot keep counsel ; they'll tell all. 
 
 Oph, Will he tell us what this show meant ? 
 
 Ham. Ay, or any show that you '11 shew him : Be 
 not you ashamed to shew, he '11 not shame to tell 
 you what it means. 
 
 Oph, You are naught, you are naught; I'll mark 
 the play. 
 
 Pro, For us, and for our tragedy. 
 
 Here stooping to your clemency. 
 We beg your hearing patiently. 
 
 Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? 
 
 Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 
 
 Ham. As woman's love. 
 
 Enter a King and a Queen. 
 
 P. King, Full thirty times hath Phoebus* east gone 
 round 
 
838 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Xeptuae's salt wash, and Telliis' orbed ground; 
 Aod thirty doien moons, with horrow'd she«n. 
 About ihe world have times twelve thirties been ; 
 Since lo^-e onr hearts, and Hnaen did our hands. 
 Unite commntual in most sacred bands. 
 
 P. Queen So manT journeys may the sun and moon 
 Make us a^ain count o"er, ere love be done ! 
 But, woe is me, you are so sick of late, 
 So far from cheer, and from your former state, 
 That 1 distrust you. Yet, though 1 distrust, 
 Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must : 
 For women fear too mcch, even as they love ; 
 And women's fear and love hold quanuty ; 
 In neither aught, or in extremity. 
 JCow, what my love is. proof hath made you know ; 
 And as my love is siz'd, my fear is so. 
 AVhere love is great, the littlest doubts are fear ; 
 Where little fear grows great, great love grows there. 
 
 P. Kijig. 'Faith. I must leave thee, love, and shortly 
 lly operant powers their functions leave to do ; [too ; 
 And thou shah live in this fair world behind, 
 Honour'd, belov'd -, and, haply, one as kind 
 For husband sfaalt thou 
 
 P. Qtiem. O, confound the rest ! 
 
 Such love must needs be tiea-son in my breast : 
 Tn second husband let me be accurst ! 
 None wed the second, but who kill'd the first. 
 
 HcTtu Thai's wormwood. 
 
 P. tjMen.The instances, that second marriage move. 
 Are base respects of thrift, but none of love ; 
 A second time I kill my husband dead, 
 \\ hen second husband kisses me in bed. 
 
 P. King. 1 do believe, you think what now you 
 But, what we do determine, oft we break, [speak ; 
 Purpose is but the slave to memory ; 
 Of violent birth, but poor validity : 
 Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree ; 
 But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
 Most necessity 'tis, that we forget 
 To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt ; 
 What to ourselves in passion we projiose. 
 The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. 
 The violence of eiUier grief or joy 
 Their own enactures with themselves destroy : 
 Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament ; 
 Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
 This world is not for aye ; nor 'tis not strange. 
 That even our loves should with our fortunes change ; 
 For 'tis a question left us yet to prove. 
 Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. 
 The great man down, you mark, his favourite flies ; 
 The poor advanc'd makes friends of enemies. 
 And hitherto doth love on fortune tend : 
 For who not needs, shall never lack a friend ; 
 And who in want a hollow friend doth try. 
 Directly seasons him his enemy. 
 But, orderly to end where I be^n, — 
 Our wills, and fates, do so contrary run. 
 That our devices still are overthrown ; 
 Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of otir own ; 
 So think thou wilt no second husband wed ; 
 But die thy thoughts, when tliy first lord is dead. 
 
 P. QuMiu Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven 
 light! 
 Sport and repose iock from me, day, and night! 
 To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
 An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope ! 
 Each opposite, that blanks tlie face of joy. 
 Meet what 1 would have well, and it destroy ! 
 Both here, and hence, pursue me lasting strife, 
 If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
 
 Ham. If she should break it now, [To Opbeua. 
 
 P. King. Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here 
 a while ; 
 My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile 
 T^e tedious day with sleep. [^Jer/n. 
 
 P. Qweew. Sleep rock thy brain 
 
 And never come mischance between us twain ! [ Eiit. 
 
 Ham, Aladam. how like vou this p)av ! 
 
 Qiiftn. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. 
 
 Ham, O, but she'll keep her word. 
 
 King. Have you heard Uie argument! Is there no 
 offence in't ! 
 
 Ham. No, no. they do but jest, poison in jest ; no 
 offence i'the world. 
 
 Ki»g. What do you call the play ? 
 
 Jfoin. The mouse-trap. Marry, how? Tropically. 
 This play is the image of a muitier done in Vienna : 
 Gonzago is the duke's name ; his wife, Bapltsta : 
 you shall see anon ; 'tis a knavi&h piece of work : 
 But what of that ! your majesty, and we that have 
 free souls, it touches us not: Let the galled jade 
 wince, our withers are unwrung. — 
 
 KntfT Lt-ci.»xis. 
 
 This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 
 Oph. Vou are as good as a chorus, my lord. 
 Hon. I could interpret between you and your love, 
 if I could see the puppets dallying. 
 
 OpA. You are keen, my lori. you are keen. 
 Ham. It would cost you a groaning, to take off mj 
 edge. 
 
 Oph. Still better, and worse. 
 Ham. So you mistake your husbands. — Begin, 
 murderer ; — leave tliy damnable faces, and begii^ 
 
 Come ; 
 
 The croaking raven 
 
 Doth bellow for revenge. f agreeing ; 
 
 Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs tit, and time 
 Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 
 Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected. 
 With Hecat's ban thrice blasted, thrice infected. 
 Thy natural magic and dire projierty. 
 On wholesome life usurp immediately. 
 
 [Pours tht p.iis.>n iiit«i th4 sUtprrs fan. 
 Ham, He poisons him i' the garden for his estate. 
 His name's Gonzago ; the story is extant, and written 
 in very choice Italian : You shall see anon, how the 
 murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife. 
 Oph. The king rises. 
 Ham. What 1 frighted witli false fire ! 
 Queen, How fares my lord ! 
 Pi^i. Give o'er tlie play. 
 King. Give me some light : — away ! 
 Pol, Lights, lights, lights ! 
 
 [£jeM7it all hut Hamlet and H'*ratio. 
 Ham. Why, let tlie struclten deer go weep. 
 The hart ungalied play : 
 For some must watch, while some must sleep ; 
 Thus runs the world away, — 
 Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, (if the 
 rest of my fortunes turn Turk with me,) with two 
 Provencial roses on my razed shoes, get me a fellow- 
 ship in a cry of players, sir ! 
 Hor, Half a share. 
 Ham. -\ whole one, I. 
 
 For thou dost know, O Damon dear, 
 
 This realm dismantled was 
 Of .Tove himself; and now reigns here 
 .\ ver>'. very — peacock. 
 Hor. You might have rhymed. 
 Ham. good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's word 
 for a thousand pound. Did'st perceive 1 
 Hor. Very well, my lord. 
 
ACT 111.— SCENE III. 
 
 839 
 
 Hum. llpon the talk of the poisoning, 
 
 Hor. I did verj well note him. 
 
 Ham. Ah, ha! — Come, some music: come, the 
 recorders. — 
 
 ¥nr if the king like not the comedy, 
 ^Vhy then, belike, — he likes it not, perdy. 
 
 JJnfer Rosenchantz and Gvildexstern. 
 
 Come, some music. 
 
 Gui7. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. 
 
 Ham. Sir, a whole history. 
 
 Guil. The king, sir, 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? 
 
 Gi/ii. Is, in his retirement, marvellous distempered. 
 
 Ham. W'kh drink, sir 1 
 
 Guil. No, ray lord, with choler. 
 
 Ham. Your wisdom should shew itself more 
 richer, to signify this to the doctor ; for, for me to put 
 him to his purgation, would, perhaps, plunge him 
 into more choler. 
 
 Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse into some 
 flame, and start not so wildly from my alTair. 
 
 Ham. 1 am tame, sir : — pronounce. 
 
 Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great afflic- 
 tion of spirit, hath sent me to you. 
 
 Ham. You are welcome. 
 
 Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of 
 the right breed If it shall please you to make me 
 a wholesome answer, I will do your mother's com- 
 mandment ; if not, your pardon, and my return, shall 
 be the eud of my business. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I cannot. 
 
 Guit. What, my lord 1 
 
 Ham. Make you a wholesome answer ; my wit's 
 diseased : But, sir, such answer as I can make, you 
 shall command; or, rather, as you say, my mother: 
 therefore, no more, but to the matter ; My mother, 
 you say, 
 
 Km. Then thus she says; Your behaviour hath 
 struck her into amazement and admiration. 
 
 Ham. wonderful son. that can so astonish a mo- 
 ther! — 13ut is there no sequel at the heels of this 
 mother's admiration ; impart. 
 
 litis. She desires to speak with you in her closet, 
 ere you go to bed. 
 
 Ham. We shall obey, were she ten times our mo- 
 ther. Have you any further trade with us 1 
 
 Ros. Jly lord, you once did love me. 
 
 Ham. And do still, by these pickers and stealers. 
 
 Ros. Good my lord, what is your cause of distem- 
 per? you do, surely, but bar the door upon your own 
 liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I lack advancement. 
 
 Rt's. How can that be, when you have the voice of 
 the king himself for your succession in Denmark! 
 
 Ham. Ay, sir, but While the grais grows, — the 
 proverb is something musty. 
 
 Enter the Players, with recorders. 
 
 O, the recorders : — let me see one.- — To withdraw 
 w;h you: — Why do you go about to recover the 
 wind of me. as if you would drive me into a toil 1 
 
 Guil. 0, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love 
 is too unmannerly. 
 
 Ham. I do not well understand that Will you 
 play upon this pipe ? 
 
 Guil. My lord, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I pray you. 
 
 Guil. Believe me, I cannot. 
 
 Ham. I do beseech you. 
 
 Gail. I know no touch of it, my lord. 
 
 Han. 'Tis as easy as lying : govern these ventages 
 
 with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your 
 mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. 
 Look you, these are the stops. 
 
 Oi<i7. But these cannot 1 command to any utter- 
 ance of harmony ; I have not tlie skill. 
 
 Ham. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing 
 you make of me. You would play upon me ; you 
 would seem to know my slops; you would pluck out 
 the heart of my mysterj' ; you would sound me from 
 my lowest note to tlie. lop of my compass: and there 
 is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; 
 yet cannot you make it speak. S'blood, do you think, 
 I am easier to be played on than a pipe ! Call mc 
 what instrument you will, though you can fret me, 
 you cannot play upon me. 
 
 T.nter Polonius. 
 
 God bless you, sir ! 
 
 yol. My lord, the queen would speak with you, 
 and presently. 
 
 Ham. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in 
 shape of a camel 1 
 
 Pol. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed 
 
 Ham. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 
 
 Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 
 
 Ham. Or, like a whale T 
 
 Pol. Very like a whale. 
 
 Ham. Then will I come to my mother by and by. 
 — They fool me to the top of my bent. — 1 will come 
 by and by. 
 
 Pol. I will say so. [p.iit Polonics. 
 
 Ham. Byand by iscasilysaid. — Leave nie, friends. 
 [Eieunt Ros., Gl'il., Hor., (Sjc. 
 'Tis now the very witching time of night ; 
 When churchyards yawn, and iiell itself breathes out 
 Contagion to this world; Now could I drink hot blood. 
 And do such business as the bitter day 
 Would quake to look on. Soft ; now to my mother. — 
 O, heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
 The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom : 
 Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 
 I will speak daggers to her, but use none ; 
 My tongvie and soul in this be hypocrites : 
 How in my words soever she be shent, 
 To give them seals never, my soul, consent ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE HI. — A Room in the same. 
 
 Enter King, Rosencraxtz, and Gi.'ilden*stern. 
 
 King. I like him not ; nor stands it safe with us. 
 To let his madness range. Thcrefoie, prepare you ; 
 I your commission will I'orthwith despatch. 
 And he to Eiigland shall along with you : 
 The terms of our estate may not endure 
 Hazard so near us, as doth hourly grow 
 Out of his lunes. 
 
 Guil. We will ourselves provide : 
 
 i\Iost holy and religious fear it is. 
 To keep those many many bodies safe. 
 That live, and feed upon your majestv. 
 
 Pos. The single and peculiar life is bound. 
 With all the strength and armour of the mind, 
 To keep itself from 'noyance ; but much more 
 That spirit, upon whose weal depend and rest 
 The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
 Dies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
 What 's near it. with it : it is a massy wheel, 
 Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount. 
 To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things 
 .\Te mortis'd and adjoin'd ; which, when it falls. 
 Each small annexment, petty consequence, 
 .ittends the boist'rous ruin. Never alone 
 
840 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Did the king s-gh, but with a general groaii. 
 
 King. Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage ; 
 For we will fetters put upon this fesir, 
 Which now goes too free-footed. 
 
 Res. Guit. We will haste us. 
 
 [£l«URt RoSEXCRAXTZ and GciLDESSTERS. 
 
 Enter PoLOXits. 
 
 Pol. My lord, he 's going to his mother's closet : 
 Behind the arras T 'II convey myself. 
 To hear the process ; I'll warrant, she'll taxbimheme. 
 And, as you said, and wisely w-as it said, 
 'Tis meet, that some more audience than a mother. 
 Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear 
 The speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege : 
 I '11 call upon you ere you go to bed. 
 And tell you what 1 know. 
 
 King. Thanks, dear my lord. [Eii( PoLONits. 
 O, my oflfence is rank, it smells to heaven ; 
 It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, 
 A brother's murder ! — Pray can I not, 
 Though inclination be as sharp as will ; 
 My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 
 And, like a man to double business bound, 
 I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 
 And both neglect. What if this cursed hand 
 W'ere thicker than itself with brother's blood ! 
 Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens. 
 To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy. 
 But to confront the visage of offunce ? 
 And what 's in prayer, but this two-fold force, — 
 To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, 
 Or pardon'd, being down 1 Then I '11 look up ; 
 3Iy fault is past. But, 0, what form of prayer 
 Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ' — 
 That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 
 Of those effects for which I did the murder, 
 BIy crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. 
 IVIav one be pardon'd, and retain the oflTenre? 
 In the corrupted currents of this world. 
 Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
 And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself 
 Buys out the law : But 'tis not so above : 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 In his true nature; and v.e ourselves compell'd, 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults. 
 To give in evidence. What then? what rests'! 
 Try what repentance can : What can it not? 
 Yet what can it, when one can not repent ? 
 O wretched state '. O bosom, black as death ! 
 O limed soul ; that struggling to be free. 
 Art more engag'd ! Help, angels, make a-say ! 
 Bow, stubborn knees ! and, heart, with strings of steel. 
 Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ; 
 All may be well ! [Retira, and knetli. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 Ham. Now might I do it, pat, now he is praying; 
 And now 1 '11 do 't ; — and so he goes to heaven : 
 And so am I reveng'd ? That would be scann'd : 
 A %-illain kills my father ; and, for that, 
 T. his sole son, do this same villain send 
 To heaven. 
 
 Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
 He took my father grossly, full of bread ; 
 With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as Alay ; 
 And, how his audit stands, who knows, save heaven? 
 But, in our circumstance and course of thought, 
 Tis heavy with him: .\nd am I then reveng'd, 
 To take h-ji in the purging of his soul. 
 When he is fit and seaioa d for his passage 1 
 No- 
 
 Up, sword ; and know thou a. more horrid hent ; 
 
 When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage ; 
 
 Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed •. 
 
 At gaming, swearing ; or about some act 
 
 That has no relish of salvation in 't : 
 
 Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven ; 
 
 And that his soul may be as damn'd, and black, 
 
 As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays : 
 
 This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. [£a/J. 
 
 The King rises and advances. 
 King. My words fly up, my thoughts remain belov. ; 
 Words, without thoughts, never to heaven go. [£211- 
 
 SCENE I'V. — Another Boom in the same. 
 Enter Qceen and Polonil'S. 
 PoU He will come straight Look, you lay home 
 to him : 
 Tell him, his pranks have been too broad to bear with ; 
 .•\nd that your grace hath screen'd and stood between 
 Much heat and him. I '11 silence me e'en here. 
 Pray you, be round with him. 
 
 Queen. I 'II warrant you ; 
 
 Fear me not : — withdraw, I hear him coining. 
 
 [PoLONius hides himself. 
 
 Enter Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Kow, mother ; what's the matter? 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy fathermuch offended. 
 
 Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 
 
 Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. 
 
 Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 
 
 Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet? 
 
 Hum. What '3 the matter now ? 
 
 Queen. Have you forgot me ? 
 
 Ham. No, by the rood, not so: 
 
 You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife ; 
 .\nd, — 'would it were not so! — you are my mother. 
 
 Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you thatcan speak. 
 
 Ham. Come, come, and sit you down j you ^hall 
 not budge ; 
 You go not, till I set you up a glass 
 Where you may see the inmost part of yon. 
 
 Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder 
 Help, help, ho! [me? 
 
 Pol. [Behind.] What, ho ! help ! 
 
 Ham. How now! a rat? [Draws. 
 
 Dead, for a ducat, dead. 
 
 [Hami.kt makes a pass through the arras. 
 
 Pol. [Behind.] O, I am slain. [Fails, and dies. 
 
 Queen. O me. what hast thou done ? 
 
 Ham. Nay, I know not : 
 
 Is it the king? 
 
 [Lifts up the arras, and draus forth PoLONll'S. 
 
 Queen. O, what a ra^h and bloody deed is this ' 
 
 //urn. A bloody deed ; — almostas bad. good mother, 
 .As kill a king, and marry with bis brotber. 
 
 Queen. As kill a king ! 
 
 Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. — 
 
 Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell ! 
 
 [To P01.0MIS. 
 [ took thee for thy better ; take thy fortune : 
 I'hon fiod'st, to be too busy, is some danger. — 
 Leave wringing of your hands : Peace, sit you down, 
 .And let me wring your heart : for so I shall. 
 If it be made of penetrable stuff; 
 If damned custom ha%e not braz'd it so. 
 That it be proof and bulwark against sense. 
 
 Queen. \Vhat have I done, that thou dar'st wag thy 
 In noise so rude against me ! [tongue 
 
 Hum. Such an act, 
 
 That blurs the giace and blush of modesty ; 
 
ACT III.— SCENE IV. 
 
 841 
 
 Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off tlie rose 
 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 
 
 And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
 
 As false as dicers' oaths : O, such a deed 
 
 As from the body of contraction plucks 
 
 The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
 
 A rhapsody of words : Heaven's face doth glow ; 
 
 Yea, tliis solidity and compound mass, 
 
 M'ith tristful visage, as against the doom, 
 
 Is tliought-sick at tlie act. 
 
 Queen. Ah me, what act. 
 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index 1 
 
 Ham, Look here, upon this picture, and on this ; 
 The counterfeit presentment of two brothers, 
 Ste, what a grace was seated on this brow ; 
 Hyperion's curls ; the front of Jove himself ; 
 An eye like JIars, to threaten and command ; 
 A station like the herald Mercury, 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
 A combination, and a form, indeed, 
 \Vhere every god diil seem to set his seal. 
 To give the world assurance of a man : 
 This was your husband, — Look you now, what follows: 
 Here is your husband ; like a mildew "d ear. 
 Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes I 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
 And batten on this moor ! Ha I have you eyes ! 
 You cannot call it love : for, at your age, 
 The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble. 
 And waits upon the judgment ; And what judgment 
 AVould step from this to this? Sense, sure, you have. 
 Else, could you not have motion : But sure, that sense 
 Is apoplex'd : for madness would not err ; 
 Kor sense to ectasy was ne'er so tiirall'd, 
 But it reserv'd some quantity of choice. 
 To serve in such a difference. What devil was 't. 
 That thus hath cozen'd you at hoodman-blind'! 
 Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. 
 Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all. 
 Or but a sickly part of one true sense 
 Could not so mope. 
 
 O shame I where is tliy blush 1 Rebellious hell, 
 If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, 
 To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, 
 And melt in her own fire : proclaim no shame, 
 AVhen the compulsive ardour gives the charge ; 
 Since frost itself as actively doth burn, 
 And reason panders will. 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, speak no more 
 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
 And there I see such black and grained spots. 
 As will not leave their tiuct. 
 
 Ham. Nay, but to live 
 
 In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed ; 
 Slew'd in corruption ; honeying, and making love 
 Over the nasty stye ; 
 
 Qiteen. 0. speak to me no more ; 
 
 These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears ; 
 No moie, sweet Plamlet. 
 
 Hum. A murderer, and a villain : 
 
 A slave, that is not bventieth part the tythe 
 Of your precedent lord : — a vice of kings : 
 A cutp\irse of the empire and the rule ; 
 That from a slielf the precious diadem stole, 
 And put it in his pocket ! 
 
 Queen. No more. 
 
 Enler Ghost. 
 Hum. A king 
 
 Of shreds and patches : — 
 
 Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings, [figure ? 
 You heavenly guards !— What would your gracious 
 
 Queen. Alas ! he 's mad. 
 
 Ham. Do you not come your taidy son to chide. 
 That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by 
 The important acting of your dread command ! 
 0, say. 
 
 Ghost. Do not forget : This visitation 
 Is but to whet t'ny almost blunted purpose. 
 But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits ; 
 O, step between her and her fighting soul ; 
 Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works : 
 Speak to her, Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. How is it with you, lady? 
 
 Queen. Alas, how is 't with you ? 
 That you do bend your eye on vacancy. 
 And with the incorporal air do hold discourse 1 
 Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
 -\nd as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, 
 Your bedded hair, like life in excrements. 
 Starts up, and stands on end. gentle-son. 
 Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
 Sprinkle cool patience. \Vhereon do vou look ? 
 
 Ham. On him ! on him ! — Look you, how pale he 
 glares ! 
 His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones. 
 Would make them capable. — Do not look upon me ; 
 Lest, with this piteous action, you convert 
 Jly stern effects : then what I have to do 
 Will want true colour ; tears, perchance, for blood. 
 
 Queen. To whom do you speak this ! 
 
 Ham. Do you see nothing there ? 
 
 Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all, that is, I see. 
 
 Ham. Nor did you nothing hear 1 
 
 Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. 
 
 Ham . Why, look you there! look, how it steals away ! 
 iMy father, in his habit as he liv'd ! 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the portal ! 
 
 [Exit Ghost. 
 
 Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain : 
 This bodiless creation ecstasy 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Ham. Ecstasy I 
 5Iy pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
 .\nd makes as liealthful music : It is not madness, 
 That I have utter'd ; bring me to the test. 
 And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
 Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace. 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. 
 That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks : 
 It will but skin and film the ulcerous place ; 
 \\ hiles rank corruption, mining all within. 
 Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven ; 
 Repent what's past • avoid wliat is to come ; 
 And do not spread the compost on the weeds. 
 To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue • 
 For in the fatness of these pursy times, 
 Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg ; 
 Yea, curb and woo, for leave to do him good. 
 
 Queen. Hamlet ! thou hastcleftmy heart in twain. 
 
 Ham. O throw away the worser part of it, 
 .Ind live the purer with the other half. 
 Good niL^lit : but go not to my uncle's bed ; 
 Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 
 That monster, custom, who all sense dotli eat 
 Of habit's devil, is angel yet in this : 
 That to the use of actions fair and good 
 He likewise gives a frock, or livery. 
 That aptly is put on : Refrain to-night : 
 And that shall lend a kind of easiness 
 To the next abstinence : the next more easy : 
 For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 
 .Vnd either curb the devil, or throw him out 
 \Vith wondrous potency. Once more, good night ; 
 
Ttj»t.ie r 
 
 .ttDs- 
 
 -ran. xaxmei^ ■ma.tuL al \ 
 
 2»i 
 
 ^SS^SMtl 
 
 Tnw- 
 
 
 Ao: IT 
 
 sr 
 
 
 
 L-csa^-^ 
 
 ^nd at iinr v 'kE'vrff Mk 
 
 J 
 
«t3 
 
 - X^ >j:»gamE.; 
 
 
 -- mm — - gg Jtegs ? 
 
 ^-OKtr_ i IT- ":. rzt ^ 
 
 
 ?^T* ^wtTe*^- ■'d^ !^^ Sic'! 
 
 
 
844 
 
 HAMLET 
 
 To do 't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort ine ; 
 Witness, this army of such mass, and charge 
 Led by a delicate and tender prince ; 
 Whose spirit, with divine ambition pufTd, 
 Makes mouths at the invisible event ; 
 Exposing what is mortal, and unsure, 
 To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare 
 Even for an eg-g-shell. Rightly to be great, 
 Is, not to stir without great argument ; 
 But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, 
 When honour's at the stake. How standi then, 
 That have a father kiU'd, a mother stain'd, 
 Excitements of my reason, and my blood, 
 And let all sleep 1 while, to my shame, I see 
 The imminent death of twenty thousand men, 
 " That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame, 
 Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plot 
 Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause. 
 Which is not tomb enough, and continent, 
 To hide the slain ?— O, from this time forth, 
 My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth ! [Eiit. 
 
 SCENE V. — Elsinore. A Room in the Castle, 
 Enter Queen and Horatio. 
 
 Queen. I will not speak with her. 
 
 Hov. She is importunate ; indeed, distract ; 
 Her mood will needs be pitied. 
 
 Queen. What would she liave ? 
 
 //o?-. She speaks much of her father; says, she hears. 
 There's tricks i' the world ; and hems, and beats her 
 
 heart ; 
 Spurns enviously at straws ; speaks things in doubt, 
 That carry but half sense; her speech is nothing. 
 Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
 The hearers to collection ; they aim at it. 
 And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts ; 
 AVhich, as her winks and nods, and gestures yield 
 
 them. 
 Indeed would makeonethink, there mightbe thought. 
 Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 
 
 Queen, 'Twere good she were spoken with ; for she 
 may strew 
 Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds : 
 Let her come in. [Exit Horatio. 
 
 To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is, 
 Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : 
 So fuii of artless jealousy is guilt, 
 It spills itself, in fearing to be spilt. 
 
 "Re-entar Horatio, with Ophelia. 
 
 Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark ? 
 Queen. How now, Ophelia] 
 
 Oph, How should I your true love know 
 From another one? 
 By his cockle hat and sta^f, 
 
 A7td his sandal shoon ? ['5*"g"'o' 
 
 Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? 
 Oph. Say you 1 nay, pray you, mark. 
 
 He is dead and go7ifi, lady, [Sings. 
 
 He is dead and gone ; 
 At his head a grass-green turf. 
 At his heels a stone. 
 0, ho! 
 
 Queen, Nay, but Ophelia, 
 
 Oph. Pray you, mark. 
 
 White his shroud as the mouyitain snow, [Sings. 
 
 Enter King. 
 Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. 
 
 Oph. Larded all with sweet Jloiverf ; 
 ]\'hich hewept to the grave didgo. 
 With true-love showers. 
 
 King. How do you, pretty lady? 
 Oph. Well. God 'ield you ! They say, the owl was 
 a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are. but, 
 know not what we may be. God be at your table ! 
 King Conceit upon her father. 
 Oph. Pray, let us liave no words of this ; but when 
 they ask you what it means, say you this : 
 Good morrow, *tis Saint Valentine's day, 
 
 All iu the morning betime, 
 And I a maid at your windoiv, 
 
 To he your Valentine: 
 Then up he rose, ayid don'd his clothes, 
 
 And dupp'd the rhav^^ber door ; 
 Let in the maid, that out a maid 
 Never departed more. 
 King. Pretty Ophelia! 
 Oph. Indeed,withoutanoath, I'll makeanend on't: 
 
 By Gis, and by Saint Charity, 
 
 Alack, andfyej'or shame! 
 Young men u-ill do't, if they come to*t ; 
 
 By cock, thexi are to blame. 
 Quoth she, before you tumbled me, 
 
 y'ou promis\i me to ived : 
 
 [He answers.] 
 So v'onld I ha' done, hif yonder srm, 
 An thou hudst 7iot come to my bed* 
 King. How long hath she been thus? 
 Oph. I hope, all will be well. We must be pa- 
 tient : but I cannot choose but weep, to think, they 
 should lay him i'the cold ground : My brother shall 
 know of it, and so 1 thank you for your good counsel. 
 Come, my coach ! Good night, ladies ; good night, 
 sweet ladies ; good night, good night, [Exit, 
 
 King, Follow her close ; give her good watch, I 
 pray you. [Exit Horatio. 
 
 O ! this is the poison of deep grief; it springs 
 All from her fathei's death : And now behold, 
 
 Gertrude. Gertrude, 
 
 When sorrows come, they come not single spies. 
 But in battalions ! First, her father slain ; 
 Next, your son gone ; and he most violent author 
 
 01 his own just remove : The people muddied. 
 Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and whis- 
 pers, [ly. 
 
 For good Polonius' death ; and we h ave done bu t green- 
 In hugger-mugger to inter him : Poor Ophelia, 
 Divided from herself, and her fair judgment ; 
 Without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts. 
 Last, and as much containing as all these. 
 Her brother is in secret come from France : 
 Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds. 
 And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 
 With pestilent speeches of his father's death ; 
 Wherein necessity, of matter beggar'd, 
 Will nothing stick our person to arraign 
 In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this. 
 Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
 Gives me superfluous death. [A uoise xvithin, 
 
 Queeru Alack! what noise is this? 
 
 Enter a Gentleman. 
 
 King. Attend : 
 Where are my Switzers ? Let them guard the door ■ 
 What is the matter? 
 
 tient. Save yourself, my lord ; 
 
 The ocean, overpeering of his list, 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE VI. 
 
 845 
 
 Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste. 
 
 Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, 
 
 O'orl/ears your officers ; Tlie rabble call him, lord , 
 
 And as the world were now but to begin. 
 
 Antiquity forgot, custom not known. 
 
 The ralitiers and props of every word, 
 
 They cry. Choose we ; Laertes shall be king I 
 
 Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the clouds, 
 
 Luerles shall he king, Laertes king ! 
 
 Queen. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry ! 
 0, this is counter, you false Danish dogs. 
 ■ King. The doors are broke. [A^oisc within. 
 
 £B(er Laehtes, armed; Dzines following. 
 
 Laer. Where is this king ? — Sirs, stand you all with- 
 
 Dan. No,, let's come in. [out. 
 
 Laer. I pray you, give me leave. 
 
 Dan. We will, we will. [Theuretirewitliontthedoor. 
 
 Laer. I thank you : — keep the door. — O thou vile 
 Give me my father. [l^iEo> 
 
 Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. [bastard ; 
 
 Liier. Thatdropof blood, that's calm, proclaims me 
 Cries, cuckold, to my father ; brands the harlot 
 Even here, between the chaste unsmirched brow 
 Of my true mother. 
 
 King. What is the cause, Laertes, 
 That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ■! — 
 Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person; 
 There's such divinity doth hedge a king, 
 That treason can but peep to what it would. 
 Acts little of his will. — Tell me, Laertes, 
 Why thou art thus incens'd; — Let him go, Gertrude; — 
 Speak, man. 
 
 Laer. Where is my father? 
 
 King. Dead. 
 
 Queen. But not by him. 
 
 king. Let him demand his fill. 
 
 Laer. I low came he dead! I'll not be juggled with : 
 To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest devil .' 
 Conscience, and grace, to the profoundest pit! 
 1 dare damnation : — To this point I stand, — 
 That both the worlds I give to negligence, 
 Let come w hat comes ; only I'll be reveng'd 
 Most throughly for my father. 
 
 King. Who shall stay you 1 
 
 Laer. My will, not all the world's : 
 And, for my means, I'll husband them so well, 
 They shall go far with little. 
 
 King. Good Laertes, 
 
 If you desire to know the certainty 
 Of your dear father's death, is 't writ in your revenge, 
 That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe. 
 Winner and loser ! 
 
 Laer. None but his enemies. 
 
 King. Will you know them then 1 
 
 Laer. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my 
 And, like the kind life-rend'ring pelican, [arms ; 
 Repast them with my blood. 
 
 King. W'hy, now you speak 
 
 Like a good child, and a true gentleman. 
 Tha* ; om guiltless of your fatlier's death, 
 And am most sensibly in grief for it, 
 It shall as level to your judgment 'pear. 
 As day does to your eye. 
 
 Danes. [II'i(/iin.] Let her come in. 
 
 Laer, How now ! what noise is that 1 
 
 Enter Oriiii.-i.t a fantasticallu dressed with straws 
 
 and Jiowers. 
 
 heat, dry up my brains ! tears, seven times salt, 
 
 Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! — 
 
 By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight, 
 
 Till our scale turn the beam. rose of May! 
 Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia ! — 
 O heavens I is't possible, a young maid's wits 
 Should be as mortal as an old man's life t 
 Nature is fine in iBve ; and, where 'tis fine, 
 It sends some precious instance of itself 
 After the thing it loves. 
 
 Oph. They bore him barefac'd on the bier; 
 Heti no jtonnii, nonny hey nonny : 
 And in his grave raind many a tear ; — 
 Fare you well, my dove ! 
 
 Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade re 
 It could not move thus. [venge, 
 
 Oph. You must sing, Down a-down^ an you call 
 him a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes it ! It is 
 the false steward, that stole his master's daughter, 
 
 Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 
 
 Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; 
 pray you, love, remember : and there is pansies, that's 
 for thoughts. 
 
 Laer. A document in madness ; thoughts and re- 
 membrance fitted. 
 
 Oph, There's fennel for you, and columbines: — 
 there's rue for you ; and here's some for me : — we 
 may call it, herb of grace o'Sundays : — you may wear 
 your rue with a difference. — There's a daisy: — I 
 would give you some violets; but they withered all, 
 when my father died : — They say, he made a good 
 
 end, 
 
 For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy, — [Siii^,';. 
 
 Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself. 
 She turns to favour, and to prettiness. 
 
 Oph. And will he not come again? l_Sings, 
 
 And will he not come again ? 
 A^(', no, he is dead, 
 Go to thii death-bed. 
 He never will come again. 
 
 His beard leas as white as S7iow, 
 AUjlaien was his voll : 
 He is gone, he is gone. 
 And we cast away moan; 
 God '(I mercy on his soul ! 
 And of all christian souls ! I pray God. God be wi' 
 you! [£iit OpHELi.1. 
 
 L<(er. Do you see this, O God 1 
 
 King. Laeites, I must commune with your grief. 
 Or you deny me right. Go but apart. 
 Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, 
 And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and rae : 
 If by direct or by collateral hand 
 They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom give. 
 Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours. 
 To you in satisfaction ; but, if not. 
 Be you content to lend your patience to us, 
 And we shall jointly labour with your soul 
 To give it due content. 
 
 Laer. Let this be so ; 
 
 His means of death, his obscure funeral, — 
 No trophy, sword, nor hatchment, o'er his bones, 
 No noble rite, nor formal ostentation, — 
 Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth. 
 That I must call't in question. 
 
 King. So you shall ; 
 
 And, where the offence is, let the great a.xe fall. 
 I pray you, go with me. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE VL— Another Room in the same. 
 
 Enter Horatio, and a Servant. 
 
 Hor. What are they that would speak with rae? 
 
 Sew, 
 
 Sailors, sir; 
 
016 
 
 HAMLET, 
 
 They say, they have letters for you. 
 
 Hor. Let them come in. — [Eiit Servant. 
 
 I do not know from what part of the world 
 I should be greeted, if not from lord Hamlet. 
 
 Enter Sailors. > 
 
 1 Sail. God bless you, sir. 
 
 lii'v. Let hira bless thee too. 
 
 1 Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. There's a 
 letter for you, sir ; It comes from the ambassador that 
 was bound for England ; if your name be Horatio, 
 as I am let to know it is. 
 
 Hor. [ficads.] Horatio, u'hen thou shalt have over- 
 looked tills, give the&e fellows some means to the king ; 
 theii have letters for him. Ere ice were two dntjs old at 
 sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us chace: 
 Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a com- 
 pelled valour ; and in the grapple I boarded them : on 
 the instant, they got clear of our ship ; so I alone be- 
 came their prisoner. They have dealt ivith me, like 
 thieves of mercy ; but they knew what then did ; I am 
 to do a good turn for them. Let the king have the let- 
 ters I have sent ; and repa^ir thou to me with as much 
 haste as thou. wouliVstJiy death. I have words to speak 
 in thine ear, will make thee dumb ; yet are theii much 
 too light far the bore of the matter. These good fellows 
 will bring thee where I am. Rosencrantz (ijid Guil- 
 denstern hold their course for Kngland ; of them J 
 have much to tell thee. Farewell. 
 
 He that thou knowest thine, Hamlet. 
 Come, I will give you way for these your letters ; 
 And do't the speedier, that you may direct me 
 To him from whom you brought them. [_Exeunt, 
 
 SCENE VIL — Another Room in the same. 
 Enter Kino and Laertes. 
 
 King. Now must your conscience my acquittance 
 And you must put me in your heart for friend ; [seal. 
 Silh you liave heard, and vvith a knowing ear, 
 That he, which hath your noble father slain, 
 Pursu'd my life. 
 
 Laer. It well appears : — But tell me. 
 
 Why you proceeded not against these feats. 
 So criraeful and so capital in nature, 
 As by your safety, greatness, wisdom, all things else. 
 You mainly were stirr'd up. 
 
 King. O, for two special reasons ; 
 
 Which may to you. perhaps, seem much unsinew'd. 
 But yet tome they are strong. The queen, his mother. 
 Lives almost by liis looks ; and, for myself, 
 (My virtue, or my plague, be it either which,) 
 She is so conjunctive to my life and soul. 
 That, as the star moves not but in Ids sphere 
 I could not but by her. Tlie other motive. 
 Why to a public count I might not go. 
 Is the great love the general gender bear hmi . 
 Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, 
 Work like the spring that turneth wood to stone. 
 Convert his gyves to graces ; so that my arrows, 
 Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind. 
 Would have reverted to my bow again, 
 And not where I had alm'd them. 
 
 L<ier. And so have I a noble father lost; 
 A sister driven into desperate terms ; 
 Whose worth, if praises may go back again. 
 Stood challenger on mount of all the ao-e 
 For her perfections : — But my revenge will come. 
 
 King. Break not your sleeps for tliat : you must not 
 That we are made of stuff so flat and dull, [think, 
 Tliat we can let our beard be shook with dano-er. 
 And tliink it pastime. You shortly shall hear more : 
 1 loved your father, and we love oursclf; 
 
 And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine, — 
 How now^ what news? 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet ; 
 
 This to your majesty ; this to the queen. 
 
 King. From Hamlet ! Who brought them 1 
 
 Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say: I saw them not; 
 They were given me by Claudio, he receiv'd them 
 Of him that brought them. 
 
 King. Laertes, you shall hear them : — 
 
 Leave us. [i'ait JMessenger. 
 
 [Reads.] High and mighty, you shall know, 1 am 
 set naked on your kingdom. To-morrow shall I beg 
 leave to see your kingly eyes: when I shall, first asking 
 your pardon thereunto, recount the occasion of mij sud- 
 den and more strange retitrn. Hamlet. 
 What should this mean] Are all the rest come back? 
 Or is it some abuse, and no such thing? 
 
 Laer. Know you the hand? 
 
 King. Tis Hamlet's character. Naked,— 
 
 And, in a postscript here, he says, alone: 
 Can you advise me ? 
 
 Laer. I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come ; 
 It warms the very sickness in my heart. 
 That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, 
 Thus diddest thou. 
 
 Kiiig. If it be so, Laertes, 
 
 As how should it be so ? how otherwise ? — 
 Will you be rul'd by me ? 
 
 Laer. Ay, my lord ; 
 
 So you will not o'er-rule me to a peace. 
 
 King. To thine own peace. If he be now return'd, — • 
 As cliecking at his voyage, and that he means 
 No more to undertake it, — I will work him 
 To an exploit, now ripe in my device. 
 Under tlie which he shall not choose but fall ; 
 And for his death no wind of blame shall breathe ; 
 But even his mother shall uncharge the practice, 
 And call it, accident. 
 
 Laer. My lord, I will be rul'd . 
 
 The rather, if you could devise it so. 
 That I might be the organ. 
 
 King. It falls right. 
 
 You have been talk'd of since your travel much. 
 And that in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
 AVherein, they say, you shine : your sum of parts 
 Did not together pluck such envy from him. 
 As did that one ; and that, in my regard. 
 Of the unworthiest siege. 
 
 Laer. What part is that, my lord ? 
 
 King. A very ribband in the cap of youth, 
 Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes 
 The light and careless livery, that it wears. 
 Than settled age his sables, and his weeds. 
 Importing health andgraveness, — I'womonths since, 
 Here was a gentleman of Normandy, — 
 I have seen myself, and serv'd against, the French, 
 And they can well on horseback : but this gallant 
 Had witchcraft in't ; he grew unto his seat ; 
 And to such wond'rous doing brought his horse. 
 As he had been incorps'd and demi-natur'd 
 With the brave beast : so far he topp'd my thought, 
 That I, in forgery of shapes and tricks. 
 Come short of what he did. 
 
 Laer. A Norman, vvas't ? 
 
 King. A Norman. 
 
 Laer. Upon my life, Lamord. 
 
 King. The very same. 
 
 Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch, indeed. 
 And gem of all the nation. 
 
 King. He made confession of you ; 
 
._.^^^c^^^- 
 
 
 KEN There on the {.ondent boughs her coronet 
 Weeds 
 Ciaujterir.^ to haiig. an eavioua sliver broke 
 
 jlair.Sc.7 
 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 847 
 
 And gave you such a masterly report. 
 
 For art and exercise in your defence, 
 
 And for your rapier most especial, 
 
 That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, 
 
 If one could match you : the scrimers of their nation. 
 
 He swore, had neither motion, guard, nor eye, 
 
 If you oppos'd them : Sir, this report of his 
 
 Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy, 
 
 That he could nothing do, but wish and beg 
 
 Your sudden coming o'er, to play with you. 
 
 Now, out of this, 
 
 l.ner. What, out of this, my lordl 
 
 K'jjiof. Laertes, was your father dear to you \ 
 Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
 A face without a heart 1 
 
 Laer, Why ask you this 1 
 
 King. Not that I think, you did not love your fd- 
 But that I know, love is begun by time ; [tlier; 
 
 And that I see, in passages of proof. 
 Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
 There lives within the very flame of love 
 A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it ; 
 And nothing is at a like goodness still ; 
 For goodness, growing to a plurisy, 
 l)ies in his own too-much : That we would do, 
 We should do when we would; forthis u-fln/d changes. 
 And hatli abatements and delays as many. 
 As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents ; 
 And then this sliould is like a spendthrift sigh, 
 That hurts by easing. But, to tlie quick o'the ulcer : 
 Handet comes back : what would you undertake. 
 To shew yourself indeed your father's son 
 More than in words ? 
 
 Ltiet. To cut his throat i'the church. 
 
 King. No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize; 
 Revenge should have no bounds. But, good Laertes, 
 Will you do this, keep close within your chamber: 
 Hamlet, return'd, shaJl know you are come home : 
 We'll put on those shall praise your excellence, 
 And set a double varnish on the fame 
 The Frenchman gave you ; bring you, in fine, toge- 
 And wager o'er your heads: he, being remiss, [tber, 
 Most generous, and free from all contriving. 
 Will not peruse the foils ; so that with ease, 
 Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 
 A sword unbated, and, in a pass of practice. 
 Requite him for your father. 
 
 Laer. I will do't : 
 
 And, for the purpose, I'll anoint my sword. 
 T bought an unction of a mountebank, 
 So mortal, that but dip a knife in it, 
 Where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare, 
 Collected from all simples that have virtue 
 Under the moon, can save the thing from death, 
 That is but scratch'd withal : I'll touch my point 
 With this contagion ; that, if I gall him slightly, 
 It may be death. 
 
 King. Let's further think of this ; 
 
 Weigh, what convenience, both of time and means, 
 IMay fit us to our shape : if this should fail. 
 And that our drift look through our bad performance, 
 *'i"were better not assay'd ; therefore ^his project 
 Should have a back, or second, that might hold. 
 If this should blast in proof. Soft ; — let me see : — 
 We'll make a solemn wager on your cunnings, — 
 I ha't. 
 
 When in your motion you are hot and dry, 
 (As make your bouts more violent to that end,) 
 ..\ni! that iie calls for drink, I'll have preferr'd him 
 A chalice for the nonce , whereon but sipping, 
 If he by chance escape your vencm'd stuck. 
 Our purpose may hold there. But stay, what ntfisel 
 
 E;ltci- QUF.EV. 
 
 How now, sweet queen ; 
 
 Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's heel, 
 So fast they follow : — Vour sister's drown'd, Laertes. 
 
 Laer. jirowu'd ! O, where! 
 
 Queen. There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, 
 That siiews his hoar leaves in the glassy stream ; 
 Therewith fantastic garlands did she make 
 Of crow-flowers, netiles, daisies, and long purples, 
 i'hat liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
 But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them; 
 There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds 
 Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
 When down her weedy trophies, and herself, 
 Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; 
 And, mermaid-like, a while they bore her up; 
 U'hich time, she chanted snatches of old tunes ; 
 As one incapable of her own distress, • 
 
 Or like a creature native and indu'd 
 Unto that element : but long it could not be. 
 Till that her gaiments, heavy with their drink, 
 PuU'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay 
 To muddy death. 
 
 Laer. Alas then, she is drown'd 1 
 
 Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 
 
 Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, 
 And therefore 1 forbid my tears : But yet 
 It is our trick ; nature her custom holds. 
 Let shame say what it will : when these are gone, 
 The woman will be out. — Adieu, my lord! 
 I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, 
 But that this folly drowns it. [Exit. 
 
 King. Let's follow, Gertrude ; 
 
 How much I had to do to calm his ra^ ! 
 Now fearl, this will give it start again ; 
 'Therefore, let's follow. [E.veiint. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Church-Yard. 
 Enter Tu^o Clowns, nith spades, Sic. 
 
 1 Clo. Is she to be buried in christian burial, that 
 wilfully seeks her own salvation 1 
 
 2 C/c). I tell thee, she is ; therefore moke her grave 
 straight : the cl■ov^•ner hath set on her, and finds it 
 christian burial. 
 
 1 Cln. How can that be, unless she drowned her- 
 self in her own defence? 
 
 2 Cto Why, 'tis found so. 
 
 1 Clo. It must be se ojfendcndo ; it cannot be else. 
 For here lies the point : If I drown myself wittingly, 
 it argues an act ; and an act hath three branches ; it 
 is, to act. to do, and to perform : Argal, she drowued 
 herself wittingly. 
 
 2 Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman delver. 
 
 1 Ch. Give me leave. Here lies the water ; good : 
 here stands the man ; good : If the man go to this 
 water, and drown himself, it is, will he, nill he, he 
 goes ; mark you that ; but if the water come to him, 
 and drown him, he drowns not himself: Argal, he, 
 that is not guilty of his own death, shortens not his 
 own life. 
 
 " Clo. But is this law 1 
 
 1 Cln. Ay, marry is't ; crowner's-quest law. 
 
 'i Ch. Will you'ha' the truth un't! If this had not 
 been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried 
 out of christian burial. 
 
848 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 1 Clo. Why, there thou say'st : And the more pity ; 
 that great folks shall have countenance in this world 
 to drown or hang themselves, more than their even 
 christian. Come, my spade. There is no arcient 
 gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and gravemakers ; 
 they hold up Adam's profession. 
 
 2 Clo. Was he a gentleman ? 
 
 1 Clo, He was the first that ever bore arms. 
 
 2 Clo. Why, he had none. 
 
 1 Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost thou un- 
 derstand the scripture? The scripture says, Adam 
 digged; Could he dig without arms ? I'll put another 
 question to thee : if thou answerest rae not to the 
 purpose, confess* thyself 
 
 2 Clo. Go to. 
 
 1 Clo. What is he, that builds stronger than either 
 the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter? 
 
 2 C/ti.*The gal lows -maker ; for that frame outlives 
 a thousand tenants. — 
 
 1 Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith ; the gal- 
 lows does well : I3ut how docs it well ? it does well 
 to those that do ill : now thou dost ill, to say, the 
 gallows is built stronger than the church ; argal, the 
 gallows may do well to thee. To't again ; come. 
 
 2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a ship- 
 wright, or a carpenter ? 
 
 1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke, 
 
 2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell, 
 t Clo. To't. 
 
 2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 
 
 Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. 
 
 1 Clo, Cudgel thy brains no more about it ; for 
 your dull as^will not mend his pace with beating: 
 and, when you are asked this question next, say, a 
 grave-maker ; the houses that he makes, last till 
 doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan.and fetch me 
 a stoup of liquor. [Exit 2 Clown. 
 
 1 Clown digs, and sings. 
 
 In youth, when Idid love, did love, 
 
 Methought, it was very sn-eet. 
 To contract, 0, the time, for, a/i, my behove 
 
 0, methought, there ims nothiyig meet. 
 
 Ham. Has this fellow no feeling of his business ? 
 he sings at grave-making. 
 
 Hor. Custom hath made it in him a property of 
 easiness. 
 
 Ham. *Tis e'en so : the hand of little employment 
 hath the daintier sense. 
 
 1 Clo. But age, loith his stealing stejys. 
 Hath cluio'd me in his clutch, 
 And hath shipped me into the land. 
 As if I had neuer been such. 
 
 [^Throws tip a scull. 
 
 Ham. That scull had a tongue in it, and could sing 
 once : How the knave jowls it to the ground, as ifit 
 were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder ! Tliis 
 might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now 
 o'er reaches j one that would circumvent God, might 
 it not? 
 
 Hor. It might, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Or of a courtier ; which could say, Good- 
 morroic, sweet lord ! How do>,t thnu, good lord 7 This 
 might be my lord Sucli-a one, that praised my lord 
 Such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it j might 
 it not? 
 
 Hor. Ay, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Why, e'en so : and now my lady Worm's ; 
 chapless. and knocked about tlie mazzard with a sex- 
 ton's spade : Here's fine revolution, an we had the 
 
 trick to see't. Did tliese bones cost no more the 
 breeding, but to play at loggats with them ? mine 
 ache to think on't. 
 
 1 Clo. A pick-aie, and a spade, a spade^ [Singa, 
 For — aJid a shrouding sheet: 
 0, a pit of clay for to be made , 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 [Throws up a scull. 
 
 Ham. There's another: Why may' not that be the 
 scull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, his 
 quillits, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? why 
 does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about 
 the sconce with a dirty shovel, and wil] not tell him 
 of his action of battery ? I;lumph ! This fellow might 
 be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, 
 his recognizances, his tines, hisdouble vouchers, his 
 recoveries : Is this the fine of his fines, and the re- 
 covery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of 
 fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of 
 his purchases, and double ones too, than the length 
 and breadth of a pair of indentures! Tlie very convey- 
 ances of his lands will hardly lie in this box ; and 
 must the inheritor himself have no more? ha ! 
 
 Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 
 
 Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins ? J| 
 
 Hor. Aye, my lord, and of calves-skins too. mL 
 
 Ham. They are slieep, and calves, which seek out 
 assurance in that. 1 will speak to this fellow : — 
 Whose grave's this, sirrah t 
 
 1 Clo. Mine, sir.— 
 
 0, a pit of clay for to be made [Sings, 
 
 For such a guest is meec. 
 
 Ham. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou Rest in't. 
 
 1 Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and therefore it is not ij 
 yours : for my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine. ^ 
 
 Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't, and say it is 
 thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick ; therefore 
 thou liest. 
 
 1 Cio. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 'twill away again 
 from me to you. 
 
 Ha7n. AVhat man dost thou dig it for ? 
 
 1 Clo. For no man, sir. 
 
 Ham. What woman then ? 
 
 1 Clo. For none neither. 
 
 Ham. Wlio is to be buried in't ? 
 
 1 Clo. One that was a woman, sir ■ but, rest her 
 soul, she's dead. 
 
 Hatn. How absolute the knave is! we must speak 
 by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the 
 lord, Horatio, these titree years I have taken note of 
 it ; theage is grown so picked, that the toe of the pea- 
 sant comes so near tlie heel of the courtier. he galls 
 his kibe. — How long hast thou been a giave maker? 
 
 1 Clo. Of all the days i'the year, I came to't that 
 day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras. 
 
 Hum. How long's that since ? 
 
 1 Clo. Cannot you tell that? eveiy fool can teli 
 that: It was that very day that young Hamlet "was 
 born : he that is mad, ond sent into England. 
 
 Ham. Ay, marry, why was he sent into England? 
 
 1 Clo. AVliy, because he was mad : he shall re» 
 cover his wits there j or, if he do not, 'tis no great 
 matter there. 
 
 Ham. Why? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Twill not be seen m him there; tliere the 
 men are as mad as he. 
 
 Ham. How came he mad ? 
 
 1 Clo. Very strangely, they say. 
 
 Ham. How strangely ? 
 
 1 Clo. 'Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 
 
 Ham. Upon what ground? 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 849 
 
 1 C}o, Why, here in Denmark ; I have been sex- 
 ton here, nian, and boy. thirty years. 
 
 Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot 1 
 
 1 C(i'. 'Faith, if he be not rotten before he die, (as 
 we have many pocky corses now-a-days, that will 
 scarce hold the laying in, ) he will last you some eight 
 year, or nine year ; a tanner will last you nine year. 
 
 Ham. Why he more than another? 
 
 1 Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his 
 trade, that he will keep out water a great while ; and 
 your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead 
 body. Here's a scull now hath Iain you i' the earth 
 three-and-twenty years. 
 
 Haw. Whose was it? 
 
 1 Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was ; Whose 
 do you think it was ? 
 
 Ham, Nuy, I know not. 
 
 t Clo. A pestilence on him for a maa rogue ! he 
 poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This 
 same scull, sir, was Yorick's scull, the king's jester. 
 
 Ham. This ? [Takes the sculU 
 
 1 Clo. E'en that. 
 
 Ham. Alas, poor Yorick ! — I knew him, Horatio ; 
 & fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he 
 hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and 
 now how abhorred in my imagination it is ! ray gorge 
 rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed 
 I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? your 
 gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, 
 that were wont to set the table on a roar ? Not one 
 now, to mock your own grinning ? quite chap-fallen ? 
 Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let 
 her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; 
 make her laugh at that. — Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me 
 one thing. 
 
 Hor. What's that, my lord? 
 
 Ham. Dost thou think, Alexander looked o' this 
 fashion i' the earth ? 
 
 Hor. E'en so. 
 
 Ham, And smelt so? pah! [Throws down the scull. 
 
 Hor, E'en so, my lord. 
 
 Ham. To what base uses we may return, Horatio ! 
 Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of 
 Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole? 
 
 Hor.'Twern to consider too curiously, to consider so. 
 
 Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him thi- 
 ther with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it : 
 As thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, 
 Alexander returned to dust ; the dust is earth ; of 
 earth we make loam : And why of that loam, whereto 
 he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel 1 
 
 Imperious Ciesar, dead, and turn'd to clay, 
 
 INIight stop a hole to keep the wind away : 
 
 O, that the earth, which kept the world in awe, 
 
 Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw ! 
 But soft ! but soft ! aside ; — Here comes the king. 
 
 Enter Priests, S^c. in procession ; the corpse of 
 Ophelia. Laertes and Mourntrs following : King, 
 Queen, their Trains, &;c. 
 
 The queen, the courtiers : Who is this they follow 1 
 And with such maimed rites ! This doth betoken. 
 The corse, thev follow, did with desperate hand 
 Foredo its own life. 'Twas of some estate : 
 Couch we a while, and mark. [Retiring withHonATio. 
 
 Laer. What ceremony else? 
 
 Ham. That is Laertes, 
 
 A very noble youth : Mark. 
 
 Laer. What ceremony else? 
 
 1 Priest, Her obsequies have been so far enlarg'd 
 As we have warranty : Her death was doubtful ; 
 And, but that great command o'ersways the order^ 
 
 The should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd 
 Till the last trumpet ; for charitable prayers. 
 Shards, flints, and pebbles, should be thrown on her, 
 Vet here she is allowed her virgin crants, 
 He maiden strewments, and the bringing home 
 Of bell and burial. 
 
 Laer. Must there no more be done 1 
 
 1 Priest. No more be done ! 
 
 We should profane the service of the dead, 
 To sing a requiem, and such rest to her, 
 As to peace-parted souls. 
 
 Laer. Lav her i' the earth ; — 
 
 And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
 May violets spring! — I tell thee, churlish priest, 
 A minist'ring angel shall my sister be, 
 When thou liest howling. 
 
 Ham. What, the fair Ophelia ! 
 
 Queen. Sweets to the sweet : Farewell : 
 
 [Scattering fowersi 
 I hop'd, thou should'sl have been my Hamlet's wife ; 
 I thought, thv bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, 
 And not have strew'd thy grave. 
 
 Laer. 0, treble woe 
 
 Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 
 Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
 Depriv'd thee of I — Hold off the earth a while, 
 Till I have caught her once more in mine arms : 
 
 [Leaps into the grave. 
 Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead; 
 Till of this flat a mountain you have made. 
 To o'er-top old Pelion, or the skyish head 
 Of blue Olympus. 
 
 Ham. [Advancing-I What is he, whose grief 
 Bears such an emphasis ? whose phrase of sorrow 
 Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand 
 Like wonder-wounded hearers ? this is I, 
 Hamlet the Dane. [Leaps into the grave. 
 
 Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 
 
 [Grappling with him. 
 
 Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 
 I pr'ythee, take thy fingers from my throat ; 
 For, though I am not splenetive and rash, 
 "^ et have 1 in me something dangerous. 
 Which let thy wisdom fear : Hold oflfthy hand. 
 
 A'lJi^. Pluck them asunder. 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet ! 
 
 All. Gentlemen, 
 
 Hor. Good my lord, be quiet. 
 
 [The Attendants part them, and they come 
 out of the grave. 
 
 Ham. Why, I will fight with him upon this theme. 
 Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 
 
 Queen, O my son ! what theme ? 
 
 Hum. I lov'd Ophelia ; forty thousand brothers 
 Could not, with all their quantity of love. 
 Make up my sum.— What wilt thou do for her ? 
 
 AiHo-. O. he is mad. Laertes. 
 
 Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 
 
 Ham. Zounds, shew me what thou 'It do: 
 Woul't weep ? woul't fight ? woul't fast 1 woul't tear 
 Woul't drink up Esil ? eat a crocodile ? [thyself? 
 I'll do't. — Dost thou come here to whine? 
 To outface me with leaping in her grave? 
 Be buried. quick with her, and so will I : 
 And, if thou prate of mountains, let them throw 
 Millions of acres on us ; till our ground 
 Singeing his pate against the burnmg zone, 
 Make Ossa like a wart ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, 
 I'll rant as well as thou. 
 
 Queen. This is mere madness • 
 
 And thus a while the fit will work on him j 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 3 H 
 
850 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, 
 His silence will sit drooping. 
 
 Ham. Hear you, sir ; 
 
 "What is the reason, that you use me thus? 
 I lov'd you ever: liut it is no matter ; 
 Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
 The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. [EiU. 
 
 King. I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. — 
 
 [Eait Horatio. 
 
 Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech ; 
 
 [To Laertes. 
 We'll put the matter to the present push, — 
 Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. — 
 This grave shall have a living monument : 
 An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 
 Till then, in patience our proceeding be. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— A Hall in the Castle. 
 Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 
 
 Ham, So much for this, sir : now shall you see the 
 You do remember all the circumstance? [other ; — 
 
 Hor. Remember it, my lord ! 
 
 Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting. 
 That would not let me sleep: methought, I lay 
 Worse than the mulines in the bilboes. Rashly, 
 And prais'd be rashness for it, — Let us know, 
 Our indiscretion sometimes seiTes us well, 
 When our deep plots do pall ; and that should teach 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends, [us, 
 
 Rough-hew them how we will. 
 
 Hor, That Is most certain. 
 
 Ham. Up from my cabin, 
 My sea-gown scarfd about me, in the dark 
 Grop'd 1 to find out ihem : had my desire ; 
 ringer'd their packet ; and, in fine, withdrew 
 To mine own room again : making so bold, 
 My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
 Their grand commission ; where 1 found, Horatio, 
 A royal knavery ; an exact command, — 
 Laided with many several sorts of reasons. 
 Importing Denmark's health, and England's too. 
 With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life, — ■ 
 That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, 
 !No, not to stay the grinding of the axe. 
 My head should be struck ofT. 
 
 Hor. Is't possible 1 
 
 Hwm.Here'sthe commission ; read it at more leisure. 
 But wilt thou hear now how I did proceed 1 
 
 Hor. Ay, 'beseech you. 
 
 Ham. Being thus benetted round with villainies, 
 Or I could make a prologue to my brains, 
 They bad begun the play ; — I sat me down j 
 Devis'd a new commission ; wrote it fair: 
 I once did hold it, as our statists do, 
 A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much 
 How to forget that learning ; but, sir, now 
 It did me yeoman's service : Wilt thou know 
 The effect of what I wrote 1 
 
 Hor. Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king, — 
 As England was his faithful tributary ; 
 As love between them like the palm might flourish ; 
 As peace should still her wlieaten garland wear. 
 And stand a comma 'tween their amities ; 
 And many such like as's of great charge, — 
 That on the view and knowing of these contents, 
 Without debatement further, more, or less, 
 He should the bearers put to sudden death, 
 Not shriving-tirae allow'd. 
 
 Har, How was this seal'd 1 
 
 Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant j 
 
 I had my father's .signet m my purse, 
 Which was the model of that Danish seal : 
 Folded the writ up in form of the other ; 
 Subscrib'd it ; gave't the impression ; plac'd it safely. 
 The changeling never known ; Now, the next day 
 Was our sea-fight : and what to this was sequent 
 Thou know'st already. 
 
 Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't. 
 
 Ha7a. Why, man, they did make love to thisemplov- 
 They are not near my conscience ; their defeat [ment j 
 Does by their own insinuation grow : 
 'Tis dangerous, when the baser nature comes 
 Between the pass and fell incensed points 
 Of mighty opposites. 
 
 Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 
 
 Ham. Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon? 
 He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother; 
 Popp'd in between the election and my hopes ; 
 Thrown out his angle for my proper life. 
 And with such cozenage ; is't not perfect conscience. 
 To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be damn'd. 
 To let this canker of our nature come 
 In fuither evil ? 
 
 Hor. It must be shortly known to him from England, 
 What is the issue of the business there. 
 
 Ham. It will be short : the interim is mine ; 
 And a man's life's no more than to say, one. 
 But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
 That to Laertes I forgot myself; 
 For by the image of my cause, I see 
 The portraiture of his : I'll court his favours : 
 But, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me 
 Into a towering passion. 
 
 Hor. Peace ; who comes here? 
 
 Enter Osric. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back to Den- 
 mark. 
 
 Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. — Dost know this 
 water-fly ? 
 
 Hor. No, my good lord. 
 
 Ham. Thy state is the more gracious ; for 'tis a 
 vice to know him ; He hath much land, and fertile ; 
 let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand 
 at the king's mess : 'Tis a chough ; but, as I say. 
 spacious in the possession of dirt. 
 
 Osr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, 
 I should impart a thing to you from his majesty. 
 
 Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all diligence of 
 spirit : Your bonnet to his right use ; 'tis for the head. 
 
 Osr. I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot. 
 
 Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold ; the wind 
 is northerly. 
 
 Osr. It is indifTerent cold, my lord, indeed. 
 
 Ham. But yet, methinks, it is very sultry and hot; 
 or my complexion 
 
 Osr. Exceedingly, my lord ; it is very sultry, — as 
 'twere, — I cannot tell how. — My lord, his majesty 
 bade me signify to you, that he has laid a great wager 
 on your head : Sir, this is the matter, — 
 
 Ham. I beseech you, remember 
 
 [Hamlet moves him to put on his hat. 
 
 Osr. Nay, good my lord ; for my ease, in good 
 faith. Sir, here is newly come to court, Laertes : be- 
 lieve me, an absolute gentleman, full of most excel- 
 lent differences, of very soft society, and grant show- 
 ing ; Indeed, to speak feelingly of him, he is the card 
 or calendar of gentry, for you shall find in him the 
 continent of what part a gentleman would see. 
 
 Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in 
 you ; — though, I know, to divide him inventorially, 
 would dizzy the arithmetic of memory ; and yet but 
 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 851 
 
 raw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the 
 verity of extolment, I take him to be a soul of great 
 article ; and his infusion of such dearth and rareness, 
 as. to make true diction of him, his serablable is his 
 mirrour ; and, who else would trace him, his umbrage, 
 nothing more. 
 
 Osr. Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. 
 
 Ham. The concernancy, sir ? why do we wrap the 
 gentleman in our more rawer breath I 
 
 i'sr. Sir? 
 
 Hor. Is't not possible to understand in another 
 tongue ? You will do't, sir, really. 
 
 Ham. What imports the nomination of this gentle- 
 
 Osr. Of Laertes ? [man ? 
 
 Hor. His purse is empty already ; all his golden 
 words are spent. 
 
 ■Ham. Of him, sir. 
 
 Osv. I know, you are not ignorant 
 
 Ham. I would, you did, sir ; yet, in faith, if you 
 did, it would not much approve me ; — Well, sir, 
 
 Osr. You are not ignorant of what excellence 
 Laertes is 
 
 Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should com- 
 pare with him in excellence ; but, to know a man 
 well, were to know himself. 
 
 Osr. I mean, sir, for his weapon ; but in the im- 
 putation laid on him by them, in his meed he's un- 
 fellowed. 
 
 Ham. What's his weapon "l 
 
 Osr. Rapier and dagger. 
 
 Ham, That's two of his weapons : but. well. 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath wageied with him six 
 Barbary horses : against the which he has impawned, 
 as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards, with 
 their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so: Three of 
 the carriages, in faith, are very dear to fancy, very 
 responsive to the hilts, most delicate carriages, and 
 of very liberal conceit. 
 
 Ham. What call you the carriages ? 
 
 Hor. I knew, you must be edified by the niargent, 
 ere you had done. 
 
 Osr. The carriages, sir, ai'e the hangers. 
 
 Ham. The phrase would be more german to the 
 matter, if we could carry a cannon by our sides ; I 
 would, it might be hangers till then. But, on : Six 
 Barbary horses against six French swords, their as- 
 signs, and three liberal conceited carriages ; that's 
 the French bet against the Danish : Why is this im- 
 pawned, as you call it ? 
 
 Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a dozen passes 
 between yourself and him, he shall not exceed you 
 tiiree hits ; he hath laid, on twelve for nine ; and it 
 would come to immediate trial, if your lordship would 
 vouchsafe the answer. 
 
 Ham. How, if I answer, no? 
 
 Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of your per- 
 son in trial. 
 
 Ham. Sir, I will walk here in the hall ; If it please 
 his majesty, it is the breathing time of dav with me : 
 let the foils be brought, the gentleman willing, and 
 the king hold his purpose, I will win for him, if I 
 can ; if not, I will gain nothing but my shame, and 
 the odd hits. 
 
 Osr. Shall I deliver you so? 
 
 Ham. To this effect, sir ; after what flourish your 
 nature will. 
 
 Osr. I commend my duty to your lordship. [Exit. 
 
 Ham. Yours, yours. — He does well to commend it 
 himself; there are no tongues else for's turn. 
 
 Hor. This lapwing runs away with the shell on his 
 head. 
 
 Ham. He did comply with his dug, before he sucked 
 
 it. Thus has he (and many more of the same breeJ , 
 that, I know, the drossy age dotes on,) only got the 
 tunc of the time, and outward habit of encounter, a 
 kind of yesty collection, which carries them through 
 and through the most fond and winnowed opinions ; 
 and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are 
 out 
 
 Enter a Lord. 
 
 Lord. My lord, his majesty commended him to you 
 by young Osric, who brings back to him, that you 
 attend him in the hall : He sends to know, if your 
 pleasure hold to play with Laertes, or that you will 
 take longer time. 
 
 Ham. I am constant to my purposes, they follow 
 the king's pleasure ; if his fitness speaks, mine is ready j 
 now, or whensoever, provided I be so able as now. 
 
 /.on/. The king, and queen, and all ai'e coming down. 
 
 Ham. In happy time. 
 
 Lord. The queen desires you, to use some gentle 
 entertainment to Laertes, before you fall to play. 
 
 Ham. She well instructs me. [Exit Lord. 
 
 Hor. You will lose this wager, ray lord. 
 
 Ham. I do not think so ; since he went into France, 
 I have been in continual practice ; I shall win at the 
 odds. But thou would'st not think, how ill all's here 
 about my heart ; but it is no matter. 
 
 Hnr. Nay, good my lord, 
 
 Ham. It is but foolery ; but it is such a kind of 
 gain-giving, as would, perhaps, trouble a woman. 
 
 Hor. Ifyour mind dislike any thing, obey it: I will 
 forestal their repair hither, and say, you are not fit. 
 
 Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury ; there is a 
 special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be 
 now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will 
 be now ; if it be not now, yet it will come : the readi- 
 ness is all : Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows, 
 what is't to leave berimes ? Let be. 
 
 Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osnic, and 
 Attendants with foils, 6^c. 
 
 King, Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from 
 
 me. [The King puts the hand of Laertes 
 
 into that of Hamlet. 
 
 Ham. Give me your pardon, sir : I have done you 
 But pardon it, as you are a gentleman. [wrong; 
 This presence knows, and you must needs have heard, 
 How I am punish'd with a sore distraction. 
 What I have done. 
 
 That might your nature, honour, and exception. 
 Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. 
 Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes J Never, Hamlet . 
 If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away. 
 And, when he's not himself, does wrong Laertes, 
 riien Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. 
 Who does it then? His madness: If't be so, 
 Hamlet is of the faction that is wroncr'd j 
 His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 
 Sir, in this audience, 
 Let my disclaiming from a purpos'd evil 
 Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, 
 I hat I have shot my arrow o'er the house. 
 And hurt my brother. 
 
 Laer. I am satisfied in nature, 
 
 \Vhose motive, in this case, should stir me most 
 To my revenge : but in my terms of honour, 
 I stand aloof ; and will no reconcilement, 
 Till by some elder masters, of known honour, 
 I have a voice and precedent of peace, 
 To keep my name ungor'd: But till that time, 
 I do receive your offer'd love like love, 
 And will not wrong it. 
 
 Ham, I embrace it freely ; 
 
 3H2 
 
S^2 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 Add 'nil diis &n>mer's «a§«r otaoklv aiar. — 
 Gi've 'IS tile cbiifi ; eame aii» 
 Xder. Come, aae Sir me. 
 
 - :otI, Lserss^: 3> mine icnoaace 
 V : 1 iar i' me daiaea a^tt, 
 
 -JBT, Yott sock me, ar- 
 
 3am^ Xtr. br this aami. 
 
 ji n^. Giv« tnem Ae oaiIs>. lamqf Osoe^ — ' 
 Tja iaiiw die wa^er ? 
 
 iJom. T-; — ' - ; ' 
 
 TjTir iirace aafh laiit the 
 
 i'n^. I io aot i-ir ■ 
 3at snce ae'5 bect^ 
 
 j-jer. This is aic _ 
 
 ^a». This likes ait tt:^ _ l"jei<i /- 
 
 frirr rn • 
 
 [T\mi I 
 
 1- 
 
 
 
 
 -.tuc 
 
 
 " 
 
 
 
 :-aangB. 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 
 . ri=«"3re : 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 
 :- jnsBm ; 
 
 ■:: 
 
 
 
 
 : cnas 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 - 3ie 3ie rar^ 
 
 7 
 
 
 
 _ : j: .-7n,f_: 
 
 . - :a 3J rtii! 'i. 
 
 — . J'-se, begxa ;, — 
 
 - 
 
 3inn. 
 
 Ham, 
 
 
 L . bear i. wary -iye. 
 
 
 
 Cjm& avbiti 
 
 
 
 l.liC 
 
 One. 
 
 
 X'n^- 
 
 ^T!-- 
 
 r^= Tie iraik : 
 
 ^aniiet. ^lis ~"^''_" 
 
 
 ese's 
 
 
 - — Giv^ aim :ixe rrra. 
 
 
 
 
 Ti; —- : 
 
 Tr:uiim «4ir tt^ 
 
 c 
 
 ome.— 
 
 Cos-. 
 
 
 
 7')tt ! [TWtr aura. 
 
 ^" 
 
 Our »ii liisl ;»in. 
 
 V5 ; 
 
 I urn jaatiT kill'ii wutt sine <7wa treachsv^ 
 i&cm. How 'iue^ tne lueea * 
 £n^. 5kie swMfss ta see t^em 
 
 Qftm, Na. otf. che jfrw, de jrink, — O nj 4 
 
 Tbe drink ■ -^ — -^.: — I jm pobon'i ' "^ 
 
 Him. — zsbI let die Of^^: 
 
 _^ ^_ -_ - - -^ea 
 
 a :ara i -tseii *ra aie -. :a. lere i ne. 
 
 .mc 
 
 I ise. :r:emis» I xs &af iHit. 
 
 ~ . — 1& (^ Tunsii taere - fDtee. 
 
 - » -s "TstXT setT li: 
 - oabj^f. — 
 . ne. mbie Hamlecz 
 
 X'TT -mne on me I [Die% 
 
 . :. Hondo — : it^tm.'. — 
 
 ^ -- nle ci^ - ; ^ : :»anrg, 
 
 . -oes or aaiiiencs ai uiis art» 
 - IS tuis iii. ^dcaat deaia- 
 :i .Ha arrest. 0. I cwiid tal to«, — 
 ' je : — thnsxia. I an claid ; 
 
 T~^ 1 jet same B^uk Iie& 
 
 Gi^enai 
 
 die emtr 
 
 kc 
 
 ?• 
 
 :%v hea¥e!i I 
 
 ■_L jiBe iu— 
 
 
 
 
 
 -1^ 
 
 Aa. 
 
 Tj ii^ ; 
 
 13 ii.r;.- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 _ 
 
 : Tr TSl!!. 
 
 I im. 1. 
 
 Sua. 5i>r. 
 Oir. 
 
 -; 
 
 
 
 _ ^^._; -_ _ - 
 
 
 
 -•: - 
 
 
 
 
 : . ; ..^. 
 
 .JSil _ 
 
 
 
 ^ - 1 _ - 
 
 le- %- 
 
 
 
 Tdttii : 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 i-w — .. . 
 
 ^.i- - 
 
 
 - : "t;^>* -*ir? 
 
 imfni-K 
 
 ma -. 
 
 
 
 
 F-i.- 
 
 ac:r 
 
 - r^'-_- . 
 
 T, eam^ 
 
 'Linik 
 
 a 
 
 — :n 3^ 
 
 
 
 
 _-■_ 
 
 i^n-53iia^i, _ ' . 
 
 ! TQIB^ FuBbllL: 
 
 riCH- 
 
 of E2i£ 
 
 ■ TTtrTTt I 
 
 — 5 sience. 5t«fc 
 
 W^iTT iaes die iriir . 
 
 
 -es oti aaiTQc — O proud 
 
ACT v.. -SCENE II. 
 
 853 
 
 That thoD so many princes, at a shot, 
 So bloodily hast struck 1 
 
 1 Amb. The sight is dismal ; 
 
 Aod our afTsurs from England come too late r 
 1 he ears are s^aseless. that shooM give us iiearing, 
 To tell him, his commandmeot is fulfilled. 
 That Ros^Qcrantz and Guildenstern are dead : 
 Where should we have our thanks t 
 
 Hut, Not from his mouth, 
 
 Had it the ability of life to thank you ; 
 He never gave commandraent for their death. 
 But since, so jump upoo this bloody question. 
 You from the Poiack wars, and you from England, 
 Are here amv'd ; give order, that these bodies 
 High on a stage, be placed to the v-iew ; 
 And let me speak, to the yet unknowing world. 
 How these things came about : So shall you hear 
 Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts; 
 Of accidental judgments casual slaughters; 
 Of death<; put on bv cunninsr. and forc'd cause ; 
 And, in this upshot, purpo^rj-s mistook 
 Falln on the inventors' heads : all this can I 
 
 Truly deliver. 
 
 fort. Let us haste to hear it. 
 
 And call the noblest to the andieBce. 
 j For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortaae ; 
 I have some rights of memory in this lin^dom. 
 Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. 
 
 H<rr. Of that I shall have also cause to speak, 
 I And from his mouth whobe voice will draw on more 
 But let this same be presently perform d. 
 Even while men's minds are wild; lest more iiii»- 
 On plots, and erron, happen. [chance. 
 
 Fort. het foBT curtains 
 
 Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage ; 
 For he was likely, had he been put on. 
 To have prov'd most royally : and, for bis passage. 
 The soldier's music, and the rites of -war. 
 Speak loudly for him, — 
 Take up the bodies: — Such a sight as tiais 
 Becomes the field, but here shews much amiss. 
 Go, bid the soldiers shoot. [A dead March, 
 
 [Exeunt, bearing of tite dead bodiet ; after v^iefc 
 a peal of ordnance is thot of. 
 
 Ip th« dramas of Skakspean wen to be characttrnfrd. «&ch 
 
 by the par i'j-lar erc«Il«iic? which distiuKuishes it froai in-. 
 rest, we mu»i aJlo* to the tragedy of Hamlet tbe pmi€ of va- 
 riety, ihe L'icideats arc so oamtma&, that tiu: arvuai*rut of 
 tiic play vO':'d ni-Jct a looir ial«. Ih*^ icienfr% zr« mt^rcaaog*^' 
 zblj diversified witti c3«rniiKxit and solemnity : vim mt- rrtmeut 
 thai iscl-j -r! :'-i:c ':'i\ ind iostrucuve obicriiiUyUi . aad so- 
 
 l^__ .... ,,.j^^ riolenoc above th^ Earcral wrn- 
 
 Ci.i ': ".aracteis ai^ear firom bme to tuoe in 
 
 CO ..L'jituif rarioos forms of life, and jiar- 
 
 t:' ■ ■i'.;'l^, '. he ;rrte:jded madness of 
 
 ! i i racuoA of OpbeliA I 
 
 t. :/>aaee produces ' 
 
 t:. :.t first act cM!b 
 
 til- iirr i:<, .^ Lii-: 1,13., UlU CXpOSeSSffer- 
 
 ti 
 
 T - ' no; wholly sec^ae a^anst objectior > 
 
 Tii' ^ - uie OKWt ;nn in ooetiiiiial progresaiot 
 
 6'j; -L- m sr-; -oj-t s- • r.-rs which ocither forsard nor rtianl it- 
 Of the 'eip'ted mid:je^s of Ilitcl?: ibere appears lo adeqoattr 
 cause, for be does ■«»fcii»g wiuch be mt^hc Dot hare dooe with 
 
 ■jeais Ophelia wi*^ so itach rttdeiKK, widchsetms tol*e cseleas 
 aad vauuiti cmeirr. 
 
 Hamle: is. iLrougb lie whole jnect, rBiaer as icsaum*^: 
 Than an arent. After be hts, by »Le ffmaygm of tiie >iay, 
 cogvtcted iht kism. be makes oo aaemir to ponishhim; a^ius 
 deadi ii at l^s: eEecbed by an iacidem wiiica iiamits bad im 
 ' part io prodttciog. 
 
 I Ttie catastropbe is not Terr, happDy prodoecd ; tfaeexc&an^ 
 . of wcapoos is ratber aii ezpedieii'. of becessirr. tnao a scroi:e <d 
 ! an. A bcbeme migiit easily be fona^dto idU Hamlet vith rhr 
 dajr^er, and Laertes with the bowL 
 I 1 ne poet is accused ot' having tfaevs litik Tegaid to poeticaJ 
 j^mr*. end mrr b* rb^re'^ wnh equal uegiect of pooical ^ffo- 
 
 '-., ... ... -w TcsioM of the And toluiic 
 
 '. aignd s is doc obtais£4. bat tj 
 
 "1 to t^e it: BDd tbe entifr. 
 
 '^te destrttcxiaci <tf ^ nsorpa 
 
 ^■,a 1 irirctr^r.i! aid'-r-: ry -.he umimeiy deati of OjiheUa, lio 
 
 youne. tbe beaioiiiil. the harmless, a&d the pioc£.-~JoHX so v. 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 This tragedy, 'wbich Malotie roppoae* to have been wrirten so 
 early as i604. was first entered at btauooers' Hail, Oct. 6, 
 ioCl. and printed me year fuliowinc- _ j j * 
 
 The story is taken from tbe seventh tale, in the tnird oecad.ot 
 Cvnikis't SoTxiM : a work, of which it is not behered^tiiai any 
 English translation exiiled m Shakspearestnn* ; anQ wnh the > 
 contents of which he must faa^e become acquainted by kis I 
 ksowledre ehher of the Italian or the Frenco lancBace.^ ^ 
 
 •* Llkt timeof tbisplay," says K . ■■ ^ -- • ^ -.. ^ -^ -r.^ 
 the fo'lowine clrcnmsraDLes ~ . ^ 
 
 design Bfaiast Cypms in 1j6- -^ 
 
 tbe only attempt the Xurki f •: . i. -,r 
 
 it cs?ne \s*r r>t? baads of tiie Tene fi^ts , (wlncb va* in thn 
 ytr'.- ~ ' - -fgire tbe tine anut fall in wiib cone put of 
 '•'- - learn &om tbe play ^^t tberc was a jvm^ 
 
 I >a fleet at Rbodes, in o^der fas dw mranm 
 
 o* ~ ^ r. first came sailios tovaidid Cyiiras. laen 
 
 wen: ■.'■■ Ki . -ti, tiiere mei anotiier s^jtiadron, and d>en r^ 
 soaMS its way to Cypres. These are z«al biscacical facts 
 which happened wbenMostapba, ^ytans's^eaeral. attacked 
 Cyprus in May. 1570, wlut^ ibercfore is tae irue period of 
 thi$ perfbrmance. See KnoUes's i£ursrw tf tke Tmrtw, p. 83B. 
 
 &*o. aOT.- 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 Duke op Vemce. 
 
 BR.\BASTiO, a Senator, 
 
 Tiro other Senatt^rt. 
 
 Geatiano, brother to Brabantio. 
 
 LoDonco, kinsman to Brabantio. 
 
 Othello, the Moor: 
 
 Cassio, his Ueutenant ; 
 
 I AGO, his aneient. 
 
 RoDEEiGO, a Venetian Gentleman, 
 
 MoNTANO. Othello's jjr«dece»OT- in the government 
 
 of Cyprus, 
 Cloicn, servant to Othello. Berald. 
 
 DEjDEaovA, datishterto Brabantio, and vr^v 
 
 to Othello. 
 EHtLtA, ifi'V to la?o. 
 Blasca, cOTirt«an, mistress to Cassio. 
 
 Ofeers, Gentlemen, Messengers^ Mitsietaitx, 
 
 Sailers, Attendants, fire. 
 
 SCENE,— ^cT the Tirst Act, fn Tekici; ; d^rti^ the 
 
 rest of the Plav, at a Sea-Port in CrPErs. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Vemce. A St-eet, 
 Enter Roderigo and Iaco. 
 Rod. Tosh, never tell me, I take it much uukiAdl^ 
 I That thou. lago, — who hast ha d idt purse. 
 As if the stiiD^ were laine. — sKoJiic >t kjiowof tluL 
 
 la^o. 'Sblood. but you will doi hear me : — 
 If ever I did dream of such a matter. 
 Abhor me. 
 
 JW.Tbou told'st me. thoudid^t bold htm in tbr bate. 
 
 Xayo.Despiseroe, if I do no:. Taree srea* ones of iq? 
 
 In personal suit lo male me bis lieuienaQt, [<-iiT. 
 
854 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Off-capp'd tfi hiiE : — and, by the faith of msn, 
 
 1 know my price, 3 ajn "worth no worse h place : 
 
 But he. as lo%'ing his own pnde and pm^nses, 
 
 Evades them, with a bombast circumstance, 
 
 Hnrrib'y Mnff'd with epithets of wai ; 
 
 And. in eoncjusion, nonsuits 
 
 Mt mediaUiTS ; fnr. artes. savs be, 
 
 ] hiute aivettdv chnst- nw f>inan; 
 
 And what was he 1 
 
 rnrsooth, a ffreal arithmetician. 
 
 One Michael CaSsio. a Florentine. 
 
 A feiiow almost damiid in a fair wife ; 
 
 That never set a squadron in the field. 
 
 KoT the dirisinn of a battle knows 
 
 More than a spinster : unless the boo&h theoric. 
 
 Wherein the tog^d coiKuls can propose 
 
 As masterly as he : mere prattle, n-ithout practice, 
 
 I? ai] his soldiership. But he. sir. had the election: 
 
 Asr I. — of whom hjs eyes had seen tht proof 
 
 A; K-hodes. at Cyprus ; anc on other rrounds 
 
 Christian and heaien. — must l>e be-lee'd and cahn'd 
 
 By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster ; 
 
 He. in ^ood time, roust his iientenant be. 
 
 An£I. I Godblessthematil) his Moor-ship's ancienL 
 
 Rod. By heaven, 1 rather would have been liis bane- 
 man. 
 
 J«yn. Bnt there "s no remedy, 'tis the cnrse of ser- 
 Preferment g-oes by letter, and affection. T'Jce ; 
 
 XoT by the old ^raiiation, where each second 
 Stood hejr to the first. Xnw. sir. be judge Tonrself, 
 M hether I in any jnsi term am affin'd 
 ^ To jove the Moor. 
 
 Snd. 3 would not foUow him then. 
 
 Jfflfn. O, ar, content vou ; 
 I follow him to serve mv turn upon bim : 
 "^e cannot all be trasters. nor all masters 
 Cannnt be truly follow d. You shall mart 
 Msxy a duteous and knee-crooidne knave. 
 That, dotinr on his own obseouious honda^re. 
 Wears out his time, much like his masters ass, 
 Tor noupht but provender; and, when he's old. 
 
 cashier 'd -; 
 Whip me snch honest knaves : Others there are, 
 Who. trimm'd in forms and ^-isaees of dutv, 
 Keep ye; their hearts aitendinr on themstjves : 
 And. throwing but shows of service on their lords. 
 Do Weill thrive by them, and, when dier have lin''d 
 
 their coats. 
 Dothemselveshomae*; these fellows have somesoal: 
 And -such a one do 1 profess mvself. 
 For. sir. 
 
 It is as sere as you are Roderigo. 
 Were I the Moor. I would not be lajo : 
 In following him, 1 follow but mys^ ; 
 Heaven is my judge, not 1 for love and duty. 
 But seeming so. for mv peculiar end : 
 Tor when my outwaid action doth demonstrate 
 The native ac; and firure of mv heart 
 In compliment extern, 'tis not lonv after 
 But 1 will wear my bean upon mv' sleeve 
 Tor daws to peck at : 1 am not » hat 1 am. 
 
 Sna. What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe. 
 If be can carry't thus ! 
 
 J*"?"- Call up her father. 
 
 Bouse him : make after him. poison his delisit. 
 Proclaim him in the streets : incense her kinsmen. 
 And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, 
 Plague him with flies : though that his jov be joy. 
 Yet throw «uch chamres of vexation on"t, " 
 As it may lose some colour. 
 
 H^n.. Here is her father's bouse -. I'll call alond, 
 
 la£o. Do: with like timorous accent, and dire yell. 
 
 As when, by night and negligence, the hve 
 
 is spied in populous cities. 
 
 Jiwi. W hat, ho! Erahanlio! signiot Brabantia, bo ' 
 I'^o. Awake '. what, ho ! Biabuitio ! tiiieves .' 
 thieves ! lhie»'es ! 
 
 Look to your house, your dasghter, axi j«mr bags ! 
 
 Thieves ! thiei'cs ! 
 
 BruLBAVno, ahpvr., ai c iriuimr. 
 
 ilro. What is the reason of this terrible summons ? 
 What is the matter there t 
 i RwL Sirnior, is all your family widiin t 
 
 la^n. Arc your doors lock d ? 
 
 Brtu Why ? wherefore ask t*ou this ? 
 
 iagfi. '2ounds, sir, you are robb'd ; for shame, put 
 on your gown ; 
 I Tonr bean is burst, you have lost half your soul ; 
 Even now, veiy now, an old black ram 
 Is tuppii^ vour white ewfc Anse, arise ; 
 Awake the snorting citizens with the bell. 
 Or else the devil will make a grandsine of yon : 
 i -Vrise, 1 say. 
 
 Bro, \That, have you lost your wits ? 
 
 Had. Most reverend signior, do you knowmyvtuce? 
 
 Bra. Xot I ; what are yon ? 
 
 fUuL My name is — Roderigo. 
 
 Bra. The worse welcome : 
 
 I have cbarg'd thee, not to haunt about my doors : 
 I In honest plainness thou hast heard me say. 
 ; My daughter is not for thee ; and now. in madness, 
 j Being full of snppei . and distempering draughts, 
 Vpon malicious bravery, dost thou come 
 To start my quiet, 
 
 Bj^d. Sax, sir, sir. sir, 
 
 Bra, But thou must needs be smrsi 
 
 My spirit, and my place, have in them power 
 To make this bitter to thee. 
 
 Bod. Patience, good sir. 
 
 Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing? this is Ve- 
 My bouse is sot a gTang[e. [nice ; 
 
 Bnd. Most grave Brabantio, 
 
 In simple, and pure soul I come to yon, 
 
 lagn. "2ounds, sir, yon are one of those, that will 
 not serve God. if the dc^il bid you. Because we 
 come to do you ser\-ice. vou think wt are ruffians : 
 You'll have your daughter covered with a Barbary 
 Ikoxse : you'll have your nephews neigh to you : 
 youTl ha^-e coursers for cousins, and genne^ iiiir 
 germans. 
 
 Bra. What profane wretch art thoo ? 
 
 Jfign. I am one, sir,, that comes to tell yon, your 
 daughtei and the Moor are now making the beast 
 with two backs. 
 
 Bra. Thou an a villain. 
 
 logo. Yon are — ^a senator. [derigo. 
 
 Bra, This thou shall answer; I know thee, Ro- 
 
 Soi. Sir, I will answer any thing. But 1 beseech you. 
 If t be your pleasure, and most wise consent. 
 ;.Af partly. 1 find, it is.") that your fair daughter. 
 At this odd-even and dull watch o'the ni^ht. 
 Transported — with no worse nor better gniard, 
 Bnt with a knave of common hire, a gondolier. 
 To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor. — 
 If this be known to you. and your allowance. 
 We then have done vou bold and saucy wrongs ; 
 But. if you know not this, my manners tell mt, 
 "We have vour wronj: rebuke. Do not believe. 
 That, from the sense of all diility, 
 I thus would play and ttifie with yonr reverence t 
 Your daujrhter, — if you have not given her leave, 
 1 say a£rain. hath made a gross revolt ; 
 Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and famines. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE II. 
 
 855 
 
 In an extravagant, and wheeVing stranger, 
 
 Of here and every where : Straight satisfy yourself: 
 
 If she be in her chamber, or your house. 
 
 Let loo'.fl or. me the justice of the state 
 
 For thus deluding you. 
 
 B'a, Strike on the tinder, ho ! 
 
 Give me a taper; — call up all my people : — 
 This accident is not unlike my dream ; 
 Belief of it oppre<;ses me already : — 
 Light, I say ! I'.ght ! [Erif.yrftm ahnve. 
 
 lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you : 
 
 It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my place, 
 To be produc'd (as, if I stay, I shall,) 
 Against the Moor : For, 1 do know, the state. — • 
 However this may gall him with some check, — 
 Cannot with safely cast him ; for he's embark'd 
 With such loud rea-on to the Cyprus' wars, 
 (Which even now stand in act,) that, for their soola. 
 Another of his fathom they have not. 
 To lead their business : in which regard. 
 Though I do hate him as I do hell pains. 
 Yet, for necessity of present life, 
 I must shew out a flag and sign of love. 
 Which is indeed but sijn. That you shall surely find 
 Lead to the Sagiltary the rais'd search ; fhim. 
 
 And there will I be with him. So, farewell. [Eiit. 
 
 Enter, below, Bkaean-tw, and Servants with torches^ 
 
 Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ; 
 And what's to come of my despised time. 
 Is nought but bitterness. — Now, Roderigo, 
 Where didst thou see her? — 0, unhappy girl ! — 
 With theMoor,say'sl thou? Who would beafather? — 
 How didst thou know 'twas she? — 0, thou deceiv'st 
 me [tapers ; 
 
 Past thought! — What said she to you? — Get more 
 Raise all my kindred. — Are they married, think yuu J 
 
 Rod. Truly, I think they are. [the blond 1 — 
 
 Bra. O heaven ! — How got she out ! — O treason of 
 Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters miiut^ 
 By what you see them act. — -Are there not charms, 
 By which the properly of youth and maidhood 
 May be abus'd? Have you not read, Roderigo, 
 Of some such thing ? 
 
 Rod. Yes, sir ; I have indeed. [her ! — 
 
 Bra. Call up my brother. — O, that you had had 
 Some one way, some another. — Do you know 
 Where we may apprehend her and the Moor ? 
 
 Rod. I think, 1 can discover him ; if you plca^ 
 To get good guard, and go along with me. 
 
 Bra. Pray you, lead on. At every house I'll call, 
 I may command at most ; — Get weapons, ho ! 
 And raise some special officers of night. — 
 On, good Roderigo ; — I'll deserve your pains. 
 
 [ Eieiitit. 
 
 SCENE U.—The same. Another street. 
 Enter Otuello, Iago, and .Attendants. 
 
 lago. Though in the trade of war I have slain men. 
 Yet do I hold it very stuff o' the conscience. 
 To do no contriv'd murder ; I lack iniquitv 
 Sometimes, to do me service; Nine or ten times 
 1 had thought to have yerk'd him here under the ribs, 
 
 0th. Tis better as it is. 
 
 Iago. Nay, but he prated, 
 
 And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
 Against your honour, 
 That, with the little godliness I have, 
 I did full hard forbear him. But, I pray, sir. 
 Are you fast married ? for, be sure of this,-.- 
 Tbai the magnifico is much beloved ; 
 
 .\nd hath, in his effect, a voice potential 
 .•\s double as ttie duke's ; he will divorce you ; 
 Or put upon you what restraint and grievance 
 The law (with all his might, to enforce it on,) 
 Will give him cable. 
 
 0th. Let him do his spite: 
 
 My services, which I have done the signiory. 
 Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to know, 
 (Which, when I know that boasting is an honour, 
 I shall promulgate,) I fetch my life and being 
 j From men of royal siege : and my demerits 
 i .May speak, unbonnetted, to as proud a fortune 
 
 I As this that I have reach'd : For know, Iago, 
 j But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
 
 I I would not ray unhoused free condition 
 
 1 Put into circumscription and contine [yonder? 
 
 For the sea's worth. But, look! what lights come 
 
 Enter Cassio, at a distance, and certain Officers 
 icith torches. 
 
 Iago. These are the raised father, and his friends : 
 f You were best go in. 
 
 0th. Not I : I must be found ; 
 
 My parts, my title, and my perfect soul, 
 Shall manifest me riglitly. Is it they 1 
 
 Iago. By Janus, 1 think no. 
 
 0th. The servants of the duke, and my lieutenant. 
 The goodness of the night upon you, friends ! 
 \Vhat is the news ? 
 
 Cos. The duke does greet you, general ; 
 
 And he requires yaur haste-post-haste appearance. 
 Even on the instant. 
 
 0th. What is the matter, think you? 
 
 Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine ; 
 It is a business of some heat : the gallies 
 I lave sent a dozen sequent messengers 
 This very night, at one another's heels ; 
 .And many of the consuls, rais'd, and met, 
 .Are at the duke's already : You have been hotlycall'd 
 When, being not at your lodging to be found, [for; 
 The senate hath sent about three several quests. 
 To search you out. 
 
 O'h. Tis well I am found by yon. 
 
 I wiil but spend a word here in the house. 
 And go with you. [Eiit. 
 
 Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ? 
 
 Iago. 'Faith, heto-night hath boardeda land carack ; 
 If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. 
 
 Cas. I do not understand. 
 
 Iago. He's married. 
 
 Cas. To who ? 
 
 Re-enter Othello. 
 
 Iago, Marry, to — Come, captain, will you go ? 
 0th. Have with you. 
 
 Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for you. 
 
 Enter Brab.^ntio, RooEnico, and Officers rf night, 
 u-ith torches and treapons. 
 
 lagn. It is Brabantio : — general, be advis'd ; 
 He comes to bad intenL 
 
 0th. Hola ! stand there '. 
 
 Rod. Signior, it is the Moor. 
 
 Bra. Down with him, thief! 
 
 [Theil drau on both sides, 
 
 Iago. Y'on, Roderigo '. come, sir, I am for you. 
 
 0th. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will 
 rust them. — 
 Good signior. you shall more command with years. 
 Than with your weapons. [daughter ? 
 
 Bra. O thou foul thief, where hast thou stow'd my 
 Damp'd as thou art, thou basi enchanted her : 
 
856 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 For I'll refer me to all things of sense. 
 
 If she in chains of magic were not bound, 
 
 Whether a maid — so tender, fair, and happy ; 
 
 So opposite to marriage, that she shunn'd 
 
 The wealthy curied darlings of our nation. 
 
 Would ever have, to incur a general mock. 
 
 Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 
 
 Of such a thing as thou : to fear, not to delight. 
 
 Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense, 
 
 That thou hast practis'd on her with foul charms ; 
 
 Abus'd her delicate youth with drugs, or mineral'!. 
 
 That waken motion : — I'll have it disputed on , 
 
 *Tis probable, and palpable to thinking. 
 
 I therefore apprehend and do attach thee. 
 
 For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
 
 Of arts inhibited and out of warrant : — 
 
 Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, 
 
 Subdue him at his peril. 
 
 0th. Hold your hands, 
 
 Both you of my inclining, and the rest : 
 Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it 
 Without a prompter. — Where will you that I go 
 To answer this your charge 1 
 
 Bra. To prison : till fit time 
 
 Of law, and course of direct session, 
 Call thee to answer. 
 
 0th. Whatif I doobey? 
 
 How may the duke be therewith satisfied ; 
 Whose messengers are here about my side. 
 Upon some present business of the state. 
 To bring me to him. 
 
 Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior, 
 
 The duke's in council ; and your noble self, 
 I am sure, is sent for. 
 
 Bra. How ! the duke in council ! 
 
 In this time of the night ! — Bring him away : 
 Mine's not an idle cause : the duke himself, 
 Or any of my brothers of the state 
 Cannot but feel this wrong, as 'twere their own : 
 For if such actions may have passage free, 
 Bond-slaves, and pagans, shall our statesmen be. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 111.— The same. A Council-Chamber, 
 
 The Duke, and Senators, sitting at a table; 
 OflScers attending. 
 
 Oulte. There is no composition in these news. 
 That gives thera credit. 
 
 1 Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion^ ; 
 My letters say, a hundred and seven gallies. 
 
 Duke. And mine a hundred and forty. 
 
 2 Sien. And mine, two hundred : 
 But though they jump not on a just account, 
 
 (As in these cases, where the aim reports, 
 
 'Tis oft with difference, ) yet do they all confirm 
 
 A Turkish fleet, and bearing up to Cyprus. 
 
 Duhe. Nay, it is possible enough to judgment; 
 I do not so secure me in the error. 
 But the main article 1 do approve 
 In fearful sense. 
 
 Sailor. [Within.'] What ho ! what ho ! what ho ! 
 
 T.nter an Officer, with a Sailor, 
 Off. A messenger from the gallies. 
 IJnke. Now 1 the business 1 
 
 Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for Rhodes; 
 
 So was I bid report here to the state. 
 
 By signior Angelo. 
 
 Duke. How say you by this change 1 
 
 1 Sen. This cannot be. 
 
 By no essay of reason ; 'tis a pageant. 
 
 To keep us in false gaze : When we consider 
 
 The importancy of Cyprus to the Turk ; 
 
 And let ourselves again but understand. 
 
 That, as it more concerns the Turk than Rhodes, 
 
 So may he with more facile question bear it, 
 
 For that it stands not in such warlike brace. 
 
 But altogether lacks the abilities 
 
 That Rhodes is dress'd in ; if we make thought of this, 
 
 We must not think, the Turk is so unskilful. 
 
 To leave that latest which confirms him first ; 
 
 Neglecting an attempt of ease, and gain, 
 
 To wake, and wage, a danger profitless. 
 
 Duke. Nav, in all confidence, he's not foi Rhodes, 
 
 Off. Here is more news. 
 
 E7iecr a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. The Ottomites, reverend and gracious, 
 Steering with due course toward the isle of Rhodes, 
 Have there injointed them with an after fleet. 
 
 1 Sen. Ay, sol thought; — Howmany, as you guess? 
 
 Mess, Of thirty sail : and now do they re-stem 
 Their backward course, bearingwith frank appearance 
 Their purposes toward Cyprus. — Signior Wontano, 
 Your trusty and most valiant servitor. 
 With his free duty, recommends you thus. 
 And prays you to believe him. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis certain then for Cyprus. — 
 Marcus Lucches^, is he not in town? 
 
 1 Sen. He's now in Florence. [despatch. 
 
 Duke. Write from us ; wish him post-post-haste ■ 
 
 1 Sen. Here comes Brabantio, and the valiant Moor. 
 
 Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago, Roderico, 
 and Officers. 
 
 Duke. Valiant Othello, wemuststraightemployyou 
 Against the sjeneral enemy Ottoman, 
 X did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior, 
 
 [To BRACANTIf*. 
 
 We lack'd your counsel and your help to-night. 
 
 Bra. So did I yours : Good your grace, pardon me ; 
 Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business. 
 Hath rais'd me from my bed ; nor doth the general 
 Take hold on me ; for my particular grief [cart 
 Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature. 
 That it engluts and swallows other sorrows. 
 And it is still itself. 
 
 Duke. Why, what's the matter 1 
 
 Bra. My daughter ! 0, my daughter ! 
 
 Sen. Dead ■>. 
 
 Bra, Ay, to me ; 
 
 She is abus'd, stol'n from me, and corrupted 
 By spells and medicines bought of mountebanks : 
 For nature so preposterously to err, 
 Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
 Sans witchcraft could not 
 
 Duke, Whoe'er he be, that, in this foul proceeding 
 Hath thus beguil'd your daughter of herself, 
 And you of her, the bloody book of law 
 You shall yourself read in the bitter letter. 
 After your own sense ; yea, though our proper son 
 Stood in your action. 
 
 Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 
 
 Here is the man, this Moor ; whom now, it seems. 
 Your special mandate, for the state aflTairs, 
 ' Hath hither brought. 
 
 Dukt lV Sen, We are very sorry for it. 
 
 Duke. What, in your own part, can you say to 
 this? [Tj Othello. 
 
 Bra. Nothing, but this is so. 
 
 0th. Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors, 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters, — 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter. 
 
ACT I.— SCENE in. 
 
 857 
 
 It is most true ; true, I have married her •, 
 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 
 Hath this extent, no more, l^ude am I in my speech. 
 
 And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace ; 
 
 For since these arras of mine had seven years' pith, 
 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us"d 
 
 Their dearest action in the tented field ; 
 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 
 More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 
 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause. 
 
 In speaking for myself: Yet, by your gracious pa- 
 
 I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver [tience. 
 
 Of my whole courseof love ; whatdrugs.whatcha'rmSj 
 
 M'liat conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 
 (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal,) 
 
 I won his daughter with. 
 
 Bra. A maiden never bold ; 
 
 Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
 Blush'd at herself; And she, — in spite of nature, 
 Of years, of country, credit, every thing, — - 
 To fall in love with what she fear'd to Look on ] 
 It is a judgment maim'd, and most imperfect, 
 That will confess — perfection so could err 
 Against all rules of nature ; and must be driven 
 To find out practices of cunning hell, 
 Why this should be. I therefore vouch again. 
 That with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood, 
 Or with some dram conjur'd to this effect. 
 He wrought upon her. 
 
 Duke. To vouch this, is no proof j 
 
 Without more certain and more overt test, 
 Than these thin habits, and poor likelihoods 
 Of modern seeming, do prefer against him. 
 
 1 Sen. But, Othello, speak ; — 
 Did you by indirect and forced courses 
 Subdue and poison this young maid's affections ; 
 Or came it by request, and such fair question 
 As soul to soul affordeth 1 
 
 0th. I do beseech you. 
 
 Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
 And let her speak of me before her father : 
 If you do find me foul in her report. 
 The trust, the office, I do hold of you, 
 Not only take away, but let your sentence 
 Even fail upon my life. 
 
 Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. 
 
 0th. Ancient, conduct them : you best know the 
 place. — {^Exeunt I ago and Attendants. 
 And, till she come, as truly as to heaven 
 I do confess the vices of my blood. 
 So justly to your grave ears 111 present 
 How I did thrive in this fair lady's love. 
 And she in mine. 
 
 Duke. Say it, Othello. 
 
 0th. Her fathei lov'd me ; oft invited me ; 
 Still question'd me the story of my life, 
 From year to yeor ■, the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 That I have pass'd. 
 
 I ran it through, even from my boyish days. 
 To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
 Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances. 
 Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; 
 Of hair-breadth scapes i'the imminent deadly breach 
 Of being taken by the insolent foe. 
 And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence. 
 And portance in my travel's history : 
 Wherein of antres vast, and desarts wild, [heaven, 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch 
 It was my hint to speak, such was the process ; 
 And of the Cannibals that each other eat. 
 The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads [hear. 
 Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to 
 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
 
 But still the house afi'uirs would draw her thence j 
 
 \\'hich ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 
 Devour up my discourse : Which I observing. 
 
 Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 
 
 \\'hereof by parcels she had something heard. 
 
 But not intentively ; 1 did consent ; 
 
 And often did beguile her of her tears. 
 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 
 
 That my youth suffer'il. My story being done, 
 
 ■Stie gave me for my pains a world of sighs : 
 
 She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing 
 
 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful ; [strange ; 
 
 She wish'd, she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 
 
 'I'hat heaven had made her such a man : she thank'd 
 
 And bade me, if 1 had a friend that lov'd her, [me; 
 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story. 
 
 And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake; 
 
 She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd ; 
 
 And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 
 
 This only is the witchcraft 1 have us'd ; 
 
 Here comes the lady, let her witness it. 
 
 Enter Desdemona, Iaco, and Attendants. 
 
 Duke. I think, this tale would win my daughter 
 
 Good Brabantio, [too. 
 
 Take up this mangled matter at the best : 
 Men do their broken weapons rather use, 
 Than their bare hands. 
 
 Bra. I pray you, hear her speak ; 
 
 If she confess, that she was half the wooer, 
 Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
 Light on the man I— Come hither, gentle mistress ; 
 Do you perceive in all this noble company. 
 Where most you owe obedience! 
 
 I^es. My noble father, 
 
 I do perceive here a divided duty ; 
 To you, I am bound for life, and education ; 
 i^Iy life, and education, both do learn me 
 How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty, 
 I am hitherto your daughter: But here's my husband; 
 And so much duty as my mother shew'd 
 To you, preferring you before her father. 
 So much I challenge tiiat 1 may profess 
 Due to the iMoor, my lord. 
 
 Bra. God be with you ! — I have done : — 
 
 Please it your grace, on to the state affairs ; 
 1 had rather to adopt a child, than get it.— 
 Come hither. Moor : 
 
 I here do give thee that with all my heart, 
 Which, but thou hast already, with all my heart 
 [ would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, 
 I am glad at soul I have no other child ; 
 For thy escape would teach me tyranny. 
 To hang clogs on them. — I have done, my lord. 
 
 Duke. Let me speak like yourself ; and lay a sen- 
 tence. 
 Which, as as «ns.e, or step, may help these lovers 
 Into your favour. 
 
 When remedies are past, the griefs are ended. 
 By seeing the worst, which late on hopes depended. 
 'I mourn a mischief that is past and gone. 
 Is the next way to draw new mischief on. 
 What cannot be preserv'd when fortune takes. 
 Patience her injury a mockery makes. [thief; 
 
 The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the 
 He robs himself, that spends a bootless grief. 
 
 Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile ; 
 We lose it not, so long as we can smile* 
 
8.58 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 He bears the sentence well, that nothing bears 
 But the frto comfort which from thence he hears . 
 But he bears both the sentence and the sorrow, 
 That, to pay grief, must of poor patience borrow. 
 These sentences, to sugar, or to gall. 
 Being strong on both sides, are equivocal : 
 But words are words ; I never yet did hear. 
 That the bruis'd heart was pierced through the ear. 
 I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs of state. 
 
 Duke. The Turk with a most mighty preparation 
 makes for Cyprus : — Othello, the fortitude of the place 
 is best known to you : And though we have tliere a 
 substitute of most allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a 
 sovereign mistress of effects, throws a more safer 
 voice on you : you must therefore be content to slub- 
 ber the gloss of your new fortunes with this more 
 stubborn and boisterous expedition. 
 
 0th. The tyrant custom, most grave senators, 
 Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
 My thrice-driven bed of down : 1 do agnize 
 A natural and prompt alacrity, 
 I find in hardness ; and do undertake 
 These present wars against the Ottomites. 
 Most humbly therefore bending to your state, 
 I crave fit disposition for my wife ; 
 Due reference of place, and exhibition ; 
 With such accommodation, and besort, 
 As levels with her breeding. 
 
 Duke. If you please. 
 
 Be 't at her father's. 
 
 Bra. I '11 not have it so. 
 
 0th. Nor I. 
 
 Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside, 
 
 To put my father in impatient thoughts. 
 By being "in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
 To my unfolding lend a prosperous ear ; 
 And let me find a charter in your voice. 
 To assist my simpleness. 
 
 Duke. What would you, Desdemona'! 
 
 Des. That 1 did love the Moor to live with him, 
 My downright violence and scorn of fortunes 
 May trumpet to the world : my heart's subdued 
 Even to the very quality of my lord : 
 I saw Othello's visage in his mind ; 
 And to his honours, and his valiant parts, 
 Did I my soul and fortunes consecrate. 
 So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
 A moth of peace, and he go to the war. 
 The rights for which I love him, are bereft me. 
 And I a heavy interim shall support 
 By his dear absence : Let me go with him. 
 
 0th. Yourvoices, lords:— 'beseech you, lethervvill 
 Have a free way. 
 
 Vouch %vith me, heaven ; I therefore beg it not, 
 To please the palate of my appetite ; 
 Nor to comply with heat, the young affects. 
 In my distinct and proper satisfaction ; 
 But to be free and bounteous to her mind : 
 And heaven defend your good souls, that you think 
 I will your serious and great business scant, 
 For she is with me : No, when light-wing'd toys 
 Of feather'd Cupid seel with wanton dulness 
 My speculative and active instruments. 
 That my disports corrupt and taint my business. 
 Let housewives make a skillet of my heJra, 
 And all indign and base adversities 
 Make head against my estimation ! 
 
 Duke. Be it as you shall privately determine. 
 Either for her stay, or going : the affair cries— haste. 
 And speed must answer it ; you must hence to-night. 
 
 Des. To-night, my lord 1 
 
 Duke. This night. 
 
 Otk. With all my heart, 
 
 Duke. At nine i' tlie morning here we '11 meet again. 
 Othello, leave some otficer behind, 
 And he shall our commission bring to you ; 
 With such things else of quality and respect. 
 As doth import you. 
 
 0th. Please your grace, my ancient; 
 
 A man he is of honesty, and trust : 
 To his conveyance I assign my wife. 
 With what else needful your good grace shall think 
 To be sent after me. 
 
 Duke. Let it be so, — 
 
 Good night to every one. — And, noble signior, 
 
 \^To Brabantio. 
 If virtue no delighted beauty lack. 
 Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 
 
 1 Sen. Adieu, brave Moor ! use Desdemona well. 
 
 Bra. Look to her Moor; have a quick eye to see; 
 She hasdeceiv'd her father, and may thee. 
 
 [Eieuut Dl'ke, Senators, Officers, Sfc. 
 
 0th. My life upon her faith. — Honest lago. 
 My Desdemona must I leave to thee ; 
 I pr'ythee, let thy wife attend on her ; 
 And bring them after in the best advantage. — 
 Come, Desdemona, I have but an hour 
 Of love, of worldly matters and direction, 
 To spend with thee : we must obey the time. 
 
 \_Eieunt Othello and Desdemo.va, 
 
 Rod. lago. 
 
 lago. What say'st thou, noble heart ? 
 
 Rod. What will I do, thinkest thou? 
 
 laga. Why, go to bed, and sleep. 
 
 Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. 
 
 lago. Well, if thou dost, I shall never love thee 
 after it. Why, tliou silly gentleman I 
 
 Rod. It is silliness to live, when to live is a tor- 
 ment : and then have we a prescription to die, when 
 death is our physician. 
 
 lago. O villanous ! T have looked upon the world 
 for four times seven years ! and since I could distin- 
 guish between a benefit and an injury, I never found 
 a man that knew how to love himself. Ere 1 would 
 say, I would drown myself for the love of a Guinea- 
 hen, I would change my humanity with a baboon. 
 
 Rod. What should I do 1 I confess, it is my shame 
 to be so fond ; but it is not in virtue to amend it. 
 
 iago. Virtue? a fig ! 'tis in ourselves, that we are 
 thus, or thus. Our bodies are our gardens ; to the 
 which, our wills are gardeners : so that if we will 
 plant nettles, or sow lettuce ; set hyssop, and weed 
 up thyme ; supply it with one gender of herbs, or 
 distract it with many ; either to have it steril with 
 idleness, or manured with industry ; why, the power 
 and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills. If 
 the balance of our lives had not one scale of reasoa 
 to poise another of sensuality, the blood and baseness 
 of our natures would conduct us to most preposterous 
 conclusions ; But we have reason to cool our raging 
 motions, ourcamal stings, our unbitted lusts; whereof 
 I take this, that you call — love, to be a sect or scion. 
 
 Rod. It cannot be. 
 
 lago. It is merely a lust of the blood, and a per- 
 mission of the will. Come, be a man : Drown thy- 
 self? drown cats and blind puppies. I have professed 
 me thy friend, and I confess me knit to thy deserving 
 with cables of perdurable toughness ; I could never 
 better stead thee than now. Put money in thy purse ; 
 follow these wars ; defeat thy favour with an usurped 
 beard ; I say, put money in thy purse. It cannot 
 be, that Desdemona should long continue her love to 
 the Moor,— put money in thy purse ; — nor he his to 
 her: it was a violent commencemeat, and thou sbalt 
 
ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 859 
 
 see an answerable sequestration ; — put but money in 
 thy purse. — These Moors are changeable in their 
 ■wills ; — fill thy purse with money ; the food that to 
 hira now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him 
 shortly as bitter as coloquinlida. She must change 
 for youth : when she is sated with his body, she will 
 find tiie error of her clioice. — She must liave change, 
 she must : therefore put money in thy puise. — If thou 
 wilt needs damn thvself. do it a more delicate way 
 than drowning. Make all the money tliou canst : If 
 sanctimony and a frail vow, betwixt an erring bar- 
 barian and a supersubtle Venetian, be not too hard 
 for my wits, and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy 
 her ; therefore make money. A pox of drowning 
 thvself! it is clean out of the way : seek thou rather 
 to be hanged in compassinglhy joy , than to be drowned 
 and go without her. 
 
 R»d. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I depend 
 on the issue ? 
 
 lago. Thou art sure of me ; — Go, make money : — 
 I have told thee often, and 1 re-tell thee again and 
 again, I hate the ^loor; My cause is hearted ; thine 
 hath no less reason : Let us be conjunctive in our 
 revenge against him : if thou canst cuckold him, thou 
 dost tiiyself a pleasure, and me a sport. There are 
 many events in the womb of time, which will be de- 
 livered. Traverse ; go ; provide thy money. We 
 will have more of this to-morrow. Adieu. 
 Rod. Where shall we meet i'the morning "! 
 Ligo. At my lodging. 
 Rod. I '11 be with thee betimes. 
 lago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear, Roderigol 
 Rvd. What say you ? 
 lago. No more of drowning, do you hear. 
 Rod. I am changed. I 'U sell all my land. 
 Jago. Go to; farewell! putmoney enough in your 
 purse. [Exit Roderigo. 
 
 Thus do 1 ever make my fool my purse : 
 For I mine own gain'd knowledge should profane, 
 If I would time expend with such a snipe. 
 But for my sport and profit. I hate the Moor ; 
 And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheets 
 He has done my office ; 1 know not if 't be true ; 
 But 1, for mere suspicion in that kind, 
 Will do, as if for surety. He holds me well ; 
 The bftter shall my purpose work on him. 
 Cassio 's a proper man : Let me see now ; 
 To get his place, and to plume up my will ; 
 A double knavery, — How 1 how ! — Let me see : - 
 After some time, to abuse Othello's ear, 
 That he is too familiar with his wife : — 
 He hath a person, and a smooth dispose, 
 To be suspected ; fram'd to make women false. 
 The Moor is of a free and open nature, 
 That thinks men honest, that but seem to be so ; 
 And will as tenderly be led by the nose, 
 As asses are. 
 
 I have 't ; — it is engender'd : — Hell and night 
 Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE T. — A Seu-port Town in Cyprus. A Platform. 
 
 Enter MoNTANO and Two Gentlemen. 
 
 Mon. What from the cape can you discern at seal 
 1 GcJLt. Nothing at all : it is a high-wrought flood ; 
 
 [ cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main. 
 
 Descry a sail. 
 Mon, jUethinks, the wind hath spoke aloud at land ; 
 
 A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements : 
 
 If it hath ruffian'd- so upon the sea, 
 
 What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on them. 
 
 Can hold the mortise f what shaJl we hear of this ? 
 
 2 Gent. A segregation of tlie Turkish fleet : 
 For do but stand upon the foaming shore, 
 The chiding billow seems to pelt the clouds ; 
 
 The wind-shak'dsurge,with high and monstrous main. 
 Seems to cast water on the burning bear. 
 And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole : 
 I never did like molestation view 
 On th' enchafed flood. 
 
 Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 
 
 Be not inshelter'd and erabay'd, they are drown'd ; 
 It is impossible they bear it out. 
 
 Enter a Third Gentleman. 
 
 3 Cent. News, lord ! our wars are done ; 
 
 The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the Turks, _ 
 That their designment halts: A noble ship of Venice 
 Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance 
 On most part of their fleet 
 
 Mon. How ! is this true ! 
 
 3 Gent. The ship is here put in, 
 The Veronessa ; iMichael Cassio, 
 Lieutenant to the warlike Moor, Othello, 
 Is come on shore : the Moor himself s at sea. 
 And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 
 Mnn. I am glad on't; 'tis a worthy governor. 
 S Gent. But this same Cassio, — though he speak 
 of comfort, 
 Touching the Turkish loss, — yet he looks sadly, 
 And prays the Moor be safe ; for they were parted 
 With foul and violent tempest. 
 
 JlXi)7i. 'Pray heaven he be ; 
 
 For 1 have serv'd him, and the man commands 
 Like a full soldier. Let's to the sea-side, ho ! 
 As well to see the vessel that's come in. 
 As to throw out our eyes fur b' ave Othello ; 
 Even till we make the main, and the aerial blue, 
 An indistinct regard. 
 
 3 Gent. Come, let's do so , 
 For every minute is expectancy 
 
 Of more arrivance. 
 
 Enter Cassio. 
 
 Cas. Thanks to the valiant of this warlike isle. 
 That so approve the Moor ; O, let the heavens. 
 Give him defence against the elements, 
 For I have lost him on a dangerous sea ! 
 
 JVXoti. Is he well shipp'd 1 
 
 Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his pilot 
 Of very expert and approv'd allowance ; 
 Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death. 
 Stand in bold cure. 
 
 [ Within.'] A sail, a sail, a sail ! 
 
 Enter another Gentleman. 
 
 Cas. What noise 1 
 
 4 Gent. The town is empty ; on the brow o'the sea 
 Stand ranks of people, and they cry — a sail. 
 
 Cas. My hopes do shape him for the governor. 
 2 Gent. They do discharge their shot of courtesy. 
 
 [^Guns heard. 
 
 Our friends at least. 
 
 Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth. 
 
 And give us truth who 'tis that is arriv'd. 
 
 SI Gent. I shall. l^n'- 
 
 Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general wiv d ? 
 
 Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achiev'd a maid 
 That paragons description, and wild fame ; 
 One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens. 
 
860 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 And in the essential vesture of creation, [in ? 
 
 Does bear all excellency.— How now » who has put 
 Re-enter Second Gentleman. 
 S Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. 
 Cas. He has had most favourable and happy speed: 
 Tempests themselves, high seas, and howling winds. 
 The gutter 'd rocks, and congrejated sands,— 
 Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel. 
 As having sense of beauty, do omit 
 Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
 The divine Desdemona. 
 
 ^'m- What is she ? 
 
 Cas. She that I spake of, our great captain's cap- 
 Left in the conduct of the bold lago ; [tain, ^°' ^™" ^^^ fo'ly help'd her to an heir. 
 Whose footing here anticipates our thoughts, '| _ -t*;'*- These are old fond paradoxes, to make fools 
 
 Come, how would'st thou praise me ? 
 
 lago. I am about it ; but, indeed, my invention 
 Comes from my pate, as birdlime does from frize. 
 It plucks out brains and all : But my muse labours, 
 And thus she is delivered. 
 If she be fair and wise, — fairness, and wit. 
 The one's for use, the other useth it. 
 
 Des. Well prais'd ! How if she be black and witty' 
 
 Iiigo. If she be black, and. thereto have a wit. 
 She'll find a white that shall her blackness fit. 
 
 Ves. Worse and worse. 
 
 Emil. How, if fair and foolish ? 
 
 lai^o. She never yet was foolish that was fair ; 
 
 A se nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello guard. 
 And swell his sail with thine own powerful breath : 
 ihat he may bless this bay with his tall ship. 
 Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's arms. 
 Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits, 
 And bring all Cyprus comfort !— O, behold. 
 Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, RoDEniGO, 
 and Attendants. 
 The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
 
 Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees : 
 
 Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven, 
 Befoie, behind thee, and on every hand, 
 Enwheel thee round ! 
 
 ...P^- I 'hank you, valiant Cassio. 
 
 What tidings can you tell me of my lord f 
 
 Cas. He is not yet arriv'd ; nor know I aught 
 But that he's well, and will be shortly here. 
 Des. O, but I fear; — How lost you company? 
 Cas. Tlie great contention of the sea and skies 
 Parted our fellowship ; But, hark ! a sail. 
 
 [Cry Kithin, A sail, a sail I Then guns heard. 
 „,? ^''"'' .'^''^y S'"^ 'heir greeting to the citadel; 
 This likewise is a friend. 
 
 Cas. See for the news — [Exit Gentleman- 
 
 Good ancient, you are welcome; — Welcome, mis- 
 ^ . tress:— [Tu Emilia. 
 
 Let It not gall your patience, good lago, 
 That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
 That gives me this bold show of courtesy. [Kisdng hei: 
 lago. Sir, would she give you so much of her lips. 
 As of her tongue she oft bestows on me. 
 You'd have enough. 
 
 ^''^' Alas, she has no speech. 
 
 Iago. In faith, too much ; 
 I find it still, when I have list to sleep : 
 Jlariy, before your ladyship, I grant. 
 She puts her tongue a little in her heart. 
 And chides with thinkiniJ. 
 
 Emil. You have little cause to say so. [doors, 
 Iago. Come on, come on ; you are pictures out of 
 Bells m your parlours, wild cats in your kitchens. 
 Saints in your injuries, devils being offended. 
 Players in your housewifery, and housewives in your 
 I)es. O, fye upon thee, slanderer! [beds. 
 
 _ Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk; 
 You rise to play, and go to bed to work. 
 Etnil. You shall not write iny praise. 
 ^"g"- No, let me not. 
 
 Des. What would'st thou write of me, if thou 
 
 should'st praise me 1 . 
 Iago. O gentle lady, do not put me to't; 
 For I am nothing, if not critical. 
 
 Des, Come on, assay : — There's one gone to the 
 Iago. Ay, madam. [harbour? 
 
 Des. 1 am not merry ; but I do beguile 
 The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. — 
 
 laugh i'the alehouse. What miserable praise hast thou 
 for her that's foul and foolish ! 
 
 logo. There's none so foul, and foolish thereunto. 
 But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones do. 
 
 Des. O heavy ignorance ! — thou praisest the worst 
 best. But what praise could'st thou bestow on a de- 
 serving woman indeed 1 one, that, in the authority 
 ol her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very ma- 
 lice itself ? ^ 
 
 Iago. She that was ever fair, and never proud , 
 Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud ; 
 Never lack'd gold, and yet went never gay ; 
 Fled from her wish, and yet said, — now I mat/ , 
 She that, being anger'd, her revenge being nigh. 
 Bade her wrong stay, and her displeasure fly : 
 She that in wisdom never was so frail, 
 To change the cod's head for the salmon's tail , 
 She that could think, and ne'er disclose her mind, 
 •See suitors following, and not look behind ; 
 She was a weight, — if ever such wight were, — 
 Des. To do what ? 
 
 Iago. To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer. 
 Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! —Do 
 not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy husband. 
 — How say you, Cassio? is he not a most profane 
 and liberal counsellor ? 
 
 Cas. He speaks home, madam ; you may relish him 
 more in the soldier, than in the scholar. 
 
 Iago. [Aside.] He takes her by the palm: Ay, well 
 .said, whisper : with as little a web as this, will I en- 
 snare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, smile upon her, 
 do; I will gyve thee in thine own courtship. You 
 say true ; 'tis so, indeed : if such tricks as these strip 
 you out of your lieutenancy, it had been better yoa 
 had not kissed your three fingers so oft, which now 
 again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very good ; 
 well kissed I an excellent courtesy! 'tis so, indeed. 
 Yet again your fingers to your lips 1 would, they 
 
 were clyster-pipes for your sake! [Trumpet.] 
 
 The Moor, I know his trumpet. 
 Cas. 'Tis truly so. 
 
 Des. Let's meet him, and receive him. 
 Cas. Lo, where he comes I 
 
 Enter Othei.i.0, and Attendants. 
 
 0th. O my fair warrior I 
 
 Des. My dear Othello ? 
 
 0th. It gives me wonder great as my content. 
 To see you here before ine. O my soul's joy ! 
 If after every tempest corne such calms. 
 May the winds blow till they have waken'd death ! 
 Anil let the labouring bark climb hills of seas, 
 Olympus-high ; and duck again as low 
 As hell's from heaven ' If it were now to die 
 Twere now to be most liappy ; for, T fear, 
 My soul hath her content so absolute. 
 That not another comfort like to this 
 
ACT II.— SCENL 11. 
 
 861 
 
 Succeeds in unknown fate. 
 
 Des. The heavens forbid, 
 
 But that our loves and comforts should iucit;ase. 
 Even as our days do grow ! 
 
 Oih, Amen to that, sweet powers !— 
 
 I cannot speak enough of this content, 
 It stops me here ; it is too much of joy : 
 And this, and this, the greatest discords be, 
 
 [K'using her. . 
 That e'er our hearts shall make. 
 
 iii^o. 0, you are well tun'd now ! 
 
 But 1 11 set down the pegs that make this music, 
 As honest as 1 am. [Aside. 
 
 0th. Gome's, let's to the castle. — 
 
 News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are 
 How do our old acquaintance of this isle 1 [drown'd. 
 Honey, you shall be well desir'd in Cyprus, 
 I have found great love amongst them. my sweet, 
 I prattle out of fashion, and 1 dote 
 In mine own conit'orts. — I pr'ythee, good lago. 
 Go to the bay, and disembark my coffers: 
 Bring thou the master to the citadel ; 
 He is a good one, and his worthiness 
 Does challenge much respect. — Come, Desdemona, 
 Once more well met at Cyprus. 
 
 [Exeunt 0th., Des., and Attend- 
 
 higo. Do thou meet me presently at the harbour. 
 Come hither. If thou be"st valiant as (they say ) base 
 men, being in love, have then a nobility in their na- 
 tures more than is native to them, — list me. The 
 lieutenant to-night watches on the court of guard : — 
 First, 1 must tell thee this — Desdemona is directly 
 in love with him. 
 
 Rod. With him! why, 'tis not possible. 
 
 lago. Lay thy finger — thus, and let thy soul be in- 
 structed. JMark me with what violence she first loved 
 the Moor, but for bragging, and telling her fantas- 
 tical lies : And will she love him still for prating } 
 let not thy discreet heart think it. Her eye must be 
 fed ; and what delight shall she have to look on the 
 devil ? When the blood is made dull with the act of 
 sport, there should be, — again to inflame it, and to 
 give satiety a fresh appetite, — loveliness in favour ; 
 sympathy in years, manners, and beauties ; all wliich 
 the Moor is defective in : Now, for want of these re- 
 quired conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find 
 itself abused, begin to hea^*e the gorge, disrelish and 
 abhor the Moor; very nature will instruct her in it, 
 and compel her to some second choice. Now, sir, 
 tins granted, (as it is a most pregnant and unforced 
 position,) who stands so eminently in the degree ot 
 this fortune, as Cassio does'! a knave very voluble: 
 no further conscionable, than in putting on the mere 
 form of civil and humane seeming, for the better com- 
 passing of his salt and most hidden loose affection 1 
 why, none ; why, none : A slippery and subtle knave ; 
 a finder out of occasions ; that has an eye can stamp 
 and counterfeit advantages, though true advantage 
 never present itself : A devilish knave ! besides, the 
 knave is handsome, young ; and hath all those re- 
 quisites in him, that folly and green minds look after: 
 A pestilent complete knave ; and the woman hath 
 found him already. 
 
 Rofi. I cannot believe that in her; she is full of 
 most blessed condition. 
 
 /"»■('. Blessed fig's end ! the wine she diinks is 
 made of grapes: if she had been blessed, she would 
 never have loved the Moor : Blessed pudding ! Didst 
 tliou not see her paddle with the palm of his hand? 
 didst not mark that ? 
 
 Rod. Ves, that I did ; but that was but courtesy 
 
 lago. lechery, by this hand j an index, and ob- 
 
 scure prologue to the history of lust and foul thoughts. 
 They met so near with their lips, that their breaths 
 embraced together. Villanous thoughts, Roderigo! 
 when these mutualities so marshal the way, hard at 
 hand comes the master and main exercise, the incor- 
 porate conclusion ; Pish ! — But, sir, be you ruled by 
 me : I have brought you from Venice. Watch you 
 to-night ; for the command, I '11 lay't upon you : 
 Cassio knows you not ; — I '11 not be far from you ; 
 Do you find some occasion to anger Cassio, either by 
 speaking too loud, or tainting his discipline ; or from 
 what other course you please, which the time shall 
 more favourably minister. 
 
 Rod. Well. 
 
 lago. Sir, he is rash, and very sudden in choler; 
 and, haply, with his truncheon may strike at you : 
 Provoke him, that he may: for, even out of that, 
 will I cause these of Cyprus to mutiny ; whose 
 qualification shall come into no true ta.ste again, but 
 by the displanting of Cassio. So shall you nave a 
 shorter journey to your desires, by the means I shall 
 then have to prefer them; and the impediment most 
 profitably removed, without the which tiiere were no 
 expectation of our prosperity. 
 
 Rod, 1 will do this, if I can biing it to any oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 higo. I warrant thee. Meet me by and by at 
 the citadel. I must fetch his necessaries ashore. 
 Farewell. 
 
 Rod. Adieu. [Exit 
 
 lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; 
 That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit : 
 The Moor — howbeit that I endure him not, — 
 Is of a constant, loving, noble nature ; 
 And, I dare think, he'll prove to Desdemona 
 A most dear husband. Now I do love her too : 
 Not out of absolute lust, (though, peradventure 
 I stand accountant for as great a sin,) 
 But partly led to diet my revenge, 
 For that 1 do suspect the lusty Moor 
 Hatli leap'd into my seat; the thought whereof 
 Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards ; 
 And nothing can or shall content my soul. 
 Till I am even with him, wife for wife ; 
 Or, failing so, yet that I put the iMoor 
 .\t least into a jealousy so strong 
 That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, — 
 If this poor trash of Venice, whom I tra>h 
 For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, 
 I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip ; 
 Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb, — 
 For 1 fear Cassio with my night-cap too ; 
 Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward me. 
 For making him egregiously an ass, 
 And practising upon his peace and quiet 
 Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yetconfus'd ; 
 Knavery's plain face is never seen, till us'd. [Exit, 
 
 SCENE IT.— ^ Street. 
 
 Eiiter a Herald, unth a proclamation ; 
 People following 
 
 Her. It is Othello's pleasure, ournoble and valiant 
 general, that, upon certain tidings now arrived, iir.- 
 porting the mere perdition of the Turkish fleet, every 
 man put himself into triumph: some to dance, some 
 to make bonfires, each man to what sport and revels 
 his addiction leads him ; for, besides these beneficial 
 news, it is the celebration of his nuptials : So much 
 was his pleasure should be proclaimed. All offices 
 are open ; and there is full liberty of feasting, from 
 tliis present hour of five, till the bell hath told eleven. 
 
862 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Heaven bless the isle of Cyprus, and our noble ge- 
 neral, Othello. [Exenmt 
 
 SCENE III A Hull in the Cattle. 
 
 Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 
 Attendants. 
 
 0th. Good Michael, look you to the guard to-night: 
 Let's teach ourselves that honourable stop. 
 Not to out- sport discretion. 
 
 Cas. lago hath direction what to do ; 
 But, nolivithstanding, with iny personal eye 
 Will I look to 't. 
 
 0th. lago is most honest. 
 Michael, good night: To-morrow, with our earliest, 
 Let me have speech with you. — Come, my dear love, 
 The purchase made, the fruits are to en.sue ; 
 
 [To Desdemona. 
 That profit's yet to come 'twixt me and you. — 
 Good night. [Eieunt 0th., Des., and Attend. 
 
 Enter Iago. 
 
 Cns. Welcome, lago : We must to the watch. 
 
 /(/^n. Not this hour, lieutenant ; 'tis not yet ten 
 o'clock : Our general cast us thus early, for tht 
 love of his Desdemona ; whom let us not therefore 
 blame ; he hath not yet made wanton the night with 
 her : and she is sport for Jove. 
 
 Cas. She's a most exquisite lady. 
 
 Iago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game. 
 
 Cas. Indeed, she is a most fresh and delicate crea- 
 ture. 
 
 Iago. What an eye she has ! methinks it sounds a 
 parley of provocation. 
 y Cas. An inviting eye; andyetmethinksrightmodest. 
 
 Iago. And, when she speaks, is it not an alarm to 
 love? 
 
 Cas. She is, indeed, perfection. 
 
 Iago. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, 
 lieutenant, I have a stoop of wine : and here withou' 
 are a brace of Cyprus gallants, that would fain have 
 a measure to the health of the black Othello. 
 
 Cas. Not to-night, good Iago ; I have very poor 
 and unhappy biains for drinking: I could well wisli 
 courtesy would invent some other custom of enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 Iago. O, they are our friends ; but one cup ; I'll 
 drink for you. 
 
 Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that 
 was craftily qualified too, and. behold, what innova- 
 tion it makes here : I am unfortunate in the infirmity, 
 and dare not task my weakness with any more, 
 
 Iago. What, man! 'tis a night of revels; the gal- 
 lants desire it. 
 
 Cas. Where are they ? 
 
 Iago. Here at the door; I pray you call them in. 
 
 Cas. I'll do it; but it dislikes me. [£i(( Cassio, 
 
 Iago. If I can fasten but one cup upon him. 
 With that which he hath drank to-night already. 
 He'll be as full of quarrel and offence [derigo. 
 
 As my young mistress' doe- Now, my sick fool, Ko- 
 Whom love has tiirn'd almost the wrong side outward. 
 To Desdemona hath to-night carous'd 
 Potations pottle deep ; and he's to watch : 
 Three lads of Cyprus, ^noble swelling spirits. 
 That hold their honours in a wary distance. 
 The very elements of this warlike isle, — 
 Have I to-night flusler'd with flowing cups. 
 And they watch too. Now, 'mongst this flock of 
 
 drunkards, 
 Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
 That may ofl'end the isle : — But here they come : 
 
 If consequence do but approve my dream. 
 
 My boat sails freely, both with wind and stream< 
 
 He-enter Cassio, with him Montano, and 
 Gentlemen. 
 
 Cas. 'Fore heaven, they have given me a rouse 
 already. 
 
 Mon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a pint, as 
 I am a soldier. 
 
 Iago. Some wine, ho ! 
 
 And let me the canakin clink, clink ; [Sings, 
 And let me the canakin clink : 
 
 A soldier's a man ; 
 
 A life's but a span ; 
 Why then let a soldier drink. 
 
 Some wine, boys ! [Wine brought in. 
 
 Cas. 'Fore heaven, an excellent song. 
 
 lago. 1 learned it in England, where (indeed) 
 they are most potent in potting : your Dane, your 
 German, and your swag-bellied Hollander, — Drink, 
 ho ! — are nothing to your English. 
 
 Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his drinkiuf » 
 
 Iago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, your Dane 
 dead drunk ; he sweats not to overthrow your Al- 
 main ; he gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next 
 pottle can be filled. 
 
 Cas. To the health of our general. 
 
 Man. I am for it, lieutenant ; and I '11 do vou 
 justice. 
 
 Iago. O sweet England ! 
 
 King Stephen was a worthy peer. 
 His breeches cost him hut a crown; 
 
 He held them sixpence all too dear, 
 ^Vith diat he call'd the tailor — lown. 
 
 He was a wight of high renown. 
 
 And thou art but of low degree: 
 Tis pride that pulls the country down. 
 
 Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 
 
 Some wine, ho ! 
 
 Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite song than the 
 other. 
 
 logo, ^\^ill you hear it again ? 
 
 Cas. No ; for I hold him to be unworthy of his 
 place, thai does those things. — Well, — Heaven's 
 above all ; and there be souls that must be saved, 
 and there be souls must not be saved. 
 
 logo. It's true, good lieutenant. 
 
 Cas. For mine own part, — no offence to the gene- 
 ral, nor any man of quality, — I hope to be saved. 
 
 Iago. And so do I too, lieutenant. 
 
 Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me ; the 
 lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. Let's 
 have no more of this ; let's to our aflTairs. — Forgive 
 us our sins! — Gentlemen, let's look to our business. 
 Do not think, gentlemen, [ am drunk : this is my 
 ancient ;— this is my right hand, and this is my left 
 hand: — I am not drunk now ; I can stand well 
 enough, and speak well enough. 
 
 All. Excellent well. 
 
 Cas. Why, very well, then : you must not think 
 then that I am drunk. [Erit. 
 
 Mon. To the platform, masters; come, let's set 
 the watch. 
 
 Iago. Vou see this fellow, that is gone before ; — 
 He is a soldier, fit to stand by Cisar 
 And give direction : and do but see his vice ; 
 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox. 
 The one as long as the other : 'tis pity of hira. 
 I fear, the trust Othello puts him in. 
 
 I 
 
ACT II.— SCENE III. 
 
 863 
 
 On some odd time of his infirmity, 
 
 "Will shake this island. 
 
 Mon. But is he often Ihust 
 
 Ingo. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his sleep : 
 
 He'll watch the horologe a double set. 
 
 If drink rock not his cradle. 
 
 JlJiiH. It were well. 
 
 The general were put in mind of it. 
 
 Perhaps, he sees it not ; or his good nature 
 
 Prizes the virtue that appears in Cassio, 
 
 And looks not on his evils j Is not this true ? 
 
 Enter Rodf.rigo. 
 
 [F.xit Rod. 
 
 Jago. How now, Roderigo ? 
 1 pray you, after the lieutenant; go 
 
 Moti. And 'tis great pity, that the noble jMoor 
 Should hazard such a place, as his own second, 
 With one of an ingraft infirmity : 
 It were an honest action, to say 
 So to the Jloor. 
 
 lago. Not I, for this fair island : 
 
 I do love Cassio well ; and would do much 
 To cure him of this evil. But hark ! what noise 1 
 \_Cry within, — Help ! help 
 
 Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. 
 
 Ctis. You rogue ! you rascal ! 
 
 Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant ! 
 
 Cos. A knave ! — teach me my duty ! 
 I'll beat the knave into a twiggen bottle. 
 
 Rod. Beat me 1 
 
 Cm. Dost thou prate, rogue t 
 
 Mon. Nay, good lieutenant ; 
 T pray you, sir, hold your hand. 
 
 Cas. 
 
 OrTlI knock you o'er the mazzard. 
 
 Any beginning to this peevish odds ; 
 And 'would in action glorious I had lost 
 These legs, that brought me to a part of it ! 
 
 Olh. How comes it, Jlichael, you are thus forgot 
 
 Cns. I pray you, pardon me, 1 cannot speak. 
 
 0th. Worthy Montano, you were wont be civil; 
 The gravity and stillness of your youth 
 The world hath noted, and your name is great 
 In mouths of wisest censure ; What's the matter. 
 That you unlace your reputation thus, 
 .\nd spend your rich opmion, for the name 
 Of a night-brawler f give me answer to it. 
 
 Mnn. Worthy Othello, I am hurt to danger; 
 Your officer. lago, can inform you — 
 While I spare speech, which something now ofTends 
 Of all that I do know : nor know I aught [me ; — 
 By me that's said or done amiss this night ; 
 Unless self-charity be sometime a vice ; 
 .\nd to defend ourselves it be a sin. 
 When violence assails us. 
 I 0th. Now, by heaven, 
 
 ily blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
 I And passion, having my best judgment collied, 
 -Vssays to lead the way : If I once stir, 
 ' Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
 Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
 How this foul rout began, who set it on ; 
 And he that is approv'd in this offence. 
 Though he had twinn'd with me, both at a birth, 
 ."^hall lose me. — What ! in a town of war, 
 Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear, 
 [5tn*fcij!g Rod. I To manage private and domestic quarrel, 
 [5(aj/ing htm. In night, and on the court and guard of safety ! 
 'Tis monstrous. — lago, who began it? ^ 
 Let me go, sir, I Mon. If partiallv affin'd. or leagu'd in office, 
 
 Thou dost deliver more or less than truth, 
 
 Mon. Come, come, you're drunk. Thou art no soldier. 
 
 Cas. Drunk! [Theyfght.i logo. Touch me not so near : 
 
 lago. Away, I say ! go out, and cry — a mutiny. ' I had rather have this tongue cut from my mouth, 
 [Aside to Rod., who goes out. Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; 
 Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen, — i Y'et, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
 
 Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montane, — sir ; — Shall nothing wrong him. — Thus it is, general. 
 Help masters ! — Here's a goodly watch, indeed ! Montano and myself being in speech, 
 
 [Bell rings. There comes a fellow, crying out for help ; 
 Who's that that rings the bell ? — Diablo, ho ! And Cassio following him with determin'd sword. 
 
 The town will rise ; God's will, lieutenant ! hold ; 1 To execute upon him : Sir, this gentleman 
 
 You will be sham'd for ever. Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause ; 
 
 _ „ , . J ' Myself the crying fellow did pursue. 
 
 Enter Othello, and Attendants. Le^t, by his clamour, (as it so feU out,") 
 
 Otk. What is the matter here ? The town might fall in fright : he, swift of foot, 
 
 Mon. Ibleedstill.Iamhurtto the death;— he dies. Outran my 'purpose ; and I return'd the rather 
 Olh. Hold, for your lives. For that 1 heard the clink and fall of swords, 
 
 lago. Hold, hold, lieutenant, — sir, IMontano, — And Cassio high in oath ; which, till to-night, 
 gentlemen, — I ne'er might say before : When I came back, 
 
 Have you forgot all sense of place and duty ? ' (For this was brief,) I found them close together. 
 
 Hold, hold! the general speaks to you; hold,forshamL! At blow, and thrust ; even as again they were, 
 
 Olh. Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth thisl When you yourself did part them 
 Are we turn'd Turks ; and to ourselves do that, 
 
 Which heaven hath forbid the Otloraites ? 
 For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl; 
 He that stirs next to cai"ve for his own rage, 
 Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. — 
 Silence that dreadful bell, it frights the isle 
 From her propriety. — What is the matter, masters? — 
 Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
 Speak, who began this? on thy love, I charge thee. 
 lago. 1 do not know; — friends all but now, even now. 
 In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
 Devesting thein for bed : and then, but now, 
 (.\s if some planet had unwitted men,) 
 Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast. 
 In opposition bloody. I cannot speal 
 
 More of this matter can I not report : — 
 
 But men are men : the best .sometimes forget: — 
 
 Though Cassio did some little wrong to him, — 
 
 As men in rage strike those that wish them best,— 
 
 Yet, surely Cassio, I believe, receiv'd. 
 
 From him that fled, some strange indignity. 
 
 Which patience could not pass. 
 
 Olh. I know, lago. 
 
 Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 
 Making it light to Cassio :— Cassio, I love thee ; 
 But never more be officer of mine. — 
 
 Enter Desdemona, attended. 
 Look, if my gentle love be not rais'd up ;— 
 I'll make thee an example. 
 
864 
 
 OTHELLO, 
 
 Pes. What's the matter, dear'! 
 
 0th. All's well now, sweeting ; Come away to bed. 
 Sir, for your hurts, 
 Myself will be your surgeon : Lead him off. 
 
 [To MoNTANO, who is led off- 
 lago, look with care about tlie town ; 
 And silence those whom this vile brawl distracted. — 
 Come, Desdemona; 'tis the soldier's life, 
 To have their balmy slumbers wak'd with strife. 
 
 [^Eiennt alt but Iago arid Cassio. 
 lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant 1 
 Cas, Ay, past all surgery. 
 Iago. lyjarry, heaven forbid ! 
 Cos. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, I have 
 lost my reputation ! I have lost the immortal part, 
 sir, of myself, and what remains is bestial. — My re- 
 putation, lago, my reputation. 
 
 Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had 
 received some bodily wound ; there is more offence 
 in that, than in reputation. Reputation is an idle 
 and most false imposition ; oft got without merit, and 
 lost without deserving : you have lost no reputation 
 at all, unless you repute yourself sucha loser. What, 
 man ! there are ways to recover the general again : 
 You are but now cast in his mood, a punishment 
 more in policy than in malice ; even so as one would 
 beat his offenceless dog, to affright an imperious lion; 
 sue to him again, and he is yours. 
 
 Cas. I will rather sue to be despised, than to deceive 
 so good a commander, with so slight, so drunken, 
 and so indiscreet an officer. Drunk ? and speak par- 
 rot 1 and squabble 1 swagger 1 swearl and discourse 
 fustian with one's own shadow ? — O thou invisible 
 spirit of wine, if thou hadst no name to be known by, 
 let us call thee— devil ! 
 
 Iago. What was he that you foUow'd with youi 
 sword 1 What had he done to you ] 
 Cas. I know not. 
 Iago. Is it possible t 
 
 Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing dis- 
 tinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing \\'herefore. — O, that 
 men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal 
 away their brains ! that we should, with joy, revel, 
 pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! 
 Iago. AVhy, but you are now well enough : How 
 came you thus recovered ? 
 
 Cas. It hath pleased the devil, drunkenness, to give 
 place to the devil, wrath : one unperfectness shews 
 me another to make me frankly despise myself. 
 
 Iago. Come, you are too severe a mor^er ; As the 
 time, the place, and the condition of this country 
 stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen ; 
 but, since it is as it is, mend it for your own good. 
 
 Cas. I w\l\ ask him for my place again ; he shall 
 tell me, I am a drunkard ! Had I as many mouths as 
 Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be 
 now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently 
 a 'oeast! O strange !— Every inordinate cup is un- 
 blessed, and the ingredient is a devil. 
 
 Iago. Come, come, good wine is a good familial 
 creature, if it be welt used ; e.xclaim no more against 
 it. And, good lieutenant, I think, you think I love you. 
 Cos. 1 have well approved it, sir. — I drunk 1 
 lago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at some 
 time, man. I'll tell you what you shall do. Our 
 general's wife is now the general ;— I may say so in 
 this respect, for that he hath devoted and given up 
 himself to the contemplation, mark, and denotement 
 of her parts and graces :— confess yourself freely to 
 her ; importune her ; she'll help to put you in your 
 place agam : she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so 
 blessed a disposition, that she holds it a vice in her 
 
 goodness, not to do more than she is requested : Thin 
 broken joint, between you and her husband, entreat 
 her to splinter ; and, my fortunes against any lay 
 worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow 
 stronger than it was before. 
 
 Cas. You advise me well. 
 
 Iago. I protest, in the sincerity of love, and honest 
 kindness. 
 
 Cas. I think it freely ; and, betimes in the morn- 
 ing, I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to under- 
 take for me : I am desperate of my fortunes, if they 
 check me here. 
 
 Iago. You are irj the right. Good night, lieute- 
 nant ; I must to the watch. 
 
 Cas. Good night, honest Iago. [Kiit Cassio. 
 
 logo. And what's he then, that says, — I play the 
 villain ? 
 When this advice is free, I give, and honest, 
 Probal to thinking, and (indeed) the course 
 To win the i\Ioor again ? For 'tis most easy 
 The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
 In any honest suit ; she's fram'd as fruitful 
 As the free elements. And then for her 
 To win the IMoor, — were't to renounce his baptism, 
 .A.11 seals and symbols of redeemed sin, — 
 His soul is so enfettcr'd to her love. 
 That she may make, unmake, do what she lists, 
 Even as her appetite shall play the god 
 With his weak function. How am 1 then a villain. 
 To counsel Cassio to this parallel course. 
 Directly to his good 7 Divinity of hell I 
 When devils will their blackest sins put on. 
 They do suggest at first witli heavenly shows. 
 As I do now : For while this honest fool 
 Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes, 
 And she for him plies strongly to the iMoor, 
 I'll pour this pestilence into his ear, — 
 That she repeals him for her body's lust ; 
 And, by how much she strives to do him good. 
 She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
 So will I turn her virtue into pitch ; 
 And out of her own goodness make the net, 
 That shall enmesh them all. — How now, Roderigo'! 
 
 Ejiter Roderigo. 
 
 Dod. I do follow here in the chase, not like a 
 hound that hunts, but one that fills up the cry. My 
 money is almost spent ; I have been to-night ex- 
 ceedingly well cudgelled ; and, I think, the issue 
 will be — I shall have so much experience for my 
 pains : and so, with no money at all, and a little more 
 wit, return to Venice. 
 
 lafo. How poor are they, that have not patience ! — 
 What wound did ever heal, but by degrees 1 
 Thou know'st, we work by wit, and not by witchcraft ; 
 And wit depends on dilatory time. 
 Does't not go well 1 Cassio hath beaten thee. 
 And thou, by that small hurt, hast cashier 'd Cassio: 
 Though other things grow fair against the sun. 
 Yet fruits, that blossom first, will first be ripe : 
 Content thyself awhile. — l)y the mass, 'tis morning; 
 Pleasure, and action, make the hours seem short. — 
 
 . Retire thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
 Away, I say, thou shalt know more hereafter : 
 Nay,gettheegone. [E.vit Rod.] Two things areto be 
 
 done, — 
 My wife must move for Cassio to her mistress ; 
 I'll set heron ; 
 
 ! Myself, the while, to draw the Moor apart. 
 And bring him jump when he may Cassio find 
 Soliciting his wife :— Ay, that's the way ; 
 Dull not device by coldness and delay. [Exit. 
 
ACT in.-sCENE I r. 
 
 865 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE 1.— Before the Castle. 
 Enter Cassio, and some Musicians. 
 
 Ciis. Masters, play here, 1 will content your pains, 
 Sametliing that's biief ; and bid — good-morrow, ge- 
 neral. IMusic. 
 Enter Clown. 
 
 C'lo. Why, masters, have your instruments been at 
 Naples, that they speak i' the nose thus ! 
 
 1 Mas. How, sir, how ! 
 
 Cla. Are these, I pray you, called wind instruments'! 
 
 1 Mas. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 
 
 Ch. O, thereby hangs a tail. 
 
 1 3Ihs, Whereby hangs a tale, sir ? 
 
 Clo. Marry, sir, by many a wind instrument that 
 I know. But, masters, here's money for you : and 
 the general so likes your music, that he desires you, 
 of all loves, to make no more noise with it. 
 
 1 Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 
 
 Clo. If you have any music that may not be heard, 
 lo't aguin ; but, as they say, to hear music, the gene- 
 lal does not greatly care. 
 
 1 Mus. We have none such, sir. 
 
 Clo. Then put up your pipes in your bag, for I'll 
 away: Go ; vanish into air ; away. [JSi. Musicians. 
 
 Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend ? I 
 
 Cto. No, I hear not your honest friend, I hear you. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, keep up thy quillets. There's a 
 poor piece of gold for thee : if the gentlewoman that 
 attends the general's wife, be stirring, tell her, 
 there's one Cassio entreats her a little favour of 
 speech: Wilt thou do this ! 
 
 Clo. She is stirring, sir ; if she will stir hither, I 
 shall seem to notify unto her. [Eiit. 
 
 Enter Iago. , 
 
 Cas. Do, goftd my friend. — In happy time, Iago. 
 
 Iago. You have not been a-bed then? 
 
 Cas. Why, uo ; the day had broke I 
 
 Before we parted. I have made bold, Iago, 
 To send in to your wife : IMy suit to her 
 Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
 Procure me some access. 
 
 Iago. I'll send her to you presently ; 
 
 And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor 
 Out of the way, that your converse and business 
 May be more free. [Eiii, 
 
 Cas. I humbly thank you for't. I never knew 
 A Florentine more kind and honest. 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 
 Emit. Good morrow, good lieutenant : I am sorry 
 For your displeasure ; but all will soon be well. 
 The general, and his wife are talking of it ; 
 And she speaks for you stoutly : The JMoor replies. 
 That he, you hurt, is of great fame in Cyprus, 
 And great affinity ; and that, in wholesome wisdom, 
 He might not but refuseyou: but, he protests, he loves 
 And needs no other suitor, but his likings, [you ; 
 To take the safst occasion by the front. 
 To bring you in again. 
 
 Cas. Yet, I beseech you, — 
 
 If you think fit, or that it may be done. — 
 Give me advantage ol some brief discourse 
 With Desdemona alone. 
 
 Emii. Pray you, come in ; 
 
 I will bestow you where you shall have time 
 To speak your bosom freely. 
 
 Cas. I am much bound to you. [Exeimi. 
 
 SCENE 11.— A Room in the Castte. 
 Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. 
 
 0th. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot; 
 And. by him, do my duties to the state : 
 That done, 1 will be walking on the works, 
 Repair there to me. 
 
 Iago. Well, my good lord, I'll do't. 
 
 Otft. This fortification, gentlemen. — shall we see't? 
 
 Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Eaeunt. 
 
 SCENE III.— Be/ore the Castte. 
 Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 
 
 Des. Be thou assur'd, good Cassio, I will do 
 All my abilities in thy belialf. 
 
 Eiiiil. Good madam, do ; I know, it grieves my 
 As if the case were his. [husband, 
 
 Des. O, that's an honest fellow. — Do not doubt. 
 But I will have my lord and you again [Cassio, 
 
 As friendly as you were. 
 
 Cos. Bounteous madam. 
 
 Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
 He's never any thing but your true servant. 
 
 Des. O, sir, I thank you: Vou do love my lord : 
 You have known hira long ; and be you well assur'd, 
 He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
 Than in a politic distance. 
 
 Cas. Ay, but, lady, 
 
 That policy may either last so long. 
 Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet, 
 Or breed itself so out of circumstance. 
 That, I being absent, and my place supplied, 
 JMy general will forget my love and service. 
 
 Des. Do not doubt that ; before Emilia here, 
 I give thee warrant of thy place ; assure thee. 
 If 1 do vow a friendship. I'll perform it 
 To the last article: my lord shall never rest; 
 I'll watch him tame, and talk him out of patience ; 
 His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift ; 
 I'll intermingle every thing he does 
 With Cassio's suit : Therefore be merry, Cassio ; 
 For thy solicitor shall rather die. 
 Than give thy cause away. 
 
 Enter Othello and Iago, at a distance. 
 
 Emil. Madam, here comes 
 
 My lord. 
 
 Cas. Madam, I'll take my leave. 
 
 Des. Why, stay, 
 
 And hear me speak. 
 
 Cas. Madam, not now; I am very ill at ease. 
 Unfit for mine own purposes. 
 
 Des. Well, well. 
 
 Do your discretion. [Exit Cassio. 
 
 logo. Ha I I like not that. 
 
 0th. What dost thou say 1 
 
 Iago. Nothing, my lord : or if — I know not what. 
 
 Otli. Was not that Cassio, parted from my wife ? 
 
 logo. Cassio, my lord? No, sure, I cannot think it 
 That he would steal away so guilty-like. 
 Seeing you coming. 
 
 0th. I do believe 'twas he. 
 
 Des. How now, my lord ? 
 I have been talking with a suitor here, 
 A man that languishes in your displeasure. 
 
 0th. \Vho is't you mean ? 
 
 Des. Why, your lieutenant Cassio. Good my lord 
 If I have any grace, or power to move you. 
 His present reconciliation take ; 
 For, if he be not one that truly loves you. 
 That errs in ignorance, and not in cunning, 
 
 3 I 
 
866 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 I have no judgment in an "honest face : 
 I pr'ythee, call him back. 
 
 Oth. Went he hence now ? 
 
 Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled, 
 That he hath left part of his grief with me ; 
 I iuffer with him. Good love, call him bacK. 
 
 Oih. Not now, sweet Desdemona; some other time. 
 
 Des. But shall't be shortly 1 
 
 Oih. The sooner, sweet, for you. 
 
 Des. Shall't be to-night at supper ? 
 
 Oth. No, not to-night. 
 
 Des. To-morrow dinner then ? 
 
 Oth. 1 shall not dine at home ; 
 
 J meet the captains at the citadel. 
 
 Des. Why then, to-morrow night ; or Tuesday mora; 
 Or Tuesday noon, or night ; or Wednesday morn ; — 
 1 pray thee, name the time ; but let it not 
 Exceed three days : in faith, he's penitent ; 
 And yet his ti'espass in our common reason, 
 (Save that, they say, the wars must make examples 
 Out of their best,) is not almost a fault 
 To incur a private check : When shall he comel 
 Tell me, Othello. I wonder in my soul, 
 What you could ask me, that I should deny, 
 Or stand so mamraering on. What! Michael Cassio, 
 That came a wooing with you ; and many a time. 
 When I have spoke of you dlspraisingly, 
 Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do 
 To bring him in ! Trust me, I could do much, — 
 
 Oth. Pr'ythee, no more: lethimcomewhenhewills 
 I will deny thee nothing. 
 
 Des. Why, this is not a boon ; 
 
 'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves. 
 Or feed on iiourishing dishes, or keep you warm ; 
 Or sue to you to do peculiar profit 
 To your own person : Nay, when I have a suit. 
 Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed. 
 It shall be full of poize and difficulty. 
 And fearful to be granted. 
 
 Oih. I will deny thee nothing : 
 
 Whereon. I do beseech thee, grant me this. 
 To leave me but a little to myself. 
 
 Des. Shall I deny you 7 no: Farewell, my lord. 
 
 Oth. Farewell, my Desdemona ; I will come to thee 
 straight. [you ; 
 
 Des. Emilia, come : — Be it as your fancies teach 
 Whate'er you be, I am obedient. [ Exit, with Emilia. 
 
 Oth. Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul, 
 But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not, 
 Chaos is come again. 
 
 Iiijro. My noble lord, 
 
 Oth. What dost thou say, lago? 
 
 lago. Did INIichael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady. 
 Know of your love? 
 
 Oth. He did, from first to last : Why dost thou ask? 
 
 Itigo. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
 No further harm. 
 
 Oth. Why of thy thought, lago ? [her. 
 
 lago. I did not think, he had been acquainted with 
 
 Oth. 0, yes ; and went between us very oft. 
 
 lago. Indeed? 
 
 Oth. Indeed! ay, indeed: — Discern'st thou aught 
 Is he not honest ? [in that ? 
 
 lago. Honest, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Ay, honest. 
 
 lago. My lord, for aught I know. 
 
 Oth. What dost thou think ? 
 
 lago. Think, my lord ? 
 
 Oth. Think, my lord ! 
 
 By heaven, he echoes me. 
 
 As if there were some monster in his thought [thing : 
 Too hideous to be shewn. — Thou dost mean some- 
 
 I heard thee say but now, — Thou lik'dst not that, 
 When Cassio left my wife ; What did'st not likel 
 And, when I told thee,— he was of my counsel 
 In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst. Indeed? 
 And did'st contract and purse thy brow together, 
 As if thou then had'st shut up in thy brain 
 Some horrible conceit : If thou dost love me. 
 Shew me thy thought. 
 
 lago. My lord, you know I love you. 
 
 Oth. I think thou dost : 
 
 And, — for I know thou art full of love and honesty, 
 And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath. 
 Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more : 
 For such things in a false disloyal knave, 
 .ire tricks of custom ; but, in a man that's just. 
 They are close denotements, working from the heart. 
 That passion cannot rule. 
 
 logo. For Michael Cassio, — 
 
 I dare be sworn, I think that he is honest. 
 
 Oth. I think so too. 
 
 I'igo. Men should be what they seem ; 
 
 Or, those that be not, 'would they might seem none ! 
 
 Oth. Certain, men should be what they seem. 
 
 lago. Why then, 
 
 I think, that Cassio is an honest man. 
 
 Oth. Nay, yet there's more in this : 
 I pray thee, speak to me as to thy thinkings. 
 As thou dost ruminate ; andgivethy worst of thoughts 
 The worst of words. 
 
 lago. Good my lord, pardon me ; 
 
 Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
 I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
 Utter my thoughts? Why, say, they are vile and false, 
 As Where's that palace, whereunto foul things 
 Sometimes intrude not ? who has a breast so pure, 
 But some uncleanly apprehensions 
 Keep leets, and law-days, and in session sit 
 With meditations lawful ? 
 
 Oth. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, lago. 
 If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear 
 A stranger to thy thoughts. 
 
 logo. I do beseech you, — 
 
 Though I, perchance, am vicious in my guess. 
 As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
 To spy into abuses ; and, oft my jealousy 
 Shapes faults that are not, — I entreat you then. 
 From one that so imperfectly conjects. 
 You'd take no notice ; nor build yourself a trouble 
 Out of his scattering and unsure observance : — 
 It were not for your quiet, nor your good, 
 \or for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom. 
 To let you know my thoughts. 
 
 Oih. What dost thou mean 1 
 
 logo. Good name, in man, and ^voraan, dear my lord. 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls : [nothing : 
 
 Wiio steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, 
 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and lias been slave to thousands ; 
 I'ut lie, that filches from me my good name, 
 Robs me of that, which not enriches him. 
 And makes me poor indeed. 
 
 Oth. By heaven, I'll know thy thought. 
 
 lago. Vou cannot, if my heart were in your hand; 
 Nor shall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 
 
 Oth. Ha.' 
 
 Jago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 
 
 It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock 
 The meat it feeds on : That cuckold lives in bliss, 
 Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger ; 
 But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er, 
 Who dotes, yet doubts ; suspects, yet strongly loves ! 
 
 Oth. misery! 
 
 lago. Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough ; 
 
ACT III.— SCENE III. 
 
 867 
 
 Rut riches, fiaekss, is »s poor as winter, 
 l"o him that ever fears he shall be poor : — 
 Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
 Vrom jealousy ! 
 
 0<h, Why '. why is this t 
 
 Think'st Ihou, I 'd make a life of jealousy, 
 To follow still the chanc;es of tiie moon 
 With fresh suspicions ! No : to be once in doubt, 
 Is — once to be resolv'd : Exchange me for a goat, 
 When I shall turn the business of my soul 
 To such exsufflicate, and blown surmises. 
 Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me jealous, 
 To say — my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company. 
 Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well ■ 
 W'here virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
 Nor from mine own weak merits will I diaw 
 The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt; 
 For she had eyes, and chose me : No, lago ; 
 I '11 see, before I doubt ; when I doubt, prove ■, 
 And, on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
 Away at once with love, or jealousy, 
 
 Ingd. I am glad of this ; for now I shall have reason 
 To shew the love and duty that I bear you 
 M'ith franker spirit : therefore, as 1 am bound, 
 Keceive it from me : — I speak nut yet of proof. 
 Look to your wife ; observe her well with Cassio • 
 Wear your eye — thus, not jealous, nor secure: 
 1 would not have your free and noble nature, 
 Out of self-bounty, be abus'd ; look lo't : 
 I know our country disposition well ; 
 In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
 They dare not shew their husbands ; their best con- 
 Is — not to leave undone, but keep unknown, [science 
 
 Oth. Dost thou say so 1 
 
 lag". She did deceive her father, marrying you ; 
 And, when she seem'd to shake, and fear your looks, 
 She lov'd them most. 
 
 Oih, And so she did . 
 
 lago. Why, go to, then ; 
 
 She that so youno;, could give out such a seeming. 
 To seel her father's eyes up, close as oak. 
 He thought, 'twas witchcraft : — But I am much to 
 I humblv do beseech you of your pardon, [blame i 
 For too much loving you. 
 
 Oth. I am bound to thee for ever. 
 
 Jago, I see, this hath a little dash'd your spirits. 
 
 Oth. Not a jot, not a jot, 
 
 Iggo. Trust me, I fear it has, 
 
 I hope, you will consider, what is spoke 
 Comes from my love :— liut, I do see you are mov'd : — 
 I am to pray you, not to strain my speech 
 To grosser issues, nor to larger reach, 
 Than to suspicion. 
 
 Oth. 1 will not. 
 
 lago. Should you do so, my lord, 
 
 My speech should fall into such vile success 
 As my thoughts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy 
 
 friend : — 
 My lord, I see you are mov'd, 
 
 Oth. No, not much mov'd : — 
 
 I do not think but Desdemona's honest. [so 
 
 lago. Long live she so ! and long live you to think 
 
 Oth. And yet, how nature erring from itself, — 
 
 lago. Ay, there's the point : — .\s, — to be bold with 
 Not to affect many proposed matches, [you, — 
 
 Of her own clime, complexion, and degree; 
 Whereto, we see, in all things nature tends : 
 Foh '. one may smell, in such, a will most rank. 
 Foul disproportion, thoughts unnatural. — 
 But, pardon me ; I do not in position. 
 Distinctly speak of her: though I may fear, 
 Her will, recoiling to her better judgment, 
 
 May fall to match you with her country forms. 
 
 Anil (happily) repent. 
 
 Oth, Farewell, farewell : 
 
 If more thou dost pereeive, let me know more ; 
 Set on thy wife to observe : Leave me, lago. 
 
 lago. My lord, I take my leave. [Goir.g. 
 
 Oth. Why did I marry 1 — This honest creature, 
 doubtless. 
 See and knows more, much more, than he unfolds. 
 
 lago. My lord, I would, I might entreat your honour 
 To scan this thing no further ; leave it to time ; 
 And though it be fit that Cassio have his place, 
 (For, sure, he 611s it up with great ability,) 
 Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile. 
 You shall by that perceive him and his means : 
 Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
 With any strong or vehement importunity ; 
 Much will be seen in that. In the mean time. 
 Let me be thought too busy in my fears, 
 (As worthy cause I have, to fear — I am,') 
 And hold her free, I do beseech your honour. 
 
 Oth. Fear not my government. 
 
 lago. I once more take my leave. [Erif. 
 
 Oth. This fellow 's of exceeding honesty. 
 And knows all qualities, with a learned spirit, 
 Of human dealings : If I do prove her haggard. 
 Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, 
 I 'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind. 
 To prey at fortune. Haply, for I am black ; 
 And have not those soft parts of conversation 
 That chamberere have ; Or, for I am declin'd 
 Into the vale of years ; — yet that's not much ; — 
 She 's gone ; I am abus'd ; and my relief 
 Must be — to loath her. O curse of marriage. 
 That we can call these delicate creatures ours. 
 And not their appetites ! I had rather be a toad, 
 And live upon the vapour of a dung-eon. 
 Than keep a corner in the thing I love. 
 For others' uses. Yet 'tis tlie plague of great ones; 
 Prerogativ'd are they less than the base ; 
 'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death ; 
 Even then this forked plague is fated to us. 
 When we do quicken. Desdemona comes • 
 
 Enter Desdemoxa and Emilta. 
 
 If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself! — 
 I'll not believe it. 
 
 Des. How now, my dear Othello t 
 
 Your dinner, and the generous islanders 
 By you invited, do attend your presence. 
 
 Oth. I am to blame. 
 
 Des. Why is your speech so faint ? are you not well 1 
 
 Oth. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 
 
 Des. Faith, that's with watching; 'twill away 
 again: 
 Let me but bind it hard, within this hour 
 It will be well. 
 
 Oth. \''our napkin is too little ; 
 
 [/fe puts the handkerchief from him, and it drops* 
 Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. 
 
 Des. 1 am very sorry that you are not well. 
 
 [Exeunt Oth. and Des. 
 
 Emil. I am glad I have found this napkin ; 
 This was her first remembrance from the Moor : 
 iMy wayward husband hath a hundred times 
 Woo'd me to steal it : but she so loves the token, 
 (For he conjur'd her, she would ever keep it,) 
 That she reserves it evermore about her. 
 To kiss, and talk to, I'll have the work ta'en out. 
 And give it lago ; 
 
 What he '11 do with it, heaven knows, not I ; 
 I nothing, but to please his fantasy. 
 S12 
 
8 OS 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Enter Iaoo. 
 
 lago. How now ! what do you here alone ? 
 
 Emit. Do not you chide ; 1 have a thing for you. 
 
 lago. A thing for me 1 — it is a common thing. 
 
 Emit. Hal 
 
 lago. To have a foolish wife. 
 
 Emit. O, is that all? What will you give me now 
 For that same handkerchief ? 
 
 logo. What handkerchief? 
 
 Emit. What handkerchief ? 
 Why, that the JMoor first gave to Desdemona ; 
 That which so often you did bid me steal. 
 
 t^tgo. Hast stolen it from her 1 
 
 Emit. iV 0, faith ; she let it drop by negligence ; 
 And, to the advantage, I, being here, took 't up. 
 Look, here it is. 
 
 logo. A good wench ; give it me. 
 
 Emit. What will you do with it, that you have been 
 To have me filch it! [so earnest 
 
 lago. Why, what's that to you 7 [Snatclting it. 
 
 Emit. If it be not for some purpose of import, 
 Give it me again: Poor lady ! she'll run mad, 
 When she shall lack it. 
 
 lago. Be not you known oft ; I have use for it. 
 Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia. 
 
 I will in Cassie's lodging lose tins napkin. 
 And let him find it: Xritles, light as air, 
 Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
 As proofs of holy writ. This may do something. 
 The Moor already changes with my poison : — 
 Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons. 
 Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste ; 
 But, with a little act upon the blood. 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur. — 1 did say so : — 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 Look, where he comes! Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
 Nor all llie drowsy syrups of the world, 
 .Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Wiiich thou ow'dst yesterday. 
 
 0th. ' Ha! ha! false to me? 
 
 To me ? 
 
 J.i£o. Why, how now, general ? no more of that? 
 
 0th. Avaunt ! be gone ! thou hast set me on the 
 1 swear; 'tis better to be much abus'd, [rack : — 
 Than but to know 't a little. 
 
 ^ago How now, my lord ? 
 
 Oih. What sense had I of her stolen hours of lust? 
 I saw it not, thought it not, it harm'd not me : 
 I slept the next night well, was free and merry j 
 I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips : 
 He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stolen. 
 Let him not know it, and he 's not robb'd at all. 
 
 Jago. I am sorry to hear this. 
 
 0th. I had been happy, if the general camp. 
 Pioneers and all, had tasted her sweet body, 
 So 1 had noliiing known : O now, for ever. 
 Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! 
 Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
 That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 
 Faiewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
 Tlie spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife. 
 The royal banner ; and all quality. 
 Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war ! 
 And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
 The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit. 
 Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! 
 
 lago. Is it possible? — My lord, 
 
 0th. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a whore, 
 Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof; 
 
 [Taliing him by the ttiroat. 
 Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul, 
 
 Thou hadst been better have been boin a dog, 
 Than answer my wak'd wrath. 
 
 lago. Is it come to this ? 
 
 0(/i. Make me to see it; or (at the least) so prove it 
 That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop. 
 To hang a doubt on : or, woe upon thy life ! 
 
 Jago. My noble lord, 
 
 0th. If thou dost slander her, and torture me. 
 Never pray more : abandon all remorse ; 
 On horror's head horrors accumulate : 
 Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth amaz'd. 
 For nothing canst thou to damnation add. 
 Greater than that. 
 
 logo. O grace ! O heaven defend me ? 
 
 Are you a man ? have you a soul, or sense ? — 
 God be wi'you ; take mine office. — O wretched fool, 
 That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice ! — 
 
 monstrous world ! Take note, take note, world. 
 To be direct and honest, is not safe. — 
 
 1 thank you for this profit ; and, from hence, 
 
 I '11 love no friend, since love breeds such offence. 
 
 0th. Nay. stay : — Thou should'st be honest. 
 
 Iag'->. I should be wise ; for honesty's a fool. 
 And loses that it works for. 
 
 0th. By the world, 
 
 I think my wife be honest, and think she is not ; 
 I think that thou art just, and think thou art not ; 
 I '11 have some proof : Her name, that was as fresh 
 As Dian's visage, is now begrim'd and black 
 As mine own face. — If there be cords, or knives. 
 Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, 
 I 'II not endure it. — Would, I were satisfied ! 
 
 lago. 1 see, sir, you are eaten up with passion : 
 I do repent me, that I put it to you. 
 You would be satisfied ? 
 
 0th. Would? flay, I will. 
 
 lago. And may: But, how? how satisfied, my lorj? 
 Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on ? 
 Behold her tupp'd ? 
 
 0th. Death and damnation ! C 
 
 /<;^r). It were a tedious difficulty, I think. 
 To bring them to that prospect : Damn them then. 
 If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster. 
 More than their own ! What then ? how then ? 
 What shall I say? Where's satisfaction ? 
 It is impossible, you should see this. 
 Were they as prime as goats, as hot as monkeys, 
 .'Vs salt as wolves in pnde, and fools as gross 
 As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say. 
 If imputation, and strong circumstances, — 
 Which lead directly to the door of truth, — 
 Will give you satisfaction, you may have it. 
 
 Oih. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. 
 
 lago. I do not like the office: 
 But, sith 1 am enter'd in this cause so far, — 
 Prick'd to it by foolish honesty and love, — 
 I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately ; 
 And, being troubled witli a raging tooth, 
 I could not sleep. 
 
 There are a kind of men so loose of soul, 
 Tiiat in their sleeps will mutter their affairs ; 
 One of this kind is Cassio : 
 In sleep I heard him say, — Street Desdemonaf 
 Let MS be wary, let us hide our tores .' 
 And then, sir, would he gripe, and wring my hanil, 
 Cry, — 0, sweet creature', and then kiss me hard. 
 As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots, 
 That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg 
 Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd; and then 
 Cry'd, — Cursed fate ! that gave thee to the Moor! 
 
 0th. O monstrous ! monstrous ! 
 
 lago. Nay, this was but his dreara, 
 
ACT III.— SCENE IV. 
 
 OiJi. But this denoted a foregone conclusion • 
 "is a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream.' 
 
 Jogi- And this may help to thicken other proofs 
 That do demonstrate thinly. ' 
 
 O'A. I'll tear her all to pieces. 
 
 lago.^iy, but be wise: yet we see nothing done- 
 bhe may be honest yet. Tell me but this.— 
 Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief. 
 Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand 1 
 
 0th. I gave her such a one; 'twas ray first t^ilt. 
 
 '"go- I know not that: but such a handkerchief, 
 (I ara sure it was your wife's) did I to-day 
 See Cassio wipe his beard with. 
 
 ?"■• , If it be that,— 
 
 lago. If It be that, or any that was her's. 
 It speaks against her, with the other proofs. 
 
 0th. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ■ 
 One IS too poor, too weak for my revence ' ' 
 
 Now do I see 'tis true.— Look here, lago ; 
 All my fond love thus I do blow to heaven : 
 'Tis gone. — 
 
 Arise, black vengeance,from thy hollow cell ! 
 Yield up. O love, thy crown, and hearted throne, 
 i tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught 
 For 'tis of aspicks" tongues I ' 
 
 lago. Pray, be content. 
 
 ""■• „ . O, hlood, lago, blood I 
 
 iago. Patience, I say ; your mind, perhaps, may 
 
 change. 
 P'''- Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, 
 Whose icy current and compulsive course 
 Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
 To the Propontick and the Hellespont ; 
 Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace 
 Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love, 
 1 ill that a capable and wide reveni^e 
 Swallow them up.— Xow, by yond° marble heaven, 
 In the due reverence of a sacred vow [Kneels. 
 
 I here engage my words. 
 
 Jago. Do not rise yet— TKneeh. 
 
 Witness, you ever-burning lights above ! 
 Ynu elements that clip us round about ! 
 Witness, that here lago doth give up 
 The execution of his wit. hands, heart, 
 "To wrong'd Othello's service ! let him'command, 
 -And to obey shall be in me remorse, 
 What bloody work soever. 
 
 0'^- I greet thy love, 
 
 ^ ot with vain thanks, but with acceptance bounteous, 
 And will upon the instant put thee to't: 
 Within these three days let me hear thee say. 
 That Cassio's not alive. 
 
 lago. My friend is dead ; 'tis done, at your request • 
 But let her live. 
 
 0th. Damn her, lewd min.\ ! O, damn her I 
 
 Come, go with me apart; I will withdraw. 
 To furnish me with some swift means of death 
 for the fair devil. i\ow art thou my lieutenant. 
 I'lgo. I am your own for ever. lExeunt. 
 
 869 
 
 Clo. I know not where he lodges; and for me to 
 devise a lodging, and say— he lies here, or he 1-es 
 there, were to lie in my own throat. 
 
 Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edified bv 
 report ? ^ 
 
 Clo. I will catechize the world for him ; that is 
 make questions, and by them answer. 
 
 Des. Seek him, bid him come hither ; tell him 1 
 have moved my lord in his behalf, and hope, all w'ill 
 be well. "^ 
 
 Clo. To do this, is within the compass of man's 
 wit; and therefore I will attempt the doin.' it tEzit 
 
 Des. VVhere should I lose that handkerchief,' 
 
 imii. I know not, madam [Emilia' 
 
 Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse 
 full of crusadoes. .\nd, but my noble Moor 
 Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
 .is jealous creatures are, it were enough 
 To put him to ill thinking. 
 ^'"'\„^ , Is he not jealous? 
 
 Des. Uho, he? I think, the sun, where he was bom 
 Drew all such humours from him. 
 
 n""'-, .,, , Look, where he comes. 
 
 Des. 1 %vill not leave him now, till Cassio 
 lie call d to him.— How is't with you, my lord ? 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The same. 
 Enter Desdemox.\, E.milia, and Clown. 
 
 Des. Do you know, sirrah, where lieutenant Cassio 
 
 Llo. i dare not say, he lies any where. flies 
 
 Des. Why, man ? 
 
 Cto. He is a soldier ; and for me to say a soldier 
 lies, is stabbing. 
 
 Des. Goto; Where lodges he ? 
 
 Clo. To tell you where he lodges. Is to tell vou 
 where I lie. •' 
 
 Des. Can any thing be made of this : 
 
 H„w^ ^^'ell, mygood lady --[Aside-I O, hardness 
 How do you Desdemona? [to dissemble !- 
 
 B«. VV ell, my good lord. [i^j 
 
 0th. Give ine your hand : This hand is moist, my 
 Des It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow. 
 Uth This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart • 
 Hot hot andmoist: This hand of yours requires 
 A sequester from liberty, fasting and prayer 
 Much castigaton, exercise devout • 
 For here's a young and sweating devil here 
 I hat commonly rebels. 'Tis a good hand ' 
 A frank one. 
 Des. \ ou may, indeed, say so ; 
 
 n.^'f 'r^' '''""' ""'' g^™ ^"4- niy heart. 
 0th. A liberal haad: The hearts, of old, gave 
 But our new heraldry .s_i,ands,not hearts, [ha^ds- 
 Des. I cannot speak ot tnis. Come now y^ur pio- 
 V,"'- ,V "*' promise, chuck ? r^„. 
 
 Des I have sent to bid Cassio come sneak with you' 
 
 I .A 'f"?* I*" ^'"1 sullen fteum offends me: 
 Lend me thy handkerchief. ' 
 
 Uth. That which I gave you. 
 
 j^T , , ^ ''^^■e it not about me. 
 
 No, indeed, my lord. 
 That handkerchief That is a fault ; 
 
 Did an Egyptian to ray mother give • 
 She was a charmer, and could almosi read [it 
 
 FnZ ,1,^ 'J^^m'^l'l^. and subdue my father ' 
 
 Entirely to her love ; but if she lost it, 
 
 iu "'i". ! ^f/' "f ■'■ "y father's eye 
 
 Should hold her loathly, and his spirits should hum 
 
 After new fancies : She, dying, gave it me ; 
 
 And bid me, when my fate would have me wive, 
 
 10 pve it her. I did so : and take heed oft. 
 
 Make It a darling like your precious eye ; 
 
 10 lose or give't away, were such perdition. 
 
 As nothing else could match. 
 
 n!i' ,T,. Is it possible ? 
 
 Uth. Tis true : There's magic in the web of it . 
 .'\siDyl. that had number 'd in the world 
 Ihe sun to make two hundred compasses 
 
 0th. 
 Des. 
 
 0th. 
 
870 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 In her prophetic fbrysew'd the work : 
 The worms were hallow'd, that did breed the silk ; 
 And it was dy'd in mumroy, which the skilful 
 Conserv'd of maidens' heirts. 
 
 Dcs. Indeed ! is't tme 1 
 
 Oth. Most veritable ; therefore look to't well. 
 
 Des. Then 'would to heaven, that I had never seen 
 
 Otk. Ha ! wherefore ? [it. 
 
 Des. Why do you speak so startingly and rash t 
 
 Oth. Is't lost? is't gone? speak, is it out of the 
 
 Des. Heaven bless us ! [way ■! 
 
 Oth. Say you T 
 
 Des. It is not lost ; But what an if it were 1 
 
 Oth. Ha! 
 
 Des. I say, it is not lost. 
 
 Oth. Fetch't, let me see it. 
 
 Des. Why, so I can, sir, but 1 will not now ; 
 This is a trick, to put me from my suit j 
 I pray, let Cassio be receiv'd again. 
 
 Oth. Fetch me that handkerchief : my mind mis- 
 
 Des. Corae, come ; [gives. 
 
 You'll never meet a more sufficient man. 
 
 Oth. The handkerchief, 
 
 Des. I pray, talk roe of Cassio. 
 
 Oth. The handkerchief, 
 
 Des. A man that, all his time. 
 Hath founded his good fortune on your love, 
 Shar'd dangers with you ; 
 
 Oth, The handkerchief, 
 
 Des. In sooth, 
 Vou are to blame. 
 
 Oth. Away! [Eiit Otiiillo. 
 
 Smil. Is not this man jealous 1 
 
 Des. I ne'er saw this before. 
 Sure, there's some wonder in this handkerchief; 
 I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 
 
 Emit. 'Tis not a year or two shews us a man ; 
 They are all but stomachs, and we all but food ; 
 They eat us hungerly, and when they are full. 
 They belch us. Look you ! Cassio, and my husband. 
 
 Eniei' Iago and Cassio. 
 
 lago. Tliere is no other way ; 'tis she must do't ; 
 And, lo, the happiness! go, and imp6rtune her. 
 
 Des. How now, good Cassio? what's the news 
 with you ? 
 
 Cas. Madam, my former suit : I do beseech you. 
 That, by your virtuous means, I may again 
 Exist, and be a member of his love. 
 Whom I. with all the duty of my heart. 
 Entirely honour ; I would not be delay'd: 
 If my offence be of such mortal kind. 
 That neither service past, nor present sorrows. 
 Nor purpos'd merit in futurity. 
 Can ransome me into his love again. 
 But to know so must be my benefit ; 
 So shall I clothe me in a forc'd content. 
 And shut myself up in some other course. 
 To fortune's alms. 
 
 Des. Alas ! thrice-gentle Cassio, 
 
 Mv advocation is not now in tune ; 
 My lord is not my lord ; nor sliould 1 know him. 
 Were he in favour, as in humour, alter'd. 
 So help me, every spirit sanctified. 
 As I have spoken for you all my best. 
 And stoo^ within the blank of liiis displeasure. 
 For my i«e speech ! Vou must a while be patient : 
 What I can do, I will ; and more I will. 
 Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 
 
 Jago. Is my lord angry ? 
 
 Emil. He went hence but now. 
 
 And, certainly, insttange unquietness. 
 
 Iago. Can he be angry ? I have seen the caaDOB, 
 When it hath blown his ranks into the air ; 
 And, like the devil, from his very arm 
 PulTd his own brother ; — And can he be anerv ? 
 Something of moment, then : I will go meet him • 
 There's matter in't indeed, if he be angry. 
 
 Des. I pr'ythee, doso. — Something, sure, of state, — 
 
 [Eiit Iago. 
 Either from A'enice ; or some unhatch'd practice. 
 Made demonstrable here in Cypnis to him, — 
 Hath puddled his clear spirit : and, in such cases. 
 Men's natures wrangle with inferior things. 
 Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even so ; 
 For let our finger ache, and it indues 
 Our other healthful members ev'n to that sense 
 Of pain : Nay, we must think, men are not gods ; 
 Nor of them look for such observances 
 ."Vs fit the bridal. — Beshrew me much, Emilia, 
 I was (unhandsome warrior as I am.) 
 Arraigning his unkindness with my soul ; 
 But now 1 find. I had suborn'd the witness. 
 And he's indited falsely. 
 
 Emil. Pray heaven , it be state matters, as you think , 
 And no conception, nor no jealous toy. 
 Concerning you. 
 
 Des. Alas, the day ! I never gave him cause. 
 
 Emil. But jealous souls will not be answer'd so ; 
 They are not ever jealous for the cause. 
 But jealous for they are jealous : 'tis a monster. 
 Begot upon itself, bom on itself. 
 
 Des. lieaven keep that monster from Othello's mind '. 
 
 Emit. Lady, amen. 
 
 Des. 1 will go seek him. — Cassio, walk hereabout : 
 If I do find him fit, I'll move vour suit. 
 And seek to affect it to my uttermost. 
 
 Cas. I humbly thank your ladyship. 
 
 [Exeunt Dlsdemona and Emilia. 
 
 Enter Bianca. 
 
 Bian. Save you, friend Cassio I 
 
 Cas. What make you from home 1 
 
 How is it with you, my most fair Bianca ? 
 I'faith, sweet love, I was coming to your house. 
 
 Bian. And I was going to your lodging, Cassio. 
 What ! keep a week away ? seven days and nights t 
 Eight score eight hours? and lovers' absent hours. 
 More tedious than the dial eight score tiroes ? 
 
 weary reckoning I 
 
 Cas. Pardon me, Bianca ; 
 
 1 have this while with leaden thoughts been press'd ; 
 But I shall, in a more continuate time. 
 
 Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, 
 
 [Giving her Djsdemona's handkerchief. 
 Take me this work out. 
 
 Bian. O, CaRsio, whence came thjsl 
 
 This is some token from a newer friend. 
 To the felt absence now I (eel a cause : 
 Is it come to this ? Well, well. 
 
 Cos. Woman, go to ! 
 
 Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth. 
 From whence you have them. You are jealous now. 
 That this is from some mistress, some remembrance; 
 No, in good troth, Bianca. 
 
 Bian. Why, whose is it ? 
 
 Cos. I know not, sweet : I found it in my chamber, 
 I like the work well ; ere it be demanded, 
 (As like enough it will,) I'd have it copied ; 
 Take it, and do't ; and leave me for this time. 
 
 Bian. Leave you ! wherefore ? 
 
 Cas. I do attend here on the general ; 
 And think it no addition, nor my wish. 
 To have him see me womau'd. 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 Why, I pray you ? 
 
 871 
 
 Btan. 
 
 Ctts. Not that I love you not. 
 
 Bian. Bur that you do not love me. 
 
 1 pray you, bring me on the way a little ; 
 And say, if I shall see you soon at night. 
 
 Ctis, 'Tis but a little way, that I can bring you. 
 For I attend here : but I'll see you soon. 
 
 Biait. 'Tis very good ; I must be circumstanc'd. 
 
 [Eieiint. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCEXE I. — The same. 
 Kilter Othello and Iago. 
 
 Iiigi'. Will you think so ? 
 
 <)(/.. Think so, Iago f 
 
 Iiig<'' What, 
 
 To kiss in private ? 
 
 0th. An unauthoriz'd kiss. 
 
 Iago. Or to be naked with her friend abed. 
 An hour, or more, not meaning any harm ? 
 
 0th. Naked abed, Iago, and not mean harm ? 
 It is hypocrisy against the devil : 
 They that mean virtuously, and yet do so. 
 The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven. 
 
 la^o. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip : 
 But if I give mv wife a handkerchief, 
 
 0th. What then ? 
 
 Iago. \Vhy, then 'tis hers, my lord ; and, being hers, 
 She may, I think, bestow't on any man. 
 
 Of A. She is protectress of her honour too ; 
 May she give that ? 
 
 lagn. Her honour is an essence that's not seen ; 
 They have it very oft, that have it not : 
 But, for the handkerchief, 
 
 0th. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot 
 Thou said'st, — O, it comes o'er my memory, [it: — 
 As doth the raven o'er the infected house. 
 Boding to all, — he had my handkerchief. 
 
 Iago. Ay, what of that ! 
 
 0th. That's not so good, now. 
 
 Iago. What, if I had said, I had seen him do you 
 wrong? 
 Or heard him say, — As knaves be such abroad. 
 Who having, by their own importunate suit. 
 Or voluntary dotage of some mistress. 
 Convinced or supplied them, cannot choose 
 But they must blab 
 
 0th. Hath he said any thing 1 
 
 Iago. He hath, my lord : but be you well assur'd, 
 No more than he'll unswear. 
 
 0th. What hath he said t 
 
 Iago. 'Faith , that he did, — 1 know not what he did. 
 
 0th. What! what? 
 
 Iago, Lie 
 
 Oth. With her? 
 
 logo. With her, on her; what you will. 
 
 Oih. Lie with her I lie on her ! — We say. lie on 
 her, when they belie her : Lie with her ! that's ful- 
 some. — Handkerchief, — confessions, — handkerchief. 
 — To confess, and be hanged for his labour. — First, 
 to be hanged, and then to confess : — I tremble at it. 
 Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing 
 passion, without some instruction. It is not words, 
 that shake me thus . — Pish ! — Noses, ears, and lips : 
 — Is it possible? — Confess I — Handkerchief! — O 
 devil ! — l^FalU in a trance, 
 
 Iago. Work on. 
 Mv medicine, work! Thus credulous fools are caught ; 
 And many worthy and chaste dames, even thus, | 
 
 .\11 guiltless meet reproach — What, ho ! my lord ! 
 Enter Cassio. 
 
 My lord, I say ! Othello ! — How now, Cassio? 
 
 Cos. What is the matter ! 
 
 logo. My lord is fallen into an epilepsy; 
 This is his second fit ; he had one yesterday. 
 
 Cas. Rub him about the temples. 
 
 Iago. No, forbear : 
 
 The lethargy must have his quiet course : 
 If not, he foams at mouth ; and, by and by. 
 Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs : 
 Do you withdraw yourself a little while. 
 He will recover straight ; when he is gone, 
 I would on great occasion speak with you. — 
 
 [Exit Cassio. 
 How is it, general ? have you not hurt your head ? 
 
 Oth. Dost thou mock mc ? 
 
 Iago. I mock you ! no, by heaven : 
 
 'W ould you would bear your fortunes like a man. 
 
 Oth. A horned man's a monster, and a beast. 
 
 Iago. There's many a beast then in a populous city. 
 And many a civil monster. 
 
 Oth. Did he confess it ? 
 
 logo. Good sir, be a man ; 
 
 Think, every bearded fellow, that's but yok'd, 
 iMay draw with you : there's millions now alive, 
 1 hat nightly lie in those unproper beds. 
 Which they dare swear peculiar ; your case is better. 
 O, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock. 
 To lip a wan,ton in a secure couch. 
 And to suppose her chaste! No, let me know ; 
 -ind, knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. 
 
 Oth. O, thou art wise ; 'tis certain. 
 
 logo. Stand you awhile apart ; 
 
 Confine yourself but in a patient list. 
 Whilst you were here, ere while mad with your grief, 
 (.\ passion most unsuiting such a man,) 
 Cassio came hither : I shifted him away, 
 .•\nd laid good 'souse upon your ecstasy ; 
 Bade him anon return, and here speak with me ; 
 The which he promis'd. Do but encave yourself. 
 And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable scorns, 
 1 hat dwell in every region of his face ; 
 For I will make him tell the tale anew, — 
 U here, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
 He hath, and is again to cope your wife ; 
 1 say, but mark his gesture, ilarry, patience ; 
 Or I shall say, you are ail in ail in spleen. 
 And nothing of a man. 
 
 Oth. Dost thou hear, Iago ? 
 
 I will be found most cunning in my patience ; 
 But (dost thou hear t) most bloody. 
 
 ^ogo- That's not amiss ; 
 
 But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw ? 
 
 [Othello withdraws. 
 Now will T question Cassio of Bianca, 
 .A housewife, that, by selling her desires, 
 Buys herself bread and clothes : it is a creature, 
 fhat dote- on Cassio, — as 'tis the strumpet's plague. 
 To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one ; — 
 He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 
 From the excess of laughter : — Here he comes . 
 
 Re-enter Cassio. 
 .As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad ; 
 .And his unbookish jealousy must construe 
 Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures, and light behaviour. 
 Quite in the wrong. — How do you now, lieutenant? 
 
 Cui. 1 he worser. that you give me the addition, 
 Whose want even kills me. 
 
 Iago. Ply Dcsdemona well, and you are sure oft. 
 
872 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Now,if tliis suit lay in Bianca's power, [Si)eahi7ig lower. 
 How quickly should you speed ] 
 
 Cas. Alas, poor caititf! 
 
 0th. Look, how he laughs already ! lAside- 
 
 lago. I never knew a woman love man so. 
 
 Cm. Alas, poor rogue ! I think i'faith, she loves me. 
 
 0th, Now he denies it faintly, and laughs it out. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 lago. Do you hear, Cassio ? 
 
 0'''» Now he importunes him 
 
 To tell it o'er : Go to ; well said, well said. [Aside. 
 
 lago. She gives it out, that you shall marry her ; 
 Do you intend it ? 
 
 Cas. Ha, ha. ha ! 
 
 0th. Do you triumph, Pvoman ? do you triumph ? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Cas. I marry her ! — what? a customer! I pr'ythee, 
 bear some charity to my wit ; do not think it so un- 
 wholesome. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 0th. So, so, so, so : They laugh that win. [Aside. 
 
 lago. 'Faith, the cry goes, that you shall marry her. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, say true. 
 
 lago. I am a very villain else. 
 
 0th. Have you scored me ? Well. [Aside. 
 
 Cas. This is the monkey's own giving out; she is 
 persuaded I will marry her, out of her own love and 
 flattery, not out of my promise. 
 
 0th. lago beckons me ; now he begins the story. 
 
 [.4side. 
 
 Cas. She was here even now ; she haunts me in 
 every place. I was, the other day, talking on the 
 sea-bank with certain Venetians ; and thither comes 
 this bauble ; by this hand, she fans thus about my 
 neck ; . 
 
 Otii. Crying, dear Cassio ! as it were: his ges- 
 ture imports it. [Aside. 
 
 Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me ; so 
 hales, and pulls me : ha, ha, ha ! — 
 
 0th. Now he tells, how she plucked him to my 
 chamber: O. I see that nose of yours', but not that 
 dog I shall throw it to. [Aside. 
 
 Cas. Well. 1 must leave lier company. 
 
 Jago. Before me ! look, where she comes. 
 
 JEnter Bianca. 
 
 Cas. "Tis such another fitchew ! marry, a perfumed 
 one. — What do you mean by this haunting of me ? 
 
 Bia}i. Let the devil and his dam hauntyou ! What 
 did you mean by that same handkerchief, you gave me 
 even now ! I was a fine fool to take it. I must take 
 out the whole work ?— A likely piece of work, that 
 you should find it in your chamber, and not know 
 who left it there ! This is some minx's token, and I 
 must take out the work ? There, — give it your hobby 
 horse : wheresoever you had it, I'll take out no work 
 on't. 
 
 Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca? how now? how 
 now? 
 
 0th. By heaven, that should be my handkerchief! 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Biaii. An you'll come to supper to-night, you may : 
 an you will not, come when you are ne.vt prepared 
 for. [Exit. 
 
 Jago. After her, after her. 
 
 Cos. 'Faith, I must, she'll rail in the street else. 
 
 logo. Will you sup there? 
 
 Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. 
 
 lagn. Well, I may chance to see you ; for I would 
 very fain speak with you. 
 
 Cas. Pr'ythee, come ; Will you ? 
 
 logo. Go to ; say no more. [Exit Cassio. 
 
 0th. How shall I murder him, lago 1 
 
 lago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice? 
 
 0th. O, lago ! 
 
 lago. And did you see the handkerchief? 
 
 0(7i. Was that "mine? 
 
 lago. Yours, by this hand : and to see how he 
 prizes the foolish woman, your wife ! she gave it him, 
 and he hath given it his whore. 
 
 0th. I would have him nine years a killing : — 
 A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 
 
 lago. Nay, you must forget that. 
 
 0th. Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned 
 to-night ; for she shall not live : No, my heart is 
 turned to stone ; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. 
 O, the world hath not a sweeter creature : she might 
 lie by an emperor's side, and command him tasks. 
 
 logo. Nay, that's not your way. 
 
 Otli. Hang her ! I do but say what she is : — So 
 delicate with her needle ! — -in admirable musician! 
 O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear ! — Of 
 so high and plenteous wit and invention ! 
 
 lago. She's the worse for all this. 
 
 0th. O, a thousand, a thousand times: — And 
 then, of so gentle a condition ! 
 
 lago. Ay, too gentle. 
 
 0th. Nay, that's certain : But yet the pity of it, 
 lago I — 0, lago, the pity of it, lago ! 
 
 lago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her 
 patent to offend; for, if it touch not you, it comes 
 near nobody. 
 
 0th. I will chop her into messes : — Cuckold me ! 
 
 lago. O, 'tis foul in her. 
 
 0th. With mine officer ! 
 
 logo. That's fouler. 
 
 0th. Get me some poison, lago; this night: — I'D 
 not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty 
 unprovide my mind again — this night, lago. 
 
 lago. Do it not with poison, sti'angle her In her 
 bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. 
 
 0th. Good, good; the justice of it pleases; very 
 good. 
 
 logo. And, for Cassio, — let me be his undertaker; 
 You shall hear more by midnight. [A trumpet within. 
 
 0th. Excellent good. — What trumpet is that same? 
 
 lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis Lodovico, 
 Come from the duke : and, see, your wife is with him. 
 
 Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attendants. 
 
 Lod. 'Save you, worthy general ! 
 
 0th. With all my heart, sir 
 
 Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet you. 
 [Gives him a packet 
 
 0th. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 
 
 [Opens the pactiet, and reads. 
 
 Des. And what's the news, good cousin Lodovico ' 
 
 lago. I am very glad to see you, signior ; 
 Welcome to Cyprus. 
 
 Lod. I thank you : how does lieutenant Cassio ? 
 
 higo. Lives, sir. [lord 
 
 Des. Cousin, there's fallen between him and my 
 An unkind breach : but you shall make all well. ■ 
 
 Otit. Are you sure of that? 
 
 Des. My lord? 
 
 0th. [Heads.] This fail you not to do, as pon wilt, — 
 
 Lod. He did not call : he's busy in the paper. 
 Is there division 'twixt thy lord and Cassio ! 
 
 Des. A most unhappy one ; I would do much 
 To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. 
 
 0th. Fire and brimstone ! 
 
 Des. My lord ? 
 
 0th. Are you wise 3 
 
 Des. What, is he angry? 
 
 Lod. 'May be, the letter mov'd him; 
 
ACT IV.— SCENE II. 
 
 873 
 
 For, as I think, they do command him home. 
 Deputing Cassio in his government. 
 
 Des. By my troth, 1 am glad on't. 
 
 Oth, Indeed ? 
 
 2>es. i\Iy lord ? 
 
 Oih. I ajn glad to see you mad. 
 
 Des. How, sweet Othello ? 
 
 Otk. Devil! [Striking her, 
 
 Des, I have not deserv'd this. 
 
 Lod. My lord, this would not be believed in Venice, 
 Though I should swear I saw it : 'Tis very much ; 
 Make her amends, she weeps. 
 
 0th. devil, devil \ 
 
 If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, 
 Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile : — 
 Out of my sight ! 
 
 Des, I will not stay to offend you. [Goiyig. 
 
 Lod, Truly, an obedient lady : — 
 I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 
 
 0th, Mistress 
 
 Des. Uy lord 1 
 
 0th. WhoX would you with her, sir. 
 
 Lod. Who T, my lord? 
 
 Ot/j.Ay ; you did wish, that I would make her turn : 
 Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on. 
 And turn again ; and she can weep, sir, weep; 
 And she's obedient, as you say. — obedient, — 
 Very obedient: — Proceed you in your tears. — 
 Concerning this, sir, — O well-painted passion ! 
 I am commanded home : —Get you away : 
 I'll send for you anon — Sir, 1 obey the mandate. 
 And will return to Venice ; — Hence, avaunt ! 
 
 [Eiit Desdemona. 
 Cassio shall have my place. And. — sir, to night, 
 I do entreat that we may sup together. 
 You aiQ welcome, sir, to Cyprus. Goats andmonkies! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lod, Is this the noble Moor whom our full senate 
 Call — all-in-all sufficient ?— This the noble nature 
 Whom passion could not shake ^ whose solid virtue 
 The shot of accident, nor dart of chance, 
 Could neither graze nor pierce t 
 
 Sago. He is much chang'd, 
 
 Lod. Are his wits safe'? is he not light of brain ? 
 
 lago. He is that he is ; I may not breathe my cen- 
 sure. 
 What he might be, — if, what he might, he is not, — 
 1 would to heaven, he were. 
 
 Lod, What, strike his wife ! 
 
 lago. 'Faith, that was not so well ; Yet 'would I 
 That stroke would prove the worst. [knew, 
 
 l^d, Ts it his use t 
 
 Or did the letters work upon his blood. 
 And new-create this fault? 
 
 lago. Alas, alas ! 
 
 It is not honesty in me, to speak 
 What I have seen and known. You shall observe hira; 
 And his own courses will denote him so. 
 That 1 may save my speech : Do but go after, 
 And mark how he continues. 
 
 Lod. I am sorry, that I am deceiv'd in him. [Ex. 
 
 SCENE 11.—^ Uoom in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Othello and Emilia. 
 
 0th, You iiave seen nothing then 1 
 Emit. Nor ever heard ; nor ever did suspect. 
 0th. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she together. 
 Emit. But then I saw no harm ; and then I heard 
 Each syllable, that breath made up between them. 
 Offt." What, did they never whisper^ 
 Ernil. Never, my lord. 
 
 0th. Nor send you out o'the way? 
 
 EjniL Never. 
 
 0th. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, nor 
 
 EmiL Never, my lord. [nothing \ 
 
 Otk. That's strange. 
 
 EmiL I durst, my lord, to wager she is honest, 
 Lay down my soul at stake : if you think other. 
 Remove your thought ; it doth abuse -your bosom. 
 If any wretch hath put this in your head. 
 Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse! 
 For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true. 
 There's no man happy ; the purest of their wives 
 Is foul as slander. 
 
 Oth. Bid her come hither: — go. — [Eiit Emil 
 She says enough ; — yet she's a simple bawd, 
 That cannot say as much. This is a subtle whore, 
 A closet-lock-and-key of villanous secrets : 
 And yet she'll kneel, and pray ; I have seen her do't. 
 
 Re-enter Emilia, with Desdemona. 
 
 Des, My lord, what is your will ? 
 
 Oth, Pray, chuck, come hither. 
 
 Des. What is your pleasure ? 
 
 Oth. Let me see your eyes ; 
 
 Look in my face. 
 
 Des. What horrible fancy's this? 
 
 Oth, Some of your function, mistress ; [To Emil 
 Leave procreants alone, and shut the door ; 
 Cough, or cry — hem, if any body come : 
 Your mystery, your mystery ; — nay, despatch. 
 
 [Exit Emilia. 
 
 Des. Upon my knees, what doth your speech im- 
 I understand a fury in your words, [port? 
 
 But not the words. 
 
 Oth. Why, what art thou? 
 
 Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true 
 
 And loyal wife. 
 
 Oth. Come, swear it, damn thyself; 
 
 Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils themselves 
 Should fear to seize thee : therefore be double- 
 Swear — thou art honest. [damn'd, 
 
 Des. Heaven doth truly know it. 
 
 Oth. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as 
 hell. [false? 
 
 Des. To whom, my lord? with whom ? How am 1 
 
 Oth, O Desderaona ! — away! away! away! 
 
 Des. Alas, the heavy day ! — Why do you weep? 
 Am I the occasion of these tears, my lord ? 
 If, haply, you my father do suspect. 
 An instrument of this your calling back, 
 Lay not your blame on me ; if you have lost hira. 
 Why, I have lost him too. 
 
 Oth, Had it pleas'd heaven 
 
 To try me with affliction ; had he rain'd 
 All kinds of sores, and shames, on my bare head ; 
 Steep'd me in poverty to the very lips ; 
 Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; 
 I should have found in some part of my soul 
 A drop of patience : but (alas I) to make me 
 A fixed figure, for the time of scorn 
 To point his slow unmoving finger at,^ 
 O! O! 
 
 Vet could I bear that too i well, very well : 
 But there, where I have garner'd up my heart ; 
 Where either I must live, or bear no life ; 
 The fountain from the which my current runs. 
 Or else dries up ; to be discarded thence* 
 Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads 
 To knot and gender in ! — turn thy complexion there I 
 Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cherubin • 
 Ay. there, look grim as hell ! 
 
 Des, I hope, my noble lord esteems rae houest. 
 
874 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 0th. O, ay ; as summer flies are in the shambles, 
 That quicken even with blowing;. thou weed. 
 Who art so lovely fair, and smell'st so sweet, 
 That the sense aches at thee. — 'Would, thou hadst 
 ne'er been born! 
 
 Des, Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed ? 
 
 0th. Was this fair paper, this most goodly book 
 Made to write whore upon 1 What committed ! 
 Committed ! — thou public commoner ' 
 I should make very forges of my cheeks, 
 That would to cinders burn up modesty. 
 Did, I but speak thy deeds. — What committed ^ 
 Heaven stops the nose at it, and the moon winks ; 
 The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets. 
 Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, 
 And will not hear it : What committed! 
 Impudent strumpet ! 
 
 Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. 
 
 0th, Are you not a strumpet 1 
 
 Des. No, as I am a Christian : 
 
 If to preserve this vessel for my lord. 
 From any other foul unlawful touch, 
 Be — not to be a strumpet, I am none. 
 
 0th. What, not a whore? 
 
 Des. No, as I shall be saved. 
 
 0th. Is it possible? 
 
 Des, O, heaven forgive us ! 
 
 0th. I cry you mercy, then: 
 
 I took you for that cunning whore of Venice, 
 That married with Othello. — You, mistress. 
 
 Re-enter Kmilia. 
 That have the office opposite to Saint Peter, 
 And keep the gate of hell ; You ! you ! ay, you ! 
 We have done our course ; there 's money for your 
 
 pains ; 
 I pray you, turn the key, and keep our counsel. [Ejit. 
 
 Emit. Alas, what does this gentleman conceive ? — 
 How do you, madam ? how do you, my good lady ? 
 
 Des, 'Faith, half asleep. 
 
 Emit. Good madam, what's the matterwithmylord? 
 
 Des. With who? 
 
 Ejnil. Why, with my lord, madam. 
 
 Des. Who is thy lord ? 
 
 Emit, He that is yours, sweet lady 
 
 Des. I have none: Do not talk to me Emilia; 
 I cannot weep ; nor answer I liave none. 
 But what should go by water. Pr'ythee, to-night 
 Lay on my bed my wedding sheets, — remember ; — 
 And call thy husband hither, 
 
 Emil. Here is a change, indeed! [Exit. 
 
 Des. 'Tis meet I should be us'd so, very meet. 
 How have I been behav'd. that he might stick 
 The small'st opinion on my great'st abuse 1 
 
 Re-enter Emilia, with Iago. 
 
 lago. W'hat is your pleasure, madam ? How is it 
 with you ? 
 
 Des. I cannot tell. Those, that do teach young 
 Do it with gentle means, and easy tasks : [babes, 
 He might have chid me so ; for, in good faith, 
 I am a child to chiding. 
 
 }at;o. What's the matter, lady? 
 
 Emil. Alas, Tago, my lord hath so bewhor'd her, 
 Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon her. 
 As true hearts cannot bear, 
 
 Des. Am I that name, Iago? 
 
 lugo W^hat name, fair lady? 
 
 Des. Such as, she says, my lord did say I was. 
 
 Emil. He call'd her, whore ; a beggar, in his drink, 
 Could not have laid such terms upon his callet. 
 
 Iiigo, W^hy did he so ? 
 
 Des. 1 do not know j 1 am sure, I am none such. 
 
 Iago. Do not weep, do not weep ; Alas, the day ! 
 
 Emil. Has she forsook so many noble matches, 
 Her father, and her country, and her friends, 
 To be called — whore? would it not make oneweepl 
 
 Des. It is my wretched fortune. 
 
 Iago. Beshrew him for it ! 
 
 How comes this trick upon him ? 
 
 Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 
 
 Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal villain. 
 Some busy and insinuating rogue. 
 Some cogging cozening slave, to get some office. 
 Have not devis'd this slander; I '11 be hang'd, else. 
 
 Iago. Fye, there is no such man; it is impossible. 
 
 Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon him ! 
 
 Emil. A halter pardon him ! and hell gnaw bis 
 bones! [pany? 
 
 Why should he call her, whore ? who keeps her com- 
 What place? what time? what form? what likelihood? 
 The Moor's abus'd by some most villanous knave, 
 Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fellow: — 
 O, heaven, that such companions thou'dst unfold; 
 And put in every honest hand a whip, 
 To lash the rascal naked through the world, 
 Even from the east to the west ! 
 
 Iago. Speak within door, 
 
 Emil. O, fye upon him! some such squire he was. 
 That turn'd your wit the seamy side without, 
 And made you to suspect me with the Moor. 
 
 Iago. You are a fool ; go to. 
 
 Des, O good Iago. 
 
 What shall I do to win my lord again ? 
 Good friend, go to him ; for, by this light of heaven, 
 I know not how I lost liim. Here 1 kneel : — ■ 
 If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst his love, 
 Either in discourse or tliought, or actual deed j 
 Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, 
 Delighted them in any other form ; 
 Or that I do not yet, and ever did, 
 And ever will, — though he do shake me off 
 To beggarly divorcement, — love him dearly. 
 Comfort forswear me ! Unkindness may do much ; 
 And his unkindness may defeat my life, 
 But never taint my love, I cannot say, whore ; 
 It does abhor me, now I speak the word ; 
 To do the act that might the addition earn, 
 Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 
 
 Iago, I pray you, be content; 'tis tat his humour; 
 The business of the state does him offence, 
 And he does chide with you. 
 
 Des. If 'twere no other, — 
 
 Iago. It is but so, I warrant you. [Trumpets, 
 
 Hark, how these instruments summon to supper ! 
 And the great messengers of Venice stay : 
 Go in, and weep not: all things shall be well. 
 
 [EAeunt DtSDEMONA and Emilia* 
 
 Enter Roderigo. 
 
 How now, "Roderigo? 
 
 Rod. I do not find, that thou deal'st justly with me. 
 
 Iago. What in the contrary? 
 
 Rod. Every day thou doff'st me with some device, 
 Iago; and rather (as it seems to me now,) keep'st 
 from me all conveniency, than suppliest me with the 
 least advantage of hope. I will, indeed, no longer 
 endure it : Nor am I yet persuaded, to put up in peace 
 what already I have foolishly suffered. 
 
 Iago. Will you hear me, Roderigo? 
 
 Rod. 'Faith. I have heard toomuch ; for your words, 
 and performances, are no kin together. 
 
 Iago. You charge me most unjustly. 
 
 Rod. With nought but truth. I have wasted my- 
 self out of my means. The jewels you have had from 
 
ACT IV.-SCENE III. 
 
 me, to deliver to Desdemona, would half have cor- 
 rupted a votarist : Vou have told me — she has re- 
 ceived them, and returned me expectations and com- 
 forts of sudden respect and acquittance ; but 1 tind 
 none. 
 
 lago. Well ; go to ; very well. 
 
 Rod. Very well ! goto! I cannot go to, man; nor 
 'tis not very well : By this hand, I say, it is very 
 scurvy ; and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 
 
 lago. Very well. 
 
 Rod. I tell you, 'tis not very well. I will make 
 myself known to Desdemona : If she will return me 
 my jewels, I will give over my suit, and repent my 
 unlawful solicitation ; if not, assure yourself, I will 
 seek satisfaction of you. 
 
 lago. You have said now. 
 
 Rod. Ay, and I have said nothing, but what I pro- 
 test intendment of doing. 
 
 lago. Why, now I see there 's mettle in thee j and 
 even, from this instant, do build on thee a better opi- 
 nion than ever before. Give me thy hand, Roderigo: 
 Thou hast taken against me a most just exception ; 
 but yet, I protest, I have dealt most directly in thy 
 affair. 
 
 Rod. It hath not appeared. 
 
 lago, I grant, indeed, it hath not appeared ; and 
 your suspicion is not without wit and judgment. But, 
 Roderigo, if thou hast that within tliee indeed, which 
 I have greater reason to believe now than ever, — I 
 mean, purpose, courage, and valour, — this night shew 
 it; if thou the next night following enjoyest not Des- 
 demona, take me from this world with treachery, and 
 devise engines for my life. 
 
 Rod. Well, what is it 1 is it within reason, and 
 compass ] 
 
 lago. Sir, there is especial commission come from 
 Venice, to depute Cassio in Othello's place. 
 
 Rod, Is that truel w'ny, then Othello and Desde- 
 jiona return again to Venice. 
 
 lago, O, no; he goes into Mauritania, and takes 
 away with him the fair Desdemona, unless his abode 
 be lingered here by some accident ; wherein none can 
 be so determinate, as the removing of Cassio. 
 
 Rod. How do you mean— removing of him 1 
 
 lai'o. Why, by making him uncapable of Othello's 
 place ; knocking out his brains. 
 
 Rod. And that you would have me do? 
 
 lago. Ay ; if you dare do yourself a profit, and a 
 right. He sups to-night with a harlot, and thither 
 will I go to him ;— he knows not yet of his honour- 
 able fortune : if you will watch his going thence, 
 (which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and 
 one,) you may take him at your pleasure ; I will be 
 near to second your attempt, and he shall fall between 
 us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with 
 me ; I w'ill shew you such a necessity in liis death, 
 that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. 
 It is now high supper-time, and the night grows to 
 tvaste : about it. 
 
 Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 
 
 lago. And you shall be satisfied. [Eicunt. 
 
 SCENE 111.— Another Room in the Castle. 
 
 Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desde.mona, Emilia, 
 a7id Attendants. 
 
 Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble yourself no 
 
 further. 
 0th. O. pardon me; 'twill do me good to walk. 
 lorf. Madam, good night ; I humbly thank your 
 
 ladyship. 
 Des. Your honour is most welcome. 
 
 875 
 
 Will you walk, sir? — 
 
 Otk. 
 O, — Desdemona, 
 
 Des. My lord t 
 
 0th. Get you to bed on the instant ; I will be re- 
 turned forthwith: dismiss your attendant there; look. 
 It be done. 
 
 Des. I will, my lord. 
 
 \_Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants, 
 
 Emit. How goes it now? he looks gentler than he 
 
 Des. He says, he will return incontinent ; [did. 
 He hath commanded me to go to bed, 
 And bade me to dismiss you. 
 
 Emit. Dismiss me t 
 
 Des. It was his bidding ; therefore, good Emilia, 
 Give roe my nightly wearing, and adieu : 
 We must not now displease him. 
 
 Emil. I would, you had never seen him ! 
 
 Des. So would not I ; my love doth so approve him. 
 That even his stubbornness, his checks, and frowns, — 
 Pr'ylhee, unpin me, — have grace and favour in them. 
 
 Etnil. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the 
 bed. [minds ! — 
 
 Des. All's one: — Good father! how foolish are our 
 If I do die before thee, pr'ythee, shroud me 
 In one of those same sheets. 
 
 Emit. Come, come, you talk. 
 
 Des. My mother had a maid call'd— Barbara ; 
 She was in love ; and he, she lov'd, prov'd mad, 
 And did forsake her : she had a song of — willow, 
 An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune. 
 And she died singing it : That song, to-night. 
 Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do, 
 But to go hang my head all at one side. 
 And sing it. like poor Barbara. Pr'ythee, despatch. 
 
 Emit. Shall I go fetch your night-gown 1 
 
 Des. No, unpin me here. — 
 
 This Lodovico is a proper man. 
 
 Emit. A very handsome man. 
 
 Des. And he speaks well. 
 
 Emil. I know a lady in Venice, who would have 
 walked barefoot to Palestine, for a touch of his nether 
 Up. 
 
 I. 
 
 Des. The poor soul sat sighing hy a sycamore tree, 
 Siiig all a green willow ; [Singing. 
 
 Her hauii on her bosom, her head on her knee. 
 Sing willow, willow, willow: 
 
 The fresh streams ran by her, and murmured her 
 Sing willow, S^c. [moans ; 
 
 Her salt tears fell from, her, and softened the stones; 
 Lay by these : 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
 Pr'ythee, hie thee ; he '11 come anon. — 
 
 Sing all a green willow must be 7nij garland, 
 
 IL 
 
 Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve, — 
 
 Nay, that's not next. — Hark ! who is it that knocks? 
 Emil. It is the wind. 
 
 Des. I call' d my love, false love; but what said he 
 Sing willow, A"c. [^then 7 
 
 Ij I court mo women, you *U couch with mo men. 
 
 So, get thee gone ; good night. Mine eyes do itch ; 
 
 Doth that bode weeping? 
 
 Emil. *Tis neither here nor there 
 
 Des. I have heard it said so. — O, these men, theso 
 men ! — 
 
 Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emilia,— 
 
 That there be women do abuse their husbands 
 
876 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 In such gross kiod ? 
 
 Emit. There be some such, no question. 
 
 Des. ^^'ould'st thou do such a deed for all the 
 
 Emit. Why, would not you ? [world 1 
 
 Des. No, by this heavenly light ! 
 
 Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light ; 
 I might do't as well i'the dark. 
 
 Des. Would'st thou do such a deed for all the world' 
 
 Emil. The world is a huge thing ; 'Tis a great price 
 For a small vice. 
 
 Des. Good troth, I think thou would'st not. 
 
 Emil. By my troth, I think I should ; and undo't, 
 when I had done. Marry, I would not do such a 
 thing for a joint-ring ; nor for measures of lawn ; 
 nor for gowns, pettiiioats, nor caps, nor any petty 
 exhibition : but for the whole world, — Wiiy, who 
 would not make her husband a cuckold, to make him 
 a monarcli 1 I should venture purgatory for't. 
 
 Des. Beshrew me, if I would do such a wrong for 
 the whole world. 
 
 Emil. Why, the wrong is but a wrong i'the world ;' 
 and, having the world for your labour, 'tis a wrong 
 in your own world, and you might quickly make it 
 right. 
 
 Des. I do not think there is any such woman. 
 
 Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many [for. 
 
 To the vantage, as would store the world they play'd 
 But, I do think, it is their husbands' faults, 
 If wives do fall : Say, that they slack their duties, 
 And pour out treasures into foreign laps ; 
 Or else break out in peevish jealousies. 
 Throwing restraint upon us ; or, say, they strike us. 
 Or scant our former having in despite ; 
 Why, we have galls: and, though we have some grace. 
 Yet we have some revenge. Let husbands know, 
 Theirwives have sense like them : they see. and smell. 
 And have their palates both for sweet and sour. 
 As husbands have. What is it that they do. 
 When they change us for others 1 Is it sport 1 
 I think, it is ; and doth affection breed it '. 
 I think, it doth ; Is't frailty, that thus errs 1 
 It is so too : And have not we affections ? 
 Desires for sport] and frailty, as men have 1 
 Then, let them use us well: else, let them know. 
 The ills we do, their ills instruct us to. 
 
 Des. Good night, good night: Heaven me such 
 usage send, 
 Not to pick bad from bad ; but, by bad, mend ! 
 
 lExeunt. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street. 
 
 Enter Iago and Roderigo. 
 
 lago. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight will 
 he come : 
 Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it home ; 
 Quick, quick ; fear nothing ; I'll be at thy elbow : 
 It makes us, or it mars us ; think on that, 
 And 6x most firm thy resolution. 
 
 Bod. Be near at baud ; I may miscarry in't. 
 Iago. Here at thy hand ; be bold, and take thy 
 sword. [Retires to a Utile distance. 
 
 Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; ■ 
 And yet he has given me satisfying reasons : — 
 'Tis but a man gone : — forth, my sword ; he dies. 
 
 [Goes to bis stand. 
 Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost to the 
 sense. 
 And he grows angry. Now whether he kill Cassio, 
 
 Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other. 
 
 Every way makes my gain : Live Roderigo, 
 
 He calls me to a restitution large 
 
 Of gold, and jewels, that I bobb'd from him, 
 
 As gifts to Desdemona ; 
 
 It must not be : if Cassio do remain. 
 
 He hath a daily beauty in his life, 
 
 That makes me ugly ; and besides, the Moor 
 
 i\Iay unfold me to him ; there stand I in much peril : 
 
 No, he must die : — But so, I hear him coming. 
 
 Enter Cassio. 
 
 Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he ;— Villain, thou diest. 
 [Rushes from his post, iSf makes a pass at Cassio. 
 Cos. That thrust had been mine enemy indeed, 
 But that my coat is better than thou think'st ; 
 I will make proof of thine. 
 
 [Draws, and joounds RoDEniGO. 
 Rod. O, I am slain ! 
 
 [Iago rushes from his post, cuts Cassio behind 
 in the leg, and exit. 
 Cas. I am maim'd for ever : — Help, ho ! murder! 
 murder ! [Fulla. 
 
 Enter Othello, at a distance. 
 
 0th. The voice of Cassio : — Iago keeps his word- 
 Rod. O, villain that I am ! 
 0th. Hark 1 'tis even so. 
 
 Cas. O.help! ho! light! a surgeon ! 
 0th. 'Tis he ;— brave Iago, honest, and just, 
 That hast such noble sense of thy friend's wrong ! 
 Thou teachest me, — Minion, your dear lies dead. 
 And your fate hies apace : — Strumpet, 1 come : 
 Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes are 
 
 blotted ; 
 Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood be 
 spotted. [Eiit Othello. 
 
 Enter Lodovico and Gratiano, at a distance. 
 
 Cas. What ho ! no watch 1 no passage ? murder! 
 murder I 
 
 Gra. 'Tis soraemischance ; the cry is very direful. 
 
 Cas. O, help ! 
 
 Lod. Hark ! 
 
 Rod. wretched villain ! 
 
 Lad. Two or three groans ;— it is a heavy night ; 
 These may be counterfeits ; let's think't unsafe 
 To come in to the cry, without more help. 
 
 Rod. No body cornel then shall I bleed to death. 
 Enter Iago with a light. 
 
 Lod. Hark? [weapons. 
 
 Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with light and 
 
 Iago. Who's there ? whose noise is this that cries 
 
 Lad. We do not know. [on murder 1 
 
 Iago. Did you not hear a cry ? 
 
 Cas. Here, here ; for heaven's sake, help me. 
 
 Iago. What's the matter ; 
 
 Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as 1 take it. 
 
 Lod. The same, indeed ; a very valiant fellow, 
 
 logo. What are you here, that cry so grievously ? 
 
 Cas. Iago ? O, I am spoil'd, undone by villains ! 
 Give me some help. [this ? 
 
 logo. me, lieutenant! what villains have done 
 
 Cfis. I think that one of them is hereabout. 
 And cannot make away. 
 
 Iago. O treacherous villains t — 
 
 What are you there 1 come in, and give some help. 
 
 [To LoDOvico, and Gratiano. 
 
 Rod. O, help rae here ! 
 
 Cas. That's one of them. 
 
 Iago, O murderous slave ! O villain ! 
 
 [Iago slabs Roderigo. 
 
ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 877 
 
 7?"^. O damn'd lago t inhuman dog ? — 
 : O ! O ! [thieves'! 
 
 lago. Kill men i'the dark ! — Where be these bloody 
 How silent is this town ! Ho! murder! murder! 
 AVhat may you be ? are you of good, or evil ? 
 
 Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 
 
 lagn. Siirnior Lodovico 1 
 
 Lod. He, sir. 
 
 /rt^o. I cry you menry . Here's Cassio hurt 
 By villains. 
 
 Gra. Cassio? 
 
 lago. How is it, brother ? 
 
 Cas. My leg is cut in two. 
 
 lago. Many, heaven forbid T 
 
 Light, gentlemen ; I'll bind it with my shirt. 
 
 Enter BlANCA. 
 
 Bian. What is the matter, hoi who is't that cry'd! 
 
 Jago. Who is't that cry'd I 
 
 Bian. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! 
 O Cassio ! Cassio ! Cassio ! [pect 
 
 lagfl. O notable strumpet! — Cassio, mayyousus- 
 Who they should be, that have thus mangled you ? 
 
 Cas No. [seek you. 
 
 Gra. I am sorry to find you thus : I have been to 
 
 logo. Lend me a garter : So. — 0, for a chair. 
 To bear him easily hence I 
 
 Bian. Alas, he faints :—0 Cassio! Cassio! Cassio! 
 
 lago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash 
 To be a party in this injury. — 
 Patience a while, good Cassio. — Come, come ; 
 Lend me a light. — Know we this face, or no ! 
 Alas ! my friend, and my dear countryman, 
 Roderigo ? no ; — Yes, sure ; heaven ! Roderigo. 
 
 Gra. What, of Venice t 
 
 lago. Even he, sir ; did you know him 7 
 
 Gra. , Know him 1 ay. 
 
 lago. Signior Gratiano ? I cry you gentle pardon ; 
 These bloody accidents must excuse my manners. 
 That so neglected you. 
 
 Gra. I am glad to see you. 
 
 lago. How do you, Cassio \ — 0, a chair, a chair! 
 
 Gra. Roderigo ! 
 
 lago. He, he, 'tis he : — 0, that's well said ; — the 
 chair ; — [ A chair brought in. 
 
 Some good man bear him carefully from hence ; 
 I'll fetch the general's surgeon. For you, mistress, 
 
 [To BlANC.4. 
 
 Saveyou your labour. — He that lies slain here, Cassio, 
 
 Was my dear friend : What malice was between you ? 
 
 Cas. None in the world ; nor do I know the man. 
 
 logo. [To Bias.] What look you pale! — O, bear 
 
 him out o' the air. — 
 
 [Cassio and Rod. are iume off. 
 Stay you, good gentlemen. — Look you pale, mistress? 
 Do you perceive the gastness of her eye ? — 
 Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon : — 
 Behold her well ; 1 pray you, look upon her ; 
 Do vou see. gentlemen ? nay, guiltiness will speak, 
 I hough tongues were out of use. 
 F.nter Emiua. 
 EmK. 'Las. what's the matter ; what's the matter, 
 
 husband ? / 
 
 lago. Cassio hath here been set on in the dark. 
 By Roderigo. and fellows that are scap'd ; 
 He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 
 
 Emit. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good Cassio ! 
 
 lago. This is the fruit of whoring. — Pr'vthee, 
 
 Emilia. 
 
 Go know ot Cassio where he supp'd to-night ; — 
 
 What, do you shake at that ? [shake not. 
 
 Bian. He supp'd at my house : but I therefore 
 
 lagn. O, did he so ? I charge you go with me. 
 
 Emit. Eye, fye upon thee, strumpet ! 
 
 Bian. 1 am no strumpet ; bat of life as honest. 
 As vou that thus abuse me. 
 
 £mH. As I ? foh ! fye upon thee ! 
 
 logo. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor Cassio 
 dress'd : — 
 Come, mistress, you must tell us another tale. — 
 Emilia, run you to the citadel. 
 And tell my lord and lady what has happ'd. — 
 Will you go on, I pray? This is the night, [Aside, 
 That either makes me, or fordoes me quite, [f xnjiU. 
 
 SCENE. II.- — A Bedchamber. Desdemoxa in bed, 
 asleep. A Light burning. 
 
 Enter Othello. 
 
 0th. It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul, — 
 Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars! — 
 It is the cause. — Yet I'll not shed her blood ; 
 Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow. 
 And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
 
 [Takes off his sword. 
 Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
 Put out the light, and then — put out the light ! 
 If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, 
 I can again Lhv former li^ht restore, 
 Should I repent me : — but once put out thine. 
 Thou cunninj'st pattern of excelling nature, 
 I know not where is that Promethean heat. 
 That can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd thy 
 I cannot give it vital growth again, [rose. 
 
 It needs must wither : I'll smell it on the tree. — 
 
 [Kissing her. 
 
 balmy breath, that dost almost persuade 
 Justice to break her sword ! — One more, one more. — 
 Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee. 
 And love thee after : — One more, and this the las' ; 
 So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 
 
 But they are cruel tears : This sorrow's heavenly ; 
 It strikes, where it doth love. — She wakes — 
 
 Des. Who's there ? Othello ? 
 
 0th, Ay, Desdemona. 
 
 Des. Will you come to bed, my lord I 
 
 0th. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona ? 
 
 Des. Ay. my lord, 
 
 0th. If you bethink yourself of anv crime 
 L^nreconcil'd as yet to heaven and grace. 
 Solicit for it straight. 
 
 Des. Alas, my lord, what mayyou mean bv that? 
 
 0th. Well, do it, and be brief': I will walk by : 
 
 1 would not kill thy unprepared spirit : 
 
 No, — Heaven forfend. — I would not kill thy soul. 
 
 Des. Talk vou of killing? 
 
 0th. ' Ay, I do. 
 
 D«. Then, heaven 
 
 Have mercy on me ! 
 
 0th. Amen, with all my heart ! 
 
 Des. If vou say so, 1 hope you will not kill me. 
 
 0th. Humph! 
 
 Dis. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal then, 
 U hen your eyes roll so: Whylshouldfear. I'linownol, 
 Sinoe guiltiness I know not; but yet, I feel. I fear. 
 
 0th. Think on thy sins. 
 
 Des. They are loves I bear to you. 
 
 0th. Ay, and for that thou diest. 
 
 Des. That death's unnatural, that kills for loving.— 
 Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip \ 
 Some bloody passion shakes vour very frame : 
 These are portents ; but yet, I hope, I hope. 
 They do not point on me. 
 
 0th. Peace, and be still • 
 
878 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Des. I will so : What's the matter 7 
 
 0th. That handkerchief, which 1 so lov'd, and gave 
 Thou gav'st to Cassio. [thee, 
 
 Des. No, by my life and soul ; 
 
 Send for the man, and ask him. 
 
 0th. Sweet soul, take heed, 
 
 Take heed of perjury ; thou'rt on thy death-bed. 
 
 Des, Ay, but not yet to die. 
 
 0th. Yes, presently : 
 
 Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
 For to deny each article with oath. 
 Cannot remove, nor choke, the strong conception, 
 That I do groan withal. Thou art to die. 
 
 Des. Then, Lord have mercy on me ! 
 
 0th. I say, amen. 
 
 Des. And have you mercy too! — I never did 
 Offend you in my life ; never lov'd Cassio, 
 But with such general warranty of heaven. 
 As I might love : I never gave him token. 
 
 0th. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief in his hand. 
 
 perjur'd woman! thou dost stone my heart. 
 And mak'st me call, what I intend to do, — 
 A murder, which I thought a sacrifice : 
 
 1 saw the handkerchief. 
 
 Des. He found it then ; 
 
 I never gave it him : — Send for him hither. 
 And let him confess a truth. 
 
 0th. He hati'i confess'd. 
 
 Des. What, my lord ? 
 
 0th. That he hath — us'd thee. 
 
 Des, Howl unlawfully? 
 
 0th, Ay. 
 
 Des. He'll not say so. 
 
 0th, I No, hismouth is stopp'd ; 
 
 Honest lago hath ta'en order for't. 
 
 Des. My fears interprets then, — What, is he dead? 
 
 0th. Had all his hairs been lives, my great revenge 
 Had stomach for them all. 
 
 Des. Alas I he is betray'd, and I undone. 
 
 0th. Out, strumpet ! Weep'st thou for him to my 
 
 Des. O, banish me, my lord, butkill me not. [face? 
 
 0th. Down, strumpet ! 
 
 Des. Kill me to-morrow, let me live to-night. 
 
 0th, Nay, if you strive. 
 
 Des. But half an hour. 
 
 0th, Being done, 
 
 There is no pause. 
 
 Des, But while I say one prayer. 
 
 0th. It is too late. [He smothers her. 
 
 Emil, [Within.] My lord, my lord! what ho ! my 
 lord ! my lord ! 
 
 0th, What noise is this? — Not dead! not yet quite 
 I, that am cruel, am yet merciful ; [dead? 
 
 I would not have thee linger in thy pain. — 
 So, so. 
 
 Emil, [Witfti?!.] What ho, my lord ! my lord ! 
 
 0th, Who's there? 
 
 EmiL [Within.] 0, good my lord, I would speak 
 a word with you. 
 
 0th. Yes ; — 'tis Emilia : — by and by : — She's dead. 
 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death ; 
 The noise was high. — !Ia ? no more moving? 
 Still as the grave. Shall she come in? Were'tgood? 
 I think, she stirs again ; — No.— What's the best? 
 If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife : 
 My wife ! my wife ! what wife ?— I have no wife : 
 O, insupportable I heavy hour I 
 Methinks it should be now a huge eclipse 
 Of sun and moon ; and that the affrighted globe 
 Should yawn at alteration. 
 
 Emil. [ Within,] I do beseech you I may speak with 
 0, good my lord ! [yo". 
 
 0th. I had forgot thee- 0, come in, Emilia:— 
 Soft, — by and by ; — Let me the curtains draw. — 
 Where art thou ? What's the matter with thee now 1 
 
 [Unlocks the door. 
 
 Enter Emilia. 
 
 Emil. 0, good mv lord, yonder's foul murder done. 
 
 0th. What? now? 
 
 Emil, But now, my lord ! 
 
 0th, It is the very error of the moon ; 
 She comes more near the earth than she was wont ; 
 And makes men mad. 
 
 Emil. Cassio, my lord, has kill'd a young Venetian, 
 Call'd — Roderigo. 
 
 0th, Roderigo kill'd ! 
 
 And Cassio kill'd ? 
 
 Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 
 
 0th. Not Cassio kill'd ? Then murder's out of tune. 
 And sweet revenge grows harsh. 
 
 Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd! 
 
 Emil. Alas -J what cry is that ? 
 
 0th. That! what? 
 
 Emil. Out and alas ! that was my lady's voice : — 
 Help! help, ho! help! — lady, speak again ! 
 Sweet Desdemona ! O, sweet mistress, speak I 
 
 Des. A -guiltless death I die. 
 
 Emil. O, who hath done 
 
 This deed? 
 
 Des, Nobody ; I myself ; farewell : 
 
 Commend me to my kind lord ; 0, farewell. [Dies. 
 
 0th, Why, how should she be murder'd ? 
 
 Emil. Alas, who knows? 
 
 0th. You heard her say herself, it was not I. 
 
 Emil. She said so ; I must needs report the truth 
 
 0th. She's, like a liar, gone to burning hell ; 
 'Twas I that kill'd her. 
 
 Emil. 0, the more angel she. 
 
 And you the blacker devil ! 
 
 0th. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. 
 
 Emil. Thou dost belie her, and thou art a devil. 
 
 0th, She was false as water. 
 
 Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 
 
 That she was false ; O, she was heavenly true ! 
 
 0th. Cassio did tup her : ask thy husband else. 
 O, I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell, 
 But that I did proceed upon just grounds 
 To this extremity ; Thy husband knew it all. 
 
 Emil. My husband ? 
 
 0th. Thy husband. 
 
 Emil. That she was false to wedlock ? 
 
 0th. ■ Ay, with Cassio, 
 
 Nay, had she been true. 
 
 If heaven would make me such another world 
 Of one entire and perfect chrysolite, 
 I'd not have sold her for it. 
 
 Emil. jMy husband ? 
 
 Olh. .\y, 'twas he that told me first ; 
 
 An honest man he is, and hates the slime 
 That sticks on filthy deeds. 
 
 Emil. Jly husband ? 
 
 0th. What needs this iterance, woman ? I say, thy 
 husband. 
 
 Emil. O mistress, villany hath made mocks with 
 My husband say, that she was false? [love ! — 
 
 0th. He, woman j 
 
 I say, thy husband : Dost understand the word ? 
 My frieud, thy husband, honest, honest lago. 
 
 Emil, If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
 Rot half a grain a day ! he lies to the heart ; 
 She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. 
 
 0th, Ha ! 
 
 Emil, Do thy worst j 
 
.0mu£ 
 
 
ACT v.— SCENE II. 
 
 379 
 
 Tills deed of ihine is no more \VDrthy heaven. 
 Than thou wast worthy her. 
 
 0th, Peace, you were best. 
 
 Emil, Thou hast not half the power to do me hann, 
 As I have to be hurt. gull ! O dolt ! 
 As ignorant as dirt! thou hast done a deed, — 
 i care not for thy sword ; I'll make thee known, 
 Though I lost twenty lives:- — Help! help ho! help! 
 The Moor has kiird my mistress; Murder! murder! 
 
 Enter Montano, Gratiano, and Iago, 
 
 Motu what is the matter? — How now, general? 
 
 EmiL 0, are you come, Iago? you have done well, 
 That men must lay their murders on your neck. 
 
 Gra. What is the matter? 
 
 Etiiil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a man: 
 He says, thou told'st him that his wife was false : 
 I know, thou didst not, thou'rt not such a villain : 
 Speak, for my heart is full. 
 
 Iago. I told him what I thought; and told no more 
 Than what he found himself was apt and true. 
 
 Emil. But did you ever tell him she was false? 
 
 I'igo. I did, 
 
 Emil. You told a He ; an odious damned lie ; 
 Upon my soul, a lie ; a wicked lie : — 
 She false with Cassio! — Did you say with Cassio? 
 
 Iago. With Cassio, mistress ; Go to, charm your 
 tongue. 
 
 Emil. I will not charm my tongue ; I am bound to 
 My mistress here lies murder'd in her bed. [speak ; 
 
 Ali. heavens forfend ! 
 
 EmiL And your reports have set tiie murder on, 
 
 0th. Nay, stare not, masters ; it is true, indeed. 
 
 Gra. 'Tis a strange truth. 
 
 Mnn. O monstrous act ! 
 
 E/nil. Villany, villany. villany! — 
 
 I think upon't, — I think, — I sraell't; — O villany! — 
 I thought so then ; — I'll kill myself for grief. — 
 
 villany, villany! [home. 
 Jago. What, are you mad? I charge you, get you 
 Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave to speak. 
 
 Tis proper I obey him, but not now : 
 Perchance, Iago, I will ne'er go home, 
 
 0th. O! O! 0! [Ha ngi tig over his wife. 
 
 Emil. Nay, lay thee down, and roar. 
 
 For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent. 
 That e'er did lift up eye. 
 
 0th. O, siie was foul ! — [Rising. 
 
 1 scarce did know you, uncle: There lies your niece, 
 Whose breath, indeed.these hands have newly stopp'd: 
 I know this act shews horrible and grim. 
 
 Gra. PoorDesdemona! I am glad thy father's dead; 
 Thy match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
 Shore his oid thread in twain : did he live now. 
 This sight would make him do a desperate turn, 
 Yea, curse his better angel from his side. 
 And fall to reprobation. 
 
 0th. Tis pitiful ; but yet Iago knows. 
 That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
 A thousand times committed ; Cassio confess'd it : 
 And she did gratify his amorous works 
 "With that recognizance and pledge of love 
 Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand ; 
 It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
 My father gave my mother. 
 
 EmiL O heaven I heavenly powers ! I 
 
 Iago. . Come, hold your peace. ' 
 
 Emil. Twill out, *twill out ; — 1 hold my peace, sir ? | 
 
 No, I will speak as liberal as the air ; [no ; i 
 
 Let heaven, and men, and devils, let them all. 
 
 All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. 
 
 Iago. Be wise, and get you home. 
 
 Emil. I will not. [Iago offers to stab his wife 
 
 Gra. Fye ! 
 
 Your sword upon a woman ? 
 
 Emil. O thou dull Moor I that handkerchief thou 
 speak'st of, 
 I found by fortune, and did give my husband ; 
 For often with a ^oleran earnestness, 
 (More than, indeed, belong'd to such a trifle,) 
 He begg'd of me to steal it. 
 
 Iago. Villainous whore ! 
 
 Emil. She gave it Cassio ! no, alas ; 1 found it. 
 And I did give 't my husband. 
 
 Iago. Filth, thou liest. 
 
 EmiL By heaven, I do not; I do not, gentlemen: 
 
 murderous coxcomb ! what should such a fool 
 Do with so good a wife ? 
 
 [Iago stahs Emilia, then runs out, 
 
 0th. Are there no stones in heaven, 
 
 But what serve for the thunder? — Precious villain ! 
 
 Gra. The woman falls ; sure he has kill'd his wife, 
 
 Emil. Ay, ay : lay me by my mistress' side! 
 
 Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd. [pon, 
 
 Moil. Tis a notorious villain. Take you thiB wea- 
 Which I have here recover'd from the Moor : 
 Come, guard the door without ; let him not pass, 
 But kill him rather; I'll after that same villain. 
 For 'tis a damned slave. 
 
 [Exeunt Monta?jo and Gratiano. 
 
 Otk, I am not valiant neither, 
 
 But every puny whipster gets my sword : — 
 But why should honour outlive honesty? 
 Let it go all. 
 
 Emil. What did thy song bode, lady ? 
 
 Hark, can'st thou hear me? I will play the swan, 
 And die in music ; — Willowy willow, u-iilow. — 
 Moor, she was chaste ; she lov'd thee, cruel Moor 
 So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true ; 
 So speaking as I think, I die, — I die. [Dies.* 
 
 0th. I have another weapon in this chamber, 
 It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook's temper ; — 
 O, here it is : — Uncle. I must come forth. [dear , 
 
 Gra. [Within.^ If thou attempt it, it will cost thee 
 Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. 
 
 0th. Look in upon me then, and speak with me, 
 Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 
 
 Re-enter Gratiano. 
 
 Gra. AVhat is the matter ? 
 
 i^th. Behold ! I have a weapon ; 
 
 A better never did itself sustain 
 Upon a soldier's thigh : I have seen the day. 
 That with this little arm. and this good sword, 
 
 1 have made my way- through more impediments 
 Than twenty times your stop: — But, O vain boast! 
 Who can control his fate ? tis not so now. — 
 
 Be not afraid, though you do see me weapon'd ; 
 
 Here is my journey's end, here is my butt. 
 
 And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 
 
 Do you go back dismay'd ? 'tis a lost fear ; 
 
 Man but a rush against Othello's breast. 
 
 And he retires ;— Where should Othello gol— 
 
 Now, how dost thou look now? O ill-starr'd wench 
 
 Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at compt, 
 
 This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, 
 
 And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my girl 1 
 
 Even like thy chastity. — 
 
 O cursed, cursed slave ! — Whip me, ye devils. 
 
 From the possession of this heavenly sight ! 
 
 Blow me about in winds ! roast me in sulphur ! 
 
 Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! — 
 
 Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ? 
 
 Dead ? O ! O ! O ! 
 
880 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 Eiiter LoDOvico, Montano, Cassio, carried in a 
 chair, and Officers, with Iago, prisoner. 
 
 hod. Where is this rash and most unfortunate man 1 
 
 0th. That's he, that was Othello ; here I am. 
 
 Lod. Where is that viper"? bring the villain forth. 
 
 0th. I look down towards his feet ; — but that's 
 a fable : 
 If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. 
 
 [Othello wounds Iago. 
 
 Lod. Wrench his sword from him. 
 
 Iago. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd. 
 
 0th. I am not sorry neither; I'd have thee live j 
 For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 
 
 Lod. O thou Othello, that was once so good, 
 Fall'n in the practice of a cursed slave 
 What shall be said to thee 1 
 
 0th. ^^ liy. any thing : 
 
 An honourable murderer, if you will ; 
 For nought 1 did in hate, but all in honour. 
 
 Lod. This wretch hath pait confess'd his villany : 
 Did you and he consent in Cassio's death 1 
 
 0th. Ay. 
 
 Cos. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 
 
 0th. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 
 Will you, I pray you, demand that demi-devil, 
 Why he hath thus ensnar'd my soul and body 1 
 
 higo. Demand me nothing: What you know, you 
 know : 
 From tills time forth T never will speak word. 
 
 Lod. What? not to pray 1 
 
 Gra. Torments will ope your lips. 
 
 0th. Well, thou dost best. 
 
 Lad. Sir, you shall understand what hath befall'n, 
 "Which, as 1 think, you know not: Here is a letter. 
 Found in the pocket of the slain Roderigo ; 
 And here, another : the one of them imports 
 The death of Cassio to be undertook 
 *By Roderigo. 
 
 0th. villain ! 
 
 Cas. Most heathenish, and most gross ! 
 
 Lod. Now here's another discontented paper. 
 Found in his pocket too ; and this, it seems, 
 Roderigo meant to have sent this damned villain ; 
 But that, belike, Iago in the interim 
 Came in and satisfied him. 
 
 0th. the pernicious caitiff! — 
 
 How came you, Cassio, by that handkerchief 
 That was my wife's 1 
 
 Cas. I found it in my chamber : 
 
 And he himself confess'd, but even now. 
 That there he dropp'd it, for a special purpose, 
 Which wrought to his desire. 
 
 0th. fool ! fool ! fool \ 
 
 Ccs. There is, besides, in Roderigo's letter,— 
 How he upbraids Iago, that he made him 
 Brave me upon the watch ; wliereon it came 
 That I was cast : And even but now he spake, 
 After long seeming dead, — Iago hurt him, 
 Iago set him on. 
 
 Lod. You must forsake this room, and go with us; 
 Your power and your command is taken off, 
 And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave, — 
 If there be any cunning cruelty. 
 That can torment him much, and hold him long, 
 It shall be his : You shall close prisoner rest, 
 Till that the nature of your fault be known 
 I To the Venetian state : — Come, bring him away, 
 
 0th. Soft you ; a word or two, before you go. 
 I have done the state some service, and they know it; 
 No more of that : — I pray you, in your letters, 
 When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 
 Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
 Nor set down aught in malice ; then must you speak 
 Of one, that lov'd not wisely, but too well ; 
 Of one, not easily jealous, but, being wrought, 
 Perplex'd in the extreme; of one, whose hand. 
 Like the base Judean, threw a pearl away. 
 Richer than all his tribe ; of one, whose subdu'd eyes. 
 Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
 Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
 Their medicinal gum : Set you down this : 
 And say, besides, — that in Aleppo once, 
 Where a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
 Beat a Venetian, and traduc'd the state, 
 I took by the throat the circumcised dog, 
 And smote him — thus. [Stahs himself. 
 
 Lod. bloody period 1 
 
 Gra. All, that's spoke, is marr'd. 
 
 0th. I kiss'd thee, ere I kill'd thee ; — No way but 
 
 this, [Falling upon Desdemona. 
 
 Killing myself, to die upon a kiss. [Dies. 
 
 Cns. This did I fear, but thought he had no weapon ; 
 For he was great of heart. 
 
 Lod. O Spartan dog, 
 
 More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea ! 
 Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; [To Iaco. 
 This is thy work: the object poisons sight; — 
 Let it be hid. — Gratiano, keep the house, 
 And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
 For they succeed to you. — To you, lord governor. 
 Remains the censure of this hellish villain ; 
 The time, the place, the torture, — enforce it! 
 Myself will straight aboard ; and. to the state. 
 This heavy act with heavy heart relate. [Exeutit, 
 
 The beauties of this play impress themselves so strongly 
 njiOD the attention of the reader, that they can draw no aid 
 from critical illustration. The fier>' opennesbof Othello, mag- 
 nanimous, artless, and credulous, boundless in his coufideuce, 
 ordenl in his affection , iniiexibte in his resolution, and obdurate 
 in his revenge ; the cool malignity of Iago, silent in hisreseut- 
 menl, subtle in his designs, and studious at once of his interest 
 and his vengeance ; the soft simplicity of Desdemona, confi- 
 dent of merit, aiid conscious of innocence, her artless perse- 
 verance in her suit, and her slo\yuess to suspect that she can 
 be suspected, are such proofs oi ihakspeare's skill Jn human 
 nature, as, I suppose, it is vain to seek in any modern writer. 
 1 he gradual progress which Iago makes in the ]\Ioor's convic- 
 tion, and the circumstances which he employs to enliame him. 
 are so artfully natural, that, though it will perhaps not be said 
 of him as he says of himself, that he is a man not easily jealous, 
 yet we cannot but pity him, when at last we find him perplexed 
 in tlie crtreme. 
 
 There is always danger, lest wickedness, conjoined with abi- 
 iJtLos, should steal upon esteem, though it misses of approbation ; 
 
 but the character of Iago is so conducted, that he is from tb. 
 first scene to the last hated and despised. 
 
 Even the inferior characters of this play would be very con- 
 spicuous in any other piece, not only for their justness, but their 
 strength, Cassio is brave, benevolent, and honest; ruined only 
 by his want of stubbornness to resist an insidious inviiation. 
 Roderigo's suspicious credulity, and impatient submijsion to 
 the cheats which he sees practised upon him, and which by per- 
 suasion he suffers to be repeated, exhibit a strong picture of a 
 weak mind betrayed by unlawful desiios to a false fritud ; and 
 the virtue of Emilia is such as we often find, vvorn lonst-ly, but 
 not cast off, easy to commit small crimes, but iiuickeucd and 
 alarmed at atrocious viltanies. 
 
 The scenes from the beginning to the end are busy, varied by 
 happy interchanges, and regularly promoting the progression of 
 the story ; and the narrative in the end, though tt tells but what 
 
 I is known already, yetis necessary to produce the death ol Othello. 
 
 I Hadtlie scene opened in Cyprus, and the preceding incidents 
 been occasioi»ally related, there had been lidle wanting to a 
 
 I drama ofthe most exact and scrupulous regularity .— Jo lixsoN. 
 
 END OF THE PLAYS. 
 
I 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 1 ' ^ 
 
 _V^ -^ 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 "Se 
 
 -^41 
 
 1^ 
 
 -■^~ 
 
 \ 
 
 -jch 
 
 
 
 ~'\ -'^VO-v 
 
THF. 
 
 POEMS OF SllAKSPEAUE. 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHKSLy, 
 
 Karl of .VjattiMfipMr. , uvl Hkrf>ti of lilchfttld. 
 RiOUT IIONOUKABI.K, 
 
 I nvow nut how I ihall offend in dedicatin;^ my anpolUh«d line* to yoar Lordxbip, nor bcntr the 
 world will censure me for choosing *o strong a prop t/j Aiipporl mj weak a bortb*n : onfy if yorjr h</TiO'jr 
 wcm l>iit pleaiitd, 1 axcount rnyw;!? highly fitaiv-A, and vow to talte advantage of all i/il« hour*, till I have 
 lionouicd you with xiait i,'raver iaixiut. Jiut if th« fir ,t heir of rny invention prove 'lefomted, I thall be 
 ■orry it had %o noble a godfather, and never after ear >o barren a land, for fear it yi<:l/i rne utill M t/ad a 
 liarveal. 1 leave it Ui your honourable mrvey, and yoor honour to your heart'» content; whicfi I wbh may 
 alway» anitwer your own wiib, and the world'i hopeful ezpectatii/n. 
 
 Your Honour*! in all doty, Willuk Shaupzaki. 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 Yilia minrtar voifiaA rrtihi Ihtvtu Ayytio 
 Foculo Cuulia ititnpt u.ij.u{rat At^ut.'Kl v i o. 
 
 Evr.v a* the sun with purj.l'r-colour'd face 
 Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping room, 
 Kose check 'd Adonin hied him to the chase ; 
 Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to icom; 
 Sick-thoughted Venus make^ amain unUj him, 
 And like a bold-fac'd ftuitor 'gin^ to woo bim. 
 Thrice fairer than royielf, (thus f.be began; 
 The field's chief flower, sweet above compare. 
 Stain to all nymphs, more lovely thao a man, 
 iVlore white and red than doves or roseA are ; 
 Nature that made thee, with herself at strife, 
 ■Saith that the world hath ending with thy life. 
 Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed, 
 And reign bis proud bead to the sadxlle-bow ; 
 If thou wilt deign thi-. favour, for tliy meed, 
 A thousand honey-secrets iihalt thou know : 
 Here come and sit, where serpent never hissa. 
 And, being set, I '11 smottier thee with kisses. 
 And yet not ctoy thy lips with loath'd satiety, 
 But rather famish them amid their plenty, 
 Uaking them red and pale »iib fresh variety 
 1 ea kisses short as one, one long as twenty : 
 A summer's day will seem an hour but short. 
 Being wasted in such tin.e-beguiling sport. 
 With this, she seizetb on his sweating palm. 
 The precedent of pith and livelihood. 
 And, trembling in her pai>sion, calls it balm, 
 Karth'fk sovereign salve to do a goddess good : 
 iieiog so eorag'd, desire doth lend her force, 
 Courageously to pluck him from his hor^e. 
 Over one arm the lusty courser's rein. 
 Under the other was the tender boy, 
 AVho blu-h'd and pouted in a dull disdain. 
 With leaden appetite, unapt to toy ; 
 She red and hot, as coals of glowing fire. 
 He red for shame, but frosty in desire. 
 The studded bridle on a ragged bough 
 Nimbly she fastens (0 how quick is love '■) 
 Tilt: steed is stalled up, and even now 
 To tie the rider she begins to prove : 
 
 Backward she pnsh'd him, as she would be thnut. 
 And govem'd aim in stiengh, though not in lost. 
 So soon was she along, as 'ae was down, 
 Each leaning on their elbows and their bi[» : 
 Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown, 
 
 jAnd'gi.-. ' 'out soon »h* .:,»; 
 
 I An/J.. •.,withlosii ,roken, 
 
 I "If t;. ie, thy lip* ,. ,. .. .j/en." 
 
 I He burns with l/a^hful shame ; she with her tears 
 , l)oth '|oench the niaulen burning of bis ctieek.s ; 
 I Tlien with her windy snjjhs, and golden hairs. 
 To fan and blow them dry again abe seeks : 
 I He says, she is iiimuide«t, blames her 'miss ; 
 I What follows more, she smothers with a kiss. 
 j Even as an empty ■ •, 
 
 '1 ires with her beax iod bone. 
 
 Shaking lier t^ ■ - / 
 !lill either g',\ 
 
 Even so si.'; chin. 
 
 I And where soe fcuti», ihe Ooib anew oegiri, 
 j Forc'd tfl content, bat never to obey. 
 Panting he lies, and breathing in her face ; 
 She fe^eth on the steam, as on a prey,. 
 And calls it heavenly mol*ture, ■. ^ ■ . ■ 
 
 Wishing lier cheeks were 'H: . -Aer^, 
 
 So they were dew'd wi".ti ;uc.\ _. ... /*er» 
 
 Look how a bird lies tangled in a net, 
 , So fasten'd in her arms .Adonli lies ; 
 I Pure shame and aw'd resistance made hrai fret, 
 I Which bred more beauty in bis angry eyes ■ 
 Bain added to a river that is rank. 
 Perforce will force it overflow the bank. 
 Still she entreats, and prettily entreats. 
 For to a pretty ear she tnnei her tale ; 
 Still is he sullen, »tii! •'- l'.*'r. !.r,A in,', 
 'Twixt crimson sbi. 
 Being red, she i. ' 
 
 Her best is better d ~.u-, a toi/e deiigut. 
 Look how he can, she cannot choose boi love ; 
 And by her fair immortal hand she swears 
 From nls soft bosom never to remove. 
 Till he take truce with her contending tears. 
 
 Which long hai e raiod. making her cheeks all wet ; 
 And one sweet ki>s .jail pay ibis countless debt. 
 Upon this prrjmise did he raive bis chin. 
 Like a di-dapper pee.'ing tnr'-- . jh s wave. 
 Who being uwk'd on, dcf.. . ; in ; 
 
 So oSkrx he to give what : ; 
 
 Bat when her lips were ;eiii._. i ,: uu pay. 
 He wioiu, and turns bis lips another wav. 
 3K 
 
882 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 Never did passenger in summer's heat 
 More thirst for drink, than she for this good turn. 
 Her help she sees, but help she cannot get ; 
 She bathes in water, yet in fire must burn : 
 " Oh pity, 'gan she cry, flint-hearted boy ; 
 'Tis but a kiss I beg ; why art thou coy "} 
 I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now, 
 Even by the stern and direful god of war, 
 Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow, 
 Who conquers where he comes, in every jar-, 
 Yet hath he been my captive and my slave, 
 And begg'd for that which thou uuask'd shalthave. 
 Over my altars hath he hung his lance, 
 His batter'd shield, his uncoutroUed crest, 
 And for my sake hath learned to sport and dance, 
 To coy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest ; 
 Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red, 
 Making my arms his field, his tent my bed. 
 Thus him that over-rul'd, I oversway'd, 
 Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain : 
 Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd, 
 Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. 
 
 O be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, 
 For mast'ring her that foil'd the god of fight. 
 Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, 
 (Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red,) 
 The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine: — 
 What see'st thou in the ground \ hold up thy head; 
 Look in mine eye-balls where thy beauty lies : 
 Then why not lips on lips, since eyes on eyes ] 
 Art thou asham'd to kiss ? then wink again, 
 And I will wink, so shall the day seem night ; 
 Love keeps his revels where there be but twain, 
 Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight: 
 These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean, 
 Never can blab, nor know they what we mean. 
 The tender spring upon thy tempting lip 
 Shews thee unripe ; yet may'st thou well be tasted ; 
 Make use of time, let not advantage slip ; 
 Beauty within itself should not be wasted-. 
 
 Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime, 
 Rot and consume themselves in little time. 
 Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old, 
 lU-natur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice, 
 O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic and cold, 
 Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice, 
 Then might'st thou pause. for then Iwere not for thee; 
 But having no defects, why dost abhor me? 
 Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow ; 
 Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in turning ; 
 My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow, 
 My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning ; 
 My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, 
 Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt. 
 Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear. 
 Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green. 
 Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair. 
 Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen : 
 Love is a spirit all compact of fire, 
 Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire. 
 Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie ; 
 These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me ; 
 Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky, 
 From morn till nighi, even where I list, to sport me : 
 Is love so light, s\veet boy, and may it be 
 That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee? 
 's thine own heart to thine own face affected ? 
 Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left? 
 Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected, 
 
 Steal thine own freedom, and complain of theft. 
 Narcissus so, himself himself forsook. 
 And dy'd to kiss his shadow in the brook. 
 Torches are made to light, jewels to wear, 
 Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use. 
 Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear ; 
 Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse : 
 Seeds spring from seeds ,and beauty breedeth beauty. 
 Thou wert begot — to get it is thy duty. 
 Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed. 
 Unless the earth with thy increase be fed ? 
 By law of Nature thou art bound to breed. 
 That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead j 
 And so in spite of death thou dost survive, 
 In that thy likeness still is left alive." 
 By this, the love-sick queen began to sweat, 
 For, where they lay, the shadow had forsook them. 
 And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat. 
 With burning eye did hotly overlook them ; 
 Wishing Adonis had his team to guide, 
 So he were like him, and by Venus' side. 
 And now Adoni^, with a lazy spright, 
 And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye. 
 His low'ring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight, 
 Like misty vapours, when they blot the sky, 
 
 Souring his cheeks, cries, "Fie ! no more of love ; 
 The sun doth burn my face ; I must remove," 
 "Ah me, (quoth Venus) young, and so unkind ! 
 What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone ! 
 ril sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind 
 Shall cool the heat of this descending sun -, 
 I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs : 
 If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears 
 The sun that shines from heaven, shines but warm. 
 And lo, I lie between that sun and thee ; 
 The heat I have from thence doth little harm, 
 Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me : 
 And were I not immortal, life were done. 
 Between this heavenly and earthly sun. 
 Art thou obdurate, flinty, iiard as steel. 
 Nay more than flint, for Mone at rain relenteth ? 
 Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel 
 What 'tis to love ? how want of love tormenteth? 
 O had thy mother borne so bad a mind. 
 She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind. 
 What am I, that thou should'st contemn me this? 
 Or what great danger dwells upon my suit? 
 What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss? 
 Speak, fair ; but speak fair words, or else be mute 
 Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again, 
 And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain. 
 Fie, lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone. 
 Well painted idol, image, dull and dead, 
 Statue, contenting but the eye alone. 
 Thing like a man, but of no woman bred ; 
 
 Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion. 
 For men will kiss even by their own direction." 
 This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue. 
 And swelling passion doth provoke a pause ; 
 Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong ; 
 being judge in love, she cannot right her cause ; 
 And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak, 
 And now her sobs do her intendments break. 
 Sometimes she shakes Ifer head, and then his hand. 
 Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground ; 
 Snmetimes her arms infold him like a band ; 
 She would, he will not in her arms be bound ; 
 And when from thence he struggles to be gone. 
 She locks her lily fingers, one in one. 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS, 
 
 883 
 
 " Fondling, she saith, since I have hemm'd thee here. 
 Within the circuit of this ivory pale, 
 ni be the park, and thou shalt be my deer ; 
 Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale ; 
 Graze on my lips ; and if those hills be dry, 
 Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie. 
 Within this limit is relief enough, 
 Sweet bottom-grass, and high delightful plain, 
 Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough, 
 To shelter thee from tempest and from rain ; 
 Then be ray deer, since I am such a park ; 
 No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark." 
 At this Adonis smiles, as in disdain. 
 That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple : , 
 
 Love made those hollows, if himself were slain, 
 He might be buried in a tomb so simple ; 
 Fore-knowing well, if there he came to lie, 
 Why there love iiv'd, and there he could not die. 
 These lovely caves, these round-enchanting pits, 
 Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking : 
 Being mad before, how doth she now for wits ! 
 Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking 1 
 Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn, 
 To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn ! 
 Now which way shall she turn ! what shall she say? 
 Her words are done, her woes the more increasing, 
 The time is spent, her object will away. 
 And from her twining arms doth urge releasing : 
 "Pity — (she cries) some favour — some remorse — " 
 Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse. 
 But lo, from forth a copse that neighbours by, 
 A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud, 
 Adonis' trampling courser doth espy, 
 And forth she rushes, snorts, and neighs aloud ; 
 The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree, 
 Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. 
 Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds. 
 And now his woven girts he breaks asunder. 
 The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds. 
 Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven's thunderj 
 The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth. 
 Controlling what he was controlled with. 
 His ears up prick'd ; his braided hanging mane 
 Upon his compass'd crest now stands on end ; 
 His nostrils drink the air, and forth again, 
 As from a furnace, vapours doth he send : 
 His eye, which glisters scornfully like fire, 
 Shews his hot courage and his high desire. 
 Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps. 
 With gentle majesty, and modest pride ; 
 Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps. 
 As who would says, lo ! thus my strength is try'd ; 
 And thus I do to captivate the eye 
 Of the fair breeder that is standing by. 
 What recketh he his rider's angry stir, 
 His flattering holla, or his Sfanrf, I saii ? 
 What cares he now for curb, or pricking spur ? 
 For rich caparisons, or trappings gay ? 
 
 He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, 
 For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. 
 Look, when a painter would surpass the life, 
 In limning out a well-proportion'd steed. 
 His art with Nature's workmanship at strife, 
 As if the dead the living should exceed ; 
 So did this horse excel a common one, 
 In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone, 
 Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long. 
 Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide, 
 High crest, short ears, straight legs, &c passing strong. 
 
 Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hiae : 
 Look what a horse should have, he did not lack; 
 Save a proud rider on so proud a back. 
 Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stare's. 
 Anon he starts at stirring of a feather ; 
 To bid the wind a base he now prepares, 
 And wher he run, or fly, they knew not whether ; 
 For through his mane and tail the high wind sings. 
 Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings. 
 He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her ; 
 She answers him, as if she knew his mind : 
 Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her. 
 She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind ; 
 Spurns at his love, and scorns the heat he feels, 
 Beating his kind embracement with her heels. 
 Then, like a melancholy male content, 
 He vails his tail, that like a falling plume. 
 Cool shadow to his melting buttocks lent ; 
 He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume* 
 His love perceiving how he is enrag'd. 
 Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd. 
 His testy master goeth about to take him ; 
 When lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, 
 Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him ; 
 With her llie horse, and left Adonis there : 
 As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, 
 Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them. 
 All swoln with chasing, down Adonis sits. 
 Banning his boisterous and unruly beast ; 
 And now the happy season once more fits. 
 That love-sick Love, by pleading may be blest ; 
 For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong, 
 When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. 
 An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd, 
 Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage . 
 So of concealed sorrow may be said ; 
 Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage ; 
 But when the heart's attorney once is mute, 
 The client breaks, as desperate in his suit. 
 He sees her coming, and begins to glow, 
 (Even as a dying coal revives with wind.) 
 And with his bonnet hides his angry brow ; 
 Looks on the dull earth wit^i disturbed mind ; 
 Taking no notice that she is so nigh, 
 For all askaunce he holds her in his eye. 
 O what a sight it was, wistly to view 
 How she came stealing to the wayward boy ! 
 To note the fighting conflict of her hue ! 
 How white and red each other did destroy ! 
 But now, her cheek was pale, and by and by 
 It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 
 Now was she just before him as he sat. 
 And like a lowly lover down she kneels ; 
 \\ ith one fair hand she heaveth up his hat. 
 Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels : 
 
 His tender cheeks receive her soft hand's print. 
 As apt as new fallen snow -takes any dint. 
 O what a war of looks was then between them ^ 
 Her eyes, petitioners, to his eyes suing ; 
 His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them ; 
 Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing: 
 And all this dumb play had his acts made plain 
 With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. 
 Full gently now she takes him by the hand, 
 A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow, 
 Or ivory in an alabaster band : 
 So white a friend engirts so white a foe : 
 
 This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, 
 Shew'd like to silver doves that sit a billing. 
 
 3 K a 
 
J8C 
 
 ^^B^^CrT?^ f^^^^i^ 
 
 -laisufU. 
 
VE«Uft A«fi AOOKfS. M$ 
 
 ■ It- 
 
 1: 
 
 Bet ttle■•o 
 f Md avail ai.. 
 
 =**»a^. >:««y>«sw)r> 
 
 P*^' 
 
 !.■■ . t4, -JiBtter.: 
 
 i 
 j. 
 
 I. 
 
 M ■ 
 
 A: 4, 
 
 Pi ; 
 
 A- 
 A 
 
 ..« ^ 
 
 
 H 
 hi 
 
 O- sues 
 
 V. 
 

 '^ vi»Ti-=. 
 
 inon JC: 
 
 .'i!r ii« sro- 
 
 
 irr ^£2* 
 
 SPJlLt. 
 
 •Jim - 
 
 
 
 Tit 
 
 
 -■SJECE. 
 
 sm He jv- 
 
 
 irinas- smsiii 
 
 
 
 
 rn«i iiUfc ^sar -tk.- 
 
VEKUS AKD ADONIS. 
 
 887 
 
 UAAti 
 
 Into the ^oct doewe af Bf I 
 
 Ami tiiea mr Utxie hean were ^oite uodosc, 
 
 In bis bed-cLamber to b« imr'a ol ivH- 
 \o, ladr, 00 ; «ny tart lo»g* =><'' "' ?'<>^'', 
 But sotuvttv slee^, while oow it slelep^ aloae. 
 
 What have to* ar^d that I easBM neitnt I 
 Tbef/uk is smooth that teadietk aioo aaae/et ; 
 I iaxe not kwe, b«t yo«r drrioe io lore. 
 Thai kods embncaaieeu uoto eveiy etrasger. 
 Yoe do it lot iacmut ; O Mrac^e excuse ! 
 Wbea ceasoa is the i/awd to lust's aimae. 
 Call it not tore, for lore to beavea is fied. 
 Siace s««atiaf last ob eaith ssarps hit awae ; 
 Coder whose cimple semhtawiw be hath fed 
 L'poo fresh beautr, bio"-- • ■ -■ •■ -jlame : 
 Which the hot'tnac' ^job beteajftt. 
 
 As caierpilUxs ao titv . cs. 
 
 Love comforteth, like (ns-sciae alter laia. 
 But last's eaeci is tempest after »•, 
 Lore's gentle spring doth alwars fresh restaia. 
 Lust's winter comes ere wmmer ball he dose. 
 Lore surfeits not ; Ivtl Ukx a. gisttoa dies : 
 Love is all truth ; lost fall of bxged lies. 
 More I could tell, bat more I dare not saj - 
 The text U old, the orator too ^rees. 
 Tbereiore, in sadoess, now I wiii awar ; 
 Sly face is fiill of shaJoK, or heart of tees : 
 Mine ean that to jou wastoa tali aneaded. 
 Do bum themselTes Cor having so o fea d ii d. 
 With thib, be breaketh fiRm the sw«et eaixaa 
 Of those fur aias which boaad hia to her breast. 
 And honeward ihtaagh the dark lawvs raos apace ; 
 Leaves Lore apoa her back deeplv distzess'd. 
 Look how a hci^ star stooie'ii froii^ the sJtj, 
 So glides be in the ni^t (roB> Venos' ejre ; 
 Which after him (he darts, as one oa short 
 G uiog upon a iale-eaiba(k«d biead. 
 Till the wiia waves will have him seea b> man. 
 Whose ridges with the BwetiB; cloods coaieod ; 
 So did the merciless asd ptcchr aigfat 
 Fold ia the object thai did f««i her sight. 
 Whereat aaaai'd, as oae that aoawaie 
 Hath dropp'd a prcdoas jewel in the Bond, 
 Or 'stooish'd as aight-waaderers often are. 
 Their light Mowa «ui in some icisrrastfal wood ; 
 Evea so eoafooaded in the dark she bf. 
 Having loct the fiir discoverj of her waj. 
 Aod BOW she heals her heart, whereat it greaas. 
 That all the nei^hboar-cans. as 'f»ming tzoabied. 
 Make vohal repetition of her moans ; 
 Passiaa a« passsan deeply is tedotiUed: 
 
 Ak me '. she cries, and nreat}- liscs, ear, me ! 
 And tweatjr echoes twentjr tiaies cnr so. 
 She ""-n-c thea. begiss a wailiag note. 
 And sings eztemp'tailT a woefal didCtT ; 
 How tore ankesyoaegmen thrall, aaiil old oKsdote ; 
 How lore is wise ia Colly, feoiish-wittT : 
 Her heavy anthea stm cooelades in woe. 
 Aod still the ehmr of echoes answer sol 
 Her eoeg was terfina*. and oatwore the night. 
 For lovers' boars are ieeg, ihoogh sff jag sboct : 
 If'pieac'd theaaeKcs, ochera, they think, &ight 
 In sach like dicaactancc. with s«ch like sport : 
 Their copioas stories, oftentiaKS began. 
 End withaat aadieaee. and are neve: TJiinr 
 For who halh the to spend the night withal. 
 3at -die soaitds. teaaabliag parasites, 
 tJlu sfar91-toa^'d upsters aasveiia; ei«ty call. 
 
 Sfynhizis •£;* 2UBBO«r of £aatasae witel 
 SJ>e si^i, 'is !■" : '-^y aaswer all, 'tis se ; 
 Aai woal: - -, if she aid ao. 
 
 Lo' heretic: wea.'r «f fast, 
 
 Fr«B his mKsi s-^-i^^ aaosi^s ap •■ higjk. 
 Aad wakes tbe Btorsisg, bom wtese stiver breast 
 The soaariseth ia his saofear; 
 
 Who doth tbe world so glaiioatly b AoM . 
 Thai cedar.<aps aad hoUs seem bamish'd gti4. 
 Vesas salates iam with this fair good tmmirtr : 
 Olboa dear g«d. asd patzoaof ail light, 
 Fraa whom each lamp and shiaag star dMfa bonvE 
 The beaateoas iaftneaw that Makes hia bright. 
 There lives a sob, that saeh'd an feanhly aether, 
 >LaT lend thee bght, as tboa dost lead to alhec 
 This said, she faasteth to a ayitk gmre, 
 Mnti^ the Boniag is so aia ch o'erwora. 
 And yet she hears no tidis^ «f her iove : 
 She bearkeas for his baaads, aad for his baa 
 Aaoa she hears tbea cbasnt it ivnj^, 
 Aad all ia haste she eoasteth to the cer. 
 Aad as she rans. tbe ba^es in the way 
 Soneestich her by tbe aeefc. sooae kiss her ^ee. 
 Same twiae abo«t her thigh i» aake her stay ; 
 Sfee wildir hreaxeth boa their stricx eahcaoe, 
 Liiie a mtieh doe, wbose swelfisg dags do ake. 
 Hasting to feed her bna, hid in soae hake. 
 By this, site hears the fcaaaHr are at a bar. 
 Whereat she starts. IBw one that wies an adder 
 WteaA'd ap in fM^ Ceids, j«st ishiE -raj. 
 The fear wbeteef doth aake hia Aake aad T ha ti g : 
 Evea so the tianmr yelping af the h oaa d te 
 Appals her senses, anil her tftight caa i a aadc . 
 For BOW she knoars it is ao gentle chase. 
 Bat tbe Uant boar. loagb hear, orEaa ptmdi, 
 Becoase tbe cry lesninefb in one ptaee. 
 Where Cearfoily the diags exdaia atoad: 
 Fiadiag their eaeaty a he socaist. 
 They ^ saain eoarr'n- who shall tape hra irsc. 
 Thb disaal crv tings sadly ia her ear, 
 Throagh whiea it enters l» s ai pris e her heart. 
 Who orcTeoac br doaht aad blaad ltii i fear. 
 With oM-paie weafcwss nnahs each faefing fort : 
 Lise soi(Lers, when their captaia onee den yieid. 
 They haseiy Sy, and date net stay the ieid. 
 
 Thas stands she in a treabfiag ecsasy : 
 Till, >h « " ^"g ap her seases sace ^sexay'd. 
 She tells tbea, tis a caarseless fmnry," 
 And ehiUkh enar that ibej are a£tsxi; 
 
 Bids thea leave ^aakiag, wills thesfearaaaMce: — 
 And with that amd 4e spy'd ihe haMed bair. 
 Whose frothy aoeth, hfpiintrd all with red. 
 Like Bulk asij bleed faeiagan^gted hsta together, 
 A t e co ad ftar threagh all her anews spread. 
 Which aadh- harries aer hf inaai m* whither; 
 This WOT she tans, and now she will no fanner. 
 Bat bads recces, to zaie the hear fn narder. 
 A thnat na d spleens bear ber a tbogoiaii wvrs ; 
 She treads the whs ibtf f4e aacresc:? t.— r 
 Her sMte than hosae ■ 
 
 Like the praeetdings af a draafcea l--^ 
 Fall «f reject, yet aat at all res|>ecaag. 
 In band with all things, a ti ^a tai tU i iii'ii ta^. 
 
 Hesekeaaerd ta a braie she iads a booad. 
 
 And asks the weary ca:'-a ier his aosier ; 
 
 Aad these aaitbe r "tjeko^ of tos woaad. 
 
 'Gaiast vcnoa'd sans Ae «aly soveteigB i 
 
 And bete she saeek aaotber sadk seawl ^ 
 
 To whf she speaks, aaat he i^iesaAhtiaing. 
 
888 
 
 VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 When he had ceas'd his ill-resounding noise, 
 Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim. 
 Against the welkin voUies out his voice j 
 Another and another answer him. 
 Clapping their proud tails to the ground below. 
 Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go. 
 Look, how the world's poor people are amazed 
 At apparitions, signs, and prodigies. 
 Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gazed, 
 Infusing them with dreadful prophecies ; 
 
 So she at these sad signs draws up her breath, 
 And, sighing it again, exclaims on death. 
 Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean. 
 Hateful divorce of love (thus chides she death) 
 Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou 
 To stifle beauty, and to steal his breath, [mean 
 
 Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set 
 Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet ] 
 If he be dead, — O no, it cannot be, 
 Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it — 
 yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see. 
 But hatefully at random dost thou hit. 
 
 Thy mark is feeble age ; but thy false dart 
 Mistakes that aim, and cleaves an infant's heart, 
 Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke. 
 And hearing him, thy power had lost his power. 
 The destinies will curse thee for this stroke ; 
 They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower : 
 Love's golden arrow at him should have fled. 
 And not death's ebon dart, to strike him dead. 
 Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weep- 
 What may a heavy groan advantage thee? [>^g^ 
 Why hast thou east into eternal sleeping 
 Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see 1 
 Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour, 
 Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour. 
 Here overcome, as one full of despair, 
 Jiheveil'd her eye-lids, who, like sluices, stopp'd 
 The crystal tide that from lier two cheeks fair 
 In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd ; 
 
 But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain. 
 And with his strong course opens them again, 
 how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow ! 
 Her eyes seen in her tears, tears in her eye ; 
 Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow, 
 Sorrow, that friendly sighs sought still to dry ; 
 But like a stormy day, now wind now rain. 
 Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again. 
 Variable passions throng her constant woe, 
 .\s striving which should best become her grief; 
 All ent.ertain'd, each passion labours so, 
 That every present sorrow seemeth chief. 
 
 But none is best ; then join they all together, 
 Like many clouds consulting for foul weather. 
 By this, far off slie hears some huntsman holla ; 
 A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well : 
 The dire imagination she did follow 
 This sound of hope doth labour to expell ; 
 For now reviving joy bids her rejoice. 
 And flatters her, it is Adonis' voice. 
 Whereat her tears began to turn their tide. 
 Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass ; 
 Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside, 
 Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass. 
 To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground. 
 Who is but drunken when she seemetli drown'd, 
 O hard-believing love, how strange it seems 
 Not to believe, and yet too credulous ! 
 Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes. 
 
 Despair and hope make thee ridiculous : 
 
 I'iie one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely. 
 With likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly. 
 Now she unweaves the web that she had wrought ; 
 Adonis lives, and death is not to blame ; 
 It was nbt she tiiat call'd him all to n'aught j 
 Now she adds honour to his hateful name ; 
 
 She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings. 
 Imperial supreme of all mortal things. 
 No, no, (quoth she) Sweet death, I did but jest ; 
 Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear. 
 When as I met the boar, that bloody beast. 
 Which knows no pity, but is still severe ; 
 Then, gentle shadow, (truth I must confess) 
 I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease. 
 'Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue; 
 Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander ; 
 'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong; 
 I did but act, he's author of thy slander : 
 Grief hath two tongues, and never woman yet 
 Could rule them both, without ten women's wit. 
 Thus hoping that Adonis is alive. 
 Her rash suspect she doth extenuate ; 
 And that his beauty may the better thrive. 
 With death she humbly doth insinuate ; 
 Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs ; and stories 
 His victories, his triumphs, and his glories. 
 Jove, quoth she, how much a fool was I, 
 To be of such a weak and silly mind. 
 To wail his death, who lives, and must not die. 
 Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind ! 
 
 For he being dead, with him is beauty slain. 
 And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again. 
 Fie, fie, fond love, tliou art so full of fear. 
 As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves ; 
 Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear. 
 Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves. 
 Even at this word she bears a merry horn, 
 \\'hereat she leaps, that was but late forlorn. 
 As faulcon to the lure, away she flies ; 
 The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light ; 
 And in her haste unfortunately spies 
 The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight ; 
 
 Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view. 
 Like stars ashamed of day, themselves -withdrew. 
 Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit. 
 Shrinks backward in his shelly cave with pain. 
 And there, all smother'd up in shade doth sit. 
 Long after fearing to creep forth again ; 
 So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled 
 Into the deep dark cabins of her head, 
 Where they resign their office and their light 
 To the disposing of her troubled brain ; 
 Who bids them still consort with ugly night, 
 And never wound the heart with looks again ; 
 Who, like a king perplexed in his throne. 
 By their suggestion gives a deadly groan. 
 Whereat each tributary subject quakes ; 
 As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground. 
 Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes. 
 Which with cold terrors doth men's mind confound • 
 This mutiny each part doth so surprize. 
 That from their dark beds, once more, leap hereyes; 
 And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight 
 Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench 'd 
 In his soft flank ; whose wonted lily white 
 With purple tears, that his wound wept, wasdrench'd ■ 
 No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed. 
 But stole his blood, andseem'd with him to bleed. 
 
VENUS AND ADONIS. 
 
 889 
 
 This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth; 
 Over one shoulder doth she hang her head ; 
 Durably she passions, franticly she doteth ; 
 She thinks lie could not die, he is not dead. 
 
 Her voice is stopp'd. her joints forget to bow ; 
 
 Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now. 
 Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly, 
 That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three; 
 And then she reprehends her mangling eye. 
 That makes more gashes where no breach should be : 
 
 His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled, 
 
 For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled. 
 My tongue cannot express my grief for one, 
 And yet, quoth she, behold two Adons dead ! 
 My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone, 
 Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead : 
 
 Heavy heart's lead melt at mine eyes, as fire ! 
 
 So shall I die by drops of hot desire. 
 Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost ! 
 What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? 
 Whose tongue is music now i what canst thou boast 
 Of things long since, or anything ensuing ! 
 
 The tlowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; 
 
 But true-sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him. 
 Bonnet or veil henceforth no creature wear ! 
 Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you : 
 Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ; 
 The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you : 
 
 But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air 
 
 Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair ; 
 And therefore would he put his bonnet on, 
 Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep ; 
 The wind would blow it off, and, being gone. 
 Play with his locks ; then would Adonis wtep : 
 
 And straight, in pity of his tender years, 
 
 They both would strive who first should dry his tears. 
 To see his face, the lion walk'd along 
 Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him ; 
 To recreate himself, when he hath sung. 
 The tiger would be tame, and gentlv hear him : 
 
 If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey. 
 
 And never fright the silly lamb that day. 
 When he beheld his shadow in the brook. 
 The fishes spread on it their golden gills ; 
 When he was by, the birds such pleasure took, 
 That some would sing, some other in their bills 
 
 Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries ; 
 
 He fed them with his sigiit, they him with berries. 
 
 But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar. 
 Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave, 
 Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore j 
 Witness the entertainment that he gave ; 
 If he did see his face, why then 1 know, 
 He thought to kiss him, and hath kiU'd him so. 
 T is true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain ; 
 He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear, 
 Who would not whet his teeth at him again. 
 But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ; 
 And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine 
 Sheath'd, unaware, his tusL in his soft groin. 
 Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess 
 With kissing him I should have kill'd him first; 
 But he is dead, and never did he bless 
 Dly youth with his ; the more I am accurst 
 With this she falleth in the place she stood, 
 And stains her face with his congealed blood. 
 &he looks upon bis tips, and they are pale; 
 She takes him by the hand, and that is cold ; 
 She whispers m bis ear, a heavy tale, 
 
 As if he heard the woeful words she told : 
 She lifts the coffer- lids that close his eyes, 
 Where, to ! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies. 
 Two glasses, where herself herself beheld 
 A thousand times, and now no more reflect; 
 Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd, 
 And every beauty robb'd of his effect : 
 
 Wonder of time, quoth she, this is my spite, 
 That, you being dead, the day should yet be light 
 Since thou art dead, lo ! here I prophesy, 
 Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend ; 
 It shall be waited on with jealousy, 
 Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end ; 
 Ne'er settled equally, to high or low ; 
 That ail love's pleasure shall not match his woe. 
 It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud, 
 And shall be blasted in a breathing-while ; 
 The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd 
 With sweets, that shall the sharpest sight beguile : 
 The strongest body shall it make most weak, 
 Strike the wise dumb, and teach the fooV to speak. 
 It shall be sparing, and too full of riot. 
 Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures ; 
 The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet, 
 Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures: 
 It shall be raging-mad, and silly-mild, 
 Make the young old, the old become a child. 
 It shall suspect, where is no cause of fear ; 
 It shall not fear, where it should most mistrust ; 
 It shall be merciful, and too severe, 
 And most deceiving, when it seems most just ; 
 Perverse it shall be, when it seems most toward, 
 Put fear to valour, courage to the coward. 
 It shall be cause of war, and dire events. 
 And setdissention 'twixt the son and sire; 
 Subject and servile to all discontents. 
 As dry combustious matter is to fire; 
 
 Sith in his prime death doth my love destroy. 
 They that love best, their love shall not enjoy. 
 By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd. 
 Was melted like a vapour from her sight. 
 And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd, 
 A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white ; 
 Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood 
 Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. 
 She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell. 
 Comparing it to her Adonis' breatli ; 
 And says, within her bosom it shall dwell, 
 Since he himself is reft from her by death ; ''^*v 
 
 She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears V^P 
 Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears. '^^ 
 Poor flower, quoth she, this was thy father's guise, 
 (Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire) 
 For every little grief to wet his eyes : 
 
 To grow unto himself was his desire, ^ 
 
 And so 'tis thine; but know, ii is as good u 
 
 To wither in my breast, as in his blood. 
 Here was thy father's bed. here in my breast ; 
 Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right : 
 Lo ! in this hollow cradle take thy rest, 
 My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night : 
 There shall not be one minute of an hour. 
 Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower. 
 Thus weary of the world, away she hies, 
 And yokes her silver doves ; by whose swift aid 
 Their mistress mounted, through the empty skies 
 In her light chariot quickly is convey 'd, 
 
 Holding their course to Paphos, where their queeq 
 Means to immure herself, and not be seen. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, 
 
 Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Titchfield. 
 
 The love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end ; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but 
 a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored 
 lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what 1 have to do is yours ; being part 
 in all I have devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would shew greater: mean time, as it is. 
 It is bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with ail happiness. 
 
 Your Lordship's in all duty, William Shakspeare. 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Lucius Tabquinius (for his excessive pride sumamed 
 Superbus) after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servms 
 'i'ullius, to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Homan 
 laws and customs, not requiring or stayinp for the people's suf- 
 frages, had possessed himself of the kingdom; went, accompa- 
 nied with hi.s ^ons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege 
 Ardea. During which sieye, the principal men of the army 
 meeting one e\ening at the lent of Sextus larquinius, the kin^ s 
 son, in their discourses after 5Upi)er. every one commended the 
 virtues of hii own wife; amontr whom CoUaiinus extolled the 
 incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant 
 humour thev all posted to Rome ; and intending, by tneJr se- 
 cret and sudden arrival, to make trial of that whi(h every one 
 had before avouched, only Collatinus 6nds his wife CthouL'h it 
 v.'ere late in the niyht) spinning amongst her maids: the other 
 ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several dis- 
 ports. Whereupon the noblemen j^ielded Collatinus the \ ictory. 
 and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius being 
 intianied with Lncrece' beauty, yet smothering his i)assions for 
 the present, departed with the rest back to the camp ; from 
 
 whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was fac- 
 cordiiig to his estate) royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece 
 at CoUaiium. The same night, he treacherously stealeth into 
 her chamber, violently ravisliCTl her, and early in the morning 
 speeritth away. Lucrece in this lamentable plight, hastily dis- 
 patched messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the 
 tamp for CoUatine. 1 hey came, the one accomiJanii'd with 
 Junius Brutus, the other with Publius V.altrius ; and hndinj? 
 Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her 
 soirow. She, first taking au oath of them for her revenge, re- 
 vealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and withal 
 suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one consent they 
 all vowed to root out the whole haled family of the J arquiua ; 
 and bearing the dead body to Home, Brutus acnuainted tlte peo- 
 ple with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter 
 invective against the iyr;inny of the king: wherewith the people 
 were so moved, that with one consent and a general acclama- 
 tion the Taniuins were all exiled, aud the stale government 
 changed from kings to consuls. 
 
 FtiOM the besieg'd Ardea all in post. 
 Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, 
 Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host, 
 And to CoUatium bears the lightless fire. 
 Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire, 
 And girdle with embracing flames the waist 
 Of CoUatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. 
 
 Haply that name of chaste unhapp'Iy set 
 This bateless edge on his keen appetite ; 
 W'hen Collatine unwisely did not let 
 To praise the clear unmatched red and white 
 W^hich triumph'd in that sky of his delight, 
 
 W^iiere mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beauties, 
 With pure aspects did him peculiar duties. 
 
 For he the night before, in Tarquin's tent, 
 Unlock'd the treasure of his happy state ; 
 What priceless wealth the heavens had him lent 
 In the possession of his beauteous mate ; 
 Reckoning his fortune at such high-proud rate, 
 That kings might be espoused to more fame, 
 But king nor peer to such a peerless dame. 
 
 O happiness enjoy'd but of a few ! 
 
 And, if possess'd, as soon decayed and done 
 
 As is the morning's silver-melting dew 
 
 Against the golden splendour of the sun ! 
 
 An expir'd date, cancel'd ere well begun : 
 Honour and beauty in the owner's arms. 
 Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms. 
 
 Beauty itself doth of itself persuade 
 
 The eyes of men without an orator ; 
 
 What needeth then apology be matle 
 
 To set forth that which is so singular"! 
 
 Or why is Collatine the publisher 
 
 Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown 
 From thievish ears, because it is his own 1 
 
 Perchance his boast of Lucrece' sovereignty 
 Suggested this proud issue of a king ; 
 For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be : 
 
 Perchance that envy of so rich a thing, 
 Braving compare, disdainfully did sting [vaunt 
 
 His high-pitch'd thoughts, that meaner men should 
 The golden hap which their superiors want. 
 
 But some untimely thought did instigate 
 His all-too-timeless speed, if none of those : 
 His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, 
 Neglected all, with swift intent he goes 
 To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
 O rash-false heat, wrapt in repentant cold, 
 Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old! 
 
 When at Collatium this false lord arrived, 
 Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame, 
 Within whose face beauty and virtue strived 
 Which of them both should underprop her fame: 
 When virtue bragg'd, btauty would blush forshame^ 
 When beauty boasted blushes, in despite 
 Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white. 
 But beauty, in that white intituled, 
 From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field ; 
 Then virtue claims from beauty beauty's red. 
 Which virtue gave the golden age, to gild 
 Their silver cheeks, and cail'd it then their shield ; 
 Teaching them thus to use it in the fight, — 
 When shame assail'd, the red should fence the white. 
 This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen. 
 Argued by beauty's red, and virtue's white. 
 Of either's colour was the other queen, 
 Proving from world's minority their right ; 
 Vet their ambition makes them still to fight ; 
 The sovereignty of either being so great. 
 That oft they intercharge each other's seat. 
 This silent war of lilies and of roses 
 Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field. 
 In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses ; 
 Where, lest between them both it should be kil^d. 
 The coward captive vanquished doth yield 
 To those two armies that would let him go, 
 Rather than triumph in so false a foe? 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 891 
 
 Now thinks he that her husband's shallow tongue 
 (The niggard prodigal that prais'd her so) 
 In that high task liath done her beauty wrong, 
 M'hich far exxeeds his barren skill to shew ; 
 Therefore that praise which Collatine dolh owe, 
 iCnchanted Tarquin answers with surmise, 
 In silent wonder of still-gazing eyes. 
 This earthly saint, adored by this devil, 
 Little suspecteth the false worshipper ; 
 For thoughts unstain'd do seldom dream on evil ; 
 Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear : 
 So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
 And reverend welcome to her princely guest. 
 Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd. 
 For that he colour'd with his high estate, 
 Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ; 
 That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, 
 Save sometime too much wonder of his eye. 
 Which, having all, all could not satisfy ; 
 But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store. 
 That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for more. 
 But she that never cop'd with stranger eyes. 
 Could pick no meaning from their parling looks, 
 Nor read the subtle-shining secrecies 
 \\ fit in llie glassy margents of such books ; 
 She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hooks; 
 Nor could she moralize his wanton sight, 
 More than his eyes were open'd to the light. 
 He stories to her ears her husband's fame, 
 Won in the fields of fruitful Italy ; 
 And decks with praises Collating's high name, 
 Made glorious by his manly chivalry, 
 With bruised arms and wreaths of victory : 
 
 Her joy with heav'd-up hand she doth express, 
 And, wordless, so greets heaven for his success. 
 Far from the purpose of his coming thither, 
 He makes excuses for his being there. 
 No cloudy show of stormy blustering weather 
 Doth yet in his fair welkin once appear ; 
 Till sable Night, mother of Dread and Fear, 
 Upon the world dim darkness doth display, 
 And in her vaulty prison stows the day. 
 For then is Tarquin brought unto liis bed. 
 Intending weariness with heavy spright ; 
 For. after supper, long he questioned 
 W itli modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : 
 Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight ; 
 And every one to rest himself betakes, [wakes. 
 Save thieves, and cares, and troubled minds that 
 As one of which doth Tarquin lie revolving 
 The sundry dangers of his will's obtaining ; 
 Yet ever to obtain his will resolving. 
 Though weak-built hopes persuade him to abstaining; 
 J)espair to gain, doth traffic oft for gaining ; 
 And when great treasure is the meed proposed, 
 Tho' death be abjnnct, there's no death supposed. 
 Those that much covet, are with gain so fond. 
 That what they have not (that which they possess) 
 They scatter and unlose it from their bond. 
 And so, by hoping more, they have but less ; 
 Or gaining more, the profit of excess 
 
 Is but to surfeit, and such griefs sustain, 
 That they prove bankrupt in this poor-rich gain. 
 The aim of all is but to nurse the life 
 With honour, wealth, and ease, in waining age ; 
 And in this aiir thee is such thwarting strife, 
 That one for all, or all for one we gage ; 
 As life for honour, in fell battles' rage ; 
 
 Honour for wealth ; and oft that wealth doth cost 
 The death of all, and altogether lost. 
 
 ' So that in vent'ring ill, we leave to be 
 The things we are, for that which we expect ; 
 And this ambitious foul infirmity, 
 In having much, torments us with defect 
 Of that we have : so then we do neglect 
 The thing we have, and, all for want of wit, 
 Make something nothing, by augmenting it. 
 Such hazard now must doting Tarquin make, 
 Pawning his honour to obtain his lust ; 
 And for himself, himself he must forsake: 
 Then where is truth, if there be no self-trust? 
 When shall he think to find a stranger just. 
 When he himself himself confounds, betrays 
 To slanderous tongues, and wretched hateful days "* 
 Now stole upon the time the dead of night, 
 When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ; 
 No comfortable star did lend his light, 
 No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries: 
 Now serves the season that they may surprise 
 The silly lambs ; pure thoughts are dead and still. 
 While lust and murder wake to stain and kill. 
 And now this lustful lord leap'd from his bed, 
 Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his arm, 
 Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ; 
 The one sweetly flatters, the other feareth harm , 
 But honest Fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm. 
 Doth too too oft betake him to retire. 
 Beaten away by brain-sick rude Desire. 
 His falchion on a flint he softly smiteth, 
 That from the cold stone sparks of fire do fly, 
 Whereat a waxen torch forthwith he lighteth. 
 Which must be lode-star to his lustful eye ; 
 And to the flame thus speaks advisedly; 
 As from this cold flint I eafovc'd this fire. 
 So Lucrece must I force to my desire. 
 Here pale with fear he doth premeditate 
 The dangers of his loathsome enterprize, 
 And in his inward mind he doth debate 
 What following sorrow may on this arise : 
 Then looking scornfully, he Ikth despise 
 His naked armour of still-slaughter'd lust. 
 And justly thus controls his thoughts unjust 
 Fair torch, burn out thy light, and lend it not 
 To darken her whose light excelleth thine I 
 And die unhallow'd thoughts, before you blot 
 With your uncleanness that which is divine I 
 Offer pure incense to so pure a shrine ; 
 
 Let fair humanity abhor the deed [weed. 
 
 That spots and stains love's modest snow-white 
 shame to knighthood and to shining arms ! 
 foul dishonour to my household's grave ! 
 O impious act, including all foul haniis ! 
 A martial man to be soft fancy's slave ! 
 True valour still a true respect should liave ; 
 Then my digression is so vile, so base, 
 That it will live engraven in my face. 
 Yea, though I die. the scandal will sur\'ive. 
 And be an eye-sore in my golden coat; 
 Some loathsome dash the herald will contrive. 
 To cipher me, how fondly I did dole ; 
 That my posterity, sham'd with the note. 
 Shall curse my bones, and hold it for no sia 
 To wish that I their father had not been. 
 What win I, if I gain tlie thing I seek? 
 A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy; 
 Who buys a minute's mirth to wail a week? 
 Or sells eternity, to get a toy? 
 For one sweet grape who will the vine destroy? 
 Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown, 
 Would with the sceptre straight be sirucken down ? 
 
892 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 If Collatinus dream of my intent, 
 Will he not wake, and in a desperate rage 
 Post hither, this vile purpose to prevent } 
 This siege that hath engirt his marriage. 
 This blur to youth, this sorrow to the sage, 
 This dying virtue, this surviving shame. 
 Whose crime will bear an ever-during blame? 
 O what excuse can my invention malie. 
 When thou shalt charge me with so black a deed? 
 Will not my tongue be mute, my frail joints shake ' 
 Mine eyes forego their light, my false heart bleed? 
 The guilt being great, the fear doth still exceed ; 
 And extreme fear can neither fight nor fly, 
 But coward-like with trembling terror die. 
 Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire. 
 Or lain in ambush to betray my life. 
 Or were he not my dear friend, this desire 
 Might have excuse to work upon his wife ■, 
 As in revenge or quittal of such strife : 
 But as he is my iinsman, my dear friend. 
 The shame and fault finds no excuse nor end. 
 Shameful it is ; — ay, if the fact be known : 
 Hateful it is ; — there is no hate in loving : 
 I'll beg her love ; — hi't she is not her own: 
 The worst is but denial, and reproving : 
 My will is strong, past reason's weak removing. 
 Who fears a sentence or an old man's saw, 
 Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe. 
 Thus graceless, holds he disputation 
 1'ween frozen conscience, and hot-burnlncr will. 
 And with good thoughts makes dispensation. 
 Urging the worser sense for vantage still : 
 Which in a moment doth confound and kill 
 All pure efl^ects, and doth so far proceed, 
 That what is vile shews like a virtuous deed. 
 Quoth he. she took me kindly by the hand. 
 And gaz'd for tidings in my eager eyes. 
 Fearing some hard news from the warlike band 
 Where her beloved Collatinus lies, 
 how her fear did m^e her colour rise ! 
 First red as roses, that on lawn we lay. 
 Then white as lawn, the roses took away. 
 And how her band, in my hand being lock'd, 
 Forc'd it to tremble with' her loyal fear! 
 AVhich struck her sad, and then it faster rock'd, 
 Until her husband's welfare she did hear ; 
 Whereat she smiled with so sweet a cheer. 
 That had Narcissus seen her as she stood. 
 Self-love had never drown'd him in the flood. 
 Why hunt I then for colour or excuses ? 
 All orators are dumb, when beauty pleadeth ; 
 Poor wretches have remorse in poor abuses ; ' 
 Love thrives not in the heart that shadows dreadeth : 
 Aff'ection is my captain, and he leadeth ; 
 And when his gaudy banner is diplay'd. 
 The coward fights, and will not be dismay 'd. 
 Then childish fear avaunt ! debating die ! 
 Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age! 
 My heart shall never countermand mine'eye : 
 Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sa^e • 
 My part is youth, and^beats these from tiie stage : 
 Desire ray pilot is, beauty my prize ; 
 Then who fears sinking where such treasure lies? 
 As corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear 
 Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust. 
 Away he steals with open listening ear. 
 Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust ; 
 Both which, as servitors to the unjust. 
 
 So cross him with their opposite persuasion. 
 That now he vows a league, and now invasion. 
 
 Within his thought her heavenly ima^e sits, 
 ."Vnd in the self-same seat sits Collatine : 
 That eye which looks on her, confounds his wits. 
 That eye which him beholds, as more divine, 
 Unto a view so false will not incline ; 
 But with a pure appeal seeks to the heart, 
 Which once corrupted, takes the worser part ; 
 \nA therein heartens up his servile powers, 
 Who, flatter'd by their leadefs jocund show, 
 Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours; 
 And as their captain, so their pride doth grow, 
 Paying more slavish tribute than they owe. 
 By reprobate desire thus madly led, 
 The lioman lord marcheth to Lucrece' bed. 
 The locks between her chamber and his will, 
 Each one by him enforc'd, retires his ward ; 
 But as they open, they all rate his ill. 
 Which drives the creeping thief to some regard: 
 The threshold grates the door to have him heard ; 
 Night-wand'ring weesels shriek to see him there; 
 They fright him, yet he still pursues his fear. 
 As each unwilling portal yields him way. 
 Through little vents and crannies of the place 
 The wind wars with his torch, to make him stay, 
 And blows the smoke of it into his face. 
 Extinguishing his conduct in this case ; 
 
 But his hot heart, which fond desire doth scorch, 
 Pnrts forth another wind that fires the torch ; 
 
 And being lighted, by the light he spies 
 Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks ; 
 He takes it from the rushes where it lies ; 
 And griping it, the neeld his finger pricks : 
 As who would say, this glove to wanton tricks 
 Is not inur'd ; return again in haste ; 
 Thou seest our mistress' ornaments are chaste. 
 But all these poor forbiddings could not stay hira ; 
 He in the worst sense construes their denial ; 
 The doors, the wind, the glove that did delay him. 
 He takes for accidental things of trial ; 
 Or as those bars which stop the hourly dial. 
 Who with a iing'ring stay bis course doth let. 
 Till every minute pays the hour his debt. 
 So, so, quoth he, these lets attend the time. 
 Like little frosts that sometime threat the spring. 
 To add a more rejoicing to the prime. 
 And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing. 
 Pain pays the income of each precious thing ; [sands, 
 Huge rocks, high winds, strong pirates, shelves and 
 The merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands. 
 Now is he come unto the chamber door 
 That shuts him from the heaven of his thought, 
 Which with a yielding latch, and with no more. 
 Hath barr'd him from the blessed thing he sought. 
 So from himself impiety hath wrought. 
 That for his prey to pray he doth begin. 
 As if the heaven should countenance his sin. 
 But in the midst of his unfruitful prayer. 
 Having solicited the eternal power. 
 That his foul thoughts might compass his fair fair. 
 And they would stand auspicious to the hour, 
 Even there he starts : — quoth he, I must deflower ; 
 The powers to whom 1 pray, abhor this fact. 
 How can they then assist me in the act ! 
 Then Love and Fortune be my gods, my guide ! 
 My will is back'd with resolution : 
 Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried. 
 The blackest sin is clear'd with absolution ; 
 Against love's fire, fear's frost hath dissolution. 
 The eye of heaven is out, and misty night 
 Cover's the shame that follows sweet delight. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 893 
 
 This said, his guilty hand pluck'd up the latch, 
 And with his knee tiie door he opens wide : 
 The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch ; 
 Thus treason works ere traitors be espied. 
 Who sees the lurking serpent, steps aside ; 
 
 But she. sound sleeping, fearing no such thing, 
 Lies at the mercy of his mortal sting. 
 Into the chamber wickedly he stalks. 
 And gazeth on her yet unstained bed. 
 The curtains being close, about he walks. 
 Rolling his greedy eye-balls in his head : 
 By- their high treason is his heart misled ; 
 
 Which gives the watch-word to his hand full soon, 
 To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.- 
 Look as the fair, and fiery-pointed sun, 
 Rushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight ; 
 Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun 
 To wink, being blinded with a greater light: 
 Whether it is, that she reflects so bright. 
 
 That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed; 
 But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed. 
 O, had they in that darksome prison died. 
 Then had they seen the period of their ill I 
 Then Coilatine again by Lucrece' side. 
 In his clear bed might have reposed still : 
 But they must ope, this blessed league to kill j 
 And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight 
 Must sell her joy, her life, her world's delight. 
 Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under, 
 Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss ; 
 Who therefore angry, seems to part in sunder, 
 Swelling on eitlier side to want his bliss ; 
 Between whose hills her head intomb'd is : 
 Where, Uke a virtuous monument, she lies. 
 To be admir'd of lewd unhallow'd eyes. 
 Without the bed her other fair hand was. 
 On the green coverlet ; whose perfect white 
 .Shew'd like an April daisy on the grass, 
 With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night. 
 Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light, 
 And. canopied in darkness, sweetly lay. 
 Till they might open to adorn the day. 
 
 Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath; 
 
 O modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! 
 
 Shewing life's triumph in the map of death, 
 
 And death's dim look in life's mortality. 
 
 Kach in her sleep themselves so beautify, 
 
 As if between them twain there were no strife, 
 But that life liv'd in death, and death in life 
 
 Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue, 
 
 A pair of maiden worlds unconquered, 
 
 Save of their lord, no bearing yoke they knew, 
 
 And him by oath they truly honoured. 
 
 These worlds in Tarquin new ambition bred ; 
 Who, like a foul usurper, went about 
 From this fair throne to heave the owner out. 
 
 What could he see, but mightily he noted 1 
 
 What did he note, but strongly he desired ? 
 
 What iie beheld, on that he firmly doted, 
 
 And in his will his wilful eye he tired. 
 
 With more than admiration he admired 
 Her azure veins, her alabaster skin, 
 Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin. 
 
 As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey. 
 
 Sharp hunger by the conquest satisfied, 
 
 So o'er this sleeping soul doth Tarquin stay, 
 
 His rage of lust by gazing qualified ; 
 
 -Slack'd, not suppress'd ; for standing by her side, ' 
 His eye, which late this mutiny restrains, 
 Unto a greater uproar tempts his veins. 
 
 And they, like straggling slaves for pillage fighting. 
 Obdurate vassals, fell exploits effecting. 
 In bloody death and ravishment delighting, 
 Nor children's tears, nor mother's groans respecting. 
 Swell in their pride, the onset still expecting: 
 Anon his beating heart, alarum striking, 
 Gives the hot charge, and bids them do their liking. 
 His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye, 
 His eye commends the leading to his hand ; 
 His hand, as proud of such a dignity, 
 Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand 
 On her bare breast, the heart of all her land ; 
 Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale 
 Left their round turrets destitute and pale. 
 They mustering to the quiet cabinet 
 Where their dear governess and lady lies, 
 Do tell her she is dreadfully beset. 
 And fright her with confusion of their cries : 
 She much amaz'd. breaks ope her lock'd-up eyes. 
 Who, peeping forth this tumult to behold, 
 Are by his flaming torch dimm'd and controH'd. 
 Imagine her as one in dead of night 
 From forth dull sleep by dreadful fancy waking. 
 That thinks she hath belield some ghastly sprite. 
 Whose grim aspect sets every joint a shaking ; 
 What terror 'tis ! but she, in worser taking. 
 From sleep disturbed, heedfully doth view. 
 The sight which makes supposed terror true. 
 Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears, 
 Like to a new-kill'd bird she trembling lies ; 
 She dares not look ; yet, winking, there appears 
 Quick shifting antics, ugly in her eyes : 
 Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries ; 
 Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights, 
 In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights. 
 His hand that yet remains upon her bieast 
 ( Rude rara, to batter such an ivory wall !) 
 May feel her heart (poor citizen !) distress'd, 
 Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall. 
 Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal. 
 This moves in him more rage, and lesser pity. 
 To make the breach, and enter this sweet city. 
 First, like a trumpet, doth his tongue begin 
 To sound a parley to his heartless foe, 
 Who o'er the white sheet peers her whiter chin. 
 The reason of this rash alann to know, 
 Which he by dumb demeanour seeks to show ; 
 But she with vehement prayers urgeth still, 
 Under what colour he commits this ill. 
 Thus he replies : The colour in thy face 
 (That even for anger makes the lily pale, 
 And the red rose blush at her own disgrace,) 
 Shall plead for me, and tell my loving tale : 
 Under what colour am 1 come to scale 
 Thy never-conquer'd fort ; the fault is thine. 
 For those thine eyes betray thee unto mine. 
 Thus I forestall thee, if thou mean to chide ; 
 I'hy beauty hath ensnar'd thee to this night, 
 Where thou with patience must my will abide, 
 -Aiy will that marks thee for my earth's delight, 
 Which I to conquer sought with all ray might; 
 But as reproof and reason beat it dead. 
 By thy bright beauty was it newly bred. 
 I see what crosses my attempt will bring ; 
 1 know what thorns the growing rose defends ; 
 I think the honey guarded with a sting; 
 All this, beforehand, counsel comprehends ; 
 But will is deaf, and hears no heedful friends ; 
 Only he hath an eye to gaze on beauty. 
 And dotes on what he looks, 'gainst law d duty. 
 
094 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 I have debated, evea in my soul, 
 What wrong, w hut shuine, what sorrow 1 shall breed ; 
 But nothing can affection's course control. 
 Or stop the headlong fury of bis speed. 
 I know repentant tears enstie the deed, 
 Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity ; 
 Yet strive 1 to embrace mine infamy. 
 This said, he shakes aloft his Roman blade. 
 Which like a faulcon towering in the skies, 
 Coucheth the fowl below with his wings' shade. 
 Whose crooked beak threats if lie mount he dies : 
 So under the insulting falchion lies 
 
 Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells. 
 With trembling fear, as fowl hear fauleons' bells. 
 Lucrece, quoth he. this nlglit I must enjoy thee : 
 If thou deny, then force must work my wav. 
 For in thy bed I purpose to destroy thee ; 
 That done, some worthless slave of thine I'll slay. 
 To kill thine honour with thy life's decay ; 
 And in thy dead arms do 1 mean to place him. 
 Swearing I slew him, seeing thee embrace him. 
 So thy surviving husband shall remain 
 The scornful mark of every open eye: 
 Thy kinsmen hang their heads at this disdain. 
 Thy issue blurr'd with nameless bastardy : 
 And thou, the author of their obloquy, 
 Shall have thy trespass cited up in rhj-mes. 
 And sung by children in succeeding times. 
 But if thou yield, I rest thy secret friend : 
 The fault unknown is as a thought unacted ; 
 A little harm done to a great gootl end. 
 For lawful policy remains enacted. 
 The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted 
 In a pure compound ; being so applied. 
 His venom in effect is purified. 
 Then for thy husband's and thy children's sake 
 Tender my suit : bequeath not to their lot 
 The shame that from them no device can take. 
 The blemish that will never be forgot ; 
 Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot ; 
 For marks descried in men's nativity 
 Are nature's faults, not their own infamy. 
 Here with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye. 
 He rouseth up himself, and makes a pause. 
 While she the picture of pure piety. 
 Like a white hind under the grype^s sharp claws. 
 Pleads in a wilderness, where are no laws. 
 To the rough beast that knows no gentle right. 
 Nor ought obeys but his foul appetite. 
 Look, when a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat. 
 In his dim mist the aspiring mountains hiding. 
 From earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get. 
 Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding, 
 Hindering their present fall by this dividing ; 
 So his unhallow'd haste her words delays. 
 And moody Pluto winks while Orpheus plays. 
 Yet foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally. 
 While in his hold-fast foot the weak mouse "panteth ; 
 Her sad behaviour feeds his vulture folly, 
 A swallowing gulf that even in plenty wanteth : 
 His ear her prayers admits, but his heart granteth 
 No penetrable entrance to her plaining : 
 Tears harden lust, though marble wear with raining. 
 Her pity-pleading eyes are sadly fixed 
 In the remorseless wrinkles of his face ; 
 Her modest eloquence with sighs is mixed, 
 W liich to her orator)' adds more grace. 
 She puts the period often from his place. 
 
 -■Vnd 'midst the sentence so her accent breaks, 
 That twice she doth begin ere once she speaks. . 
 
 She c6ujures him by high almighty Jeve, 
 
 Hy knighthood, gentry, and sweet friendship's oath, 
 
 lly her untimely tears, lier husband's love, 
 
 r>y holy human laws, and common troth, 
 
 By heaven and earth, and all the power of both, 
 
 I'hat to his borrow'd bed he make retire. 
 
 And stoop to honour, not to foul desire. 
 Quoth she, reward not hospitality 
 \\ ith such black payment as thou hast pretended ; 
 Mud not the fountain that gave drink to thee ; 
 Mar not the thing that cannot be ameuded ; 
 End thy ill aim. before thy shoot be ended : 
 
 He is uo wootl-man that doth bend his bow 
 
 To strike a poor unseasonable doe. 
 IMy husband is thy friend, for his sake spare me , 
 Thyself art mighty, for thine own sake leave tne ; 
 Myself a weakling, do not then ensnare me. 
 I'hou look'st not like deceit ; do not deceive me : 
 My sighs, like vvhirlwinds.-labour hence to heave thee. 
 
 If ever man were mov'd with woman's moans, 
 
 Be moved with my tears, my sighs, my groans; 
 .Ml which together, like a troubled ocean, 
 l>cat at thy rocky and wreck-threatening heart, 
 lo soften it with their continual motion ; 
 Kor stones dissolv'd to water do convert. 
 O, if no hanler than a stone thou art. 
 
 Melt at my tears and be compassionate ! 
 
 Soft pity enters at an iron gate. 
 In Tarquin's likeness I did entertain thee : 
 Hast thou put on his shape to do him shame? 
 To all the host of heaven I coniplain thee. 
 Thou wrong'st his honour.wound'st his princely name. 
 Thou art not what thou seem'st, and it the sane. 
 
 Thou seem'st not what thou art, a god. a king ; 
 
 For kings like gods should govern every thing. 
 How will thy shame be seeded in thine age. 
 When thus thy vices bud before thy spring ! 
 If in thy hope thou dar'st do such outrage. 
 What dar'st thou not when once thou ait a king ? 
 be remember'd. no outrageous thing 
 
 From vassal actors can be wip'd away ; 
 
 Then kings' misdeeds cannot be hid in clay. 
 This deed will make thee only lov'd for fear, 
 But happy mouaichs still are fear'd for love : 
 With foul offenders thou perforce must bear. 
 When they in thee the like offences prove: 
 If but for fear of this, thy will remove ; 
 
 For princes are the gfass, the school, the book. 
 
 Where subjects' eyes do learn, do read, do U«>k. 
 .\nd wilt thou be the school where Lust shall leatB ' 
 Must he in thee read lectures of such shame 1 
 Wilt thou be glass, wherein it shall discern 
 Authority for sin. warrant for blame. 
 To privilege dishonour in thv name 1 
 
 Thou back'st reproach against long- living laud, 
 
 .\nd mak'st fair reputation but a bawd. 
 Hast thou command 1 by him that gave it thee. 
 From a pure heart command thy lebel will : 
 Uraw not thy sword to guan.1 iniquity, 
 Kor it was lent thee all that brood to kill. 
 Thv princely othce how canst thou fulfil. 
 
 When, pattern'd by tliy fault, foul Sin may say. 
 
 He learn'd to 'sin, and thou didst teach the way 1 
 Think but how vile a spectacle it were 
 To view thy present trespass in another. 
 Men's faults do seldom to themselves appear ; 
 'fheir own transgressions partially they smother : 
 This guilt would seem death-worthy in thy brother. 
 
 O how are they wrapp'd in with infamies. 
 
 That from their own misdeeds askaunce their eyes .' 
 
THE RAPIi OF LUCRECE. 
 
 89o 
 
 To tlio',, to ihco, rny )ieav'il-u|i hanii« a|>|><:al 
 
 Not to Kutlijf.-iii^ iuitl, ttiy ru^li ri^livr j 
 
 I >uc lur Kxil'ii iimjr.sly'!) ii'|>uil , 
 
 Ia'I liiin return, tiiid n-itltjtiiig ttiouulit:! r(.'tir(; : 
 
 ifin tiui' rchpuct will 'pjinori laliit; iloaiTt:, 
 
 AittI wijie lite rjiiii rniBt from tl»y doting; «;yn»i, 
 'I'li'dt tliuu bli:ilt b(f<) tliy Ktut«j, iitiit |)tty niiixr. 
 
 Have done, (juotli li**, rfiy uri('0(itroll(;d tiili; 
 
 '1 urns not, but nwdlii tliu liij^lior by llii:i let. 
 
 Sriult liulitft uiu KU4>rt blowit out, huge itrt* ubidc, 
 
 And wiili tin; wjiui in grcud^r I'uiy lr<jt : 
 
 'J Im; |/i;tty ntfoumx tliut |>ay u d:iily (l4;l>t 
 
 'I'u ilii;ir >>alt p>ovi;r<-i^Mi, with tttcir l*r<;hli falU' liaktc 
 Add to Itik tiuw, and tiltj;i' nut lii» tua)t4;. 
 
 'I'liou art, quoth she, n >n;ii, u fiovineij^ri kin;^ ; 
 
 And lo, titvrc falLi into thy l>oundh;bH flood 
 
 lilKck lu»t, difthunuur, uliatnc, iiii^igoverning, 
 
 Vhanvvk to (tain the ocuan of ihy hluod. 
 
 If all theNti ])elty iIIk hhalt change thy good, 
 'ihy wja within a ntidille'it wonih is hcnitd, 
 And not thu |)uddl« in thy sea di:>pcrs«ii. 
 
 So bhall thc»i! filttvi'ii he king, and thou thcinlavc ; 
 
 Thou nohly base, they bah(dy diguilied ; 
 
 'i'hou their (air lifi;, and they thy louler gravo ; 
 
 'I'hou loathed in their rdiame, they in thy pride j 
 
 The letiker thing Hhould not the great/,T hule ; 
 'I'lie cedar otuojjH not to the bane klirub':< foot, 
 Itut low khrubh wither at the eedar'H root. 
 
 So let thy thoughtH, low va«»al» to thy Ktate — 
 No more, c|uoth lie, by heaven, 1 will not hear thee: 
 Yield to rny love ; if not, enforced hate, 
 lribti:ad of love't* eoy toueh, hhall rudely tear thee ; 
 'J'iiiil done, denpitefully 1 mean to bear thee 
 Unto the bahe bed of notnc lahcal groom, 
 'lo br; thy partner in thin khameful doom. 
 Thin isaid, he kein his foot upon the light, 
 Kor light and luht are dearlly eneniiek : 
 Shame folde'l up in blind ccjnceuling niglit, 
 When nioKt uiiHeen, then rnostdolh tyrannize, 
 'i'hc wolf hath hei/.'d hik prey, the poor lumb erieK, 
 Till with her own white (leeee her voice controU'd 
 Kntrjiiibn her outcry in her lip»' awcet fold : 
 For with the nightly linen that khe weark, 
 He rjerik her piteouH clairiourk in her head ; 
 ('ooling hi» hot face in the chastekt tears 
 That ever tnodest eyen with noriow khcd. 
 O, that prone In^tt khoiild ktain ho pure a bed ! 
 'J'h<: ^[witk whereof could weejiing purify. 
 Her tears should drop on them perpetually. 
 IJut »he hath lost a dearer thing than life, 
 And he hath won what he would lo:^e again. 
 'J'hik forced league dolh fonx- a further strife, 
 'I'hik momentary jr)y hiceds months of j>ain, 
 'J his hot riesire converts to cold disdain : 
 I'urc i:hastily is riHcd of her slofe. 
 And lust, the thief, far poorer than before 
 ].ook as the full-fed hound or gorged hawk, 
 I Inapt fur tender smell or speedy flight. 
 Make alow pursuit, or altogiaher balk 
 The prey wherein by nature they delrght ; 
 So surfeit-takin); Tanpiin fares this night : 
 Ilik taste delicious, in digestion souring. 
 Devours his will that liv'd by foul devouring. 
 O deeper hin than bottomless conceit 
 Can comprehend in htiU imagination ! 
 J.)runken desire must vomit his receipt, 
 J)ie he can see his own aboniination. 
 V\ hile lust is in his pride, no exclamation 
 ('an curb his heat, or rein his rash desire. 
 Till, like a jade, tclf-will hiiniiell' doth tire. 
 
 And then with lank and lean discolour'd clieck. 
 With heavy eye, knit brow, and ktrengtiiless pa<;e, 
 I'eeble desire, all recreant, poor, and meek. 
 Like til a bankrujrl beggar waiU his case : 
 1 he flesh being proud, desire doth fight with grace, 
 Kor there it revels ; and when that decays. 
 The guilty rebel for- remission prayk. 
 So fares it with this faultful lord of Korne, 
 Who this accornplishmeni so hotly chased ; 
 f''or now against himself lie pounds this doom. 
 That through the length of times he stands disgraced : 
 Itesides, his soul's (air temple is defaced ; 
 To whose w<:ak ruins muster troojis of cares, 
 To ask the spotted piincess how she faies. 
 She says, lier suljjects with foul insurrection 
 Have batter'd down her consecrated wall, 
 And by their mortal (ault brought in subjection 
 Mer immortality, and made her thrall 
 To living death, and pain perpetual -• 
 
 VVliic:h in her prescience she controlled still, 
 liut her fore-sight could not fore stall their will. 
 
 Kven in his thought, through thcdark night he stcaleth. 
 A captive victor, that hatli lost in gain ; 
 Healing away the wound th-at nothing healcth. 
 The scar that will, despilr; of cure, leinain, 
 l.';aving his spoil perple!('d in greater pain, 
 lihe bears tlie load of lust he left behind. 
 And he the burthen of a guilty mind, 
 lie, like a thievish dog, creeps sadly Ihence, 
 She, like a wearied lamb, lies panting there ; 
 He scowls, and hates himself for his offence. 
 She desperate, with her nails her flesh doth tear; 
 He faintly flies, sweating with guilty fear ; 
 She slays, exclaiming on the direful night ; 
 He runs, and chides his vanish'd, loath 'd delight 
 He thence departs, a heavy convertilc, 
 She there remains, a hopeless cast-away: 
 He in his speed looks for the morning light. 
 She prays she never may behold the day : 
 l-'or day, quoth she, night-Bca|jes dolh open lay; 
 And my true eyes have never practis'J hoiv 
 'Jo cloak offences with a cunning brow. 
 They think not but that every eye can sec 
 1 he same disgrace which they themselves behold ; 
 And therefore would they still in darkness be, 
 lo have their unseen sin remain untold ; 
 I'or they their guilt with weeping will unfold, 
 And grave, like water that doth eat in steel. 
 Upon my cheeks wliat helpless shame 1 feel. 
 Here she exclaims against repose and rest. 
 And bids her eyes hereafter still be blind. 
 She wakes her lieart by beating on her breast, 
 \nd bids it leap from thence, where it may hnd 
 Some purer chei>t, to close so pure a mind. 
 
 I'rantic with grief thus biealhes she forth her spite 
 Against the unseen secrecy of night. 
 O comfort-killing night, image of hell ! 
 Him register and notary of sTiamc I 
 lilack stage for tragedies and murders fell ! 
 Vast sin-concealing chaos I nuise of blame '. 
 lllind niuflled bawd ! dark harbour for defame ' 
 (jrim cave of death, whispering conspirator 
 With close-tongued tiea:iun and the ravislier ! 
 ') hateful, vaporous and foggy night. 
 Since thou art guilty of my cursefess crime, 
 .Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light. 
 Make war against proportion'd course of time ! 
 Or if thrru will permit the sun lo clirnb 
 His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed, 
 Knit poisonous cloudk about his golden head. 
 
896 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 With rotten damps ravish the morning air ; 
 Let their exhal'd unwholesome breaths make sick 
 The life of purity, the supreme fair, 
 Ere he arrive his weary noon-tide prick ; 
 And let thy misty vapours march so thick, 
 That in their smoky ranks his sraother'd light 
 May set at noon, and make perpetual night. 
 Were Tarquin night, (as he is but night's child,) 
 The silver-shining queen he would distain ; 
 Her twinkling handmaids too, by him defil'd. 
 Through night's black bosom should not peep again ; 
 So should I have copartners in ray pain : 
 And fellowship in woe doth woe assuage, 
 As palmers' chat makes short their pilgrimage. 
 Where now I have no one to blush with me, 
 To cross their arms, and hang their iieads with mine, 
 To mask their brows, and hide their infamy; 
 But I alone, alone must sit and pine, 
 Seasoning the earth with showers of silver brine, 
 Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, 
 Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans. 
 O night, thou furnace of foul-reeking smoke, 
 Let not the jealous day behold that face 
 Which underneath thy black all-hiding cloak 
 Immodestly lies martyr'd with disgrace ! 
 Keep still possession of thy gloomy place. 
 
 That all the faults which in thy reign are made 
 May likewise be sepulchr'd in thy shade ! 
 Make me not object to the tale-tell day! 
 The night will shew, char^cter'd in my brow, 
 The story of sweet chastity's decay, 
 The impious breach of holy wedlock's vow ? 
 Yea, the illiterate that know not how 
 To 'cipher what is writ in learned books, 
 Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks. 
 The nurse, to still her child, will tell my story, 
 And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name ; 
 The orator, to deck his oratory, 
 Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame : 
 Feast-finding minstrels, tuning my defame, 
 Will tie the hearers to attend each line. 
 How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine. 
 Let my good name, that senseless reputation. 
 For CoUatine's dear love be kept unspotted : 
 If that be made a theme for disputation, 
 The branches of another root are rotted, 
 And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted. 
 That is as clear from this attaint of mine, 
 As I, ere this, was pure to Collatine. 
 O unseen shame ! invisible disgrace ! 
 O unfelt sore ! crest-wounding, private scar ! 
 Keproach is stamp'd in Collatinus' face, 
 And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar. 
 How he in peace is wounded, 7}Pt in war. 
 
 Alas, how many bear such shameful blows, 
 Which not themselves, but he that gives them knows! 
 If, Collatine, thine honour lay in me. 
 From me by strong assault it is bereft. 
 My honey lost, and I, a drone-like bee, 
 Have no perfection of my summer left. 
 But robb'd and ransack'd by injurious theft : 
 In thy weak hive a wandering wasp hath crept, 
 And suck'd the honey which thy cliaste bee kept. 
 Yet am I guiltless of thy honour's wreck ; 
 Yet for thy honour did 1 entertain him ; 
 Coming from thee, I could not put him back, 
 For it had been dishonour to disdain him : 
 Besides of weariness he did complain him, 
 And talk'd ol virtue: — O unlook'd for evil, 
 When virtue is profan'd in such a devil ! 
 
 Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud? 
 
 Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' nests? 
 
 Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud? 
 
 Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts? 
 
 Or kings be breakers of their own behests? 
 But no perfection is so absolute, 
 That some impurity doth not pollute. 
 
 The aged man that cofTers up his gold, 
 
 Is plagu'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits. 
 
 And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold, 
 
 But like still-pining Tantalus he sits. 
 
 And useless barns the harvest of his wits ; 
 Having no other pleasure of his gain. 
 But torment that it cannot cure his pain. 
 
 So then he hath it when he cannot use it, 
 
 And leaves it to be master'd by his young ; 
 
 Who in their pride do presently abuse it : 
 
 Their father was too weak, and they too strong, 
 
 To hold their cursed-blessed fortune long. 
 
 The sweets we wish for turn to loathed sours. 
 Even in the moment that we call them ours. 
 
 Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring ; 
 
 Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers; 
 
 The adder hisses where the sweet bird sings ; 
 
 What virtue breeds, iniquity devours : 
 
 We have no good that we can say is ours. 
 But ill-annexed opportunity 
 Or kills his life, or else his quality, 
 
 Opportunity! thy guilt is great : 
 
 'Tis thou that execut'st the traitor's treason ; 
 
 Thou set'st the wolf where he the lamb may get ; 
 
 Whoever plots the sin thou point'st the season ; 
 
 'Tis thou that spurn'st at right, at law, at reason : 
 And in thy shady cell, where none may spy hi-n. 
 Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him. 
 
 Thou mak'st the vestal violate her oath ; 
 
 Thou blow'st the fire when temperance is thaw'd ; 
 
 Thou smother'st honesty, thou niuvder'st troth ; 
 
 Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd ! 
 
 Thou plantest scandal, and displacest laud : 
 Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief. 
 Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief! 
 
 Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame, 
 
 Thy private feasting to a public fast ; 
 
 Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name ; 
 
 Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste : 
 
 Thy violent. vanities can never last. 
 How comes it then, vile opportunity. 
 Being so bad, such numbers seek for thee? 
 
 When wilt thou be the humble suppliant's friend. 
 
 And bring him where his suit may be obtained ? 
 
 When wilt thou sort an hour great strifes to end ? 
 
 Or free that soul which wretchedness hath chained? 
 
 Give physic to the sick, ease to the pained? 
 
 The poor, lame, blind, halt, creep, cry out for thee; 
 But they ne'er meet with opportunity. 
 
 The patient dies while the physician sleeps ; 
 
 The orphan pines while the oppressor feeds ; 
 
 Justice is feasting while the widow weeps ; 
 
 Advice is sporting while infection breeds ; 
 
 Thou grant'st no time for charitable deeds ? 
 
 Wrath, envy, treason, rape, and murder's rages. 
 Thy heinous hours wait on them as their page?, 
 
 When Truth and Virtue have to do with thee, 
 
 A thousand crosses keep them from thy aid ; 
 
 They buy thy help : but Sin ne'er gives a fee. 
 
 He gratis comes ; and thou art well appay'd 
 
 As well to hear as grant what he hath said. 
 My Collatine would else have come to me 
 When Tarquin did, but he was stay'd by thee. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 897 
 
 Guilty thou art of murder and of thoft ; 
 
 Guilty of perjury and subornation ; 
 
 Guilty of treason, forgery, and shift: 
 
 Guilty of incest, that abominatioa : 
 
 An accessary by thine inclination 
 
 To all sins past, and all that are to come, 
 From the creation to the general doom, 
 
 Rlisshapen Time, copesmate of ugly night. 
 
 Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care ; 
 
 Eater of youth, false slave to false delight, 
 
 Base watch of woes, sin's pack-horse, virtue's snare ; 
 
 Thou nursest all, and i^urderest all that are. 
 
 hear me then, injurious, shifting time ! 
 Be guilty of ray death, since of my crime. 
 
 AVhy hath thy servant, Opportunity, 
 Betray 'd the hours thou gav'st me to repose? 
 Cancell'd my fortunes, and enchained me 
 To endless date of never-ending woes ] 
 Time's office is to find the hate of foes ; 
 To eat up error by opinion bred. 
 Not spend the dowry of a lawful bed. 
 Time's glory is to calm contending kings. 
 To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, 
 To stamp the seal of time in aged things, 
 To wake the morn, and sentinel the night. 
 To wrong the wronger till he render right ; 
 To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 
 A nd smear with dust their glittering golden towers : 
 To feed with worm-holes stately monuments, 
 To feed oblivion with decay of things, 
 To blot old books, and alter their contents, 
 To pluck the quills from ancient ravens' wings, 
 To dry the old oak's sap, and cherish springs ; 
 To spoil antiquities of hammer'd steel, 
 And turn the giddy round of fortune's wheel : 
 To shew the beldame daughters of her daughter. 
 To make the child a man, the man a child. 
 To slay the tiger that doth live by slaughter, 
 To tame the unicorn and lion wild ; 
 To mock the subtle, in themselves beguil'd ; 
 To cheer the ploughman with increaseful crops, 
 And waste huge stones with little water-drops. 
 Why work'st thou mischief in thy pilgrimage, 
 Unless thou could'st return to make amends? 
 One poor retiring minute in an age 
 Would purchase thee a thousand thousand friends. 
 Lending him wit, that to bad debtors lends : [back, 
 O, this dread night, would'st thou one hour come 
 
 1 could prevent this storm, and shun this wrack ! 
 Thou ceaseless lackey to eternity. 
 
 With some mischance cross Tarquin in his flight. 
 Devise extremes beyond extremity, 
 To make him curse this cursed crimeful night: 
 Let ghastly shadows his lewd eyes affright ; 
 And the dire thous^ht of his committed evil, 
 Shape every bush a hideous shapeless devil. 
 Disturb his hours of rest with restless trances, 
 Afflict him in his bed with bedrid groans ; 
 Let there bechance him pitiful mischances. 
 To make him moan, but pity not his moans : 
 Stone him with harden'd hearts, harder than stones ; 
 And let mild women to him lose their mildness. 
 Wilder to him than tigers in their wildness. 
 Let him have time to tear his curled hair. 
 Let him have time against himself to rave. 
 Let him have time of time's help to despair ; 
 Let him have time to live a loathed slave, 
 Let him have time a beggar's orts to crave , 
 And lime to see one that by alms doth live. 
 Disdain to him disdained scraps to give. 
 
 Let him have time to see his friends Ms foes. 
 And merry fools to mock at him resort : 
 Let him have time to mark how slow time goes 
 In time of sorrow, and how swift and short 
 His time of folly and his time of sport : 
 And ever let his unrecalling crime 
 Have time to wail the abusing of his time. 
 
 Time, thou tutor both to good and bad, 
 Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this ill ! 
 At his own shadow let the thief run mad. 
 Himself himself seek every hour to kill ! 
 
 Such wretched hands such wretchedblood should spill: 
 For who so base would such an office have 
 As slanderous dcath's-man to so base a slave 1 
 The baser is he, coming from a king, 
 To shame his hope with deeds degenerate. 
 The mightier man. the mightier is the thing 
 That makes him honour'd, or begets him hate ; 
 For greatest scandal waits on greatest state. 
 The moon being clouded presently is miss'd, 
 But little stars may hide them when they list. 
 
 The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire, 
 And unperceiv'd fly with the filth away ; 
 But if the like the snow-white swan desire^ 
 The stain upon his silver down will stay. 
 Poor grooms are sightless night, kings glorious day. 
 Gnats are unnoted wheresoe'er they fly, 
 But eagles gaz'd upon with every eye. 
 Out idle words, servants to shallow fools ! 
 Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators ! 
 Busy yourselves in skill-contending schools. 
 Debate where leisure serves with dull debators , 
 To trembling clients be you mediators : 
 For me, 1 force not argument a straw. 
 Since that my case is past the help of law. 
 In vain I rail at Opportunity, 
 At Time, at Tarquia, and uncheerfui night ; 
 In vain I cavil with my infamy. 
 In vain I spurn at my confirm 'd despite : 
 This helpless smoke of words doth me no right 
 The remedy indeed to do me good. 
 Is to let forth my foul, defiled blood. 
 Poor hand, why quiver'st thou at this decree? 
 Honour thyself to rid me of this shame ; 
 For if I die, my honour lives in thee. 
 But if I live, thou Uv'st in my defame : 
 Since thou could'st not defend thy loyal dame, 
 And wast afraid to scratch her wicked foe, 
 Kill both thyself and her for yielding so. 
 This said, from her be-tumbled couch she starteth. 
 To find some desperate instrument of death. 
 But this no-slaughter-house no tool imparteth. 
 To make more vent for passage of her breath. 
 Which thronging through her lips so vanisheth 
 As smoke from .^ttna, that in air consumes, 
 Or that which from discharged cannon fumes. 
 In vain, quoth she, I live, and seek in vaia 
 Some happy mean to end a hapless life. 
 
 1 fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain. 
 Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife : 
 But when I fear'd, I was a loyal wife ; 
 
 So am I now : — O no, that cannot be ; 
 
 Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me. 
 O ! that is gone, for which I sought to live. 
 And therefore now I need not fear to die. 
 To clear this spot by death, at least I give 
 A badge of fame to slander's livery j 
 A dying life to living infamy ; 
 
 Poor helpless help, the treasure stolen away. 
 
 To burn the guiltless casket where it lay I 
 3L 
 
898 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Well, well, dear CoUatine, thou shall not know 
 The stained taste of violated troth ; 
 I will not wrong thy true affection so, 
 To flatter thee with an infringed oath ; 
 This bastard grail' shall never come to growth : 
 He shall not boast, who did thy stock pollute, 
 That Ihou art doting father of iris fruit. 
 Nor shall he sraile at tiiee in secret thought, 
 Nor laugh with his companions at thy slate ; 
 But thou shall know thy interest was not bought 
 Basely with gold, but stolen from forth thy gale. 
 For me, I am the mistress of my fate. 
 
 And with my trespass never will dispense. 
 Till life to death acquit my forc'd oflence. 
 I will not poison thee with my attaint, 
 Nor fold my fault in cleanly-coin'd excuses ; 
 My sable ground of sin I will not paint, 
 To hide the truth of this false night's abuses : 
 My tongue shall utter all ; mine eyes like sluices, 
 As from a mountain-spring that feeds a dale, 
 Shall gush pure streams to purge my impure tale. 
 By this, lamenting Philomel had ended 
 The well-tun 'd warble of her nightly sorrow. 
 And solemn night with slow-sad gait descended 
 To ugly hell ; when lo, the blushing morrow 
 Lends light to all fair eyes that light will borrow : 
 But cloudy Lucrece shames herself to see. 
 And therefore still in night would cloister'd be. 
 Revealing day through every cranny spies, 
 And seems to point her out whe.'"e she sits weeping ; 
 To whom she sobbing speaks : O eye of eyes, [ing ; 
 Why pry'st thou through my window? leave thy peep- 
 Mock with thy tickling beams eves that are sleeping : 
 Brand not my foreliead with thy piercing light. 
 For day hath nought to do what's done by night. 
 Thus cavils she with every thing she sees: 
 True grief is fond and testy as a child, 
 Who wayward once, his mind witii nought agrees. 
 Old woes, not infant sorrows, bear them mild ; 
 Continuance tames tlie one ; the other wild. 
 Like an unpractis'd swimmer plunging still. 
 With too much labour drowns for want of skill. 
 So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care. 
 Holds disputation with each thing she views. 
 And to herself all sorrow doth compare ; 
 No object but her passion's strength renews ; 
 And as one shifts, another straight ensues : 
 
 Sometime her grief is dumb, and hath no words ; 
 Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords. 
 The little birds that tune their morning's joy. 
 Make lier moans mad with their sweet melody. 
 For mirth doth search the bottom of annoy ; 
 Sad souls are slain in merry company ; 
 Grief best is pleas'd with grief's society : 
 True sorrow then is feelingly suffic'd, 
 When with like semblance it is sympathiz'd. 
 'Tis double death to drown in ken of shore ;- 
 He ten times pines, that pines beholding food : 
 To see the salve doth make the wound ache more ; 
 Great grief grieves most at that would do it good ; 
 Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood. 
 
 Who being stopp'd, the bounding banks o'er-flows ; 
 Grief dallied with nor law nor limit knows. 
 You mocking birds, quoth she. your tunes entomb 
 Within your hollow swe)'ing feather'd breasts, 
 And in my hearing be yiu mute and dumb ! 
 (My restless discord loves no stops nor rests ; 
 A woeful hostess brooks not merry guests :) 
 Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ; 
 Distress likes dumps when time is kept with tears. 
 
 Come, Philomel, that smg'st of ravishment, 
 ]\Iake thy sad grove in my dishevell'd hair. 
 As the dank earth weeps at thy languishment, 
 So I at each sad strain will strain a tear. 
 And with deep groans the diapason bear : 
 For burthen-wise I'll hum on Tarquin still, 
 While thou on Tereus descant'st, better skill. 
 And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part. 
 To keep thy sharp woes waking, wretched I, 
 To imitate thee well, against my heart 
 Will fix a sharp knife, to aff"right mine eye ; 
 Who, if it wink, shall thereon fall and die. 
 These means, as frets upon an instrument. 
 Shall tune our heart-strings to true languishment. 
 And for, poor bird, thou sing'st not in the day. 
 As shaming any eye should thee behold. 
 Some dark deep desert, seated from the way, 
 That knows nor parching heat nor freezing cold, 
 Will we find out ; and there we will unfold 
 
 To creatures stern sad tunes, to change their kinds : 
 Since men prove beasts, let beasts bear gentle minds: 
 As the poor frighted deer, that stands at gaze. 
 Wildly determining which way to fly. 
 Or one encompass'd with a winding maze, 
 That cannot tread the way out readily ; 
 So with herself is she in mutiny, 
 
 To live or die which of the twain were better, 
 When life is sham'd, and Death Reproach's debtor. 
 To kill myself, quoth she, alack! what were it. 
 But with my body my poor soul's pollution 1 
 They that lose half, with greater patience bear it. 
 Than they whose whole is swallow'd in confusion. 
 That mother tries a merciless conclusion. 
 
 Who, having two sweet babes, whendeathtakesone, 
 Will slay the other, and be nurse to none. 
 My body or my soul, which was the dearer 'i 
 When the one pure, the other made divine. 
 Whose love of either to myself was nearer 1 
 When both were kept for heaven and CoUatine. 
 Ah me ! the bark peel'd from the lofty pine, 
 His leaves will wither, and his sap decay ; 
 So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away. 
 Her house is sack'd, her quiet interrupted. 
 Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ; 
 Her sacred temple spotted, spoil'd, corrupted. 
 Grossly engirt with daring infamy : 
 Then let it not be call'd impiety, 
 If in this blemish'd fort I make some hole, 
 Through wliich I may convey this troubled soul. 
 Yet die I will not, till my CoUatine 
 Have heard the cause of my untimely death ; 
 That he may vow, in that sad hour of mine, 
 Revenge on him that made me stop my breath. 
 My stained blood to Tarquin I '11 bequeath. 
 Which by him tainted, shall for him be spent, 
 And as his due, writ in my testament. 
 My honour I '11 bequeath unto the knife 
 That wounds my body so dishonoured. 
 'Tis honour to deprive dishonour'd life ; 
 The one will live, the other being dead : 
 So of shame's ashes shall my fame be bred ; 
 For in my death 1 murder shameful scorn ; 
 My shame so dead, mine honour is new-born. 
 Dear lord of that dear jewel I have lost, 
 What legacy shall 1 bequeath to thee i. 
 My resolution, Love, shall be thy boast. 
 By whose example thou reveng'd may'st be. 
 How Tarquin must be us'd, read it in me : 
 Myself, thy friend, will kill myself, tliy foe, 
 And, for my sake, serve thou false Tarquin so. 
 
 ' 
 

 J-'" ,-ra-fa»i"i"i''..-'|jjBii"l|'""J "■■■■■■'■'»" ...■irf....it -|..if,|Mu^^i]j,j.,^^n^.^„jii,.iiiimiiHi^ 
 
 "(a^H""' 
 
 ia^^aniiSia&iisuii 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 8.09 
 
 This brief abridgment of my will I make : 
 My soul and body to the skies and ground ; 
 My resolution, husband, do you take ; 
 Mine honour be the knife's, that makes my wound ; 
 My shame be his that did my fame confound ; 
 And all my fame that lives, disbursed be 
 To those that live, and think no shame of me. 
 Thou, CoUatine, shall oversee this will ; 
 How was I overseen that thou shalt see it ! 
 My blood shall wash the slander of mine ill ; 
 My life's foul deed, my life's fair end shall free it. 
 Faint not, faint heart, but stoutly say, sii be it. 
 Yield to my hand ; nvy hand shall conquer thee ; 
 Thou dead, both die, and both shall victors be. 
 This plot of death when sadly she had laid, 
 And wip'd the brinish pearl from her bright eyes. 
 With untun'd tongue she hoarsely call'd her maid, 
 Whose swift obedience to her mistress hies ; 
 For fleet-wins;'d duty with thouglit's feathers files. 
 Poor Lucrece' cheeks unto her maid seem so 
 As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow. 
 Her mistress she doth give demure good morrow, 
 With soft-slow tongue, true mark of modesty, 
 And sorts a sad look to her lady's sorrow, 
 (For why f her face wore sorrow's livery ;) 
 But durst not ask of her audaciously 
 
 Why her two suns were cloud-eclipsed so, 
 Nor whv her fair cheeks over-wash'd with woe. 
 
 But as the earth doth weep, the sun being set. 
 Each 6ower moisten'd like a melting eye ; 
 Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet 
 Her circled eyne, enforc'd by sympathy 
 Of those fair suns, set in her mistress' sky. 
 Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light, 
 Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night. 
 A pretty while these pretty creatures stand. 
 Like ivory conduits coral cisterns filling : 
 One justly weeps ; the other takes in hand 
 No cause, but company, of her drops spilling : 
 Their gentle sex to weep are often willing ; 
 
 Grieving themselves to euess at others' smarts. 
 And then they drown their eyes .orbreak their hearts: 
 For men have marble, women waxen minds. 
 And therefore are they form'd as marble will ; 
 The weak oppress'd, the impression of strange kinds 
 Is forra'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill : 
 Then call them not the authors of their ill. 
 No more than wax shall be accounted evil. 
 Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil. 
 Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain, 
 Lays open all the little worms that creep ; 
 In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain 
 Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep : 
 Through crystal walls each little mote will peep : 
 ^ Though men can cover crimes with bold stern looks. 
 Poor women's faces are their own faults' books. 
 No man inveigh against the wither'd flower. 
 But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd! 
 Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour, 
 Is worthy blame. O let it not be hild 
 Poor women's faults, that they are so fulfiU'd 
 
 With men's abuses : those prond lords, to blame. 
 Make weak-made women tenants to their shame. 
 The precedent whereof in Lucrece view, 
 Assail'd by night with circumstances strong 
 Of present death, and shame that might ensue 
 By that her death, to do her husband wrong ; 
 Such danger to resistance did belong. 
 
 That dying fear through all her body spread ; 
 And who cannot abuse a body dead i 
 
 By this, mild patience bid fair Lucrece speak 
 To the poor counterfeit of her complaining ; 
 Jly girl, quoth she, on what occasion break 
 Those tears from thee, that down thy cheeks are raining' 
 If thou dost weep for grief of my sustaining. 
 Know, gentle wench, it small avails my mood : 
 If tears could help, mine own would do mc good. 
 
 But tell me, girl, when went — (and there she stayed 
 Till after a deep groan) Tarquin from hence"? 
 Madam, ere 1 was up, reply'd the maid. 
 The more to blame my sluggard negligence : 
 Yet with the fault I thus far can dispense ; 
 Myself was stirring ere the break of day. 
 And, ere I rose, was Tarquin gone away. 
 But lady, if your maid may be so bold. 
 Slie would request to know vour heaviness. 
 O peace ! quoth Lucrece ; if it should be told. 
 The repetition cannot make it less ; 
 For more it is than I can well express : 
 And that deep torture may be call'd a hell. 
 Where more is felt than one hath power to tell. 
 Go, get me hither paper, ink, and pen — ■ 
 Y'et save that labour, for I have them here. 
 What should I say? — One of my husband's men, 
 Bid thou be ready, by and by, to bear 
 A letter to my lord, my love, my dear , 
 Bid him with speed prepare to carry it : 
 The cause craves haste, and it will soon be writ. 
 Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write. 
 First hovering o'er the paper with her quill : 
 Conceit and grief an eager combat fight ; 
 What wit sets down, is blotted straight with will ; 
 This is too curious-good, tins blunt and ill , 
 Much like a press of people at a door. 
 Throng her inventions, which shall go before. 
 At last she thus begins : '* Thou worthy lord 
 Of that unworthy wife that greeteth thee. 
 Health to thy person ! next vouchsafe to aflford 
 (If ever, love, thy Lucrece thou wilt see,) 
 .Some present speed to come and visit me : 
 So I commend me from our house in grief ; 
 My woes are tedious, though my words are brief." 
 Here folds she up the tenour of her woe, 
 Her certain sorrow writ uncertainly. 
 By this short schedule CoUatine may know 
 Her grief, but not her grief's true quality ; 
 She dares not thereof make discovery. 
 
 Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse. 
 Ere she with blood hath stain'd her stain'd excuse. 
 Besides, the life and feeling of her passion 
 She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her ; 
 When sighs and groans and tears may grace the fashion 
 Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her 
 From that suspicion which the world might bear her. 
 To shun this blot, she would not blot the letter 
 With words, till action might become them better 
 To see sad sights moves more than hear them told ; 
 For then the eye interprets to the ear 
 The heav;!' motion that it doth behold. 
 When every part a part of woe doth bear. 
 'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear : 
 
 Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords. 
 And sorrow ebbs, being blown wnth wind of words. 
 Her letter now is seal'd, and on it writ. 
 At Ardea to mij lord tcith more than haste • 
 The post attends, and she delivers it. 
 Charging the sour-fac'd groom to hie as fast 
 As lagging fowls before the northern blast. 
 
 Speed more than speed, but dull andelow she deems: 
 Extremity still urgeth such extremes. 
 
900 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Th^ homely villein curt'sies to her low ; 
 And blushing on her, with a stedfast eye 
 Receives tlie scroll, without or yea or uo. 
 And forth with bashful innocence doth hie. 
 But they whose guilt within their bosoms lie, 
 Imai;ine every eye beholds their blame ; 
 For Lucrece thought he blush'd te see her shame. 
 When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect 
 Of spirit, life, and bold audacity. 
 Such harmless creatures have a due respect 
 To talk in deeds, while others saucily 
 Promise more speed, but do it leisurely: 
 Kven so, this pattern of the worn-out as^e 
 Pawn'd honest looks, but laid no words to gage. 
 His kindled duty kindled her mistrust, 
 That two red fires in both their faces blazed ; 
 She tliought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquiu's lust, 
 And, blushing with him, wistty on him gazed ; 
 Her earnest eye did make him more amazed : 
 
 The more she saw the blood his cheeks replenish. 
 The more she thought he spy'd in her some blemish. 
 But long she thinks till he return again, 
 And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone. 
 The weary time she cannot entertain. 
 For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan: 
 So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan, 
 That she her paints a little while doth stay, 
 Pausing for means to mourn some newer way. 
 At last she calls to mind where hangs a piece 
 Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Trov • 
 Before the which is drawn the power of Greece* 
 For Helen's rape the city to destroy, 
 Threatening cloud-kissing Hion with annoy ; 
 Which the conceited painter drew so proud, 
 As heaven (it seem'd) to kiss the turrets bow'd, 
 A thousand lamentable objects there, 
 In scorn of Nature, Art gave lifeless life: 
 IMany a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear. 
 Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the wife : 
 The red blood reek'd to shew the painter's strife ; 
 And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights, 
 Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights. 
 There might you see the labouring pioneer 
 Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust ; 
 And from the towers of Troy there would appear 
 The very eyes of men through loop-holes thrust. 
 Gazing upon the GreeVs with little lust : 
 
 Such sweet observance in this work was had, / 
 Thai one might see those far-ofFeyes look sad. 
 In great commanders grace and majesty 
 You might behold, triumphing in their faces ■ 
 In youth, quick bearing and dexterity ; 
 And here and there the painter interlaces 
 Pale cowards, marching on with trembling paces ; 
 Which heartless peasants did so well resemble, [ble. 
 That one would swear he saw them quake and trem- 
 In Ajax and Ulysses, O what art 
 Of physiognomy might one behold ! 
 The face of either 'cipher'd cither's heart ■. 
 Their face their manners most expressly told : 
 In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roU'd ; 
 But the mild glance that sly Ulysses lent, 
 Shew'd deep regard and smiling government. 
 There pleading might you see grave Nestor stand. 
 As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight ; 
 Making such sober aciion with his hand. 
 That it beguil'd attention, charm 'd the sight : 
 In speech, it seem'd, his beard, all silver white, 
 Wagg'd up and down, and from his lips did fly 
 Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky. 
 
 About him were a press of gaping faces, 
 Wliich seem'd to swallow up his sound advice) 
 All jointly listening, but with several graces, 
 As if some luermaid did their ears entice ■, 
 Some hign, some low, the painter was so nice ; 
 The scalps of many, almost hid behind, 
 To jump up higher seem'd, to mock the mind. 
 Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head, 
 His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear ; 
 Here one being throng'd bears back, all blown and 
 Another, smother'd, seems to pelt and swear; [redj 
 And in their rage such signs ai rage they bear, 
 As, but for loss of Nestor's golden words. 
 It seem'd they would debate with angry swords. 
 For much imaginary work was there ; 
 Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind, 
 That for Achilles' image stood his spear, 
 Grip'd in an armed hand ; himself, behind, 
 Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind : 
 A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head, 
 Stood for the whole to be imagined. 
 And from the walls of strong-besieged Troy, 
 When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to field. 
 Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy 
 To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield ; 
 And to their hope they such odd action yield, 
 That, through their light joy, seemed to appear 
 (Like bright things stain'd) a kind of heavy fear. 
 
 And, from the strond of Dardan where they fought. 
 To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran, 
 Whose waves to imitate the battle sought 
 With swelling ndges ; and their ranks began 
 To break upon the galled shore, and then 
 Retire again, till meeting greater ranks 
 They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks*. 
 To this well-painted piece is Lucrece come. 
 To find a face where all distress is stel'd. 
 Many she sees, where cares have carved some, 
 But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd, 
 Till she despairing Hecuba beheld, 
 
 Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes. 
 Which bleeding under Pyrrhus* proud foot liea. 
 In her the painter had anatomiz'd 
 Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reigii ; 
 Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguis'd ; 
 Of what she was, no semblance did remain : 
 Her blue blood chang'd to black in every vein, 
 Wanting- the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed, 
 Shew'd life imprisoii'd in a body dead. 
 On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes, 
 And shapes her sorrow to the beldame's woes, 
 Who nothing wants to answer her but cries, 
 And bitter words to ban her cruel foes : 
 The painter was no God to lend her those ; 
 
 And therefore Lucrece swears he did her wrong. 
 To give her so much grief, and not a tongue. 
 Poor instrument, quoth she, without a sound, 
 I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue: 
 And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound, 
 And rail on Pyrrhus that hath done him wrong. 
 And with my tears quench Troy that burns so long. 
 And with my knife scratch out the angry eyes 
 Of all the Greeks that are thine enemies. 
 Shew me the strumpet that began this stir, 
 That with my nails her beauty I may tear 
 Thy heat of lust, fond Paris, did incur 
 This load of wrath that burning Troy doth bear , 
 Thy eye kindled the tire that burnetii here • 
 And here in Troy, for trespass of thine eye, 
 The sire, the son, the dame, and daughter, die. 
 
THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 901 
 
 Why should the piivate pleasure of some one 
 Become the public plague of many moe '. 
 I^et sin, alone committed, light alone 
 Upon his head that hath transgressed so. 
 Let guilllcss souls be freed from guilty woe : 
 For one's offence why should, so many fall, 
 To plague a private sin in general T 
 Lo here weeps Hecuba, here Priani dies. 
 Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus swounds ; 
 Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies, 
 And fiiend to friend gives unadvised wounds, 
 And one man's lust these many lives confounds : 
 Had doting Priam check'd his son's desire, 
 Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire. 
 Here feelingly she weeps Troy's painted woes : 
 For sorrow, like a heavy hanging bell, 
 Once set on ringing, with his owu weight goes ; 
 Then little strength rings out the doleful knell ; 
 So Lucrece set a-work, sad tales doth tell 
 
 To penciird pensiveness and colour'd sorrow ; [row. 
 She lends them words, and she their looks doth bor- 
 She throws her eyes about the painting, round, 
 And whom she finds forlorn, she doth lament: 
 At last she sees a wretched image bound. 
 That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent ; 
 His face, though full of cares, yet shew'd content : 
 Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes, 
 So mild, that Patience seem'd to scorn his woes. 
 In him the painter labour'd with his skill 
 To hide deceit, and give the harmless show 
 An humble gait, calm looks, eves wailing still, 
 A brow unbent, that seem'd to welcome woe ; 
 Cheeks, neither red nor pale, but mingled so 
 That blushing red no guilty instance gave. 
 Nor ashy pale the fear that false hearts have. 
 But, like a constant and confirmed devil, 
 He entertain'd a show so seeming just, 
 And therein so ensconc'd his secret evil, 
 That jealousy itself could not mistrust 
 False-creeping craft and perjury should thrust 
 Into so bright a day such black-fac'd storms. 
 Or blot with hell-born sin such saint-like forms. 
 The well-skiU'd workman this mild image drew 
 For perjur'd Sinon, whose enchanting story 
 The credulous old Priam after slew ; 
 Whose words, like wild-fire, burnt the shining glory 
 Of rich-built Ilion, that the skies were sorry. 
 
 And little stars shot from their fixed places, [faces. 
 When their glass fell wherein they view'd their 
 This picture she advisedly perus'd, 
 And chid the painter for his wondrous skill ; 
 Saying, some shape in Sinon's was abus'd, 
 So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill ; 
 And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still, 
 Such signs of truth in his plain face she spy'd 
 That she concludes the picture was bely'd. 
 It cannot be, quoth she, that so much guile 
 (She would have said) can lurk in such a Utok ; 
 But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while, 
 And from her tongue, can lurk from cannot took ; 
 It cinnot he she in that sense forsook, 
 
 And turn'd it thus : " It cannot be, I find. 
 But such a face should bear a wicked mind : 
 For even as subtle Sinon here is painted, 
 So sober-sad, so weary, and so mild, 
 (As if with grief or travail he had fainted) 
 To me came Tarquin armed ; so beguil'd 
 With outward honesty, but yet defil'd 
 
 With inward vice : as Priam him did cherish, 
 So did 1 Tarquia ; so my Troy did perish. 
 
 Look, look, how listening Priam wets his eyes, 
 
 To see those borrow 'd tears that Sinon sheds. 
 
 Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise"! 
 
 For every tear he falls, a Trojan bleeds ; 
 
 His eye drops fire, no water thence proceeds : 
 
 Those round clear pearls of his that move thy pity 
 Are balls of quenchless fire to burn thy city. 
 
 Such devils steal effects from lightless hell ; 
 For Sinon in his fire doth quake with cold, 
 And in that cold, hot-burning fire doth dwell ; 
 These contraries such unity do hold, 
 Only to flatter fools, and make them bold : 
 
 So Priam's trust false Sinon's tear doth flatter. 
 
 That he finds means to burn his Troy with water." 
 Here, all enrag'd, such passion her assails. 
 That patience is quite beaten from her breast. 
 She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails. 
 Comparing him to that unhappy guest 
 Whose deed hath made herself herself detest : 
 
 At last she smilingly with this gives o'er ; 
 
 Fool ! fool ! quoth she, his wounds will not be sore. 
 Thus ebbs and flows the current of her sorrow, 
 And time doth weary time with her complaining. 
 She looks for night, and then she longs for morrow, 
 And both she thinks too long with her remaining : 
 Short time seems long in sorrow's sharp sustaining. 
 
 Though woe be heavy, yet it seldom sleeps ; 
 
 And they that watch, see time how slow it creeps. 
 Which all this time hath overslipp'd her thought. 
 That she with painted images hath spent ; 
 Being from the feeling of her own grief brought 
 By deep surmise of others' detriment ; 
 Losing her woes in shows of discontent. 
 
 It easeth some, though none it ever cured, 
 
 To think their dolour others have endur'd. 
 
 But now the mindful messenger, come back, 
 Brings home his lord and other company ; 
 Who finds his Lucrece clad in mourning black ; 
 And round about her tear-distained eye 
 Blue circles streamed, like rainbows in the sky. 
 These water-galls in her dim element 
 Foretell new storms to those already spent. 
 Which when her sad-beholding husband saw, 
 Amazedly in her sad face he stares : 
 Her eyes, though sod in tears, look'd red and raw. 
 Her lively colour kill'd with deadly cares. 
 He hath no power to ask her how she fares, 
 But stood, like old acquaintance in a trance, 
 Met far from home, wondering each other's chance. 
 At last he takes her by the bloodless hand. 
 And thus begins : What uncouth ill event 
 Hath thee befallen, that thou dost trembling stand? 
 Sweet love, what spite hath thy fair colour spent ? 
 Why art thou thus attir'd in discontent? 
 Unmask, dear dear, this moody heaviness, 
 And tell thy grief, that we may give redress. 
 Three times with sighs she gives her sorrows fire, 
 Fre once she can discharge one word of woe : 
 At length address'd to answer his desire. 
 She modestly prepares to let them know 
 Her honour is ta'en prisoner by the foe ; 
 While Collatine and his consorted lords 
 With sad attention long to hear her words. 
 And now this pale swan in her watery nest 
 Begins the sad dirge of her certain ending : 
 Few words, quoth slie, shall fit the trespass be.^l. 
 \\ here no excuse can give the fault amending : 
 In me more woes than words are now depending ; 
 And my laments would be drawn out too long, 
 To tell them all with one poor tired tongue. 
 
902 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 
 Then be this all the task it hath to say : — • 
 Dear husband, in the interest of thy bed 
 A stranger came, and on that pillow lay 
 Where thou wast wont to rest thy weary head ; 
 And what wrong else may be imagined 
 By foul enforcement might be done to me. 
 From that, alas ! thy Lucrece is not free. 
 For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, 
 With shining falchion in my chamber came 
 A creeping creature, with a flaming light. 
 And softly cry'd, Awake, tliou Roman dame, 
 And entertain my love ; else lasting shame 
 On thee and thine this night I will inflict. 
 If thou my love's desire do contradict. 
 For some hard-favour'd groom of thine, quoth he, 
 Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 
 I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee, 
 And swear I found you where you did fulfil 
 The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill 
 The lechers in their deed : this act will be 
 My fame, and thy perpetual infamy. 
 With this I did begin to start and cry. 
 And then against my heart he set his' sword, 
 Swearing, unless I took all patiently, 
 I should not live to speak another word : 
 So should my shame still rest upon record, 
 And never be forgot in mighty Rome 
 Ihe adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. 
 Sline enemy was strong, my poor self weak. 
 And far the weaker with so strong a fear ; 
 My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak ; 
 No rightful plea might plead for justice there : 
 His scarlet lust came evidence to swear 
 
 That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes. 
 And when the judge is robb'd, the prisoner dies. 
 O teach me how to make mine own excuse ! 
 Or, at the least, this refuge let me find ; 
 Though my gross blood be stain'd with this abuse. 
 Immaculate and spotless is my mind ; 
 That was not forc'd ; that never was inclin'd 
 To accessary yieldings, but still pure 
 Doth in her poison 'd closet yet endure. 
 Lo here, the hopeless merchant of this loss. 
 With head declin'd, and voice damm'd up with woe, 
 With sad-set eyes, and wretched arms across. 
 From lips new-waxen pale begins to blow 
 The grief away, that stops his answer so : 
 But wretched as he is, he strives in vain ; 
 What he breathes out his breath drinks up again. 
 As through an arch the violent roaring tide 
 Out-runs the eye that doth behold his haste ; 
 Yet in the eddy boundeth in his pride 
 Back to the strait that forc'd him on so fast ; 
 In rage sent out, recall'd in rage, being past : 
 Even so he sighs, his sorrows, make a saw. 
 To push grief on, and back the same grief draw. 
 Which speechless woe of his, poor she attendeth, 
 And his untimely frenzy thus awaketh : 
 Dear lord, thy sorrow to my sorrow lendeth 
 Another power ; no flood by raining slaketh. 
 My woe too sensible thy passion maketh 
 More feeling-painful : let it then suffice 
 To drown one woe, one pair of weeping eyes. 
 And for my sake, when I might charm thee so. 
 For she that was thy Lucrece, — now attend me ; 
 Be suddenly revenged on my foe. 
 Thine, mine, his own ; suppose thou dost defend me 
 From what is past ; the help that thon shalt lend me 
 Comes all too late, yet let the traitor die ; 
 For sparing justice feeds iniquity. 
 
 But ere I name him, yon fair lords', quoth she, 
 (Speaking to those that came with CoUatine) 
 Shall plight your honourable faiths to me. 
 With swift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine ; 
 For 'tis a meritorious fair design. 
 To chase injustice with revengeful anns : [harms. 
 Knights, by their oaths, should right poor ladies' 
 At this request, with noble disposition 
 Each present lord began to promise aid, 
 As bound in knighthood to her imposition, 
 Longing to hear the hateful foe bewray 'd. 
 But she, that yet her sad task hath not said. 
 The protestation stops. O speak, quoth she. 
 How may this forced stain be wiped from me. 
 What is the quality of mine offence, 
 Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance ? 
 May my pure mind with tlie foul act dispense, 
 My low-declined honour to advance ? 
 May any terms acquit me from this chance 1 
 1'he poison'd fountain clears itself again ; 
 And why not I from this compelled stain? 
 With this, they all at once began to say. 
 Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ; 
 While with a joyless smile she turns away 
 The face, that map which deep impression bears 
 Of hard misfortune carv'd in it with tears. 
 No, no, quoth she, no dame, hereafter living. 
 By my excuse shall claim excuses giving. 
 Here with a sigh, as if her heart would break, 
 Siie throw's forth Tarquin's name ; He, he, she says, 
 But more than he her poor tongue could not speak j 
 Till after many accents and delays. 
 Untimely breathings, sick and short assays. 
 She utters this : He, he, fair lords, 'tis he. 
 That guides this hand to give this wound to rae. 
 Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast 
 A harmful knife, that thence her soul unsheathed ; 
 That blow did bail it from the deep unrest 
 Of that polluted prison where it breathed : 
 Her contrite sighs unto the clouds bequeathed 
 Her winged sprite, and through herwounds doth fly 
 Lite's lasting date from cancell'd destiny. 
 Stone-still, astonish'd with this deadly deed. 
 Stood CoUatine and all his lordly crew ; 
 Till Lucrece' father that beholds her bleed. 
 Himself on her self-slaughter'd body threw ; 
 And from the purple fountain Brutus drew 
 The murderous knife, and as it left the place 
 Her blood, in poor revenge, held it in cnase ; 
 And bubbling from her breast, it doth divide 
 In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood 
 Circles her body in on every side, 
 Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood 
 Bare and unpeopled, in this fearful flood. 
 
 Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd. 
 And some look'd black, and that false Tarquiu 
 stain'd. 
 About the mourning and congealed face 
 Of that black blood, a watery rigol goes. 
 Which seems to weep upon the tainted place : 
 And ever since as pitving Lucrece' woes. 
 Corrupted blood some watery token shows ; 
 And blood untamted still doth red abide. 
 Blushing at that which is so putrify'd. 
 Daughter, dear daughter, old Lucretius cries. 
 That life was mine, which thou hast here depriv'd. 
 If in the child the father's image lies. 
 Where shall I live, now Lucrece is unliv'dt 
 Thou wast not to this end from me deriv'd- 
 If children pre-decease progenitors, * 
 We are their offspring, and they none of ours. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 903 
 
 Poor broken gla?s, I often did behold 
 In thy sweet semblance my old age new-born j 
 But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old, 
 Shews me a bare-bon"d death by time out-worn; 
 O, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn ! 
 And shiver'd all the beauty of my glass, 
 That 1 no more can see what once I was. 
 
 time, cease thou thy course, and last no longer, 
 If they surcease to be. that should survive. 
 
 Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger, 
 And leave the faltering feeble souls alive 1 
 The old bees die, the young possess their hive . 
 Then live sweet Lucrece. live again, and see 
 Thy father die, and not thy father thee ! 
 Hy this starts Collatine as from a dream, 
 And bids Lucretius give his sorrow place ; 
 And then in key-cold Lucrece' bleeding stream 
 He falls, and bathes the pale fear in his face. 
 And counterfeits to die with her a space ; 
 
 Till manly shame bids him possess his breath. 
 And live to be revenged on her death. 
 The deep vexation of his inward soul 
 Hath serv'd a dumb arrest upon his tongue ; 
 Who mad thai sorrow should his use control, 
 Or keep him from heart-easing words so long. 
 Begins to talk ; but through his lips do thronsj 
 Weak words, so thick come, in his poor heart's aid, 
 That no man could distinguish what he said. 
 Yet sometime Tarquin was pronounced plain, 
 But through his teeth as if the name he tore, 
 This windy tempest, till it blow up rain, 
 Held back his sorrow's tide, to make it mora ; 
 At last it rains, and busy winds give o'er : 
 Then son and father weep with equal strife, 
 Who should weep most for daughter or for wife. 
 The one doth call her his, the other his, 
 Yet neither may possess the claim they lay. 
 The father says, she's mine: O mine she is, 
 Replies her husband : Do not take away 
 My sorrow's interest : let no mourner say 
 He weeps for her, for she was only mine, 
 And onlv must be wail'd by Collatine. 
 O, quoth Lucretius. I did give that life, 
 Which she too earlv and too late hath spill'd. 
 Woe, woe, quoth Collatine, she was ray wife, 
 
 1 owned her, and 'tis mine that she hath kili'd. 
 AIv daughter and my wife with clamours fiU'd 
 
 The dispers'd air, who holding Lucrece' life, 
 Answer'd their cries, my daughter and my uife. 
 
 Brutus, who pluck'd the knife from Lucrece* side. 
 Seeing such emulation in their woe. 
 Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, 
 Burj-ing in Lucrece' wound his folly's show. 
 He with the Romans was esteera'd so 
 As silly jeering idiots are with kings, 
 For sportive words, and uttering foolish things. 
 But now he throws that shallow habit by. 
 Wherein deep policy did him disguise ; 
 And arra'd his long-hid wits advisedly. 
 To check the tears in Collatinus" eyes. 
 Thou wronged lord of Rome, quoth he, arise; 
 Let ray unsounded self, suppos'd a fool, 
 Now set thy long-experienced wit to school. 
 W^hy, Collatine, is woe the cure for woe? 
 Do wound-; help wounds, or grief help grievous deedsl 
 Is it revenge to give thyself a blow, 
 For his foul act by whom thy fair wdfe bleeds? 
 Such childish humour from weak minds proceeds : 
 Thy wretched wife mistook the matter so. 
 To slay herself, that should have slain her foe. 
 Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 
 In such relenting dew of lamentations. 
 But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part. 
 To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, 
 That they will suffer these abominations. 
 Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced. 
 By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased. 
 Now by the Capitol that we adore, 
 And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained. 
 By heaven's fair sun, that breeds the fat earth's store, 
 By all our country's rights in Rome maintained, 
 And by chaste Lucrece* soul that late complained 
 Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife, 
 We will revenge the death of this true wife. 
 This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, 
 And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow ; 
 And to his protestation urg'd the rest, 
 Who wondering at him, did his words allow: 
 Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow; 
 And that deep vow which Brutus made l)efore, 
 He doth again repeat, and that they swore. 
 When they had sworn to this advised doom, 
 They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence ; 
 To shew the bleeding body thorough Rome, 
 And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence : 
 \\ hich being done with speedy diligence, 
 The Romans plausibly did give consent. 
 To Tarquin's everlasting banishment. 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 From fairest creatures we desire increase. 
 That thereby beauty's rose might never die. 
 But as the riper should by time decrease. 
 His tender heir might bear his memory : 
 But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, 
 Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, 
 ■Making a famine where abundance Ues, 
 'I'hyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel, 
 Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament. 
 And only herald to the gaudy spring, 
 Within thine own bud buriest thy content. 
 And. tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding^ 
 
 Pity the world, or else this glutton be, 
 ■ To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 
 
 When forty winters shall besiege thy brow. 
 And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, 
 Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now. 
 Will be a tatter'd weed,' of small worth held : 
 Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies, 
 Where all the treasure of thy lusty days ; 
 To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, 
 Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. 
 How much raoie praise deserv'd thy beauty's use. 
 If thou could'st answer — " This fair child of mine 
 Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse — " 
 Proving his beauty by succession thine. 
 
 This were to be new-made when thou art old, 
 And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. 
 
904 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest. 
 Now IS the time that face should form another ; 
 Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, 
 Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. 
 For where is she so fair, whose un-ear'd womb 
 Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry 1 
 Or who is he so fond, will be the tomb 
 Of his self love, to stop posterity ? 
 Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee 
 Calls back the lovely April of her prime : 
 So thou through windows of thine age shall see. 
 Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time. 
 But if thou live, remember'd not to be, 
 Die single, and thine image dies with thee. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend 
 Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy 1 
 Nature's bequest gives notiiing, but doth lend. 
 And being frank, she lends to those are free. 
 Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse 
 The bounteous largess given thee to give? 
 Profitless usurer, why dost thou use 
 So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? 
 For having traffic with thyself alone, 
 Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive. 
 Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone, 
 What acceptable audit canst thou leave ? 
 
 Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, 
 AVhich, used, lives thy executor to be. 
 
 Those hours, that with gentle work did frame 
 
 The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, 
 
 Will play the tyrants to the very same, 
 
 And that unfair which fairly doth excell ; 
 
 For never-resting time leads summer on 
 
 To hideous winter, and confounds hira there ; 
 
 Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone, 
 
 Beauty o'ersnow'd. and bareness every where: 
 
 Then, were not summer's distillation left, 
 
 A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass. 
 
 Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft. 
 
 Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was, 
 
 But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet, 
 Leese but their show; their subi^tance still lives 
 sweet. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then let not winter's ragged hand deface 
 
 In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: 
 
 Make sweet some phial, treasure thou some place 
 
 With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. 
 
 That use is not forbidden usury, 
 
 Which happies those that pay the willing loan; 
 
 That's for thyself to breed another thee, 
 
 Or ten times happier, be it ten for one ; 
 
 Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, 
 
 If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee : 
 
 Then, what could death do if thou should'st depart, 
 
 Leaving thee living in posterity? 
 
 Be not self-wiil'd, for thou art much too fair 
 To be death's conquest, and make worms thine heir. 
 
 Lo, in the orient, when the gracious light 
 Lifts up his burning head, each under eye 
 Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, 
 Serving with looks his sacred majesty ; 
 And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill 
 Resembling strong youth in his middle age, 
 
 Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, 
 Attending on his golden pilgrimage; 
 But when from high-most pitch, with weary car, 
 Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, 
 The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are 
 From his low tract, and look another way: 
 So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon, 
 Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. 
 
 Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? 
 Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. 
 Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly? 
 Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? 
 If the true concord of well-tuned sounds. 
 By unions married, do offend thine ear, 
 They do but sweetly chide thee who confounds 
 In singleness the parts that thou should'st bear, 
 Mark how one string, sweet husband to another. 
 Strikes each in each by mutual ordering ; 
 Resembling sire and child and happy mother. 
 Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing : 
 
 Whose speechless song, being many, seeming ons^ 
 Sings this to thee, " thou single wilt prove none,' 
 
 Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye. 
 That thou consum'st thyself in single life ? 
 Ah ! if thou issueless shalt hap to die. 
 The world will wail thee, like a mateless wife j 
 The world will be thy widow and still weep. 
 That thou no form of thee hast left behind. 
 When every private widow well may keep. 
 By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind. 
 Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend, 
 Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; 
 But beauty's waste hath in the world an end, 
 And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it. 
 No love toward others in that bosom sits. 
 That on himself such murderous shame commits 
 
 For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any. 
 Who for thyself art so unprovident. 
 Grant if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many. 
 But that thou none lov'st, is most evident j 
 For thou ar$ so possess'd with murderous hate, 
 That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire. 
 Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate, 
 Which to repair should be thy chief desire. 
 O change thy thought, that I may change my mind: 
 Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love ? 
 Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind. 
 Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove : 
 Make thee another self, for love of me. 
 That beauty still may live in thine and thee. 
 
 As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st 
 In one of thine, from that which thou dephrtest ; 
 And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st. 
 Thou may'st call thine, when thou from youth convert- 
 Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase ; [est. 
 Without this, folly, age, and cold decay ■ 
 If all were minded so, the times should cease. 
 And threescore years would make the world away. 
 Let those whom nature hath not made for store. 
 Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: 
 Look whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more , 
 Which bounteous gift thoushould'st in bounty cherish; 
 
 She carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby. 
 
 Thou should'st print more, nor let that copv die. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 905 
 
 xn. 
 
 When I do count the clock that tells the time, 
 And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ; 
 When I behold the violet past prime, 
 And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white ; 
 When lofty trees 1 see barren of leaves, 
 AVhich erst from heat did canopy the herd, 
 Ana summer's green all girded up in sheaves, 
 Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ; 
 Then of tliy beauty do I question make. 
 That thou among the wastes of time must go. 
 Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, 
 And die as fast as they see others grow ; 
 
 Andnothing'gainsttime'sscythecanmakedefence, 
 Save breed, to brave him, wlien he takes tliee hence, 
 
 XIII. 
 
 O that you were yourself! but, love, you are 
 No longer your's, than you yourself here live : 
 Against this coming end' you should prepare, 
 And your sweet semblance to some other give. 
 So should that beauty which you hold in lease. 
 Find no determination : then you were 
 Yourself again, after yourself s decease, 
 ■When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. 
 Who lets so fair a house fall to decay. 
 Which husbandry in honour might uphold 
 Against the stormy gusts of winter's day. 
 And barren rage of 'death's eternal cold f 
 
 ! none but unthrifts .-—Dear, my love, you know, 
 
 1 ou had a father ; let your son say so. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck , 
 And yet methinks I have astronomy. 
 But not to tell of good, or evil luck. 
 Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality : 
 Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell. 
 Pointing to each his thunder, rain and 'wind, 
 Or say, with princes if it shall go well. 
 By oft predict that I in heaven find : 
 But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive. 
 And (constant stars) in them 1 read such art. 
 As truth and beauty shall together thrive, 
 If from thyself to store thou would'st convert : 
 Or else of thee this I prognosticate. 
 Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. 
 
 XV. 
 
 When I consider every thing that grows 
 Holds in perfection but a little moment. 
 That this huge state presenteth nought but shows 
 Whereon the stars in secret influence comment ; 
 W hen I perceive that men as plants increase. 
 Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky • 
 Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,' 
 And wear their brave state out of memory ; 
 Then the conceit of this inconstant stay 
 Sets you most rich in youth before my sight. 
 Where wasteful time debateth with decay. 
 To change your day of youth to sullied night ; 
 And, all in war with time, for love of you, 
 As he takes from you, I engraft you new. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But wherefore do not you a mightier way 
 Slake war upon this bloody tyrant. Time ? 
 And fortify yourself in your decav 
 With means more blessed than m'y barren rhime' 
 Now stand you on the top of happy hours ; 
 And many la^den gardens yet unset 
 
 With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, 
 Much liker than your painted counterfeit : 
 So should the lines of life that life repair. 
 Which this. Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, 
 Neither in inward worth, nor outward fair, 
 Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. 
 
 To give away yourself, keeps yourself still ; 
 
 And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Who will believe my verse in time to come. 
 If it were fill'd with your most high deserts ? 
 Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb 
 Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts. 
 If I could write the beauty of your eyes. 
 And in fresh numbers nurnber'all your graces. 
 The age to come would say this poet lies. 
 Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces. 
 So should my papers, yellow'd with their a'"-e. 
 Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than toncrue • 
 And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage, ° ' 
 And stretched metre of an antique song : 
 
 But were some child of yours alive that time. 
 You should live twice ;— in it, and in my rhime. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
 Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
 Rough (vinds do shake the darling buds of May 
 And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
 Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
 And often is his gold complexion dimin'd ; 
 And every fair from fair sometime declines'. 
 By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd • 
 But thy eternal summer shafl not fade. ' 
 
 Nor ;ose possession of that fair thou owest ■ 
 JNor shall death brag thou wander'st in his 'shade 
 \V hen m eternal lines to time thou growest ; 
 So long a« men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.' 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws 
 And make the earth devour her own sweet brood • 
 1 luck the keen teeth from the fierce titter's jaws ' 
 And burn the long-liv'd plirenix in her blood ; ' 
 iMakeglad and sorrv, seasons, as thou fleet'st 
 .•Ind do whate'er thou wilt, swift-tooted Time 
 1 o the wide world, and all her fading sweets • 
 tint 1 forbid thee one most heinous crime • 
 O carve not with thy hours my loves fair brow 
 Nor draw no lines there with "thine antique pen • 
 Him m thy course untainted do allow ' 
 
 For beauty's pattern to succeedino- men 
 
 ■Jet do thy worst, old Time: despite thv wron-. 
 My love shall in my verse ever live vounV. 
 
 A woman s face, with nature's own hand painted. 
 Hast thou, the master-mistress of my pa«ion • 
 A woman s gentle heart, but not acquainted ' 
 U ith shifting change, as is false women's fashion ■ 
 An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling 
 Oilding the object whereupon it gazeth ; 
 A man in hue, all hues in his controlling, 
 « hich steals men's eyes, and women's souls amazeth. 
 .And for a woman wert thou first created ; 
 Till nature, as she wrought thee, fell adoting, 
 •-ind by addition me of thee defeated. 
 By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. 
 But sinceshe prick'd thee out for women's nieasure 
 Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their 'treasure' 
 
906 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 So it is not with me as with that muse, 
 
 Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse ; 
 
 Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, 
 
 And every fair with his fair duth rehearse ; 
 
 iVIaking a couplement of proud compare, 
 
 ^^'ith sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, 
 
 A\'itli April's first-born flowers, and all things rare 
 
 That heaven's air in his huge rondure hems. 
 
 let me, true in love, but truly write, 
 
 And then believe me, my love is as fair 
 
 As any mother's child, though not so bright 
 
 As those gold caudles fixed in heaven's air : 
 
 Let them say more that VikQ of hear-say well ; 
 
 I will not praise, that purpose not to sell. 
 
 My glass shall not persuade me I am old. 
 So long as youth and thou are of one date ; 
 But when in thee time's furrows I behold. 
 Then look I death my days should expiate. 
 For all that beauty that lioth cover thee, 
 Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, 
 Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me ; 
 How can I then be elder than thou art ? 
 O therefore, love, be of thyself so wary. 
 As I not for myself, but for thee will ; 
 Beaiing thy heart, which I will keep so chary 
 As tender nurse her babe from faiing ill. 
 
 Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain ; 
 
 Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 As an unperfect actor on the stage. 
 Who with his fear is put beside his part. 
 Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage. 
 Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; 
 So I, for fear of trust, forget to say 
 The perfect ceremony of love's rile. 
 And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, 
 O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's mi»ht. 
 O let my books be then the eloquence 
 And dumb presagers of my speaking breast ; 
 Who plead for love, and look for recompence. 
 More than that tongue that more hath moreexpress'd. 
 O learn to read what silent love hath writ : 
 To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. 
 
 Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stSl'd 
 Thy beauty's form in table of my heart ; 
 IMy body is the frame wherein 'tis held, 
 And perspective it is best painter's art. 
 For through the painter must you see his skill, 
 To find where your true image pictur'd lies, 
 Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still. 
 That hath his windows glazed with thine eves. 
 Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done ; 
 Bline eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me 
 Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun 
 Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee ; 
 Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, 
 They draw but what tltey see, know not. the heart. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Let those who are in favour with their stars, 
 Of public honour and proud titles boast, 
 Whilst I, «hom fortune of such triumph bars, 
 Unlook'd-for joy in that I honour most. 
 Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread. 
 But as tlie marigold at the sun's eye. 
 
 And in themselves their pride lies buned. 
 For at a frown they in their glory die. 
 The pamful warrior famoused for fight. 
 After a thousand victories once foil'd. 
 Is from the book of honour razed quite. 
 And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd : 
 Then happy I, that love and am beloved, 
 Where I may not remove, nor be removed 
 
 Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage 
 
 Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit. 
 
 To thee I send this written embassage. 
 
 To witness duty, not to shevt- my wit. 
 
 Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine 
 
 May make seem bare, in wanting words to shew it ; 
 
 But that I hope some good conceit of thine 
 
 In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it : 
 
 Till whatsoever star that guides my moving. 
 
 Points on me graciously with fair aspect. 
 
 And puts apparel on my tattered loving, 
 
 To shew me worthy of thy sweet respect ; 
 
 Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, [me. 
 
 Till then, notshew my head where thou may'st prove 
 
 Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed. 
 The dear repose for limbs with travel tired ; 
 But then begins a journey in my head, 
 To work my mind, when body's work's expired : 
 For then my thoughts (from "far where I abide) 
 Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee. 
 And keep my drooping eye-lids open wide, 
 Looking on darkness which the blind do see. 
 Save that my soul's imaginary sigiit 
 Presents thy shadow to my sightless view. 
 Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night. 
 Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. 
 Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, 
 For thee, and for myself no quiet find. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 How can I then return in happy plight. 
 That am debarr'd the benefit of rest! 
 When day's oppression is not eas'd by night. 
 But day by night and night by day oppress'd 1 
 And each, though enemies to cither's reign. 
 Do in consent shake hands to torture me. 
 The one by toil, the other to complain 
 How far I toil, still farther oft' from thee. 
 I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright. 
 And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven; 
 So flatter I the swart-complexion'd nijjht ; 
 When sparkling stars twire not, thou giid'st the even. 
 But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer. 
 And night doth nightly make griefs length seem 
 stronger. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
 I all alone beweep my out-cast state, 
 .A.nd trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries. 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
 ^Vishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd. 
 Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope. 
 With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
 Vet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply 1 think on thee, — and then my state 
 (Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate; 
 For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings^ 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 901 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
 
 And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste 
 
 Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow, 
 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless ni^ht, 
 
 And weep afresh love's long-smce cancell'd woe. 
 
 And moan the expence of many a vanish 'd sight, 
 
 I'hen can I grieve at grievances fore-gone. 
 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 
 VN'hich I new pay as if not pay'd before. 
 
 But if the while 1 think on thee, dear friend. 
 All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts. 
 Which I by lacking have supposed dead ; 
 And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, 
 And all those friends which I thought buried. 
 How many a holy and obsequious tear 
 Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye. 
 As interest of the dead, which now appear 
 But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie ! 
 Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, 
 Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone. 
 Who all their parts of me to thee did give ; 
 That due of many now is thine alone : 
 Their images I lov'd I view in thee. 
 And thou (_all they) hast all the all of me. 
 
 xxxir. 
 If thou survive my well-contented day. 
 When thatchurl Death my bones with dust shall cover. 
 And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
 These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover. 
 Compare them with the bettering of the time ■ 
 And though they be out-stripp'd by every pen. 
 Reserve them for my love, not for their rhime. 
 Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
 O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought ! 
 Had mv friend's muse grown with this growing age, 
 A dearer birth than this his love had brou<rkt. 
 To march in ranks of better equipage : 
 But since he died, and poets better prove, 
 Theirs for their stule I'll read, his for his loie. 
 
 XXXIII, 
 
 Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
 IJatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, 
 Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
 Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy ; 
 Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
 With ugly rack on his celestial face. 
 And from the forlorn world his visage hide. 
 Stealing unseen to west with this disi^race : 
 Even so my sun one early morn did shine. 
 With all triumphant splendour on my brow ; 
 But out ! alack ' he was but one hour mine. 
 The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 
 
 Vet him for this ray love no whit disdaineth ; 
 
 Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun 
 staineth, 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day. 
 And make me travel forth without mv cloak 
 To let base clouds o'ertake me in my' way. 
 Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke"?' 
 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, 
 To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face 
 
 For no man well of such a salve can speak. 
 That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace : 
 Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief ; 
 Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss : 
 The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief 
 To him that bears the strong offence's cross. 
 
 -•Vh ! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, 
 And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. 
 
 No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done : 
 Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ; 
 Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun. 
 And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
 All men make faults, and even I in this. 
 Authorizing thy trespass with compare. 
 Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss. 
 Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are : 
 For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense, 
 (Thy adverse party is thy advocate,) 
 And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence : 
 Such civil war is in my love and hate, 
 
 'I'hat I an accessary needs must be 
 
 To that sweet thief, which sourly robs from me. 
 
 Let me confess that we two must be twain, 
 .■Vllhough our undivided loves are one : 
 So shall those blots that do with me remain. 
 Without thy help, by me be borne alone. 
 In our two loves there is but one respect. 
 Though in our lives a separable spite. 
 Which though it alter not love's sole effect. 
 Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's deli^'ht 
 I may not evermore acknowledge thee. 
 Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame ; 
 Nor thou with public kindness honour me. 
 Unless thou take that honour from thy name : 
 But do not so ; I love thee in such sort. 
 As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 .■Is a decrepit father takes delight 
 
 To see his active child do deeds of youth, 
 
 So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite. 
 
 Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth ; 
 
 For whether beauty, birth' or wealth, or wit. 
 
 Or any of these all, or all, or more. 
 
 Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, 
 
 I make my love engrafted to this store : 
 
 So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd. 
 
 Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give, 
 
 That I in thy abundance am suflic'd. 
 
 And by a part of all thy glory live. 
 
 Look what is best, that best I wish in thee ; 
 
 This wish I have ; then ten times happy me! 
 
 XXXVIII, 
 
 How can my muse want subject to invent, 
 
 \V hile thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse 
 
 1 hine own sweet argument, too excellent 
 
 tor every vulgar paper to rehearse? 
 
 O give thyself the thanks, if aught in me 
 
 \\orthy perusal, stand against thy sight. 
 
 For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee. 
 
 n hen thou thyself dost give invention light ? 
 
 Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth 
 
 Than those old nine, which rhimers invocate ; 
 
 And he that calls on thee, let film bring forth 
 
 Eternal numbers to out-live long date. 
 
 If my slight muse do please these curious days. 
 The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 
 
908 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 how thy worth with manners may I sing, 
 When thou art all the better part of me ! 
 What can mine own praise to mine own self bring ? 
 And what is't but mine own. when I praise thee! 
 Even for this let us divided live, 
 And our dear love lose name of single one, 
 That by this separation I may give 
 That due to thee, which thou deserv'st alone. 
 absence, what a torment would'st thou prove, 
 W^ere it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave 
 To entertain the time with thoughts of love, 
 (Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,) 
 And that thou teachest how to make one twain, 
 By praising him here, who doth hence remain. 
 
 Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all ; 
 What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? 
 No love, my love, that thou may'st true love call; 
 All mine was thine, before thou had'st this more. 
 Then if for ray love thou my love receivest, 
 I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest ; 
 But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest 
 By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. 
 I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, 
 Although thou steal thee all my property ; 
 And yet love knows, it is a greater grief 
 To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury. 
 Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows. 
 Kill me with spites ; yet we must qot be foes. 
 
 Those petty wrongs that liberty commits, 
 AVhen I am sometime absent from thy heart. 
 Thy beauty and thy years full well befits. 
 For still temptation follows where thou art. 
 Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won. 
 Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd ; 
 And when a woman wooes, what woman's son 
 Will sourly leave her till she have prevail'd. 
 Ah me ! but yet thou might'st. my sweet, forbear. 
 And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth. 
 Who lead thee in tlieir riot even there 
 Where tliou art furc'd to break a two-fold truth ; 
 Her's, by thy beauty tempting her to thee, 
 Thine, by thy beauty being false to me. 
 
 That thou hast her, it is not all ray grief. 
 
 And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly ; 
 
 That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, 
 
 A loss in love that touches me more nearly. 
 
 Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye. — 
 
 Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her ; 
 
 And for my sake even so doth she abuse me. 
 
 Suffering my friend for ray sake to approve her. 
 
 If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, 
 
 And losing her, my friend hath found that loss ; 
 
 Both find each other, and 1 lose both twain, 
 
 And both for my sake lay on me this cross : 
 
 But here's the joy ; my friend and I are one ; 
 
 Sweet flattery! — then she loves but me alone. 
 
 When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, 
 For all the day they view things unrespected ; 
 But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, 
 And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed ; 
 Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright, 
 How would thy shadow's form form happy show 
 
 To the clear day with thy much clearer light, 
 When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so ? 
 How would (T say) mine eyes be blessed made 
 By looking on thee in the living day. 
 When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade 
 Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay ? 
 
 All days are nights to see, till I see thee, [me. 
 
 And nights, bright days, when dreams do show thee 
 
 If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, 
 Injurious distance should not stop my way ; 
 For then, despite of space. I would be brought 
 From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. 
 No matter then although my foot did stand 
 Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee. 
 For nimble thought can jump both sea and land. 
 As soon as think the place where he would be. 
 Iiut ah ! thought kills me, that I am not thought, 
 To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone. 
 But that, so much of earth and water wrought, 
 I must attend time's leisure with my moan ; 
 Receiving nought by elements so slow 
 But heavy tears, badges of either's woe. 
 
 The other two. slight air and purging fire. 
 Are both witli thee, wherever I abide ; 
 The first my thought, the other my desire. 
 These present-absent with swift motion slide. 
 For when these quicker elements are gone 
 In tender embassy of love to thee. 
 My life being made of four, with two alone. 
 Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy ; 
 Until life's composition be recured 
 By those swift messengers return'd from thee. 
 Who even but now come back again, assured 
 Of thy fair health, recounting it to me : 
 This told, I joy ; but then no longer glad, 
 1 send tbem back again, and straight grow sad. 
 
 Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war. 
 How to divide the conquest of thy sight ; 
 Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar. 
 My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. 
 My heart dolh plead, that thou in him dost lie, 
 (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,) 
 But the defendant doth that plea deny, 
 And says in him thy fair appearance lies. 
 To 'cide this title is impannelled 
 A quest of tiioughts, all tenants to the heart ; 
 And by their verdict is determined 
 The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part. 
 As thus ; mine eye's due is thy outward part, 
 And my heart's right thy inward love of heart. 
 
 Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took. 
 And each doth good turns now unto the other: 
 When that mine eye is famish'd for a look. 
 Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother. 
 With my love's picture then my eye doth feast. 
 And to the painted banquet bids my heart: 
 Another time mine eye is my heart's guest. 
 And in his thoughts of love doth share a part : 
 So, either by thy picture or my love. 
 Thyself away art present still with me ; 
 For thou not farther than my tiioughts canst move. 
 And I am still witli them, and they with thee j 
 Or if they sleep, thy picture in ray sight 
 Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 no9 
 
 flow careful was I when I took my way, 
 Each tiifle under truest bars to thrust, 
 That, to my use, it might unused stay 
 From hands of falsehood, in sure w aids of trust ! 
 But thou, to whom my jewels trWes are. 
 Most worthy comfort now my greatest grief, 
 Thou, best of dearest, and mine only care. 
 Are left the prey of every vulgar thief. 
 Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest. 
 Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, 
 Within the gentle closure of my breast. 
 From whence at pleasure thou may'st come and part; 
 And even thence thou wilt be stolen I fear, 
 For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. 
 
 Against that time, if ever that time come. 
 When 1 shall see thee frown on my defects, 
 Whenas thy love hath cast its utmost sum, 
 Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects. 
 Against that time, when thou shalt strangely pass, 
 Aiid scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, 
 When love, converted from the thing it was, 
 Shall reasons find of settled gravity. 
 Against that time do I ensconce me here 
 Within the knowledge of mine own desert. 
 And this my hand against myself uprear, 
 To guard the lawful reasons on thy part ; 
 
 To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws. 
 Since, why to love, 1 can allege no cause. 
 
 }Iow heavy do I journey on the way, 
 When what I seek, — my weary travel's end, — 
 Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, 
 " Thus far the miles are measur'd frum thy friend ! 
 The beast that bears me, tired with my woe. 
 Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me. 
 As if by some instinct the wretch did know 
 His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee: 
 The bloody spur cannot provoke him on 
 That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide. 
 Which heavily he answers with a groan. 
 More sharp to me than spurring to his side ; 
 For that same groan doth put this in my mind, 
 My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. 
 
 Thus can my love excuse the slow offence 
 Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed : 
 From where thou art why should I haste me thence' 
 Till I return, of posting is no need. 
 O, what excuse will my poor beast then find, 
 When swift extremity can seem but slow ] 
 Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind ; 
 In winged speed no motion shall I know : 
 Then can no horse with my desire keep pace ; 
 Therefore desire, of perfect love being made. 
 Shall neigh (no dull flesh) in his fiery race ; 
 But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ; 
 Since from thee going he went wilful slow. 
 Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. 
 
 So am I as the rich, whose blessed key 
 Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure. 
 The which he will not every hour survey. 
 For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. 
 Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare. 
 Since seldom coming, in the long year set. 
 
 Like stones of worth they thinly placed are. 
 Or captain jewels in the carcanet. 
 So is tlie time that keeps you, as my chest. 
 Or as tlie wardrobe which the robe doth hide, 
 To make some special instant special-blest. 
 By new unfolding his iraprison'd pride. 
 
 Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, 
 Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. 
 
 What is your substance, whereof are you made. 
 That millions of strange shadows on you tend? 
 Since every one hath, every one, one shade, 
 .-Vnd you, but one, can every shadow lend. 
 Describe .Adonis, and the counterfeit 
 Is poorly imitated after you ; 
 On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, 
 .Vnd you in Grecian tires are painted new : 
 Speak of the spring, and foizon of the year : 
 The one doth shadow of your beauty shew. 
 The other as your bounty doth appear. 
 And you in every blessed shape we know. 
 In all external grace you have some part, 
 But you like none, none you, for constant heart. 
 
 how much more dofh beauty beauteous seem. 
 By that sweet ornament which truth doth give 1 
 The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
 For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
 The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye, 
 As the perfumed tincture of the roses. 
 Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
 When summer's breath their masked buds "discloses. 
 But, for their virtue only is their show. 
 They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade ■, 
 Die ro themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
 Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made : 
 And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth. 
 When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth. 
 
 Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 
 Of princes, shall out-live this powerful rhime; 
 But you shall shine more bright in these contents 
 Than unswept stone, besmear 'd with sluttish time. 
 When wasteful war shall statues overturn. 
 And broils root out the work of masonry. 
 Nor Marsis' sword nor war's quick fire shall burn 
 The living record of your memory. 
 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity 
 Shall you pace forth ; your praise shall still find room. 
 Even in the eyes of all posterity 
 That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
 So till the judgment that yourself arise. 
 You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 
 
 Sweet love, renew thy force ; be it not said, 
 
 Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, 
 
 Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd. 
 
 To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might : 
 
 So. love, be thou ; although to-day thou fill 
 
 Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness. 
 
 To-morrow see again, and do not kill 
 
 The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. 
 
 Let this sad interim like the ocean be 
 
 ^Vhich parts the shore, where two contracted-new 
 
 Come daily to the banks, that, when they see 
 
 Return of love, more blest may be the view : 
 
 Or call it winter, which being full of care, [rare. 
 
 Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more 
 
dM 
 
 SC»NNKT^ 
 
 ^foJt 
 
 -■**l Vmr, 
 
 i««^«« 
 
 ^tWB «« Mr «N^ «4n* «^id9«c« fc im a »f < tfW ^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 ;:V^' V >.v^Js ■>«« >- - ^^^ '"*^ 1 
 
 x^JVUft'tL 
 
 
 
 
 
 w^:. 
 
 .Ȥ;; 
 
 
 
 
 ei 
 
 riL ill iMi iiiiinii' ^iiri " a«iir«BK; 
 
 ^ - 
 
 A 
 
 ^JA]| 
 
 >'^»<»i$ iif mw;^ «is-x^ J^ c-%!c MB^ 
 
 
 ■-.-. »-:a '.V» 
 
 A, 
 
 - _.v«ysJ 
 
 1> «^ .^.V ^"tt^ 
 
 
SONNRTS. 
 
 OJ] 
 
 'JiiM witli all lliBM), for icall'ul il<-^iili I My, — 
 At, III IikIiuM ilcsoil » lii:|{i;<ir burn, 
 AikI iiueily iKilliJiig liiiiirii'd in jollity, 
 Ami iHiiitat f'iiitli ijiiliajijiily forbworii, 
 Ami |;IM«il lioiiiiiir :ilianii/ully mh\ilite'd, 
 And fmiiditn virMic riiiliily t)litini]>t;tt.'(l, 
 Aim! iij/lil )«ifi>li</ii w(on|.;l'iilly ilisjjiac'd, 
 And alii;MKlli liy liiii|ilii),' sway diiiililcd, 
 And uil iiiiLdt: Umi(iitt-ly'ii \iy itulliority, 
 And folly ^doctor-like; mntiollini; skill, 
 And siMi|fli! triilli iiii^iCiiliM siin{dif;ity, 
 And (.-ttjilivt; Oooil iilti^ndin^ i;;i[>talii 111 : 
 
 I'ir'd witli all (liiisu, fioiii tli«»i: would I Ije uonc. 
 Have that, to di«, 1 leave my lov« alone. 
 
 Ah I 
 And 
 
 'I'li^tt 
 And 
 VVIiy 
 An(l 
 Why 
 Hose 
 Why 
 
 I'or I 
 
 And 
 
 O 
 
 J II 
 
 wherefore with infection should he live, 
 with his [)rc5<;ni'e ({race irn^ilety 
 hill hy liiin iulviiiitaj/e should aU:hleve, 
 luce ilsidl' with his society i 
 should false [>aiiiiin|{ imitate hiit cheek, 
 sliiul dcaii seeing of his livin|{ hue 1 
 should nure heauty indirectly seek 
 s of shrulow, since his rose is true ! 
 should he live, now Nature liankruijt i;;, 
 ai'd of hlood, to hlusli lluoii(/h lively veins? 
 ihe hath no exche^jucr now hut his, 
 jiroud of iiiatiy, lives upon his gains, 
 him she stores, to shew what wealth slie had, 
 days long since, hefoie these last so had. 
 
 llius is his check the maj» of days out-worn. 
 When heauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, 
 Jlciiire these bastard signs of fair were borne, 
 Or durst inhabit on a living brow ; 
 ]lefoi'e the golden tie»ses of the dead. 
 The right of sejjuhilires, were shorn away, 
 'J'o live a second life on second heajl, 
 Kre beauty's deail ile.cee made aiiolher gay ; 
 In him those liidy antii{iie hours are seen, 
 Withuut all ornament, itself, and true, 
 Waking no summer of another's green, 
 Kuhhing no old to make his beauty new; 
 And him as for a map dnlh nature store, 
 'J'o shew falbe art wliat beauty was of yuro. 
 
 Ilioiie parts of thee that the world's eye doth view. 
 Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend : 
 All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, 
 IJtteiing bare truth, even so as fuiri commend. 
 Thy outward thun with outward praise is crown'd ; 
 ]iut those same tongues that give thee so thine own. 
 In other accents do this praise confound. 
 By seeing farther than the eye hath shewn. 
 'jTiey look into the beauty of thy iniml, 
 And ihat, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; [kind, 
 1 hen (churls) their thougbls, although tlieireycswere 
 To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: 
 Hut why thy odour malchelh not thy show, 
 'J'o solve is this, — that thou dust common grow. 
 
 7'hat thou art hiam'd shall not be thy defect. 
 For slander's mark was ever yet the fair ; 
 'J'lie ornament of beauty is sus|ject, 
 A crow tliat flies in heaven's sweetest air. 
 So thou be good, slander doth but a|ipruv6 
 'J'hy worth the greater, being woo'd ot time ; 
 For caukex vice the tweeteat buds doth iuvc. 
 
 And thou prescnt'st a pure unstained prime. 
 
 I hou hast pass'd l;y the ambush of young days, 
 
 Kitlier nut assail'd, or victor being charg'd ; 
 
 Vet this thy praise cannot be hj thy praise, 
 
 'i o lie uji envy, everoioie enlaig'd : 
 
 If some susj>ect of ill loask'd not thy show, 
 'J'hen thou alone kingdoms of hi.iiits shoiild'st iiva- 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am deaiJ, 
 i'han you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 (Jive warning to the world that I am /led 
 I'lom this vile world, with vilest worms Ui dwell ; 
 .Nay, if you ti„ul this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it ; for 1 love you so. 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot. 
 If thinking oil me then should mak« you woe. 
 
 if (I say) you look upon this verse. 
 When I perhajis compounded am with clay, 
 
 1 Jo not so much as my p<ior name rehearse ; 
 I'ut let your love even with my life decay : 
 
 I,est the wise world should look into your raoao, 
 ■ And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 
 i.xxu. 
 (>, lest the world should task you to recite 
 What meiit liv'd in me, that you should love 
 Aft«r my death, dear love, forget me 'juite, 
 i'or you in me can nothing worthy jirove ; 
 Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, 
 'i'o do moie for mi; tiian mine own deaert. 
 And hang more praise upon deceased 1, 
 'I ban niggard tiuth woul<i willingly impart; 
 <>, lest your true love may seem false in this, 
 'I'liat you for love siieak well of me untrue. 
 My name be buried where my body is, 
 And live no more to shame nor rnc nor you. 
 For I am sham'd by that which 1 bring forth. 
 And so should you, to love things nothing worth, 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 'I'hat time of year lliou may'st in me behold 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 Upon those boughs which shake aj^ainst tlie coU, 
 liaie ruin'd choirs, wheie lale the sweet birds sang. 
 In me thou seest ilie twilight of such day. 
 As after sun set farlelh in the west. 
 Which by and by black niglit doth take away, 
 l.»eath's second self, that seals up all in lest. 
 In me thou seest the glowing of such tire, 
 'i'hat on the ashes of his youth doth lie. 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 Consuin'd with that v/hich it was nourish'd by. 
 
 This thou perceiv'st which makes thy love more 
 strong. 
 
 To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 
 
 LSXIV. 
 
 Hut be contented : when that fell arrest 
 
 Without all bail shall carry me away, 
 
 .My life hath in this line some interest, 
 
 Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. 
 
 When thou reviewest this, thou dost review 
 
 The very part was consecrate to thee. 
 
 I he earth can have but earth, which is his due ; 
 
 My spirit is thine, the better part of me : 
 
 So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life. 
 
 The prey of worms, my body being dead ; 
 
 Tlie coward con<iuest of a wretch's knife. 
 
 Too base of thee to be remembered. 
 
 Ihe worth of that, is that which it contains, 
 And that is this, aod this with thee remains. 
 
9J2 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 So are yuu to my thoughts, as lood to life, 
 
 Or as sweet season'd snouers are to the ground. 
 
 And for the peace of you 1 hold such strife 
 
 As 't«'ixt a miser and his wealth is found ; 
 
 Now proud as an enjoyer, and auon 
 
 Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure ; 
 
 Now counting best to be with you alone, 
 
 Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure ; 
 
 Sometime, all full with feasting on your sight. 
 
 And by and by clean starved for a look ; 
 
 Possessing or pursuing no delight. 
 
 Save what is had or must from you be took, 
 
 Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, 
 
 Or gluttoning on all, or all away. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Why is my verse so barren of new pride 1 
 So far from variation or quick change ! 
 Why, with the time, do i not glance aside 
 To new-found methods and to compounds strange ? 
 Why write 1 still ail one, ever the same, 
 And keep invention in a noted weed. 
 That every word doth almost tell my name. 
 Showing their birth, and where they did proceed 1 
 O know, sweet love, I always write of you. 
 And you and love are still my argument j 
 So all my best is dressing old words new, 
 Spending again what is already spent : 
 For as the sun is daily new and old, 
 So is my love still telling what is told. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 Thy glars will shew thee how thy beauties weaj, 
 Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste ; 
 The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, 
 And of this book this learning may'st thou taste. 
 'J'he wrinkles which thy glass will truly shew. 
 Of mouthed graves will give thee memory ; 
 Thou by thy dial's shady stealth may'st know 
 Time's thievish progress to eternity. 
 Look, what thy memory cannot contain. 
 Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
 Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, 
 fo take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
 These offices, so oft as thou wilt look. 
 Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. 
 
 So oft have I invok'd thee for my muse. 
 And found such fair assistance in my verse. 
 As every alien pen hath got my use. 
 And under thee their poesy disperse. 
 Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing. 
 And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, 
 Have added feathers to the learned's wing. 
 And given grace a double majesty. 
 Vet be most proud of that which I compile. 
 Whose influence is thine, and born of thee. 
 In others' works thou dost but mend the style. 
 And arts with thy sweet graces graced be ; 
 But Ibou art all my art, and dost advance 
 As high as learning my rude ignorance. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Whilst I alone did call upou thy aid, 
 My verse alone had all thy gentle grace ; 
 But now my gracious numbers are decay 'd. 
 And my sick muse doth give another place. 
 I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
 Deserves the travail of a worthier pen ; 
 Yet what of thee thy poet dotli invent. 
 He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. 
 
 He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word 
 From thy behaviour ; beauty doth he give. 
 And found it in thy cheek ; he can afford 
 No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. 
 Then thank him not for that which he doth say, 
 Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. 
 
 O how I faint when I of you do write. 
 Knowing a better spiiit doth use your name. 
 And in the praise thereof spends all his might. 
 To make me tongue-ty'd, speaking of your fame ! 
 But since your worth (wide, as the ocean is,) 
 The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, 
 Wy saucy bark, inferior far to his. 
 On your broad main doth w ilfully appear. 
 Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, 
 V\'hilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride j 
 Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat. 
 He of tall building, and of goodly pride : 
 Then if he thrive, and I be cast away, 
 The worst was this ; — my love was my decay. 
 
 Or I shall live your epitaph to make. 
 Or you survive when I in earth am rotten ; 
 From hence your memory death cannot take. 
 Although in me each part will be forgotten. 
 Your name from hence immortal life shall have, 
 Though I, once gone, to all the world must die. 
 The earth can yield me but a common grave, ' 
 \Vlien you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
 Your monument shall be my gentle verse. 
 Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read ; 
 And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse. 
 When all the breathers of this world are dead ; 
 You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen,) 
 Where breath most breathes, — even in the mouths 
 of men. 
 
 I grant thou wert not married to my muse, 
 And therefore may'st without attaint o'er-look 
 The dedicated words which writers use 
 Of their fair subject, blessing every book. 
 Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue. 
 Finding thy worth a limit past my praise ; 
 And therefore art enforc'd to seek anew 
 Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. 
 And do so, love ; yet when they have devis'd 
 What strained touches rhetoric can lend, 
 Thou truly fair wert truly sympathiz'd 
 In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend ; 
 And their gross painting might be better us'd 
 Where cheeks need blood ; in thee it is abus'd. 
 
 I never saw that you did painting need. 
 And therefore to your fair no painting set. 
 I found, or thought I found, you did exceed 
 The barren tender of a poet's debt : 
 And therefore have I slept in your report. 
 That you your^elf, being extant, well might show- 
 How far a modern quill doth come too short. 
 Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. 
 This silence for my sin you did impute, 
 Which shall be most my glory, being dumb ; 
 For I impair not beauty being mute. 
 When others would give life, and bring a tomb. 
 There lives more life in one of your fair eyes, 
 Than both your poets can in praise devise. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 913 
 
 Who is it that says most ? which can say more, 
 Thaa tliis rich praise,— that you alone are you 1 
 In whose confine immured is the store 
 Which should example where your etiual grew. 
 Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, 
 That to his subject lends not some small gloiy ; 
 But he that writes of you, if he can tell 
 That you are you, so dignifies his story. 
 Let him but copy what in you is writ. 
 Not making worse what nature made so clear. 
 And such a counter-part shall fame his wit, 
 Waking his style admired every where. 
 You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, 
 Beinf fond on praise,which makes your praisesworse. 
 
 My tongue-ty'd muse in manners holds her still. 
 While comments of your praise, richly compil'd. 
 Reserve their character with golden quiil. 
 And precious phrase by all the muses fil'd. 
 I think good thoughts, while others write good words, 
 And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry Amen 
 To every hymn that able spirit affords, 
 In polish'd form of well-refined pen. 
 Hearing you prais'd, I say, 'tis so, 'tis true. 
 And to the most of praise add something more ; 
 But that is in my thought, whose love to you. 
 Though words come hind-most, holds his rank before. 
 Then others for the breath of words respect. 
 Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. 
 
 . LXXXVI. 
 
 Was it the proud full sail of his great verse. 
 Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you. 
 That bid my ripe thoughts in my brain inbearse, 
 Blaking their tomb the womb wherein they grew ' 
 Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write 
 Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead 1 
 No, neither he, nor his compeers by night 
 Giving him aid, my verse astonished. 
 He, nor that affable familiar ghost 
 Which nightly gulls him with intelligence. 
 As victors, of ray silence cannot boast ; 
 I was not sick of any fear from thence. 
 
 But when your countenance fill'd up his line. 
 Then lack'd 1 matter ; that enfeebled mine. 
 
 Lxxxvn. 
 
 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing. 
 And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : 
 The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; 
 My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
 For how do I hold thee but by thy granting 1 
 And for that riches where is my deserving ! 
 The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting. 
 And so my patent back again is swerving. 
 Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing. 
 Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 
 So thy great gift, upon misprision growing. 
 Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
 Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, 
 In sleep a king, but waking, no such matter. 
 
 When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light, 
 
 And place my merit in the eye of Scorn, 
 
 Upon thy side against myself I '11 fight, 
 
 And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. 
 
 With nune own weakness being best acquainted, 
 
 Upon thy part I can set down a story 
 
 Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted ; 
 
 That thou, in losing me, shalt win much glory: 
 
 And I by this will be a gainer too ; 
 
 For bending all my loving thoughts on thee. 
 
 The injuries that to myself I do. 
 
 Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. 
 Such is my love, to thee 1 so belong, 
 That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. 
 
 Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault. 
 And I will comment upon that offence : 
 Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt ; 
 Against thy reasons making no defence. 
 Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, 
 To set a fonn upon desired change. 
 As I '11 myself disgrace : knowing thy will, 
 I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange ; 
 Be absent from thy walks ; and in my tongue 
 Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell ; 
 Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong. 
 And haply of our old acquaintance tell. 
 For thee, against myself I '11 vow debate. 
 For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. 
 
 Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ; 
 
 Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 
 
 Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, 
 
 And do not drop m for an after-loss : 
 
 Ah ! do not, when my heart hatlf scap'd this sorrow, 
 
 Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ; 
 
 Give not a windy night a rainy morrow. 
 
 To linger out a purpos'd overthrow. 
 
 If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last. 
 
 When other petty griefs have done their spite, 
 
 But in the onset come ; so shall I taste 
 
 At first the very worst of Fortiine's might ; 
 
 And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, 
 Compar'd with loss of thee, will not seem so. 
 
 Some glory in their birth, some in their skill. 
 Some in their wealth, some in their body's force ; 
 Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill. 
 Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse ; 
 And everv humour hath its adjunct pleasure. 
 Wherein it finds a joy above the rest ; 
 But these particulars are not my measure. 
 All these I better in one general best. 
 Thy love is better than high birth to me. 
 Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost. 
 Of more delight than hawks or horses be ; 
 And having thee, of all men's pride I boast. 
 Wretched in this alone, that thou may'st take 
 All this away, and me most wretched make. 
 
 But do thy worst to steal thyself away. 
 For term of life thou art assured mine ; 
 And life no longer than thy love will stay. 
 For it depends upon tliat love of thine, 
 Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs. 
 When in the least of them my life hath end. 
 I see a better state to me belongs 
 Than that which on thy humour doth depend. 
 Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, 
 Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. 
 O what a happy title do I find, 
 Happy to have thy love, happy to die ! 
 
 But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blof!- 
 Tbou may'st be false, and yet I know it not : 
 3M 
 
914 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 So shall I live, supposing thou arl true, 
 Like a deceived husband ; so love's face 
 May still seem love to me, though alter'd-new ; 
 Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place : 
 For there can live no hatred in thine eye, 
 Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. 
 In many looks the false heart's history 
 Is writ, in moods and frowus and wrinkles strange, 
 But heaven in thy creation did decree, 
 That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell ; 
 Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be, 
 Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell. 
 How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, 
 If thy sweet virtue answer not the show ! 
 
 They that have power to hurt and will do none, 
 That do not do the thing they most do shew. 
 Who, moving others, are themselves as stone. 
 Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow ; 
 They rightly do inherit heaven's graces. 
 And husband nature's riches from expence ; 
 They are the lords and owners of their faces. 
 Others but stewards of their excellence. 
 The summer's flower is to the summer sweet. 
 Though to itself it only live and die ; 
 But if that flower with base infection meet, 
 The basest weed out-braves his dignity : 
 
 For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 
 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
 
 How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame 
 Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose. 
 Doth spot the beauty of thy budding namel 
 O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose ! 
 That tongue that tells the story of thy days. 
 Making lascivious comments on thy sport. 
 Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise ; 
 Naming thy name blesses an ill report. 
 O what a mansion have those vices got. 
 Which for their habitation chose out thee ! 
 What beauty's veil doth cover every blot. 
 And all things turn to fair, that eyes can see! 
 
 Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege ; 
 
 The hardest knife ill-us'd doth lose his edge. 
 
 Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness. 
 Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport ; 
 Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less 
 Thou mak'st faults graces that to thee resort. 
 As on the finger of a throned queen 
 The basestjewel will be well esteem'd ; 
 So are those errors that in thee are seen. 
 To truths translated, and for true things deem'd. 
 How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, 
 If like a lamb he could his looks translate '■ 
 How many gazers might'st thou lead away. 
 If thou would'st use the strength of all thy state ! 
 But do not so ; I love thee in such sort. 
 As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. 
 
 How like a winter bath my absence been 
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
 What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen ? 
 What old December's bareness every where! 
 And yet this time remov'd was summer's time ; 
 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
 
 Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime. 
 Like widow'd wombs after their lords decease ; 
 Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
 But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee. 
 And thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
 Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer. 
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. 
 
 xcviii. 
 
 Fiom you have I been absent in the spring, 
 When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim. 
 Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing ; 
 That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. 
 Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
 Of different flowers in odour and in hue. 
 Could make me any summer's story tell. 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew : 
 Nor did I wonder at the lilies white. 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ; 
 They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
 Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
 Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, 
 As with your shadow I with these did play : 
 
 XCIX. 
 
 The forward violet thus did I chide -, — [smells. 
 
 Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that 
 If not from my love's breath 1 The purple pride 
 Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells. 
 In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd. 
 The lily I condemned for thy hand. 
 And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair : 
 The roses fearfully on thorns di4 stand. 
 One blushing shame, another white despair ; 
 A third, nor red nor white had stolen of both, 
 And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath ; 
 But for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
 A vengeful canker eat him up to death. 
 More flowers I noted, yet I none could see. 
 But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. 
 
 c. 
 Where art thou. Muse, that thou forget'st so long 
 To speak of that which gives thee all thy might ! 
 Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, 
 Darkening thy power, to lend base subjects light! 
 Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem 
 In gentle numbers time so idly spent ; 
 Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem. 
 And gives thy pen both skill and argument. 
 Rise, restive Muse, my love's sweet face survey. 
 If Time have any wrinkle graven there ; 
 If any, be a satire to decay. 
 And make Time's spoils despised every where. 
 
 Give my love fame faster than time wastes life ; 
 
 So thou prevent'st his scythe, and crooked knife. 
 
 CI. 
 
 truant Muse, what shall be thy amends, 
 For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd f 
 Both truth and beauty on my love depends : 
 So dost thou too, and therein dignify'd. 
 Make answer. Muse : wilt thou not haply say. 
 Truth needs rio colour, with bis colour Jix'd, 
 Beauty no pencil, beauty*s truth to lay: 
 But best is best, if never intermix'd? — 
 Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb 1 
 Excuse not silence so ; for it lies in thee 
 To make him much out-live a gilded tomb. 
 And to be prais'd of ages yet to be. 
 
 Then do thy office. Muse : I teach thee how 
 To make him seem long hence as he shews now. 
 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 915 
 
 My love is strengthenM, though more weak in seem- 
 I love not less, though less the show appear : [ing ; 
 That love is merchandiz'd, whose rich esteeming 
 The owner's tongue doth publish every where. 
 Our love was new, and then but in the spring. 
 When I was wont to greet it with my lays ; 
 As Philomel in summer's front doth sing. 
 And stops his pipe in growth of riper days : 
 Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
 Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night. 
 But that wild music burthens every bough, 
 And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
 Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue, 
 Because I would not dull you with my song. 
 
 .\lack ! what poverty my muse brings forth, 
 
 That having such a scope to shew her pride. 
 
 The argument, all bare, is of more worth. 
 
 Than when it hath my added praise beside. 
 
 O blame me not if I no more can write ! 
 
 Look in your glass, and there appears a face 
 
 That over-goes my blunt invention quite. 
 
 Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. 
 
 Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, 
 
 To mar the subject that before was well 1 j 
 
 For to no other pass my verses tend. 
 
 Than of your graces and your gifts to tell ; 
 
 And more, much more, than in my verse can sit. 
 Your own glass shews you, when you look in it. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old. 
 For as you were, when first your eye I ey'd, 
 Such seems your beauty still. Three winters" cold 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' pride ; 
 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd. 
 In process of the seasons have I seen. 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
 Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. 
 Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand. 
 Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived. 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
 Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived. 
 For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred. 
 Ere you were boro was beauty's summer dead. 
 
 Let not my love be call'd idolatry. 
 Nor my beloved as an idle show. 
 Since all alike my songs and praises be. 
 To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 
 Kind is my love today, to-morrow kind. 
 Still constant in a wondrous excellence ; 
 Therefore my verse to constancy confin'd, 
 One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
 1-air, kind, and true, is all ray argument, 
 Fail, kind, and true, varying to other words ; 
 And in this change is my invention spent, 
 Three themes in one, whjfh wond'rous scope affords. 
 Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone. 
 Which three, till now, never kept seat iu one. 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhime. 
 In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, 
 Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best. 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 
 I see their antique pen would have express'd 
 Even such a beauty as you master now. 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 Of. this our time, all you prefiguring; 
 And, for they look'dbut with divining eyes, 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing : 
 For we, which now behold these present days. 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 
 
 Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
 Of the wide world dreaming on things to come. 
 Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
 Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. 
 The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd, 
 And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; 
 Incertainties now crown themselves assur d. 
 And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
 Now with the drops of this most balmy time 
 Jly love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes. 
 Since spite of him I 'U live in this poor rhime. 
 While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes. 
 And thou in this shalt find thy monument. 
 When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 What's in the brain that ink may character. 
 Which hath not figur'd to thee ray true spirit 1 
 What's new to speak, what new to register. 
 That may express my love, or thy dear merit 1 
 Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers divine, 
 I must each day say o'er the very same ; 
 Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine. 
 Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. 
 So that eternal love in love's fresh case 
 Weighs not the dust and injury of age, 
 Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place. 
 But makes antiquity for aye his page ; 
 
 Finding the first conceit of love there bred. 
 Where time and outward form would shew it dead. 
 
 O never say that I was false of heart. 
 Though absence seem'd my fiame to qualify, 
 .\s easy might I from myself depart. 
 As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie : 
 That is my home of love ; if I have rang'd. 
 Like him that travels, I return again ; 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd, — 
 So that myself bring water for my stain. 
 Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
 That it could so preposterously be st^in'd, 
 To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ; 
 For nothing this wide universe I call. 
 Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 
 
 .\las, 'tis true, I have gone here and there. 
 And made myself a motley to the view, 
 Gor'd mine own thought-; .sold cheap what ismost dear. 
 Made old offences of affections new. 
 Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth 
 Askance and strangely ; but, by all above, 
 These blenches gave my heart another youtn. 
 And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love. 
 Now all is done, save what shall have no end : 
 Mine appetite I never more will grind 
 On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
 .\ god in love, to whom I am confin'd. 
 
 'I'hen give me welcome, next my heaven the best, 
 Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 
 3Mi 
 
916 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 for my sake do you with fortune chide, 
 The guilty goddess of my hannful deeds, 
 That did not better for my life provide, 
 Than public means, which public manners breeds. 
 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 And almost thence mv nature is subdu'd 
 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. 
 Pity me then, and wish I were renew'd ; 
 Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
 Potions of eysell, 'gainst my strong infection; 
 No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
 Nor double penance to correct correction. 
 Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye. 
 Even that your pitv is enou2;h to cure me. 
 
 CXII. 
 
 Your love and pity doth the impression fill 
 Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my biow ; 
 For what care I who calls me well or ill. 
 So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow ? 
 You are my all-the-world, and 1 must strive 
 To know my shames and praises from your tongue ; 
 None else to me, nor I to none alive. 
 That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong. 
 In so profound abysm I throw all care 
 Of others' voices, that my adder's sense 
 To critic and to flatterer 'stopped are. 
 Mark how with my neglect 1 do dispense :— 
 You are so stronglv in my purpose bred. 
 That all the world besides methinks are dead. 
 
 Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind. 
 And that which governs me to go about, 
 Doth part his function, and is partly blind. 
 Seems seeing, but effectually is out; 
 Tor <: no form delivers to the heart 
 Of oird, of flower, or shape, which it doth lack ; 
 Of his quick objects hath the mind no part 
 Tor his own vision holds what it doth catch ; 
 Tor if it see the lud'st or gentlest sight. 
 The most sweet favour, or deformed'st creature. 
 The mountain or the sea, the day or night. 
 The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature. 
 Incapable of more, replete with you, 
 IMy most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. 
 
 Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you 
 Drink up the monarch's plague, tliis flattery. 
 Or whether shall I say mine ejes saith true. 
 And that your love laiight it this alchymy. 
 To make of monsters and things indigest. 
 Such cherubims as your sweet self resemble, 
 Creating every bad a perfect best. 
 As fast as objects to his beams assemble 1 
 'tis the first ; 'tis flattery in my seeing. 
 And roy great mind most kingly drinks it up : 
 Jline eye well knows what witli his gust is 'greeing. 
 And to his palate doth prepare the cup : 
 If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin 
 That mine eye loves it, and doth first begin. 
 
 cxv. 
 Those lines that I before have writ, do lie. 
 Even those that said I could not love you dearer ; 
 Y'et then mv judgment knew no reason why 
 Jly most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. 
 But reckoning time, whose miUion'd accidents 
 Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, 
 
 Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents. 
 Divert strong minds to the course of altering things ; 
 Alas! why, fearing of time's tyranny, 
 Might I not then say, nnio I love you best, 
 When I was certain o'er incertainty. 
 Crowning the present, doubting of the rest T 
 Love is a babe ; then might I not s.iy so, 
 To give full growth to that which still doth £«)¥/■? 
 
 cxvi. 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds. 
 Or bends with the remover to remove : 
 no ! it is an ever-fixed mark. 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 Whoseworth's unknown, although hisheightbe taken. 
 Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. 
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
 
 If this be error, and upon me prov'd, 
 
 I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. 
 
 CXVII. 
 
 Accuse me thus ; that I have scanted all 
 Wherein I should your great deserts repay ; 
 Forgot upon your dearest love to call. 
 Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ; 
 That I have frequent been with unknown minds. 
 And given to time your own dear-purchas'd right ; 
 That I have hoisted sail to all the winds 
 Which should transport me farthest from your sight. 
 Book both my wilfulness and errors doivn. 
 And on just proof, surmise accumulate. 
 Bring me within the level of your frown. 
 But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate : 
 Since my appeal says, I did strive to prove 
 The constancy and virtue of your love. 
 
 cxviii. 
 
 Like as, to make our appetites more keen, 
 With eager compounds we our palate urge : 
 As, to prevent our maladies unseen. 
 We sicken to shun sickness, when we purge ; 
 Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness. 
 To bitter sauces did 1 frame my feeding. 
 And, sick of welfaie, found a kind of meetness 
 To be diseas'd, ere that there was true needing. 
 Thus policy in love, to anticipate 
 The ills that were not, grew to faults assured. 
 And brought to medicine a healthful state. 
 Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured. 
 But thence I learn, and find the lesson true, 
 Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. 
 
 CXIX. 
 
 What potions have I drunk of Syren tears, 
 Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, 
 Appljing fears to hopes, and hopes to fears. 
 Still losing when 1 saw myself to win ! 
 What wretched errors hath my heart committed. 
 Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never ! 
 How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted. 
 In the distraction' of this madding fever ! 
 O benefit of ill ! now I find true 
 That better is by evil still made bettei , 
 And ruin'd love, when it is built anew. 
 Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. 
 So I return rebuk'd to my content. 
 And gain by ill thrice more than 1 have spent. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 917 
 
 That yoTi were once unkind, befriends me now, 
 And for thai sorrow, which I then did fee!, 
 Needs must 1 under my transgression bow. 
 Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. 
 For if you were by my unkindness shaken. 
 As 1 by jTiur's, yon have pass'<i a bell of time ; 
 And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken 
 To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime. 
 O that our night of woe might have remember'd 
 My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits. 
 And soon to you, as you to me. then tender'd 
 The humble salve which wounded bosom 6ts ! 
 
 But that your trespass now becomes a fee ; 
 
 Mine ransom your's, and your's must ransom me. 
 
 Tis better to be vile, than vile esteem'd. 
 When not to be receives reproach of being, 
 And the just pleasure lost, which is so deem'd 
 Not by our fueling, but by others' seeing. 
 For why should others' false adulterate ej'es 
 Give salutation to my sportive blood? 
 Or on ray frailties why are frailer spies, 
 Which in their wills count bad what I think good? 
 No, — I am that I am ; and they that level 
 At my abuses, reckon up their own : 
 I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel : 
 By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shewn : 
 Unless this general evil they maintain, 
 AH men axe bad, and in their badness reign. 
 
 Thy gift, ihy tables are within my brain 
 Full character'd with lasting memory. 
 Which shall above that idle rank remain. 
 Beyond all date, even to eternity : 
 Or at the least so long as brain and heart 
 Have faculty by nature to subsist ; 
 Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part 
 Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd. 
 That poor retention could not so much hold. 
 Nor need I tallies, tliy dear love to score ; 
 Therefore to give them from me was I bold, 
 To trust those tables that receive thee more : 
 To keep an adjunct to remember thee. 
 Were to import forgetfulness in me. 
 
 No ! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change : 
 Thy pyramids built up with newer might 
 To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ; 
 They are but dressings of a foitner sight. 
 Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire 
 What thou dost foist upon us that is old. 
 And rather make them born to our desire. 
 Than think that we before have heard them told. 
 Thy registers and thee I both defy, 
 Not wondering at the present nor the past ; 
 For thy records and what we see doth He, 
 ^Nlade more or less by thy continual haste . 
 This I do vow, and this shall ever be, 
 I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee. 
 
 If my dear love were but the child of state, 
 It might for fortune's bastard be unfather'd. 
 As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate, 
 Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd. 
 No, it was builded far from accident ; 
 It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls 
 
 I Under the blow of thralled discontent, 
 
 I Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls : 
 
 1 1t fears not policy, that heretic, 
 
 : Which works on leases of short-number'd hours, 
 
 I But all alone stands hugely politic, 
 
 j That it not grows with heat, nor drowns with shower;. 
 
 To this 1 witness call the fools of time, 
 I ^^^lich die for goodness, who have liv'd for crime. 
 
 Were it aught to me I bore the canopy. 
 With my extern the outward honouring, 
 Or lay'd great bases for eternity. 
 Which prove more short than waste or ruining? 
 Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour 
 Lose all, and more, by paj-ing too much rent. 
 For compound sweet foregoing simple savour. 
 Pitiful thrivers. in their gazing spent ? 
 No ; — let me be obsequious in thy heart. 
 And take thou my oblation, poor but free. 
 Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art. 
 But mutual render, only me for thee. 
 
 Hence, thou suborn'd informer ! a true soul, 
 AVhen most impeach'd, stands least inthy contw)!. 
 
 thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power 
 Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour ; 
 Who hast by waning grown, and therein shew'st 
 Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st ! 
 If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack. 
 As thou go'st onwards, still will pluck thee back, 
 She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill 
 May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. 
 Yet fear her, thou minion of her pleasure : 
 She may detain, but not still keep her treasure : 
 Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be. 
 And her quietus is to render thee. 
 
 In the old age black was not counted fair. 
 Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ; 
 But now is black beauty's successive heir. 
 And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame. 
 For since each hand hath put on nature's power. 
 Fairing the foul with art's false borrow 'd face. 
 Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy hour. 
 But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. 
 Therefore my mistress' eyes ai-e raven black. 
 Her eyes so suited : and they mourners seem 
 At such, who not born fair, no beauty lack, 
 Slandering creation with a false esteem : 
 Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe. 
 That ever)' tongue says, beauty should do so. 
 
 How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, 
 Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds 
 With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st 
 The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, 
 Do I envy those jacks, that nimble leap 
 To kiss the tender mward of thy hand, 
 Whilst my poor hps. whichshould that harvest reap. 
 At the wood's boldaess by thee blushing stand ! 
 To be so tickled, they would change their state 
 And situation with those dancing chips. 
 O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait. 
 Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. 
 Since saucy jacks so happy are m this, 
 Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. 
 
018 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
 Is lust in action; and till action, lust 
 Is perjui'd, murderous, bloody, full of blame, 
 Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust ; 
 Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight ; 
 Past reason hunted ; and no sooner had, 
 Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait. 
 On purpose laid to make the taker mad : 
 ]\Jad in pursuit, and in possession so ; 
 Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme ; 
 A bliss in proof, — and prov'd, a very woe ; 
 Before, a joy propos'd ; behind, a dream : 
 
 All this the world well knows ; yet none knows well 
 To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 
 
 My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun ; 
 
 Coral is far more red than her lips' red; 
 
 If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun ; 
 
 If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. 
 
 I have seen roses damask'd, red and white, 
 
 But no such roses see I in her cheeks ; 
 
 And in some perfumes is there more delight 
 
 Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. 
 
 I love to hear her speak, — yet well I know 
 
 That music hath a far more pleasing sound ; 
 
 I grant I never saw a goddess go, — 
 
 My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: 
 And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare 
 As any she bely'd with false compare. 
 
 Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, 
 As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel ; 
 For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart 
 Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. 
 Vet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, 
 Thy face hath not the power to make love groan : 
 To say they err, I dare not be so bold. 
 Although 1 swear it to myself alone. 
 And, to be sure that is not false 1 swear, 
 A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, 
 One on another's neck, do witness bear 
 Thy black is fairest in my judgement's place. 
 In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds. 
 And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. 
 
 Thme eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, 
 Knowing thy heart, torment me with disdain ; 
 Have put on black, and loving mourners be, 
 Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. 
 And truly not the morning sun of heaven 
 Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east. 
 Nor that full star that ushers in the even, 
 Doth half that glory to the sober west, 
 As those two mourning eyes become thy face : 
 O let it then as well beseem thy lieart 
 To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace, 
 And suit thy pity like in every pan. 
 
 Tiien will 1 swear beauty herself is black, 
 And all they foul that thy complexion lack. 
 
 Bcshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan 
 For that deep wound it gives my friend and me 1 
 Is 't not enough to torture me alone, 
 But slave to slavery my sweet's friend must be? 
 Me from myself thy cruel eye iiath taken, 
 And my next self thou harder iiast engross'd. 
 
 Of him. myself and thee, 1 am fb saken ; 
 
 A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd. 
 
 Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward. 
 
 But then my friend's heart let my poor heart tail ; 
 
 Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard ; 
 
 Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol : 
 And yet thou wilt ; for 1, being pent in thee. 
 Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. 
 
 ex XX IV. 
 
 So now I have <?onfess'd that he is thine, 
 And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will ; 
 Myself I '11 forfeit, so that other mine 
 Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort stiil : 
 But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, 
 For thou art covetous, and he is kind ; 
 He learn'd but, surety -like, to write for me, 
 Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. 
 The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, 
 Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use. 
 And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake ; 
 So him I lose through my unkind abuse. 
 
 Him have I lost ; thou hast both him and me ; 
 
 He pays the whole, and yet 1 am not free. 
 
 Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, 
 And will to boot, and will in over-plus ; 
 More than enough am I that vex thee still, 
 To thy sweet will making addition thus. 
 Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious. 
 Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? 
 Shall will in others seem right gracious, 
 And in my will no fair acceptance shine ? 
 The sea, all water, yet receives rain still. 
 And in abundance addeth to his store ; 
 So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will 
 One will of mine, to make thy large will more. 
 
 Let no unkind, no fair beseeches kill ; 
 
 Think all but one, and me in that one Will. 
 
 If thy soul check thee that I come so near, 
 Swear to thy blind soul that 1 was thy will. 
 And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there : 
 Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfill. 
 Will will fulfill the treasure of my love. 
 Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. 
 In things of great receipt with ease we prove ; 
 Among a number one is reckon'd none. 
 Then in the number let me pass untold. 
 Though in thy stores' account I one must be ; 
 For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold 
 That nothing me, a something sweet to thee : 
 Make but my name thy love, and love that still, 
 And then thou lov'st me, — for my name is Will. 
 
 Thou blind fool. Love, what dost thou to mine eyes 
 That they behold, and see not what they see 1 
 They know what beauty is, see wliere it lies. 
 Yet what the^best is, take the worst to be. 
 If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks 
 Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride. 
 Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, 
 Whereto the judgment of my heart is ty'd t 
 Wliy should my heart think that a several plot. 
 Which my heart knows the wide world's common 
 Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, [place? 
 To put fair truth upon so foul a face ; 
 
 In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd. 
 And to this false plague are they now trans/err "d. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 919 
 
 When my love swears that she is made of truth, 
 I do believe her, though I know she lies ; 
 That she might think me some untutor'd youth, 
 Unlearned in the world's false subtihies. 
 Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, 
 Although she knows my days aie past the best, 
 Simply I credit her false speaking tongue. 
 On both sides thus is simple truth supprest. 
 But wherefore says she not, she is unjust? 
 And wherefore say not I, that I am oldl 
 O love's be.it habit is in seeming trust. 
 And age in love loves not to have years told : 
 Therefore I lie with her, and she with me. 
 And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be. 
 
 O call not me to justify the wrong. 
 That thy unkindness lays upon my heart ; 
 Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue ; 
 Use power with power, and slay me not by art. 
 Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere ; but in my sight. 
 Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside. 
 What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy 
 Is more than my oppress'd defence can bide ! [might 
 Let me excuse thee : ah ! my love well knows 
 Her pretty looks have been mine enemies ; 
 And therefore from my face she turns my foes. 
 That they elsewhere might dart their injuries : 
 Yet do uot so ; but since I am near slain, 
 Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. 
 
 Be wise as thou art cruel ; do not press 
 My tongue-ty'd patience with too much disdain ; 
 Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express 
 The manner of my pity-wanting pain. 
 If I might teach thee wit, better it were, 
 Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so ; 
 (As testy sick men, when their deaths be near. 
 No news but health from their physicians know :) 
 For, if I should despair, I should grow mad. 
 And in my madness might speak ill of thee : 
 Now this ill-wresting world has grown so bad. 
 Mad slanderers by mad ears believed me. 
 
 That I may not be so, nor thou bely'd, [wide. 
 
 Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go 
 
 In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes. 
 For they in thee a thousand errors note ; 
 But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, 
 Who in despite of view is pleas'd to dote. 
 Nor are my ears with thy tongue's tune delighted ; 
 Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone. 
 Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited 
 To any sensual feast with thee alone : 
 But my five wits, nor my five senses can 
 Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee. 
 Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man. 
 Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be : 
 Only my plague thus far I count my gain, 
 That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. 
 
 Love is my sin, S(nd thy dear virtue hate. 
 Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving : 
 O but with mine compare thou thine own state. 
 And thou shall find it merits not reproving ; 
 Or if it do, not from those lips of thine, 
 That have prophan'd their scarlet ornaments, 
 
 And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine j 
 Robb'd others' beds revenues of their rents. 
 Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those 
 Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee: 
 Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows. 
 Thy pity may deserve to pity'd be. 
 
 If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, 
 By self-example may'st thou be deny'd ! 
 
 Lo as a careful house-wife runs to catch 
 One of her feather'd creatures broke away, 
 Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch, 
 In pursuit of the thing she would have stay ; 
 Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace, 
 Cries to catch her whose I'Usy care is bent 
 To follow that which flie^* before her face. 
 Not prizing her poor infa it's discontent ; \ 
 
 So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee. 
 Whilst I thy babe chace thee afar behind ; 
 But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me. 
 And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind : 
 So will I pray that thou may'st have thy Will, 
 If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 
 
 Two loves I have of comfort and despair. 
 Which like two spirits do suggest me still ; 
 The better angel is a man right fair, 
 The worser spirit a woman, colour'd ill. 
 To win me soon to hell, my female evil 
 Tempteth my better angel from my side. 
 And would corrupt my saint to be a devil. 
 Wooing his purity with her foul pride. 
 And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend, 
 Suspect I may, yet not directly tell ; 
 But being both from me, both to each friend, 
 I guess one angel in another's hell. 
 
 Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, 
 Till my bad angel fire my good one out. 
 
 Those lips that Love's own hand did make. 
 Breath d forth the sound that said, I hate, 
 To me that languish'd for her sake : 
 But when she saw my woeful state. 
 Straight in her heart did mercy come. 
 Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet 
 Was us'd in giving' gentle doom ; 
 And taught it thus a-new to greet ; 
 / hate she alter'd with an end. 
 That follow 'd it as gentle day 
 Doth follow night, who like a fiend 
 From heaven to hell is flown away. 
 / hate from hate away she threw. 
 And sav'd my life, saying — not yovL, 
 
 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
 Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array. 
 Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth. 
 Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 
 Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ? 
 Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. 
 Eat up thy charge \ Is this thy body's end ? 
 Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
 And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
 Buy terms divme in selling hours of dross j 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more : 
 So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men. 
 And, death unce dead, there's no more dying then, 
 
920 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 My love is as a fever, longing still 
 
 VoT that which longer nurseth the disease ; 
 
 Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, 
 
 The uncertain sickly appetite to please. 
 
 Rly reason, the physician to my love, 
 
 Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, 
 
 Hath left rae, and I desperate now approve, 
 
 Desire is death, which physic did except. 
 
 Past cure I am, now reason is past care. 
 
 And frantic-mad with ever-more unrest ; 
 
 My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, 
 
 At random from the truth vainly express'd ; 
 
 For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright. 
 Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. 
 
 me ! what eyes hath love put in my head, 
 Which have no correspondence with true sight 1 
 Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled. 
 That censures falsely what they see aright ! 
 If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 
 What means the world to say it is not so 1 
 If it be not, then love doth well denote 
 Love's eye is not so true as all men's : no. 
 How can it' O how can Love's eye be true, 
 That is so vex'd with watching and with tears 1 
 No marvel then though I mistake my view ; 
 The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. 
 
 cunning Love ! with tears thou keep'st me blind. 
 Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. 
 
 Canst thou, cruel ! say I love thee not. 
 When I, against myself, with thee partake ? 
 Do I not tliink on thee, when I forgot 
 Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake ? 
 Who hateth thee that I do call my friend ? 
 On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon ? 
 Nay if thou low'r'st on me, do I not spend 
 Revenge upon myself witli present moan 1 
 What merit do I in myself respect, 
 That is so proud thy service to despise. 
 When all my best doth worship thy defect. 
 Commanded by the motion of thine eyes ? 
 
 But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind ; 
 
 Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. 
 
 from what power hast thou this powerful might. 
 What insufficiency my heart to sway 1 > 
 
 To make me give the lie to my true sight, 
 And swear that brightness doth not grace the day 1 
 Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill. 
 That in the very refuse of thy deeds 
 There is such strength and warrantise of skill, 
 That in my mind, thy %vorst all best exceeds ? 
 Who taught thee how to make me love thee more. 
 The more I hear and see just cause of hate 1 
 O, though I love what others do abhor, 
 With others thou should'st not abhor my state ; 
 If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me. 
 More worthy I to be belov'd of thee. 
 
 Love is too young to know what conscience is ; 
 Yet who knows not, conscience is born of love? 
 Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, 
 Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. 
 For thou betraying me, I do betray 
 My nobler part to my gross body's treason ; 
 My soul doth tell my body that he may 
 Triumph in love ; flesh stays no farther reason ; 
 But rising at thy name, doth point out thee 
 As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride. 
 He is contented thy poor drudge to be. 
 To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. 
 No want of conscience hold it that I call 
 Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. 
 
 In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn. 
 But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing ; 
 In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, 
 In vowing new hate after new love bearing. 
 But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, 
 When I break twenty 1 I am perjur'd most ; 
 For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, 
 And all my honest faith in thee is lost . 
 For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness. 
 Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy ; 
 And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness. 
 Or made them swear against the thing they see ; 
 For I have sworn thee fair : more perjur'd I, 
 To swear, against the truth, so foul a lie. 
 
 Cupid lay'd by his brand, and fell asleep : 
 A maid of Dian's this advantage found, 
 And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep 
 In a cold valley-fountain of that ground ; 
 Which borrow'd from this holy lire of love 
 A dateless lively heat, still to endure. 
 And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove 
 Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. 
 But at my mistress' eye love's brand new-fired, 
 The boy for trial needs would touch my breast ; 
 I sick withal, the help of bath desired. 
 And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest. 
 But found no cure ; the bath for my help lies 
 Where Cupid got new fire ; ray mistress' eyes. 
 
 The little love-god lying once asleep. 
 Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, 
 Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep. 
 Came tripping by ; but in her maiden hand 
 The fairest votary took up that fire 
 Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd ; 
 And so the general of hot desire 
 Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd. 
 This brand she quenched in a cool well by. 
 Which from love's fire took heat perpetual, 
 Growing a bath and helpful remedy 
 For men diseas'd ; but I, my mistress' thrall, 
 Came here for cure, and this by that 1 prove, 
 Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. 
 
PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument. 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 
 Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment, 
 A woman I forswore ; but I will prove. 
 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
 Wy vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
 Thy grace being gain'd, cures all disgrace in me. 
 My vow was breath, and breath a vapour is ; 
 Then thou fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, 
 Exhal'st this vapour vow ; in thee it is: 
 If broken, then it is no fault of mine. 
 
 If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
 
 To break an oath, to win a paradise 1 
 11. 
 Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook. 
 With young .\donis, lovely, fresh, and green. 
 Did court the lad with many a lovely look. 
 Such lobks as none could look but beauty's queen. 
 She told him stories to delight his ear ; 
 She shew'd him favours to allure his eye ; 
 To win his heart, she touch'd him here and there : 
 Touches so soft still conquer chastity. 
 But whether unripe years did want conceit. 
 Or he refus'd to take her figur'd proffer, 
 The tender nibbler would not touch the bait. 
 But smile and jest at every gentle offer : 
 
 Then fell she on her back, fair queen, and toward ; 
 
 He rose and ran away ; ah fool too froward ! 
 III. 
 If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love'! 
 O never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow'd : 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove; 
 Those thoughts to me likeoaks.to thee like osiers bow'd. 
 Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, 
 Where all those pleasures live, that art can compre- 
 hend. 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; 
 Well learned is that tongue that well can thee com- 
 mend ; 
 All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder ; 
 Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire : 
 Thine eye Jove's lightning seems, thy voice his 
 
 dreadful thunder. 
 Which (not to anger bent) is music and sweet fire. 
 Celestial as thou art, do not love that wrong, 
 To sing the heavens' praise with such an earthly 
 tongue. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn. 
 
 And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shade. 
 
 When Cytherea, all in love forlorn, 
 
 A longing tarriance for Adonis made. 
 
 Under an osier growing by a brook, 
 
 A brook, where Adon us'd to cool his spleen. 
 
 Hot was the day; she hotter that did look 
 
 For his approach, that often there had been. 
 
 Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by. 
 
 And stood stark naked on the brook's green brim ; 
 
 The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye. 
 
 Yet not so wistly, as this queen on him; 
 
 He spying her, bounc'd in, whereas he stood ; 
 
 Oh Jove, quoth she, why was not I a tiood ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Fair is my love, but not so fair as fickle. 
 Mild as a dove, but neither true nor trusty ; 
 Brighter than glass is, and yet, as glass is, brittle. 
 Softer than wax, and yet, as iron, rusty : 
 A little pale, with damask die to grace her, 
 None fairer, nor none falser to deface her. 
 
 Her lips to mine how often hath she join'd. 
 Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing ! 
 How many tales to please me hath she coin'd. 
 Dreading my love, the loss whereof still fearing ! 
 Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings. 
 Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings. 
 She burnt with love, as straw with fire flameth. 
 She burnt out love, as soon as straw out burneth ; 
 She fram'd the love, and yet she foil'd the framing. 
 She bade love last, and yet she fell a turning. 
 Was this a lover, or a lecher whetlier 1 
 Bad in the best, though excellent iu neither. 
 
 VI. 
 
 If music and sweet poetry agree. 
 As they must needs, the sister and the brother. 
 Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me. 
 Because thou lov'st the one. and I the other. 
 Dowland to thee is dear, whose heavenly touch 
 Upon the lute doth ravish human sense ; 
 Spenser to me, whose deep conceit is such. 
 As passing all conceit, needs no defence. 
 Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound. 
 That Phcebus' lute, the queen of music, makes ; 
 And I in deep delight am chiefly drown'd, 
 Whenas himself to singing he betakes. 
 
 One god is god of both, as poets feign ; 
 
 One knight loves both, and both in thee remain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Fair was the morn, when the fair queen of love, 
 « e « « * 
 
 Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove, 
 For Adon's sake, a youngster proud and wild ; 
 Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill : 
 Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds ; 
 She silly queen, with more than love's good will, 
 Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds 
 Once, quoth she, did I see a fair sweet youth 
 Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar. 
 Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth ! 
 See in my thigh, quoth she, here was the sore : 
 She shewed hers ; he saw more wounds than one, 
 And blushing fled, and left her all alone. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon faded, 
 Pluck'd in the bud, and faded in the spring ! 
 Bright orient pearl, alack ! too timely shaded! 
 Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting I 
 
 Like a green plum that hangs upon a tree. 
 
 And fails, through wind, before the fall should be 
 I weep for thee, and yet no cause I have ; 
 For why ? thou left'st me nothing in thy Will. 
 And yet thou left'st me more than I did crave ; 
 For why ? I craved nothing of thee still : 
 
 O yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee ; 
 
 Thy discontent thou didst bequeath to me. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Fair Venus with Adonis sitting by her. 
 
 Under a myrtle shade, began to woo him : 
 
 She told the youngling how god Mars did try her. 
 
 And as he fell to her, she fell to him. 
 
 Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god embrac'd me ; 
 
 And then she clip'd Adonis in her arms : 
 
 Even thus, quoth she, the warlike god unlac'd me , 
 
 As if the boy should use like loving charms. 
 
 Even thus, quoth she, he seized on my lips. 
 
 And with her lips on his did act the seizure ; 
 
 i And as she fetched breath, away he skips ; 
 
 j And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure. 
 Ah ! that I had my lady at this bay, 
 
 I To kiss and clip me till I run away ! 
 
922 
 
 PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 Crabbed age and youth 
 
 Cannot live together ; 
 Youth is full of pleasance, 
 
 Age is full of care : 
 Youth like summer moin. 
 
 Age like winter weather ; 
 Youth like summer brave. 
 
 Age like winter bare. 
 Youth is full of sport, 
 Age'.s breath is short, , 
 
 Youth is nimble, age is lame : 
 Youth is hot and bold. 
 Age is weak and cold ; 
 
 Youth is wild, and age is tame. 
 Age, I do abhor thee. 
 Youth, I do adore thee ; 
 
 0, my love, my love is young : 
 Age, I do defy thee ; 
 O sweet shepherd, hie thee. 
 
 For methinks thou stay'st too long. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, 
 
 .A shining gloss, that fadeth suddenly ; 
 
 A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud ; 
 
 A brittle glass, that's broken presently: 
 A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower. 
 Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour. 
 
 And as goods lost are seld or never found. 
 
 As faded gloss no rubbing will refresh. 
 
 As flowers dead, lie wither'd on tiie ground. 
 
 As broken glass no cement can redress. 
 So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's lost. 
 In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Good night, good rest. Ah ! neither be my share : 
 She bade good night, that kept my rest away ; 
 And daft me to a cabin hang'd with care, 
 To descant on tiie doubts of my decay. 
 
 Farewel, quoth she, and come again to-morrow,; 
 
 Farewel I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow. 
 
 Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile. 
 In scorn or friendship, nill 1 construe whether : 
 May be, she joy'd to jest at my exile. 
 May be, again to make me wander thither : 
 Wander, a word for shadows like myself. 
 As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east ! 
 My heart doth charge the watch ; the morning rise 
 Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest. 
 Not daring trust the office of mine eyes. 
 
 While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark. 
 
 And wish her lays were tuned like the lark ; 
 For she doth welcome day-light with her ditty, 
 And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night : 
 The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty ; 
 Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight ; 
 
 Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow; 
 
 For whyl she sigh'd.and bade me come to-morrow. 
 
 ■^Vere I with her, the night would post too soon ; 
 But now are minutes added to the hours ; 
 To spite me now, each minute seems an hour ; 
 Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers 1 
 
 Pack night, peep day : good day, of night now 
 borrow ; [row. 
 
 Short, Night, to-night, and length thyself to-mor- 
 
 XIV. 
 
 It was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three, 
 That liked of her master as well as well might be, 
 
 Till looking on an Englishman, the fairest that eya 
 
 Her fancy fell a turning. [could see. 
 
 Long was the combat doubtful, that love with love 
 
 did fight. 
 To leave the master loveless,or kill the gallant knight: 
 To put in practice either, alas it was a spite 
 
 Unto the silly damsel. 
 But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain, 
 That nothing could be used, to turn them both to gain, 
 For of the two tlie trusty knight was wounded with 
 
 Alas she could not help it ! [disdain • 
 
 Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day. 
 Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away ; 
 Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay ; 
 
 For now my song is ended. 
 
 XV, 
 
 On a day (alack the day !) 
 Love, whose month was ever May, 
 Spy'd a blossom passing fair. 
 Playing in the wanton air. 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind. 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find ; 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 Wish'd himself the heaven's breath : 
 Air, quoth he. thy cheeks may blow; 
 Air, would I might triumph so ! 
 But alas my hand hath sworn 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn • 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet. 
 Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 Do not call it sin in me. 
 That I am forsworn for thee ; 
 Thou for whom even Jove would swear 
 Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Jly flocks feed not. 
 My ewes breed not. 
 My rams speed not. 
 
 All is amiss : 
 Love's denying, 
 Faitli's defying. 
 Heart's renying. 
 
 Causer of this. 
 All my merry jigs are quite forgot. 
 All my lady's love is lost, God wot : 
 Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love, 
 There a nay is plac'd without remove. 
 One silly cross 
 Wrought all my loss ; 
 
 frowning fortune, cursed, fickle dame ! 
 For now I see. 
 Inconstancy 
 
 More in women than in men remain. 
 In black mourn I, 
 All fears scorn I. 
 Love hath forlorn me. 
 
 Living in thrall ; 
 Heart is bleeding, 
 All help needing, 
 (O cruel speeding!) 
 
 Fraughted with gall. 
 ]\Iy shepherd's pipe can sound no dell, 
 Bly wether's bell rings doleful knell ; 
 My curtail dog that wont to have play'd 
 Plays not at all, but seems afraid ; 
 With sighs so deep. 
 Procures to weep. 
 
 In howling-wise, to see my doleful plight. 
 How sighs resound 
 Through heartless ground. 
 
 Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight' 
 
PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 Clear wells spring not, 
 Sweet birds sing not, 
 Green plants bring not 
 
 Forth ; tliev die : 
 Herds stand weeping, 
 Flocks all sleepinir, 
 Nymphs back peeping 
 
 Fearfully. 
 All our pleasure known to us poor swains, 
 All our merry meetings on the plains, 
 All our evening sport from us is fled. 
 All our love is lost, for love is dead. 
 Farewel, sweet love, 
 Thy like ne'er was 
 
 For sweet content, the cause of all my moan : 
 Poor Condon -^ 
 
 Must live alone. 
 
 Other help for him I see that there is none. 
 
 XVII, 
 
 \Vhea as thine eye hath chose the dame, 
 And stall'd the deer that thou should'st strike 
 -Let reason rule things worthy blame, ' 
 
 As well as fancy, partial might : 
 Take counsel of some wiser head. 
 Neither too young, nor yet unwed. 
 And when thou com'st thy tale to tell, 
 Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk. 
 Lest she some subtle practice smell ; 
 (A cripple soon can find a halt :) 
 But plainly say thou lov'st her well. 
 And set her person forth to sale. 
 What though her frowning brows be bent. 
 Her cloudy looks will calm ere night ; 
 And then too late she will repent, 
 That thus dissembled her delight • 
 And twice desire, ere it be day. 
 That which with scorn she put away. 
 What though she strive to try her strength. 
 And ban and brawl, and say thee nay, 
 Her feeble force will yield at lenoth, 
 When craft hath taugiit her thuslo say : 
 " Had women been so strong as men. 
 In faith you had not had it then." 
 And to her will frame all thy ways ; 
 Spare not to spend,— and chiefly there 
 Where thy desert may merit praise. 
 By ringing in thy lady's ear : 
 
 ■The strongest castle, tower, and town. 
 The golden bullet beats it down. 
 Serve always with assured trust, 
 .And in thy suit be humble, true ; 
 Unless thy lady prove unjust. 
 Press never thou to choose anew : 
 
 AVhen time shall serve, be thou not slack 
 To prolfer, though she put thee back. 
 The wiles and guiles that women work, 
 Dissembled with an outward show, 
 The tricks and toys that in them lurk. 
 The cock that treads them shall not know. 
 Have you not heard it said full oft, 
 A woman's nay doth stand for nought 1 
 Think women still to strive with men, 
 To sin, and never for to saint : 
 There is no heaven, by holy then. 
 When time with age shall them attaint. 
 Were kisses all the joys in bed. 
 One woman would another wed. 
 But soft; enough, — too much I fear, 
 l.est that my mistress hear my song ;' 
 She'll not stick to round me i' th' ear, 
 To teach mj tongue to be so long : 
 
 923 
 
 Yet will she blush, here be it said, 
 To hear her secrets so bewray'd. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 As it fell upon a day. 
 
 In the merry month of May, 
 
 Sitting in a pleasant shade 
 
 Which a grove of myrtles made. 
 
 Beasts did leap, and birds did sing. 
 
 Trees did grow, and plants did sprmg : 
 
 Every thing did banish moan. 
 
 Save the nightingale alone : 
 
 She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
 
 Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 
 
 And there sung the dolefull'st ditty. 
 
 That to hear it was great pi'ty ; 
 
 Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry, 
 
 Teru, Teru, by and by : 
 
 That to hear her so complain, 
 
 Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 
 
 For her griefs so lively shewn. 
 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 A.h ! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain ; 
 
 None take pity on thy pain : 
 
 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 
 
 Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; 
 
 King Pandion, he is dead ; 
 
 All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : 
 
 All thy fellow birds do sing. 
 
 Careless of thy sorrowini^. ^ 
 
 Even so, poor bird, like thee. 
 
 None alive will pity me. 
 
 Whilst as fickle fortune smii'd. 
 
 Thou and I were both beguil'd. 
 
 Every one that flatters thee. 
 
 Is no friend in misery. 
 
 Words are easy like the wind ; 
 
 Faithful friends are hard to find. 
 
 Every man will be thy friend. 
 
 Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ; 
 
 But if store of crowns be scant, 
 
 No man will supply thy want.' 
 
 If that one be prodigal. 
 
 Bountiful they will him call : 
 
 And with such like flattering, 
 
 " Pit)/ but he were a king." 
 
 If he be addict to vice. 
 
 Quickly him they will entice ; 
 
 If to women he be bent, ' 
 
 They have him at coramandement ; 
 
 But if fortune once do frown, 
 
 Then farewell his great renown : 
 
 They that fawn'd on him before. 
 
 Use his company no more. 
 
 He that is thy friend indeed 
 
 He will help thee in thy need. 
 
 It thou sorrow, he will weep;' 
 
 If thou wake, he cannot sleep : 
 
 Thus of every gnef in heart 
 
 He with thee doth bear a part. 
 
 These are ceitain signs to know 
 
 J^aithful friend from flattering foe. 
 
 Take, oh, take those lips away, 
 
 That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
 And those eyes, the break of day. 
 
 Lights that do mislead the morn : 
 But my kisses bring afain. 
 Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. 
 Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow 
 
 Which thy frozen bosom bears. 
 On whose tops the pinks that grow, 
 
 Are of those that April wears, 
 
924 
 
 PASSIONATE PILGRIM. 
 
 But first set my poor heart free. 
 Bound in tliose icy chains by thee. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Let the bird of loudes.t lay, 
 
 On the sole Arabian tree, 
 
 Herald sad and trumpet be, 
 
 'i'o whose sound chaste wings obey. 
 
 But thou shrieking harbinger, 
 
 Foul pre-currer of the fiend, 
 
 Augur of the fever's end, 
 
 To this troop come thou not near. 
 
 From this session interdict 
 
 Every fowl of tyrant wing. 
 
 Save the eagle, feather'd king : 
 
 Keep the ob&equy so strict. 
 
 Let the priest in surplice white, 
 
 That defunctive music can. 
 
 Be the death-divining swan, 
 
 Lest the requiem lack his right. 
 
 And thou, treble-dated crow. 
 
 That thy sable gender mak'st 
 
 With the breath thou givest and tak'st, 
 
 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 
 
 Here the anthem doth commence : 
 
 Love and constancy is dead ; 
 
 Phoenix and the turtle fled 
 
 In a mutual flame from hence. 
 
 So they lov'd as love in twain 
 
 Had the essence but in one ; 
 
 Two distincts, division none : 
 
 Number there in love was slain. 
 
 Hearts remote, yet not asunder j 
 
 Distance, and no space was seen 
 
 'Twixt the turtle and his queen : 
 
 But in them it were a wonder. 
 
 So between them love did shino» 
 That "the turtle saw his right 
 Flaming in the phoenix* sight . 
 Either was the other's mine. 
 Property was thus appall'd, 
 That the self was not the same ; 
 Single nature's double name 
 Neither two nor one was call'd. 
 Reason, in itself confounded, 
 Saw division grow together ; 
 To themselves yet either-neither. 
 Simple were so well compounded. 
 That it cried how true a twain 
 Seemeth this concordant one ! 
 Love hath reason, reason none. 
 If what parts can so remain. 
 Where upon it made this threne 
 To the phoenix and the dove, 
 Co-supremes and stars of love ; 
 As chorus to their tragic scene. 
 
 TIinENOS. 
 
 Beauty, truth, and rarity, 
 
 Grace in all simplicity. 
 
 Here inclos'd in cinders lie. 
 
 Death is now the phoenix' nest ; 
 
 And the turtle's loyal breast 
 
 To eternity doth rest. 
 
 Leaving no posterity: — 
 
 'Twas not their infirmity, 
 
 It was married chastity. 
 
 Truth may seem, but cannot be j 
 
 Beauty brag, but 'tis not she ; 
 
 Truth and beauty buried be. 
 
 To this urn let those repair, 
 
 That are either true or fair ; 
 
 For these dead birds sigh a prayer. 
 
 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 Fnojr off a hill whose concave womb re-worded 
 A plaintful story from a sistering vale. 
 My spirits to attend this double voice accorded, 
 And down I lay to list the sadtun'd tale : 
 Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale, 
 Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain. 
 Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain. 
 
 Upon her head a platted hive of straw, 
 
 Which fortified her visage from the sun, 
 
 Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw 
 
 The carcase of a beauty spent and done. 
 
 Time had not scythed all that youth begun. 
 
 Nor youth all quit ; but, spite of heaven's fell rage, 
 
 Some beauty pecp'd through lattice of sear'd age. 
 
 Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne, 
 Which on it had conceited characters, 
 Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine 
 That sea6on'd woe had pelleted in tears. 
 And often reading what contents it bears j 
 As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe, 
 In clamours of all size, both high and low. 
 
 Sometimes her levell'd eyes their carriage ride. 
 As they did battery to the spheres intend ; 
 Sometime diverted their poor balls are ty'd 
 To the orbed earth ; sometimes they do extend 
 Their view right on ; anon their gazes lend 
 To every place at once, and no where fix'd, 
 Tlie mind and sight distractedly commix'd. 
 
 Her hair, nor loose, nor ty'd in formal plat, 
 Proclaim'd in her a careless hand of pride ; 
 For some untuck'd, descended her sheav'd hat, 
 
 Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside , 
 
 Some iiTher threaden fillet still did bide. 
 
 And, true to bondage, would not break from theuce, 
 
 Though slackly braided in loose negligence. 
 
 A thousand favours from a maund she drew 
 
 Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet, 
 
 Wliich one by one she in a river threv/. 
 
 Upon whose weeping margent she was set, — • 
 
 Like usury, applying wet to wet. 
 
 Or monarchs' hands, that let not bounty fall, 
 
 Where want cries some, but where excess begs alL 
 
 Of folded schedules had she many a one, , 
 
 Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the Bood; 
 
 Crack'd many a ring of posied gold and bone. 
 
 Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud ; 
 
 Found yet more letters sadly penn'd in blood, 
 
 With sleided silk feat and affectedly 
 
 Enswath'd, and seal'd to curious secrecy. 
 
 These often bath'd she in her fiuxive eyes. 
 
 And often kiss'd, and often 'gan to tear; ■ 
 
 Cry'd, false blood ! thou register of lies. 
 
 What unapproved witness dost thou bear ! 
 
 Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here ! 
 
 This said, in top of rage t-he lines she rents, 
 
 Big discontent so breaking their contents. 
 
 A reverend man that graz'd his cattle nigh, 
 
 (Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle knew 
 
 Of court, of city, and had let go by 
 
 The swiftest hours,) observed as they flew ; 
 
 Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew ; 
 
 And, privileg'd by age, desires to know 
 
 In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe. 
 

 
 
 -.t-' ..,....,j^f^..-..,.i«ai[.,.L^..^y-i-f,.M,.l»V^,ll.>--«'.g-n,:'*-ij;^^j^ 
 
A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 925 
 
 So slides he down upon his grained l«t, 
 
 And conicly-distant sits he by her side ; 
 
 \Vhcn he again desires lier, being sat. 
 
 Her grievance with his hearing to divide : 
 
 If that from him there may be aught ap])ly'd 
 
 Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage, 
 
 Tis promis'd in tlie charity of age. 
 
 Father, she says, though in me you behold 
 
 The injury of many a blasting hour, 
 
 Let it not tell your judgement 1 am old ; 
 
 Not age, but sorrow, over me hath po^ver : 
 
 I mi^ht as yet have bean a spreading flower, 
 
 Fresh to myself, if I had self apply'cl 
 
 Love to myself, and to no love beside. 
 
 But woe is me .' too early 1 attended 
 
 A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace) 
 
 Of one by nature's outwards so commended, 
 
 'I'liat maiden's eyes stuck over all his face: 
 
 Love iack'd a dwelling, and made liim her place ; 
 
 And when in his fair i)arts she did abide. 
 
 She was new lodg'd and newly deified. 
 
 His browny locks did hang in crooked curls ; 
 
 And every light occasion of the wind 
 
 Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls. 
 
 What's .sweet to do, to do will aptly find : 
 
 Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind ; 
 
 For on his visage was in little drawn, 
 
 W'hat largeness thinks in paradise was sawn. 
 
 Small show of man was yet upon his chin ; 
 
 His phcenix down began but to appear, 
 
 Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin, 
 
 Whose bare oul-bragg'd the web it seem'd to wear ; 
 
 Yet shew'd his visage by that cost most dear ; 
 
 And nice affections wavering stood in doubt 
 
 If best 'twere as it was, or best without. 
 
 His qualities were beauteous as his form. 
 
 For maiden-tongu'd he was, and thereof free ; 
 
 Yet, if men mov'd him, was he such a storm 
 
 As oft 'twixt May and April is to see. 
 
 When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be. 
 
 His rudeness so with liis authoriz'd youth. 
 
 Did livery falseness in a pride of truth. 
 
 Well could he ride, and often nieri would say 
 
 " That horse his mettUfntm his rider takes: 
 
 Proud of subjection, itoblehii the su-aii, [makes!'' 
 
 What routuis, what btnntils, what course, what stop he 
 
 And controversy hence a question takes, 
 
 \Vhether the horse by him became his deed. 
 
 Or he his manage by the well doing steed. 
 
 But quickly on his side the verdict went. 
 
 His real habitude gave life and grace 
 
 To appertainingsand to ornament, 
 
 Accomplish'd in himself, not in his case : 
 
 All aids, themselves made fairer by their place, 
 
 Came for additions ; yet their purpos'd trim 
 
 Piec'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him. 
 
 So on the tip of his subduing tongue 
 
 All kind of arguments and question deep, 
 
 AH replication prompt, and reason strong. 
 
 For his advantage still did wake and sleep : 
 
 To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep. 
 
 He had the dialect and different skill. 
 
 Catching all passions in his craft of will ; 
 
 That he did in the general bosom reign 
 
 Of young, of old ; and sexes both enchanted. 
 
 To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain 
 
 In personal duty, following where he haunted: 
 
 Consents bewitch'd, ere he desire, have granted ; 
 
 And dialogu'd for him what he would say, 
 
 Ask'd their own wills, and made their wills obey. 
 
 IMany there were that did his picture get, 
 
 To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind ; 
 
 Like fools that in the imagination set 
 
 The goodly objects \\-hich abroad they find 
 
 Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assign'd ; 
 
 And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them. 
 
 Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them • 
 
 So many have, that never touch'd his hand, 
 
 Sweetly suppos'd them mistress of his heart. 
 
 My woeful self, that did in freedom stand. 
 
 And was my own fee-simple, (not in part,) 
 
 What with his art in youth, and youth in art, 
 
 Threw my affections in his charmed power, 
 
 Reserv'd the stalk, and gave him all my flower. 
 
 Yet did I not, as some my equals did. 
 
 Demand of him, nor being desired, yielded ; 
 
 Finding myself in honour so forbid. 
 
 With safest distance I mine honour shielded ; 
 
 Experience for me many bulwarks builded 
 
 Of proofs new-bleeding, which remain 'd the foil 
 
 Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil. 
 
 But ah ! who ever shunn'd with precedent 
 
 The destin'd ill she must herself assay 1 
 
 Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content. 
 
 To put the by-pass 'd perils in her way? 
 
 Counsel may stop a while what will not stay ; 
 
 For when we rage, advice is often seen 
 
 By blunting us to make our wits more keen. 
 
 Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood. 
 
 That we must curb it upon others' proof. 
 
 To be forbid the sweets that seem so good. 
 
 For fear of harms that preach in our behoof, 
 
 O appetite, from judgement stand aloof I 
 
 The one a palate hatli, that needs will taste. 
 
 Though reason weep, and cry it is ihy last. 
 
 For further I could say, this man's untrue, 
 
 .Vnd knew the patterns of his foul beguiling; 
 
 Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew. 
 
 Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling ; 
 
 Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling ; 
 
 Thought, characters, and words, merely but art. 
 
 And bastards of his foul adulterate heart. 
 
 And long upon these terms I held my city. 
 
 Till thus he 'gan besiege me : " Gentle maid. 
 
 Have of ray suffering youth some feeling pity, 
 
 .•ind be not of my holy vows afraid : 
 
 That's to you sworn, to none was ever said ; 
 
 For feasts of love 1 have been call'd unto, 
 
 nil now did ne'er invite, nor never vow. 
 
 .Vll my offences that abroad you see, 
 
 Are errors of the blood, none of the mind : 
 
 Love made them not ; with acture they may be. 
 
 Where neither party is nor true nor kind : 
 
 They sought their shame that so their shame did find ; 
 
 And so much less of shame in me remains. 
 
 By how much of me their reproach contains. 
 
 -•Vmong the many that mine eyes have seen. 
 
 Not one whose flame my heart so much as wann'd. 
 
 Or my affection put to the smallest teen. 
 
 Or any of my leisures ever charin'd : 
 
 Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harm'd ; 
 
 Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free. 
 
 And reign 'd, commanding in his monarchy. 
 
 Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me. 
 
 Of paled pearls, and rubies red as blood ; 
 
 Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me 
 
 Of grief and blushes, aptly understood 
 
 In bloodless white and the encrimson'd mood ; 
 
 Effects of terror and dear modesty, 
 
 Encamp'd in hearts, but fighting outwardly. 
 
926 
 
 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 And lo ! behold these talents of their hair, 
 
 With twisted metal amorously impleach'd, j 
 
 I have receiv'd from many a several fair, 
 
 (Their kind acceptance weepingly beseech'd,) 
 
 With the annexions of fair gems enrich'd, 
 
 And deep-brain'd sonnets that did amplify 
 
 Each stone's dear nature, wortli, and quality. 
 
 The diamond ; why 'twas beautiful and hard, 
 
 Whereto his invis'd properties did tend ; 
 
 The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard 
 
 Weak sight their sickly radiance do amend ; 
 
 The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend 
 
 With objects manifold ; each several stone, 
 
 With wit well blazon'd, smil'd or made some moan. 
 
 Lo ! all these trophies of affections hot. 
 
 Of pensive and siibdu'd desires the tender. 
 
 Nature hath charg'd me that I hoard them not. 
 
 But yield them up where 1 myself must render. 
 
 That is, to you, my origin and ender : 
 
 For these, of force, must your oblations be, 
 
 Since I their altar, you enpatron me. 
 
 O then advance of yours that phraseless hand. 
 
 Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise j 
 
 Take all these similies to your own command, 
 
 Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise ; 
 
 What me your minister, for you obeys, 
 
 Works under you ; and to your audit comes 
 
 Their distract parcels in combined sums. 
 
 Lo ! this device was sent me from a nun. 
 
 Or sister sanctified of holiest note ; 
 
 Which late her noble suit in court did shun, 
 
 Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote j 
 
 For she was sought by spirits of richest coat, 
 
 But kept cold distance, and did thence remove. 
 
 To spend her living in eternal love. 
 
 But 0, my sweet, what labour is't to leave 
 
 The thing we have not, mastering what not strives? 
 
 Playing the place which did no form receive, 
 
 Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves : 
 
 She that her fame so to herself contrives. 
 
 The scars of battle scapeth by the flight, 
 
 And makes her absence valiant, not her might. 
 
 pardon me, in that my boast is true; 
 The accident which brought me to her eye. 
 Upon the moment did her force subdue, 
 And now she would the caged cloister fly : 
 Religious love put out religion's eye : 
 Not to be tempted, would she be enmur'd, 
 And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd. 
 How mighty then you are, O hear me tell ! 
 The broken bosoms that to me belong. 
 Have emptied all their fountains in my well, 
 And mine I pour your ocean all among: 
 
 1 strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong, 
 Must for your victory us all congest. 
 
 As compound love to physic your cold breast. 
 My parts had power to charm a sacred nun, 
 Who disciplin'd and dieted in grace, 
 Believ'd her eyes when 1 the assail begun. 
 All vows and consecrations giving place, 
 most potential love! vow, bond, nor space. 
 In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine, 
 For thou art all, and all things else are thine. 
 
 When thou impressest, what are precepts worth 
 
 Of stale example ! When thou wilt inflame, 
 
 How coldly those impediments stand forth 
 
 Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame '* [shame. 
 
 Love's arms are peace.'gainst rule /gainst sense, 'gainst 
 
 And sweetens, in the sufl"ering pangs it bears. 
 
 The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. 
 
 Now all these hearts that do on mine depend, 
 
 Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine. 
 
 And supplicant their sighs to you extend. 
 
 And leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine, 
 
 Lending soft audience to my sweet design, 
 
 And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath, 
 
 That shall prefer and undertake my troth." 
 
 This said, his watery eyes he did dismount, 
 
 Whose sights till then were levell'd on my face , 
 
 Each cheek a river running from a fount 
 
 With brinish current downward flow'd apace ■ 
 
 O how the channel to the stream gave grace I 
 
 Who, glaz'd with crystal, gate the glowing roses 
 
 That flame through water with their hue incloses 
 
 O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 
 
 In the small orb of one particular tear 1 
 
 But with the inundation of the eyes 
 
 What rocky heart to water will not wear ? 
 
 What breast so cold that is not warmed here ? 
 
 O cleft efl^ect ! cold modesty, hot wrath, 
 
 Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath ! 
 
 For lo ! his passion, but an art of craft. 
 
 Even there resolv'd my reason into tears ; 
 
 There my white stole of chastity I daft, 
 
 Shouk off my sober guards, and civil fears ; 
 
 Appear to him, as he to me appears. 
 
 All melting ; though our drops this difference bore. 
 
 His poison'd me, and mine did him restore. 
 
 In him a plenitude of subtle matter, 
 
 Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives, 
 
 Of burning blushes, or of weeping water, 
 
 Of swooning paleness ; and he takes and leaves. 
 
 In either's aptness as it best deceives. 
 
 To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes. 
 
 Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows ; 
 
 That not a heart which in his level came, 
 
 Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim. 
 
 Showing fair nature is both kind and tame ; 
 
 And veil'din them, "would win whom he would maim: 
 
 Against the thing he sought he would exclaim ; 
 
 When he most brunt in heart-wish'd luxury. 
 
 He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity. 
 
 Thus merely with the garment of a Grace 
 
 The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd, 
 
 That the unexperiencd gave the tempter place. 
 
 Which, like a cherubin, above them hover'd. 
 
 Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd? 
 
 Ah me ! I fell ; and yet do question make 
 
 What I should do again for such a sake, 
 
 O, that infected moisture of his eye, 
 
 O, that false fire which in his clieek so glow'd. 
 
 0, that forc'd liiunder from his heart did fly, 
 
 O, that sad breath ins spungy lungs bestow'd, 
 
 O, all that borrowed motion, seeming ow'd. 
 
 Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd, 
 
 And new pervert a reconciled maid ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 '^H 11934 
 
 ' 
 
I 
 
ll^rokjglSB 
 
Qee